Page 40 of Triadic

"Yes," he answered. "It hit me, but the effects were much stronger on Wren. Uli's worried the power is changing Wren in strange ways. I just think it's advancing him—I've noticed my memory techniques come more easily to me ever since this happened. I think the power moves through the keeper of the lanterns, and as it channels through, it blesses them if they have worked to develop themselves spiritually."

"Wren has already improved, at least in his ability to cast phantasms," Corbi spoke up. "That was something he struggled to do at all and was one of the reasons his mentor Ingeborg dropped him off at the monastery."

"The little bird wasan etheric phantasm, like a spell he cast with his life force?" Peter clarified, and we nodded confirmation.

We hiked in silence a few minutes, and I pondered something, sliding the pieces around to see if any fit together.

"I wonder if it seeps through connections, from Wren to me," I said aloud, keeping my voice down. "I managed to step through the junctures between the subtle planes and find Peter in the Otherworld, then Corbi's shout was enough of an anchor to grab, and I somehow brought us back."

Awariye stopped, those fairy lights in his eyes dancing as he gaped at me. "That's how the instructors saved Wren that night."

Corbi put a hand on my lower back and sent me his look of pride.

"Maybe the power primes you in advance to draw you in," Ceridor said, and his words sent a chill running down my spine.

"I'll take a look at Wren's changes," I offered, unsure of myself, or at least that I would be able to see anything useful and on par with the instructors still left at the monastery.

"The power—at least to me—doesn't feel sinister," said Awariye. "It's foreign, and clearly from a higher plane, but I can funnel it through via certain hymns and songs. Wren found an old poem from the twentieth century that works for it. Our pet theory is that while it seems to protect theDanubian King, it might also be searching for a way to ground itself out in the material plane in order to help Mother Nature."

"What makes you think that?" I asked, wondering if the surrounding areas would have a bountiful harvest.

Awariye gave a shrug. "The poems that seem to work are nature-based ones. I've been all through the hymns to the planets and the seasons, even triedOn Walden PondandLeaves of Grass. The more lush it is, the more likely it is to work."

"It could be important if the poem's author was a mage, and thus whether the composing of the poem was a magical act," added Ceridor.

That sounded plausible. "Either way, I have quite a bit I can search for at the library. If they allow us back, I suppose."

"They'd better," said Corbi.

Igor slowed, and we gathered behind him.

Chapter Twenty: Peter

Somewhere up ahead we heard awoof, and the world's strangest-looking dog bounded down the path toward us. He was large as a Great Dane with a black-and-white body spotted like a cow, yet his head was mostly brown, and he had lots of wrinkles and folds on his face.

"Bello," Awariye scolded as the dog stood up on his hind legs and slobbered kisses all over the bard. "Not much of a guard dog if you leave your post, now are you?"

We continued up the path until we came upon a castle ruin, the stones looking like they could have been there for centuries if not millennia. Most of the castle grounds were piecemeal, and it looked like a very cold place to be, with snow still up to our ankles, even as the valleys were already moving into spring.

Igor led us past the outer walls and to the innermost structure, which surprisingly seemed to have a complete set of walls, and a roof that must have been added later.

Marit blew his breath out, and I slowed alongside him.

Awariye turned. "You can feel it, too?"

Not everyone in our party, but Marit was definitely reacting to something. I tuned in and felt a presence nearby, a kind of weight. I wondered why we weren't continuing.

Then right where Birdie had spent the last few days on my shoulder, there came a voice out of nowhere. "Come in from the cold."

"Got a fire going?" I asked.

"Sort of," came the reply.

We passed narrow slit windows that belied dancing flames within. Igor led us around to a thick wooden door and held it open for us.

Inside was a massive table, upon which sat seven bronze bowls. In each of the bowls burned a large candle, and over each one was a wire netting that could be hooked and carried. They were lanterns.

Bello leapt past us and over to a cloaked figure who stooped to pet him, only to have the enormous dog leap up and put paws on his shoulders, knocking his hood back. He had fine, light-brown hair that flopped about in waves and curls, tan skin, and bright hazel eyes.