Chapter Four: Careful what you wish for...
Quotes:
"That made it worse, somehow." –2,2 All Hallows by Rachel Caine
"The hill itself was visible for miles." –2,2 Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett
Wish Granted
It was all her fault, Nicci knew. That made it worse, somehow. The whole situation.
"Sex magic," Rahl hissed, staring at the witch, Shota. Nicci scowled at her, wishing she could blame the inferior sorceress. But no. Someone like her, hampered by insufficient Han, insufficient imagination, would never be competition for Nicci.
"My Lord?" the Mord'Sith asked solicitously.
"Our powers are equalized," he explained quickly, pacing now. Nicci noticed that a fold of his floor-length vest was bundled awkwardly upward, exposing a long expanse of leg…her eyes followed it before she could stop herself.
"The spells of transference will never work again," he continued. "Nor would a dacra. The energies must have been unstable, and then last night they'll have settled between us. Equally, most likely." He scowled.
Nicci grinned, just because he was so annoyed—she wasn't exactly happy about it, either; she'd had a plan whereby she'd steal back her Han from him soon—but at least he couldn't take any more. And she likely still had the Han of her dead 'Sisters'—or maybe not. Still—she had her wits.
While Rahl paced, the Mord'Sith trying to help and the witch provoking him—Nicci sensed it would be minutes before he gave in and tortured Shota—Nicci slid quietly out of her bonds. Once free of their magic-dampening effect, she closed her eyes and willed herself to be outside the walls of Rahl's castle.
When she opened her eyes again, she lay on the ground for a long moment before telling herself sternly, "This changes nothing." She got up, frowned, and waved a hand. Leaves spun together off their trees and formed a dress to cover her nakedness.
Nicci started walking.
Hours later, she was still walking. She didn't know precisely where she was going, just that she would know it when she got there. She was never going to be in someone's power again. She had a plan.
When the sun dipped over the horizon, Nicci sank down to the ground, asleep before she was horizontal.
And she dreamed…
Nicci was walking again. But this time she had a clearly defined goal: the pentagram on top of the hill. She couldn't see it, but she could sense it. The hill itself was visible for miles.
As is the nature of dreams, Nicci traveled those miles in one step. Now she stood on top of the hill, in front of the pentagram. On the other side stood a woman. Dark hair, white dress…but not the Mother Confessor. Nicci frowned, feeling the power emanating from the woman.
"Who are you?"
Don't you know? The woman did not speak so much as shout; though Nicci heard nothing, the words seemed to appear on the inside of her skull.
Nicci stared. It couldn't be—but who else could it be? If this was a trick—
"You never answered my prayers," she accused. "What could you have to say to me now?"
You are on the brink of a great journey. You seek a boon only I can grant.
"No," Nicci shook her head. "There are lots of ways…I heard about this place, when I was in the Palace of the Prophets—the Temple of the Winds…"
You do not believe you deserve this gift. The woman smiled at her, and Nicci felt warmth spread throughout her body. You're right. You don't. But you need it—to protect the child you carry.
"Child?" Nicci repeated numbly. "What?"
You are henceforth immune to the Rada'Han.
"What child?" Nicci gasped. "You can't do this to me!"
She woke. The Creator's image was burned on her eyelids.