Quintspinner by Dianne Greenlay Page B

across the wooden table from her. Cassie, too, sat at Tess’s side, staring wide-eyed at their strange hostess. The woman seemed lost within her tunic’s folds. Scrawny from malnutrition perhaps, yet her overall structure was diminutive, child-like. Even so, there was a quiet sense of power about her.
    “Ye’ve no idea, do you lass?” the woman quietly asked Tess.
    “About what?” Tess had dozens of questions of her own to ask and she hadn’t the faintest understanding of the woman’s question or where to start with her own.
    “Do ye even know about the Source and the power of the Spinners for ones like us?” The Crone leaned forward until her nose nearly touched Tess’s. Tess felt helplessly caught in the woman’s gaze. “D’ye ever have thoughts that are not your own? Voices inside?” She tapped her own shrouded head and her blazing eyes searched Tess’s face. “Ye’ve not paid attention to them, but ye will and ye’ll be given what ye need to hear for the moment,” she murmured.
    “I–I don’t know what you are talking about,” Tess stammered. “What’s a Spinner? Do you mean like a weaver woman? And that name you called me back in the market? How did you know those men would bring Cassie back here anyway and who were they–”
    “A Spinner!” The Crone’s voice boomed with authority and her hand shot out in front of the girls’ faces, her fingers curling into a fist and presenting the ring on her fourth finger. Only the arthritic enlargement of the knuckle prevented it from slipping off her skeletal digit.
    Cassie gasped. “That’s the ring I saw before!”
    Even in the shadowy darkness of the tiny room, the ring caught the faint candlelight and appeared to glow along its outer golden bands, while the inner silver one sparkled intermittently with the bluish glow of its imbedded gems.
    The Crone stroked her ring with the fingers of her other hand and after rubbing it and warming it between her fingertips, slowly twisted the inner band. The braided band spun around her finger within the golden track, and Tess thought that she could hear a high pitched hum. It made a slight tickle in her ears.
    “Do ye hear it, lass?” the woman asked and studied Tess’s face. “Ye can, can’t ye?” She cackled and nodded. “This be a spinner ring. And one who can learn its power be a Spinner. Not anyone who wears a spinner has the power right off, but the power can be learned, can be harnessed.”
    The tickle in Tess’s ears was becoming uncomfortable. “What has this to do with us?” she demanded.
    “The mark. The one ye carry on the left side of your neck. Tis your destiny. A spinner ring strengthens the wearer’s intentions, be they good or bad, and when worn alongside another spinner ring by one who has practiced, the power grows.
    “What others? What power?” The tickle inside her ears had become an annoying itch.
    “A Spinner comes to know things, senses ‘em before they happen. The power can be used to make healing happen, and it can be used to manifest desires. But some are born more apt than others. As ye have been. As I have been.”
    The Crone withdrew her hand and held the silver band still. Tess’s itch stopped. The old woman lit a candle and stared into its flame for several minutes before speaking. When she began, she closed her eyes, though her lids fluttered. Her voice seemed stronger, much lower in pitch, as though belonging to another. Gooseflesh rose on the girls’ arms as a voice more commanding, its inflection far different from the old woman’s, flowed from her throat.
    “The story of the Spinners began from the time when oceans rose, dividing up the land. An ancient brotherhood existed then. It is told that they were skilled in the powers of their minds. This thought-power was weak at first among initiates but always became more effective with practice. The practice was taught among them in many forms. Some called it chanting, some spoke of meditation, some of