Page 82 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

He set his jaw. If he remembered the spell correctly then, judging by the positioning of the sigils and the speed with which they were rotating through and around each other, the summoning was already more than half complete.

“Come on!” Fabian said, taking several steps forward. “We’ve got to get moving if we’re going to reach them on time.”

But it was hopeless. At least three miles of life-drained landscape stood between them and where the spell was being crafted over the site of Old Mr. Grimm’s grave. They would never reach it on time, unless . . .

Nigel knelt. He planted his palms in the earth and, closing his eyes, sent his awareness deep, deep down into the dusty soil. Down to the inner life of Garden. He winced, hissing through his teeth.

Pain.

So much pain. Struggling, bursting, fighting, suffering.

He felt it all, channeled through his hands into his heart. It made him gasp, brought tears forming in his eyes. They fell down his cheeks, dripping into the blistered ground. But where his tears landed, little specks of green momentarily flared and grew.

“Garden,” Nigel whispered, “you love her. You love her as I do. Because you are me and I am you.”

He felt the shuddering, suffering acreage rumble with understanding beneath his hands.

“We have to be strong,” Nigel said. “Just a little longer now. We have to be brave. For her sake.”

Clouds churned overhead, lashing against the storm of churning magic.

“Garden, make a path,” Nigel said. “Make a path and carry me to her.Now.”

Garden struggled. It was in so much agony as its lifeforce was drained away by those cruel sorcerers. Those narrow-minded fools, who poured everything within reach into the Dire, without a care for the life and sentience and majesty of this place. To them, it was nothing more than a battery. An energy-source to be exploited. But Garden was so much more. And it fought them. Fought with everything it had, valiantly resisting, until . . .

A path opened up.

Fabian yelped in surprise. “What isthat?”

Nigel scrambled hastily to his feet. “You should probably wait here,” he told the aunties. “Stay close to the door, and—”

“Not a chance!” Arabella declared, brandishing her teapot.

“The Green Mother asks, not for fearlessness, but for a valiant heart,”Aurora stated firmly.

Fabian glanced at the two aunties like they’d each grown an extra head. But he sighed and, turning to his brother again, said, “You’re a madman, Nigey.” Then he set his jaw. “Let’s march into hell together, shall we?”

Nigel knew it was just an expression. But he couldn’t help, in that moment, wishing his brother had chosen a slightly less apt phrase.

He set out down the path, his legs taking long strides even as Garden carried him swiftly over the acres. There was little to see, no glimpses of lovely vistas to grace the eye. It was all funneled out so fast, and only the farthest reaches remained as yet untouched. Nigel wondered if the waterfalls were drained, if the lily pool lay dry. So much for the children who would one day play there . . . but no! He wouldn’t think of that. He would save Luna. There could be no doubt of it. He would do what he must, though how he would do it, he couldn’t say for certain. He had enough magic for one spell, and while he would like it to be that nice incineration spell he’d been toying with all along, how could he use it without incinerating Luna along with everyone else?

No, he must find a way to drag Jastira’s soul out of Luna’s body without harming Luna. And he must do it without any active sorcery, because he was going to need everything he had to perform that one terrible act of Infernus Magic. At least that would be easier to perform now that he meant to pay his own soul immediately, rather than try to save it for later. It made the spell much simpler.

The path brought them close enough, he could discern figures in the distance. Then, with a shudder and a judder, the path abruptly fell apart. Too much of Garden’s essence was drained this near to the center of the spell. It simply didn’t have anything left to give him.

So Nigel, the aunties, and Fabian all tumbled out into the dry soil. Nigel was up like a shot, however, while the others were still trying to get their limbs under them. They had landed at the top of a little valley, which the spell had created by sheer force and pressure around the site of Alfred P. Grimm’s final resting place. The air was murky, so full of shivering energy as the exchangewas performed, and Nigel found it difficult to see anything. He thought he could just about discern Luna in the center down there, bound to his father’s overturned tombstone. There were ten or so Dark Sorcerers surrounding her, and Calista Anguish stood near her head. Energy streams flowed out from each of them, feeding into the spell while they worked to transfer Dire force and power their strange sigils.

Nigel’s eyes narrowed. Only ten cowled figures. But there had been thirteen at the cottage.

“Never mind!”

A flurry of black wings carried in on the wings of a magic storm. Nigel looked up to see Debbie, descending fast. He held up his arm, and she landed, digging her talons in and screaming in his face.“Never mind!”

“Where?” Nigel demanded at once.

She turned her beak, pointing to a place at the top of the valley, not far from their current position. A sorcerer stood there, defensive spells at the ready. Waiting for the Grimshade Lord, no doubt. Debbie angled her beak again and again, pointing out two more sentries. Three total, standing watch over the newly-formed valley. They had not yet spied Nigel and his little band of would-be heroes. But the instant they tried to head down into the valley, they would be spotted.

Nigel set his teeth. Though he hated to hesitate, even for a moment, the truth was, he didn’t know what to do. It would be different if he was in his full power. He could just go storming in then, and none of these bastards had magic enough to stop him, but as it was . . .