her eyes. As they hissed behind their hands and pointed at her, Sora tried to take in as much of her surroundings as she could.
In the distance, a larger crowd had gathered around a low mound. Each person held a bowl in his or her hands. Sora couldn’t see what was in the bowls, but the mound, ten body lengths across, was made of sand and stood six hands tall. On top of the mound, seven people stood around the corpse of a young girl. Heavily tattooed and wearing shining copper necklaces, they were old and gray-headed, probably elders. One of the women braced her walking stick, then stepped forward to sprinkle powdered red ochre over the dead body. Her quavery old voice carried on the wind, but the crowd around Sora was too noisy; she couldn’t understand any of the words.
“Who died?” Sora asked Strongheart.
“Elder Littlefield’s niece. That is her family burial mound.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“A Night-goer cast a spell upon her. She suffered from the Rainbow Black.”
Sora searched her memory, struggling to recall everything she could about Loon People witches. She knew they were called “Night-goers,” but she’d never heard of the Rainbow Black.
“What is this illness? I don’t know it.”
“It is a dizziness where the victim sees rainbows, then falls down and jerks all over.” He pulled his gaze from the burial and studied her for several intense moments. “I have heard that you suffer from the Rainbow Black.”
She couldn’t find the words to speak.
“Your former husband told me,” he explained.
From the age of seven winters, an Evil Spirit had tormented Sora. As the world went black, two gleaming eyes burned to life inside her. It came like a glittering blue torrent spilling out of the night, and the next thing she knew she woke with a mouthful of blood feeling exhausted. She remembered nothing of what happened after the eyes sprang to life. During her tenth winter she’d named the creature the Midnight Fox. Her mother had told her that when the Fox came Sora fell to the ground and her jaws snapped together like a foaming-mouthed dog’s. Throughout her childhood, her mother had sent her to one Healer after another. She’d eaten so many Spirit Plants that even the smell of them now sickened her. As she’d grown up, the Fox seemed to come less often, but she still felt him watching her, always there, right behind her eyes, ready to leap for her throat when she least suspected it.
“Couldn’t you cure her?” She gestured to the burial mound. “You are, after all, the most Powerful priest in this region.”
He smiled sadly. “There are many Night-goers who are far more Powerful than I am.”
“Then what makes you think you can cure me?”
His smile faded. “I’m not sure I can. First I must determine
why your reflection-soul won’t stay home, what it’s afraid of.”
“Afraid of?”
“Yes. There’s something in your body that keeps driving it away. My task, if my people allow it, will be to find out what it is, and how it got inside you.”
The Fox …
“Can’t you give me a potion, some Spirit Plant, to make me remember?”
The mournful look he gave her told the answer was no.
And she realized that since she’d seen seven winters, she’d been begging people for a potion to fix her life. First, she’d begged her mother. Then she’d begged Flint. Yet no potion, no plant, no plea to the gods had been able to kill the monster that nested inside her. She had come to believe that she and the Fox were intertwined like ancient lovers whose limbs had grown together over the eons. If one of them died, she was certain the other would, too.
Elder Littlefield wept loudly as she wrapped the body of her niece in a bright cloth; then all seven elders gripped the blanket and helped to lower the girl into the grave. After the mourners walked away from the mound, the people who’d been standing below came forward to empty their bowls of sand into the hole, covering
In the distance, a larger crowd had gathered around a low mound. Each person held a bowl in his or her hands. Sora couldn’t see what was in the bowls, but the mound, ten body lengths across, was made of sand and stood six hands tall. On top of the mound, seven people stood around the corpse of a young girl. Heavily tattooed and wearing shining copper necklaces, they were old and gray-headed, probably elders. One of the women braced her walking stick, then stepped forward to sprinkle powdered red ochre over the dead body. Her quavery old voice carried on the wind, but the crowd around Sora was too noisy; she couldn’t understand any of the words.
“Who died?” Sora asked Strongheart.
“Elder Littlefield’s niece. That is her family burial mound.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“A Night-goer cast a spell upon her. She suffered from the Rainbow Black.”
Sora searched her memory, struggling to recall everything she could about Loon People witches. She knew they were called “Night-goers,” but she’d never heard of the Rainbow Black.
“What is this illness? I don’t know it.”
“It is a dizziness where the victim sees rainbows, then falls down and jerks all over.” He pulled his gaze from the burial and studied her for several intense moments. “I have heard that you suffer from the Rainbow Black.”
She couldn’t find the words to speak.
“Your former husband told me,” he explained.
From the age of seven winters, an Evil Spirit had tormented Sora. As the world went black, two gleaming eyes burned to life inside her. It came like a glittering blue torrent spilling out of the night, and the next thing she knew she woke with a mouthful of blood feeling exhausted. She remembered nothing of what happened after the eyes sprang to life. During her tenth winter she’d named the creature the Midnight Fox. Her mother had told her that when the Fox came Sora fell to the ground and her jaws snapped together like a foaming-mouthed dog’s. Throughout her childhood, her mother had sent her to one Healer after another. She’d eaten so many Spirit Plants that even the smell of them now sickened her. As she’d grown up, the Fox seemed to come less often, but she still felt him watching her, always there, right behind her eyes, ready to leap for her throat when she least suspected it.
“Couldn’t you cure her?” She gestured to the burial mound. “You are, after all, the most Powerful priest in this region.”
He smiled sadly. “There are many Night-goers who are far more Powerful than I am.”
“Then what makes you think you can cure me?”
His smile faded. “I’m not sure I can. First I must determine
why your reflection-soul won’t stay home, what it’s afraid of.”
“Afraid of?”
“Yes. There’s something in your body that keeps driving it away. My task, if my people allow it, will be to find out what it is, and how it got inside you.”
The Fox …
“Can’t you give me a potion, some Spirit Plant, to make me remember?”
The mournful look he gave her told the answer was no.
And she realized that since she’d seen seven winters, she’d been begging people for a potion to fix her life. First, she’d begged her mother. Then she’d begged Flint. Yet no potion, no plant, no plea to the gods had been able to kill the monster that nested inside her. She had come to believe that she and the Fox were intertwined like ancient lovers whose limbs had grown together over the eons. If one of them died, she was certain the other would, too.
Elder Littlefield wept loudly as she wrapped the body of her niece in a bright cloth; then all seven elders gripped the blanket and helped to lower the girl into the grave. After the mourners walked away from the mound, the people who’d been standing below came forward to empty their bowls of sand into the hole, covering
Similar Books
