Jeff woke the next morning and crawled out from under the thicket, groaning. His aching muscles protested the movement, stiff from sleeping on the hard ground. He stumbled over to the river and splashed his face with water to wake himself up. He’d much rather have had a hot cup of khlour, but that was another of the growing list of things he’d forgotten in his haste to leave. After last night, he didn’t have a fire to make it on or, for that matter, a pot to make it in either. He shook his head, rubbed sleep from his eyes and splashed his face with more water trying to make the ache in his head go away.

Back at his camp, he pulled a handful of berries and a couple of tubo roots from his pack. He ate the berries and one of the crunchy, starchy roots and put the other in his pocket for later. He went back to the river for a drink, and to wash the taste of the root from his mouth. Returning to camp, he collected those things he’d missed in the dark the night before. Among them was the almost empty wine bottle. Perhaps his discomfort wasn’t totally related to sleeping on the ground, he thought. He didn’t have any more wine, so he couldn’t test the theory. No point worrying about it then, he thought, and dismissed the idea.

He emptied the dregs from the wine bottle and made a third trip to the river to rinse it out and fill it with water. Jamming the cork back in he returned, yet again, to his camp and stuffed the bottle into his pack along with the rest of the things he’d collected. Jeff pulled the pack onto his shoulders which, after the abuse of yesterday and last night, began to ache immediately and picked up his walking stick. Taking a deep breath trying to clear his head, he set off upstream.

His feet began to twinge almost immediately. The herbs he’d used last night might have soothed the blisters, but it wouldn’t cure them instantaneously. Nevertheless, wincing in the bright morning sunlight, he walked on, searching both sides of the valley for cliffs, caves, anything that promised shelter.

He was still walking when the sun, beating down from overhead, and the rumbling in his stomach told him it was noon. He’d found two possible shelters but, on closer investigation, neither one had been what he needed. Scooping a few handfuls of water from the river, he promised himself a few minutes of rest. Just sitting down was a relief, and dropping his pack to the ground eased his throbbing back and shoulders. Opening the pack he pulled out another tubo root, an apple and a bit of ham and slowly ate.

This was not how it was supposed to be going, he thought, as he pulled his boots off to massage his feet. A short walk, a couple of days work, then a successful summoning and his future was set. That was the plan. Sitting here eating tubo roots, with blisters, an aching back and likely a nasty sunburn was not how he’d imagined things would turn out. He couldn’t believe how wilfully naïve he’d been. Still, it could have been worse. He could have been back on the farm. At least this way he had a chance to fulfil his dreams. Not giving up was the key. Keep trying, keep pushing forward, keep reaching for the dream. He might still fail in the end, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to give it his best shot first.

With a sigh, he carefully worked his boots back onto his abused feet, picked up his pack and continued his trek upriver.

**********

It was nearing evening when Jeff spotted what appeared to be a cave in a cliff wall at the end of a gorge leading into the river valley. It took him most of the remaining daylight to scramble up the gorge to the cliff face and locate the cave entrance. He sniffed the air and peered carefully into the cave, but didn’t find any sign that it was currently occupied. He entered the cave, dimly lit by the setting sun, and carefully made his way towards the back. The rock floor was uneven, covered in pebbles and dirt that made it tricky for him to maintain his footing.

Towards the back, the cave curved off down and to the right and the waning sunlight only made the shadows seem deeper. Reluctantly, Jeff opened his pack and pulled out a torch. A few strikes with the firestarter, and the torch caught, the flickering light making dancing images on the walls of the cave. It didn’t stretch that much further back, and just around the corner, the cave opened out into a single chamber. The floor was much smoother there and, if his ears didn’t deceive him, there was a trickle of water somewhere within.

This would be perfect, he thought. He wouldn’t be able to count on sunlight inside the chamber, and he didn’t have enough candles or torches to provide light for as long as he’d be there, so he’d have to build a fire. Jeff dropped his pack and walking stick to the floor, snuffed out the torch, and left the cave to gather as much brushwood as possible before nightfall.

He collected four armfuls of dead grasses, twigs, branches and sticks before the dark drove him back to the cave. It wouldn’t last the three days he’d need for the ritual, but it would last the night and he could collect more tomorrow. Making a small pile of kindling near the entrance to the chamber, Jeff lit a small fire. He’d be warm enough in this cave, out of the wind and wrapped in his blanket. He only really needed it for light.

Jeff watched the smoke collecting against the ceiling with a bit of concern. He soon realised that, because the chamber was somewhat lower than the entrance to the cave, the majority of the smoke was simply flowing out through the cave mouth. He was relieved that he wasn’t going to breathing more smoke than air by morning.

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He pulled a few items of food and the now-water bottle from his pack, and ate mechanically while he considered his next steps. There wasn’t much water left in the bottle, and it was at least a good hour’s walk back to the river so, after finishing up the water, Jeff went and put it under the trickle he’d found in one side of the chamber. It would take a while to fill under that tiny dribble, so he’d probably have to rotate bottles to keep himself hydrated.

With nothing left to do, Jeff wrapped himself in his blanket, curled up on the floor and tried to sleep.

**********

Jeff spent the next morning, having woken in the pre-dawn with screaming muscles and an urgent need to relieve himself, collecting as much brushwood as he could find within walking distance. Although the work left him fatigued, at least it had helped him loosen up his stiff muscles. He’d learned his lesson from the bush incident though, and piled it up against one wall of the cave, opposite where he’d lit the fire. Looking down at the piles of brush, he felt a small thrill of achievement. It wasn’t much, perhaps, but it was something he’d done with his own hands.

After a light lunch, Jeff used one of the leafy branches he’d found to sweep the rocky floor of the cave as clean as he could. He’d be drawing glyphs, symbols and patterns there, so it was important to have the floor as clean as possible under these conditions. Normally, most magic was done in a tiled room which was easy to wash down and prepare, a fact that generations of apprentices had given sincere thanks for. Jeff had certainly said his share of “It could be worse”, while cleaning and preparing the work room for Marilax.

While cleaning up, Jeff moved his pack and blankets over to the wall of the chamber. Nearer, but not too near, the fire. Looking at the blankets and considering how he’d woken that morning, Jeff headed outside to collect as much grass and leaves as he could. It wouldn’t be a feather mattress, but after the past two days, it was certainly better than another night on the cold, stone floor.

At the end of all these preparations, Jeff was tired, grubby and sore. The angle of the light shining in the cave mouth told him that it was nearly evening, so Jeff decided to put off beginning the actual ritual preparations until tomorrow. With the time he was taking to prepare, it was clear that he was going to need more food and, although the trickle of water in the cave helped, it was unlikely to fully sustain him for three days.

He had a couple of hours light left before full dark, he thought. He could probably gather some more food. If he gathered on the way to the river, he could empty out the cider and fill those bottles with water and even have a quick bath. Starting the ritual the next day clean and refreshed was too tempting, so he grabbed a change of clothes, the bottles of cider and one of his empty food sacks. Collecting his walking staff from the cave entrance, Jeff began the trek to the river.

**********

After a much more comfortable night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, Jeff surveyed his preparations. He had plenty of brush for the fire, he had food to last the three days of the ritual and, supplemented by the trickle at the back of the cave, he had enough water to keep him hydrated as well. For the first time, looking at all he’d accomplished, he began to feel that he could actually pull this off. Refusing to go back was one thing, stubbornness and desperation combining to keep him pushing forward, but hope was quite another, regardless of how slim it appeared.

Jeff sat quietly, thinking back to what he’d read about summoning. The rules were far less strict than most other magic, with the focus seeming to be on what feels right, rather than a specific, repeatable formula. He looked the cave over, considering where he’d put the sand circles and the chalk diagrams, where he’d sit and which direction to face in, what order to add the various incenses and reagents to the brazier and the words he’d need to chant. Slowly, the full ritual began to coalesce in his mind.

He began with the brazier, setting it as best he could in the centre of the cave and putting a small amount of kindling in it. Next to that he folded one of his blankets. He’d be sitting here a great deal over the next three days and if he didn’t want to completely cut of all circulation to his legs, he’d need to sit on something other than the stone.

Next he drew the chalk diagrams. The swirling, sweeping patterns, etched in rainbow hues of chalk, churning outwards from the brazier, across the floor and up and around on the walls. After that he prepared the sand circles, carefully pouring finely sifted black sand around each of the primary intersections of the chalk patterns.

He was barely thinking by the time he began drawing glyphs. The ritual seemed to be taking on a life of its own, flowing through him and into the cave without his direction or volition. He drew a glyph at each minor node in the chalk diagram, and several within each of the black sand circles. Without any conscious effort, he stepped around and over the design, never treading on or smudging the careful preparations.

Jeff found himself standing near the fire, the fractal-like complexity of the diagram stretched out before him. It was impossible to comprehend, focusing on any area caused the rest of the pattern to shift and blur while trying to take in the whole of it was like attempting to reassemble an image caught in the shards of a fractured mirror. He had no idea how long he’d spent working, the time passing in a fugue-like blur and leaving him energised rather than fatigued. He was neither hungry nor thirsty, he was simply… focused, centred on what he was about to do, oblivious to all external distractions.

A small part of his mind told him that he should eat, drink and sleep, recover before he began the arduous ritual of summoning, but he gave it no thought. All that mattered was the ritual, the images dancing in his mind and… something… hovering at the edge of his consciousness, a blur seen only from the corner of the eye.

He was ready. It was time to begin.