she calls that her window spell,” said the wizard, not sounding the least surprised.
Before Tobin could question him further, the witch stepped from the trees to meet them. She always knew when they were coming.
Dirty and gap-toothed, dressed in a shapeless brown dress decorated with polished deer teeth, she looked more beggar than witch. Squinting up at them, she shook her head and grinned. “You keesas has no breakfast. Come, I feed you.”
As if it were just another day and nothing strange had ever happened between them, she turned and walked back into the trees. Tobin and Arkoniel tethered their horses and hurried after her on foot. Another of the witch’s peculiar magics guarded her camp. In all the time Tobin had known her, she had never used the same path twice, and he and Ki had never been able to find their way to her on their own. He wondered if Arkoniel knew how.
After many twists and turns, they came out in the clearing where her oak house stood. He’d forgotten how huge it was. Grandmother oak, Lhel called it. The trunk was as wide as a small cottage, and a natural split had hollowed a great space inside the trunk without killing it. A few leathery, copper-colored leaves still fluttered on the upper branches, and the ground around it was strewn with acorns. A fire crackled near the low opening that served as Lhel’s door. She disappeared inside for a moment, returning with a bowl of dried meat strips and a few wrinkled pippins.
Tobin wasn’t interested in food, but Lhel put the bowl in his hands and wouldn’t say another word until he and Arkoniel had done as they were told.
“You come now,” she said, going back to the oak. Arkoniel rose to follow, but she forestalled him with a look.
Inside, another small fire burned in a pit at the center of the packed-earth floor. Lhel pulled the deerskin door flap down and sat on the pelt-covered pallet beside the fire, patting the place beside her. When Tobin joined her, she turned his face to the light and studied him a moment, then opened the neck of his tunic to inspect the scar.
“Is good,” she said, then pointed down at his lap. “You see more blood?”
Tobin blushed and shook his head. “That won’t happen again, will it?”
“Someday later. But you may feel moontide in the belly.”
Tobin remembered the ache between his hipbones that had driven him here. “I don’t like that. It hurts.”
Lhel chuckled. “No girl like that.”
Tobin shivered at the word, but Lhel didn’t seem to notice. Reaching into the shadows behind her, she handed him a small pouch containing dried bluish green leaves. “Akosh. If pains come, you make tea with just this much, no more.” She showed him a generous pinch of leaves and mimed crumbling them into a cup.
Tobin stuck the bag inside his tunic, then stared down at his clasped hands. “I don’t want this, Lhel. I don’t want to be a girl. And I don’t want to be—queen.” He could hardly get the word out.
“You not change your fate, keesa.”
“Fate? You did this. You and the wizards!”
“Goddess Mother and your Lightbearer tell it must be so. That make fate.”
Tobin looked up to find her watching him with wise, sad eyes. She pointed skyward. “The gods be cruel, no? To you and Brother.”
“Brother! Did Arkoniel tell you what he did? I’m never going to call him again. Never! I’ll bring you the doll. You keep him.”
“No, you will. You must. Souls tied tight.” Lhel locked her hands together.
Tobin’s hands curled to white-knuckled fists on his knees. “I hate him!”
“You need him.” Lhel took his hands and spoke in his mind without words, the way she always did when she wanted to be clear. “You and he must be together for the magic to hold. He is cruel. What else could he be, angry and alone all the time and seeing you live the life denied him? Perhaps you can understand a little, now that you know the truth?”
Tobin didn’t want to understand, or to forgive but her words struck home all the same. “You hurt him, when you sewed the bone into my chest. He cried blood.”
Lhel grimaced. “He was not meant to be, child. I’ve done all I could for him, but he’s been the burden of my heart since you were born.”
“Your burden?” Tobin sputtered. “You weren’t there when he was hurting me, hurting my mother and father and driving servants away—And he almost killed Ki!” The fire blurred before him as tears welled up. “Have you seen Ki? He won’t wake up!”
“He will. And you will keep the doll and care for Brother.”
Tobin wiped angrily at his eyes. “It’s not fair!”
“Hush, keesa!” she snapped, pulling her hands away from his. “What gods care for ‘fair’? Fair I stay here, far from my people? Live in tree? For you, I do this. For you we all suffer.”
Tobin shrank back as if he’d been slapped. She’d never spoken to him like that; no one had.
“You be queen for Skala. That your fate! Would you abandon your people?” She stopped and shook her head, gentle again. “You young, keesa. Too young. This will end. When you take off Brother skin, you both be free then.”
“But when?”
“I no see. Illior tell you, maybe.” She stroked his cheek, then took his hand and pressed it to her right breast. It was soft and heavy under the coarse wool. “You will be a woman one day, keesa.” Her voice was a dark caress in his mind. “I see the fear in your heart, fear you’ll lose your power. Women have power, too. Why do you think your moon god made queens for Skala? They were all warriors, your ancestors. Never forget that. Women carry the moon in their blood tide, too, and in their heart blood.”
She touched the inside of her wrist where the fine blue veins showed through. A thin cresecent moon appeared there, etched in fine black lines. “That you now—sliver moon, most of you dark.” She moved her finger and a circle appeared, just touching the outer curve of the crescent. “But when you grown like belly moon, you will know your power.”
With the eye of an artist, Tobin knew there must be more to balance the design—a waning moon—but she didn’t show him or speak of it. Instead, she touched his flat belly. “Here you will make great queens.” Her eyes met his and Tobin saw respect there. “Teach them about my people, Tobin. Teach your wizards, too.”
“Iya and Arkoniel know. They went to you when they needed help.”
Lhel let out a snort and sat back. “Not many like them,” she said aloud. Drawing the silver knife from her belt, she pricked her left thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. With it she drew a crescent on Tobin’s brow, then enclosed it in a circle. “Mother protect you, keesa.” She kissed the mark she’d made. “You go back now.”
As Tobin left the clearing with Arkoniel he paused at the spring, wanting to see what the blood mark looked like. There was no sign of it; perhaps it had vanished when she kissed him. He looked for that other face, too, and was glad when he saw only his own.
Tobin spent the rest of the day with Ki, watching Cook and Nari gently spooning broth between his lips and changing the thick woolen pads underneath him when he soiled himself. It hurt to see his friend so helpless. Ki was thirteen, and wouldn’t think much of being treated like a baby.
Tobin wanted nothing more than to be alone, but everyone seemed determined to look after him. Tharin brought modeling wax and sat with him. Sergeant Laris and some of the other men came up, too, offering to play bakshi and knucklebones, but Tobin didn’t want to. They all tried to cheer him up, joking and talking to Ki as if he could hear them, but that only made Tobin feel worse. He didn’t want to talk about horses or hunting, not even with Tharin. It seemed like lying, to speak of such ordinary things. Lhel’s words haunted him, making him feel like a stranger