Lamma's Night (anthology)

knew, she thought, surprised, feeling the tension in the young woman's body.

She stretched her senses, seeking Narvik, finding no sign of the ghost. Odd. Suspicious. It worried her until the circle was completed. Now the ghost was locked out and couldn't interfere with her plans.

Fool! she thought cheerfully. So stupid he deserves to suffer. And he would, oh, yes, he would. Forever, to begin with.

Navila wondered if she'd come back young. Oh, glorious, to have my beauty back, she thought longingly. To be free of this horse-faced slut. Men had noticed the young Navila. When Wythen came in sight they turned away, or laughed outright.

Ah. The moment was upon her. Navila slid into Wythen's body with practiced ease, so smoothly that the girl's speech was not interrupted.

'…and call forth the one known as Navila that they...'

Navila slipped free. Bonds stronger than mortal steel tugged at her, she screamed in joyful pain as they wrenched free—the hooks of soul and spirit that linked her to her apprentice. Now! Now!

Wythen chanted on; there was no stopping, except for death. I blacked out! An instant with no sight, no sound. Panic dragged at her concentration. Tension gathered in the tomb, the air itself felt stretched with the power drawing down into the focus, like water spiralling into a hole that reached through creation.

'Wythen,' a voice whispered softly in her ear. 'Do you trust me?'

Narvik? How could she answer him? She could speak no word, make no gesture that was not part of the ritual.

She could feel something sinking into her. Her skin went numb. Her heart beat so that she could hear the pounding of the red drum in her ears, and still voice and hands made their ancient, precise additions to the structure of energies towering above her like a frozen avalanche.

Think your answers, Narvik said. I'll hear them.

What are you doing? she demanded frantically. Why are you in my mind? Sweat ran into her eyes, trickled coldly down her spine. Her knees trembled and her mouth was dry as crumbling parchment.

Do you trust me?

Yes. No. I... don't know. Her thoughts scattered like beads from a broken necklace. What was he doing? He didn't trust her.

I do trust you, Wythen. And I need for you to trust me. I want you to recite the spell that lays a spirit to rest.

No! she thought wildly.

Please. I don't ask this lightly, Wythen. It's what I truly, desperately want.

Narvik sensed her sad acceptance. The moment approached and he could feel Wythen's resolve wavering. Please! he said. And with a sense of utter desolation, Wythen complied.

The thing danced around him. It had the form of an old woman, but the eyes could never have been human; they were like windows into nothingness, an oblivion that pulled into a bottomless hunger.

Navila stopped her capering and stood before Wythen, her arms reaching for her.

Give it to me, she demanded. Give me life!

But wait. The girl was weak-willed, never knowing her own mind from day to day. She might decide to lay Narvik to rest. That wouldn't do at all, now would it? Navila decided to make sure. She reached for Wythen. And was blocked!

What's this? She probed the solid barrier that stopped her. You!

Narvik! In her servant's body.

How dare you? she screamed.

Navila reached out and to Narvik's utter shock yanked him from Wythen's body as easily as pulling the skin off a boiled root, flinging him hard against the edge of the circle.

Narvik cringed back from it, burnt with an icy draining.

Wythen staggered as she felt his pain. Her mouth shocked open in an O of agony, but her hands went up in the last gesture and she breathed the words that would lay her love to rest.

Navila felt herself fading, drawn beyond the living world. She knew what waited for her; knew very well, and how it would greet her after the long, long wait past the appointed hour. With a shriek of hatred she turned and launched herself at Wythen. Reaching out with the last of her strength, she caught hold of Wythen's heart.

Narvik heard the last word of the spell. Blood burst from Wythen's eyes and mouth and fingernails. Her heart beat once, and stopped.

Wythen opened her eyes on darkness; the pain was gone, and she felt so calm that her wonder at it was mild. In the distance was a light; a swelling star casting flickering curls of gold around it. She started walking towards it, faster and faster; her calmness blossomed into joy, joy that was also deep contentment.

'Wait!' a voice called.

She ignored it. There were others calling to her from ahead now.