spot."
Frost said nothing. She laid the hand on the table and backed away from it. Grisly work, cutting off a man's hand with only a knife. Hours dead, there was still plenty of blood in that limb. She'd gotten it all over the skirts Oona had loaned her. That's why she'd thought to buy the shawl, to make up for it. She'd used the bloodiest skirt as the wrapping to carry it in.
âI could read the cards for you,â Oona said suddenly. âMaybe I can get answers to your questions."
She looked at Oona, knowing the reasons behind that offer. Oona was a healer. What she was asking of the old woman went far beyond that, though, deep into the realms of sorcery. A Hand of Glory was not an easy thing to make. She could direct, but Oona would have to do the actual work. Frost dared not touch it until after it was completed or the magic would be nullified. It might be already, since it was she who had done the cutting.
âRead,â she said, then.
Oona restacked the cards on the table, shuffled them, and dealt. When they were all laid out, she frowned, reshuffled, and spread them again. Frost pulled up a stool and watched, a dull hope throbbing in her chest. She did not want to make a Hand if there was another way.
âHow did you learn the Descroiyo's art?â she whispered.
The old woman shrugged, gathered the cards, and reshuffled again. âHow does one learn anything?â she answered cryptically. She touched the cards to her breast this time, then to her lips. She breathed on them. Then, one by one, she turned them up.
First card, the half skull crowned with gold; then, a rose with bloodied thorns.
âI can see!â Frost muttered tersely; she bent closer to see the casting. âI can see! Korkyra's monarch and that's the rose garden at the palace! But is it Aki or Thogrin, and is that Aki's blood?"
Oona said nothing but turned another card: the hermit, dark-robed and alone on a mountain.
âThe dark-robed figure by the throne,â Frost cried excitedly, then scratched her chin. âOr maybe the intruder."
Oona looked up from the cards. Her hand paused with the next one drawn, but not turned. âSamidar, child..."
Frost smiled weakly and leaned away from the table. Oona waited a needless moment for emphasis, then returned Frost's smile and exposed the next cards.
A sword; a magic staff of power; the wheel of fortune; the three stars; the ring of fire. Oona grunted. The lovers; the demon. Oona stopped and stared. âThey don't fit,â she said at last. She tapped the last exposed card. âThis doesn't fit at all; the position is all wrong."
She swept the cards together and dealt them out again. Nine different ones, this time. Oona slammed her palm on the unfeeling wood and tried again.
âNo,â she said at last, her voice heavy with resignation. âA pattern starts to form, but then it breaks down."
âMaybe because I've handled the cards?â Frost offered nervously.
Oona shook her head. âYou can handle magical things. Ashur and Demonfang, for instance. You just can't make magic.â Her old eyes drew slowly to the hand still lying on a corner of the table. The flickering candlelight cast shadows of the upcurled fingers across the walls and ceiling. As the flame danced, the shadows seemed to beckon to them.
âI know about this thing you wantââshe spoke slowly, her voice strangely mutedââbut not how to make it."
âI'll guide you,â Frost answered with a shiver. âI've lost my witch-powers, but not my memory."
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Chapter Four
Â
Frost leaned forward in the stirrups and rubbed her backside. She'd made good time, arriving in the middle of the night, though she couldn't tell it by the sky. The stars were hidden behind a dense curtain of gray clouds. Not even the moon peeked through. She lifted her hand, turned the palm in several directions. No wind, either.
Down below Mirashai lay,
Frost said nothing. She laid the hand on the table and backed away from it. Grisly work, cutting off a man's hand with only a knife. Hours dead, there was still plenty of blood in that limb. She'd gotten it all over the skirts Oona had loaned her. That's why she'd thought to buy the shawl, to make up for it. She'd used the bloodiest skirt as the wrapping to carry it in.
âI could read the cards for you,â Oona said suddenly. âMaybe I can get answers to your questions."
She looked at Oona, knowing the reasons behind that offer. Oona was a healer. What she was asking of the old woman went far beyond that, though, deep into the realms of sorcery. A Hand of Glory was not an easy thing to make. She could direct, but Oona would have to do the actual work. Frost dared not touch it until after it was completed or the magic would be nullified. It might be already, since it was she who had done the cutting.
âRead,â she said, then.
Oona restacked the cards on the table, shuffled them, and dealt. When they were all laid out, she frowned, reshuffled, and spread them again. Frost pulled up a stool and watched, a dull hope throbbing in her chest. She did not want to make a Hand if there was another way.
âHow did you learn the Descroiyo's art?â she whispered.
The old woman shrugged, gathered the cards, and reshuffled again. âHow does one learn anything?â she answered cryptically. She touched the cards to her breast this time, then to her lips. She breathed on them. Then, one by one, she turned them up.
First card, the half skull crowned with gold; then, a rose with bloodied thorns.
âI can see!â Frost muttered tersely; she bent closer to see the casting. âI can see! Korkyra's monarch and that's the rose garden at the palace! But is it Aki or Thogrin, and is that Aki's blood?"
Oona said nothing but turned another card: the hermit, dark-robed and alone on a mountain.
âThe dark-robed figure by the throne,â Frost cried excitedly, then scratched her chin. âOr maybe the intruder."
Oona looked up from the cards. Her hand paused with the next one drawn, but not turned. âSamidar, child..."
Frost smiled weakly and leaned away from the table. Oona waited a needless moment for emphasis, then returned Frost's smile and exposed the next cards.
A sword; a magic staff of power; the wheel of fortune; the three stars; the ring of fire. Oona grunted. The lovers; the demon. Oona stopped and stared. âThey don't fit,â she said at last. She tapped the last exposed card. âThis doesn't fit at all; the position is all wrong."
She swept the cards together and dealt them out again. Nine different ones, this time. Oona slammed her palm on the unfeeling wood and tried again.
âNo,â she said at last, her voice heavy with resignation. âA pattern starts to form, but then it breaks down."
âMaybe because I've handled the cards?â Frost offered nervously.
Oona shook her head. âYou can handle magical things. Ashur and Demonfang, for instance. You just can't make magic.â Her old eyes drew slowly to the hand still lying on a corner of the table. The flickering candlelight cast shadows of the upcurled fingers across the walls and ceiling. As the flame danced, the shadows seemed to beckon to them.
âI know about this thing you wantââshe spoke slowly, her voice strangely mutedââbut not how to make it."
âI'll guide you,â Frost answered with a shiver. âI've lost my witch-powers, but not my memory."
Â
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Â
Chapter Four
Â
Frost leaned forward in the stirrups and rubbed her backside. She'd made good time, arriving in the middle of the night, though she couldn't tell it by the sky. The stars were hidden behind a dense curtain of gray clouds. Not even the moon peeked through. She lifted her hand, turned the palm in several directions. No wind, either.
Down below Mirashai lay,
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