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Mistress Fahrar walked over and picked up the cards, scrutinizing Alanna’s work. “Be more patient,” she said, her gray-brown eyes amused. “You’re missing little bits of dirt.” She thrust the pieces of wool back at Alanna. “Start over, and take your time. You’ll be faster as you get accustomed to it.”
She drew a breath, looking around her. “You’re a promising weaver, young Kourrem, but you should be learning your own craft, not teaching it. I am sure your weaving could become better, Kara.” The tall girl blushed and looked at her feet. “And you should have a teacher who is accustomed to teaching, shaman,” she told Alanna firmly. “You will learn from me, with Kourrem’s permission, and I will show these two young women what more they can study. Doubtless this young man can find something to occupy him while we women work,” she added dryly.
For the grateful tears and the relief in the girls’ faces, Alanna could have kissed the formidable lady. Instead she nodded, her face properly grave. “I accept your kind offer, Mistress Fahrar, for my apprentices and myself.” At last! she exulted inwardly. One woman in the tribe has acknowledged that we exist; and I didn’t have to ask Halef Seif or Ali Mukhtab to intervene!
“I am called Mari,” the mother of Hakim replied. “Now, come, you girls. Show me what else you can do.”
When Coram returned a week later, he found things very different. He had much to say about the changes among the Bloody Hawk. Fortunately, he said all of it in private, to Alanna and Faithful.
“I think I’m leavin’ ye in a fairly quiet place,” he began as he unpacked in his tent. Alanna was watching as she scratched Faithful’s ears. “Ye weren’t well enough known here that ye could get into any trouble, and I thought they’d stay away from ye. But I come back, and ye’re the Mother-blessed shaman of the tribe, ye’ve adopted three young ones, and ye’re forcin’ the women to accept two of their own sittin’ with the men—”
“You’re turning purple,” Alanna commented when he stopped for breath.
“Can’t ye stay out of trouble for a few short weeks?” he bellowed.
“I didn’t ask for Akhnan Ibn Nazzir to attack me,” she pointed out. “But he did, and I killed him. I can’t leave the tribe without a shaman, can I? Since I have no intention of being killed by the first rival who comes along, or of staying here forever, I picked three apprentices. It’s not my fault that two of them are girls; but they are, and the tribe has to treat them with respect if they’re ever to be good shamans. And no, I couldn’t have chosen just Ishak. What if something happens to him? All three have to be trained anyway, and Bazhir custom—it’s easier to break the king’s law back home than it is to flout Bazhir custom, have you noticed?—Bazhir custom says I have to train them. Besides, having only one shaman when you can have three is silly.”
Coram sat heavily and accepted the brandy she poured for him. His broad tanned face was wrinkled with concern. “Lass, ye’re settin’ these poor folk on their ears,” he said wearily. “They haven’t changed in centuries, and ye’re forcin’ them to accept things yer own people can’t accept—not easily.”
“But don’t you see? To the Bazhir, I’m a legend. They take things from me they wouldn’t take from anyone else. I don’t ask them to change for stupid reasons. They know having three shamans might make the difference to their survival. Even the women are beginning to accept the girls. At least, Mari Fahrar is.”
Coram drained his cup and shook his head when she offered refill. “I’m worried for ye,” he confessed. “I hate seein’ ye a stranger always. Ye’re an odd lass, but ye’re like my own kin, and I want ye t’be happy.”
Alanna put Faithful down and hugged her friend. “I don’t feel like a stranger here,” she confessed as she wiped her eyes. “It seems to me that I’ve known these people for a long time—all my life, perhaps. I don’t always agree with them, but they make sense to me.”
Gruffly, touched by her affection, he asked, “Do ye commune with the Voice of the Tribes at sunset, then? All the way t’the city Hakim made us stop every night while he stared into the fire.” He shuddered as he finished unpacking his saddlebags. “’Twas spooky.”
Alanna lifted Faithful up again, putting him on her shoulder. “That’s one thing I don’t do,” she said ruefully. “It’s too much like letting Ali Mukhtab have a part of me. I don’t want anyone to have a part of me, not yet, anyway.”
“Not even Prince Jonathan?” Coram asked shrewdly. Alanna blushed a deep red, and he chuckled. “He said t’tell ye he’d be seein’ ye soon, somethin’ about receivin’ instruction from Ali Mukhtab. Oh, I’ve letters for ye, from Lord Thom and Sir Myles.” For a moment the burly man struggled with himself; then he gave in. “There’s another letter for ye as well.” He drew it from beneath his jerkin, handing it to her reluctantly. “I should’ve burned it when he handed it to me. I’d hoped ye knew better than to still be consortin’ with the likes of him.”
“George!” Alanna said gleefully. “Is he all right? Has he been—well, safe?”
“He’s flourishin’, that one,” Coram snapped. “And when are ye going t’give over befriendin’ a rogue like him?”
Alanna laughed impishly. “When you stop drinking.” She laughed as he swore, and returned to read her letters.
George’s missive was short, but its contents made her blush. She knew her old friend loved her, and she loved him in a more-than-friendly way, but Jonathan had always been first. George knew it and understood, but his words told her that he continued to hope.
Myles’s letter was long and chatty, giving her the news of everyone at Court, nobles and servants. More than any other high-born person Alanna knew, Myles made friends with everyone, not just his social equals. He was able to tell her about Cook and Stefan the hostler with as much detail as he gave to the king and Jonathan. Only when she reread his letter did she notice that he said nothing about Thom.
Thom’s own letter more than made up for Myles’s omission:
Dear Alanna,
Coram tells me you’ve been adopted by a bunch of uncivilized desertmen. How odd of you! He tells me now you’re a “man of the tribe,” which is what you’ve always wanted, I suppose. No, don’t scowl at me.
(Alanna was scowling.)
I am enjoying myself here. Everyone is very
polite, and the library has some classics of sorcery even my Masters didn’t possess. My education grows by leaps and bounds. I have attached some of the late Duke Roger’s followers, including the lovely Delia of Eldorne. I have no interest in the lady as such, but I believe she may know where some of Roger’s most secret manuscripts are hid. She had hinted as much, and I feel that she doesn’t lie.
I enjoy the luxuries: exotic foods, fine clothing, having servants to wait on me. I will travel at some point, but only when there is nothing more to be learned here.
Try not to be too disgusted with me.
Love,
Thom
Shortly after Coram’s return, Mari brought Farda, the tribe’s midwife, to make her peace with the new shaman. Within minutes the two were trading secrets of healing. The next day Farda took over instructing the apprentices in herbs: From that moment on, most of the women made their peace with Alanna and her young people. Some would never be won over and would always view the new ways with suspicion, but they were a minority. Knowing to whom she owed the new warmth, Alanna tried to thank Mari Fahrar. The old woman brushed her words aside.
“All things change,” she told Alanna frankly. “It does not hurt men to know women have power, too.”
Alanna had to laugh. Until Mari and Farda entered her life, she never realized that the tribeswomen viewed their men not with fear but with loving disrespect. Sometimes she felt that she was the one getting the education, not her pupils.
Kara was just beginning to work on her control of the wind when the men of the village went hunting for night-raiders: hillmen who carried off a herd of sheep and the boy tending them. Alanna and Coram were teaching the boys archery when the lookouts sounded an alarm.
Coram swore. “They lured the men off a purpose!” He turned to the boys. “Let’s see what yer marksmanship’s like on movin’ targets.”
“What about their shamans?” one woman cried. “They attack first with magic!”
Alanna could feel the unnaturalness of the fierce breeze. “Kara! Kourrem! Ishak!” she yelled, remembering too late they were in Farda’s tent, across the breadth of the village. It would cost precious moments to fetch them—
