demanded much, but never that his followers act out predator-prey relationships or territorial disputes. Perhaps it was an expression of the ultimate cosmic harmony as some claimed, but Sam merely accepted the arrangement without puzzling over the why and wherefore.
Tonight, however, he was glad of it. Rikki and Manx might not be the most powerful shamans on the Northwest coast, but he was sure they could handle their assigned parts in the ritual. In approaching them, Sam had hoped their curiosity and greed for the knowledge he offered would be motivation enough to keep quiet. Like all street magicians, they were avid for new magic, that edge that would let them spike the competition for choice assignments in the shadow trade. Manx, anyway, would have kept the preparations for tonight secret, for she was a living embodiment of Cat's obsessive secrecy. But secrecy was a transient need. After tonight Janice would be cured, and it wouldn't matter anymore. If Rikki talked then, fine.
Only the three shamans would be involved in the ritual. Father Rinaldi would have been glad to assist, but he also pointed out that it would stretch the ritual team's resources to protect him, a virtual mundane. Sam had reluctantly agreed to construct the workings without including the priest, but he worried that without Rinaldi's store of knowledge, he wouldn't be informed enough to deal with any unexpected ripples in the mana flow. But the priest had come to the mountain anyway, as moral support prior to the actual working. When the time came he would take his place in one of the carefully chosen lookout points around the perimeter.
Hart would be out there, too. They had all decided that the magic would be purer without mixing her hermetic tradition into the basically shamanic ritual. Pure magic was strong magic, and Sam wanted all the strength he could get into tonight's. He wished he knew more shamans he could trust even as far as he did Rikki and Manx, but those two would be all the help he had tonight.
At least they wouldn't be disturbed. Father Rinaldi professed no particular skill as a scout, but the priest was acutely observant, and his astral sight would be an invaluable aid. Then there were Hart, Ghost, and Gray Otter, all professionals. No Council troops would approach unseen.
Forcing away his worries and concerns, Sam returned his concentration to what he was doing. Colored sand dribbled from his fingers to fall to the ground, each grain taking its place in a growing, intricate pattern. The site would be ready soon, but only barely soon enough. He'd spent most of the last two days here, laying out the patterns with Father Rinaldi's help and consecrating the site in preparation for the ritual. The sand paintings were the last step, and they could not have been done before tonight.
The priest finished his inspection of the clearing and. came up behind Sam. 'The paintings look good.' 'I guess so. I'm not much of an artist.' 'The intent and the symbolism are more important than the rendering.' Rinaldi laid an encouraging hand on Sam's shoulder. 'The picture is fine.'
Sam frowned. 'I wish we didn't need to put Raven in it. He's Trickster as well as Transformer.'
'This is not the time to reopen that discussion. Raven is a powerful totem, especially here in the Northwest of North America. We designed this ritual to incorporate as many elements as possible from as many traditions as could be brought together. Raven belongs here.' ,'I know.' Sam let the last of the black sand dribble from his fingers, completing the dark image of the bird.
'I'm just nervous, I guess. Want everything to go right.'
'So do we all, Sam.'' Rinaldi scanned the sky. ' 'It's almost time.'
Sam checked the height of the orange moon and nodded. He stared at it for a minute, massaging cramped muscles, then gathered his jars of sand back into their carrying case. By the time he'd stowed the case in his pack Rinaldi was gone, and the clearing was quiet except for the night sounds.
Sam whispered the words that would set the first glimmers of power alight in the medicine circle. A faint glow, all but lost in the growing moonlight, suffused the clearing. The ritual ground was five meters across, its boundary marked by a ring of small stones. Smaller shapes lay just inside the ring at each of the cardinal points. At the northern point was a bare, circular patch of ground on which sat a tall ritual drum. The southern point had a similar patch, but this one contained a multicolored rug on which lay a long wooden flute. The eastern area was a man-sized and -shaped outline of stones, head to the center. The western shape was the same, but the outline was half again as large. A third bare patch, bounded by a ring of red sand, lay in the middle of the ring like a hub. In its center, marking the heart of the medicine circle, sat the opal Sam had taken from the cave, aglow with moonlight and magic. Between the central patch and each of the outer areas was a circular sand painting.
The soft padding of footsteps sounded from the path as the other shamans entered the clearing and nodded their readiness to Sam. He nodded back. Rikki stepped into the medicine ring and took his place in the drum circle. Rikki's music, unlike Rinaldi's accompaniment to Sam's astral voyage, would not be simply for mood. Tonight's music would have its own magic. Manx entered the flute circle and seated herself on the rug. She arranged her long black hair over the shawl around her shoulders and settled her necklaces and pendants to her satisfaction before picking up the flute.
Starting from the feet of the larger outline, Sam walked halfway around the outside of the great circle, chanting the. opening song of the ritual. At the smaller outline he pivoted and completed the circle backward. Rikki began a steady drumbeat, and Sam repeated bis course. This time he added extra steps, making his progress a solemn dance. Manx's haunting flute music accompanied the third circumnavigation of the ring, and Sam's steps became quicker. The glow of the magelight grew stronger with each pass until the clearing was nearly as bright as day.
Chanting, Sam entered the medicine circle at the feet of the large outline, crossing it and a band of red sand that bisected the sand painting to reach the center. He paused to touch the opal, then continued on, crossing a second sand painting and the smaller outline. At its foot and still within the outer ring, he crouched facing the center, changing the chant to the calling song.
Opposite him, outside the circle, Janice stepped out of the darkness.
'Welcome, Wolf,' he said. 'Join us in our magic.' 'Willingly,' she replied, then stepped over the boundary rocks and into the larger outline. She lay down on her back, head toward the center of the ring. Sam walked the inner boundary of the circle to close it magically. Then he walked around Janice, sprinkling her with herbs to complete the seal. Returning to the central area, he sealed himself in.
There was little room in the circle; his crossed legs nearly touched the opal. He reached out, laying the fingers of both hands on the gemstone. Pushing himself into trance, he felt for Dog's presence. He wanted his totem's strength to add to the gathered power, but the fickle presence remained aloof. As you wish, old hound. With the focus stone and the ritual, there would be magic enough. Rikki took up the harmony chant in his squeaky, shrill voice while Manx's flute purred a haunting counter-melody. Distantly, he heard his own voice begin the transformation song. Sam let himself drift, gathering power. Anchoring himself through the opal, he gathered the strands to weave them into a shining pattern. Under his shirt Sam's fossil tooth thumped against his chest, and he merged its aural image into the configuration, enmeshing it in the net. Foundation complete, he reached toward distant influences and warped them into conformation with his will.
Clothed in scintillant power, he turned to Janice. She was only an aural image of ill-defined shape. Beneath the surface he felt the lurking darkness of the wendigo nature warring with the struggling but weakening human soul. He wrapped her in the power, co-cooning her like a caterpillar. Soon, he sang, she would emerge a butterfly.
When he called her forth, she made the ritual responses. Obeying his order, she stood and crossed from the larger to the smaller outline, skirting the central area as she went, then lay down again. Sam felt the surging power and struggled to guide it, trying with all his might to mold it to his desire. For all his attempts to control it, the power remained unfocused as they reached the crucial point of the song. Then the threshold had been crossed, the passage made, and there was nothing to do but sing the conclusion of the ritual. The voice of the flute softened to silence, while the drum, steady and insistent, shifted to a new rhythm that called Sam back from the realms of power.
He opened his eyes. Janice lay to his left, overflowing from the smaller stone outline. She remained a wendigo. All the preparation and sacrifice had been in vain. The ritual had failed.
A screech, seeming to encompass Sam's despair and rage, shredded the night and ripped the music into silence.
A huge humanoid shape bounded from the darkness to stand hunched at the edge of the medicine circle.
Its long, ape-like arms flailed. One gnarled hand held a tree limb that it swept back and forth, scattering the stones of the outer ring.
