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“Halef Seif,” Alanna said nervously. The headman looked at her. “I would like my apprentices to witness.”
Again there was a murmur; women were not legally permitted to perform in ceremonies such as this. Alanna clenched her teeth. If they were to be shamans, the girls would have to take part in every tribal activity. Kara and Kourrem hung back, but the men urged them forward until they stood with the other witnesses. Halef Seif was heating his knife blade in the big fire.
“Roll up your sleeve and smile,” Myles whispered as he did the same. Alanna rolled up her right sleeve, thinking that it was not the same as receiving a wound in battle: On those occasions it was often long moments before she even knew she was hurt, and the excitement of fighting acted as its own pain-killing drug. Now she could only brace herself as Halef Seif lightly cut Myles’s wrist, then hers, pressing them together as blood welled out. Once again Alanna felt odd joining-magic as Halef Seif commanded, “Become one with each other, with the Bazhir, with the desert we love.” The combined drops fell, soaking into the sand as the tribesmen cheered.
“Now, was that so bad?” Myles asked her as Farda bandaged them both. Alanna grimaced and watched the witnesses sign the legal documents Myles had brought with him from Corus. Then she realized she now had a father who loved her, and she laughed as tears ran down her face.
Jonathan found her later as she struggled once more with the crystal blade, forcing another spot of evil out of the sword’s makeup. She smiled up at him as he wiped sweat from her forehead with a cool cloth. “I think that every time I do this, my Gift gets stronger,” she gasped.
He frowned at her. “Does it always tire you so much?” When she didn’t answer, he added softly, “Or does it tire you because you’re wearing yourself out keeping Ali Mukhtab alive?”
“I have to do it, if you’re going to become the Voice,” she replied, turning the sword over in her fingers. “That’s what you want—and that’s what he wants. I think you could probably handle this, now.” She offered it to him. “It’s not as bad as it was when I took it from Ibn Nazzir.”
He took the weapon, his eyebrows lifting as he felt its power. “It must have been terrible.”
She shrugged. “I just wish I knew how it was related to Duke Roger.”
He returned the sword, hilt-first, and she sheathed it. “I was asking Myles about that. He reminded me of something—did you know that Roger was a famous amateur jeweler when he was younger?”
She stared at him, eyes wide. “No.”
“He made hilts, pendants—I think he designed his sorcerer’s rod. I believe the hilt for this sword is his work.”
“And the blade?” she wanted to know.
He smiled grimly. “I’ve been going through Roger’s books and papers, those I can find. I know more about him than I did when he died. Yes, my love, I believe that blade is his work too. I wish you were carrying Lightning again.”
“I do, too. I’ll just have to keep searching for a way to mend it.” She sighed, then put the sword down and let him give her a hand up from the pillow on which she sat. She had been working before the altar; now he led her back to the sleeping quarters.
“Alanna?” he asked as she prepared for the night. “Do you still wear that charm Mistress Cooper gave you to keep you from getting pregnant?”
She showed it to him, hanging half-hidden on the same chain that suspended her ember-stone. “I never go without it.”
“I trust you’ll leave it off after we’re married,” he said with a yawn.
I don’t want to have children just yet! she realized in a panic. Controlling her emotions, she replied dryly, “We’re not married yet, my prince.”
He chuckled sleepily. “Of course not, my beautiful Lioness. Come to bed.”
The day before the moon was full, Alanna roused Kara and Kourrem before dawn. She rode with them as their sole escort to the nearest oasis. After saying prayers over them, she sent the girls into the chilly water for the ritual cleansing. They were silent throughout. Neither of them was permitted to speak until the night’s ritual was over. Neither could use magic, or perform any tasks apart from dressing. Silently they returned to the camp and to Alanna’s tent, where they knelt before the altar. Two pairs of eyes fixed on the lamp that burned there; within moments they were in a light trance. They would remain like this for hours, thinking about the life they were about to begin.
The sun was rising when she entered Ali Mukhtab’s tent. The Voice was already awake, accepting a cup of tea from Farda.
“And so your chicks have begun the ritual.” Alanna made a face as she opened her healer’s bag; Umar Komm’s description of her apprentices was now known to the entire tribe. “How does that make you feel?”
“As if I were taking the Ordeal of Knighthood all over again,” she admitted, feeling for his heartbeat in his wrist. “How did you sleep?”
“Do you expect me to say I slept as an infant does?” His sense of humor twinkled out of his too-large eyes. His weight loss was now apparent to even the least observant members of the tribe, as was the grayish tinge of his skin.
“I expect you to do me the credit of not lying about it.” She placed both hands on his arm and drew a breath, readying herself to beat back the pain once more. Each time it got harder, for her and for him.
When she released him, she rocked backward and would have fallen if Farda had not caught her. She felt dizzy and sick; it was the way she always felt when she used the spell now, and she used it three times a day. She accepted the cloth Farda gave her and wiped her forehead. Already Muktab’s eyelids were drooping.
“How much longer must Jonathan study?” she rasped, her voice as sick as the rest of her. “When will he be ready?” She had to place her ear by the dying man’s mouth to hear what he was saying. “In the dark of the moon. Fourteen days.”
“What if he fails?”
The thought was horrible: If he failed, Jon would be dead, and Ali Mukhtab—
The Voice struggled to smile. “Then I will wait to die. Alanna—”
“Yes?”
“Akhnan Ibn Nazzir survived the rite of shamans. Your chicks will do well.”
The light of the full moon turned the desert sands an eerie white: A fit setting for an initiation, I suppose, Alanna thought as Umar Komm read the list of gods given honor by the Bazhir. The girls knelt in the sand, encircled by witch-fires that glowed Alanna’s violet and Umar Komm’s blue-green. Both apprentices looked tired but serene, and Alanna felt proud of them. They’ll be good for the tribe, she realized, even if they do want to keep their face veils.
Umar Komm finished the names of the gods and nodded to Alanna. She stretched out her hands to the girls, conscious that everyone who had come to the tents of the Bloody Hawk in recent days was watching. The circle of fire lay solidly between Alanna and her apprentices. “If you are pure in heart and strong of will, come forth!” she summoned, using words Umar Komm and the other shamans had taught her that very day.
Kara stood. For a moment she faltered, seeing the magical flames rear higher than her head. Then her mouth firmed, and she walked through the ring. Kourrem followed without hesitation. Alanna and Umar threw up walls of light, and Alanna summoned the apprentices again: “If you will do as the gods require, come forth!”
The girls walked through the light together. Kara slowed, nearly stopping, for a moment, but both emerged. Alanna and Umar Komm created a deep trench in the ground before them. For the third time, Alanna summoned, “If you will do your duty by your people and your tribe, come forth!”
This task was the hardest, because it required the most determination. Few sorcerers lifted themselves from the ground; it cost too much strength to go a very short distance. Alanna doubted that she could do it, drained as she was by keeping Ali Mukhtab alive.
Kourrem hesitated, fighting to strengthen her resolve. She was forbidden to use thread, or to move rocks to fill the trench. She had to fly over it.
