Magda led him onward until she reached a familiar, ancient oak. She passed just beneath a fat, low limb and warned Merritt to watch his head. He ducked under as he followed after her. The trail wound its way down across a band of open ledges and then through a narrow cut in a screen of cedar trees. Dropping down a steep but brief slope, they arrived at a broad, flat, open area with scattered tufts of grass. In the spring it was often flooded at the windward end of the pond, but by high summer it was dry and open.

Lightning flashes revealed the pond before them and the towering stands of trees to the sides that sheltered them somewhat from the wind. In the flashes of lightning, Magda could see that to the right the surface of the pond was thickly layered with lily pads riding the choppy surface. Off to the left stood a band of rushes bending and whipping with each gust. Stretching out from the gravel shoreline was the black expanse of the pond, with a short cliff backing it at the far side.

“It’s perfect,” Merritt said as he looked around.

A bright, crackling flash of lightning, followed by booming thunder, silenced all the night creatures. When the thunder rolled away into the distance it left an interlude of quiet in its wake. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the small waves lapping the shore. The quiet was quickly broken by yet more rolling thunder.

When Magda turned back, she saw Merritt down on his knees, smoothing the sandy dirt among clumps of long grass. Once he had a clean, flat area, he stood and brushed his hands clean.

“Set the lantern down over here on this rock,” he said, pointing beside the area he had just smoothed out.

As Magda was setting down the lantern, the chilly air rang with the sound of the sword being drawn. The blade coming out of the scabbard made a uniquely menacing sound that sent a chill up her spine. In the faint lantern light she could see Merritt standing with his feet spread and the sword in one hand. A bright flash of lightning cast his shadow across the area he had prepared.

“You know how to draw the Grace, right?” he asked her as he lifted his fist, showing her the ring he wore with the Grace engraved on it.

“Merritt, I’m not gifted.”

“I told you, it isn’t necessary. I will be the one doing what is needed with magic, but you will have to be the one to draw the Grace. That’s all I will need you to do.”

“Well, since I’m not gifted I never had reason to draw the Grace, but I’ve seen it often enough. It’s not that complicated. I shouldn’t have any problem at all drawing it.”

“It needs to be drawn in blood.”