“And which lucky lad’s bed did you grace with your presence last night?” She raises a penciled eyebrow.
“Oh, y’know… All of them.” I meet her gaze with a straight face as I give my boot a hard tug.
I’m used to Gee’s constant ribbing and ungrandmother-like sense of humor. I only took to calling her Gee at her request, so as not to put off any suitors who think she’s my mother, not grandmother. As if the sixty-year age gap isn’t noticeable, despite her dyed hair and twinkle in her rich, brown eyes.
I never knew my mother, but having Gee is like having both roles in one. Wise but fun, caring and lecturing in equal measure.
I yank off the second boot and wiggle my numb toes with a sigh. Bliss. “Remind me never to sleep in my boots again,” I groan. “My feet feel like hooves.”
Gee disappears behind the trunk again. “Did the sisters give you breakfast?”
Of course she knew where I’d been all night. “Yes." My stomach growls.
Gee chuckles as she reemerges, closing the trunk with her hip. “Liar.”
She pauses to scoop one of the dishes off of the floor, then takes the few steps to the tiny kitchen. She coughs into the crook of her arm, and I wince at the rattle in her lungs.
It’s been a hard winter for Gee, although she won’t admit it. It’s been hard for the whole of Henling, being so remote and cutoff. Hopefully one of the villages and towns farther south will have the basic medicines and tonics I need, as well as some proper food.
“Gee, honestly, I’m not hungry.” I eye the empty cupboards as I wait for her coughing fit to subside, then march over to the little kitchen and place my hands on her shoulders, gently steering her away. “How about I make us some ginger tea instead? It’ll help with your cough.”
“Since when did you become such a Mother Hen?” she grumbles. “I had to put up with a fussing healer son, and now my granddaughter, too?”
I laugh, but the thought sends a pang of sadness through me. My father died shortly after my twelfth birthday, and if he were alive now, he’d have healed Gee’s cough in seconds.
I set the kettle down gently, lighting the burner, then grab the ginger root from my bag. “I have something important to tell you.”
She lifts her kohl-rimmed eyes to me. “Oh?”
“Actually, I have two things to tell you.” As I chop the root, the warm scent of ginger fills the wagon. I recount everything I learned that morning – the snatchers in Osele, the sisters’ suggestion I bring Timo to the enclave, and Espen’s renewed dinner invitation. Gee nods in all the right places.
“You taking him away is a smart idea,” she agrees. The kettle whistles. “I don’t know what Espen has planned, but Timo will likely be safer at the enclave with you. We can put off leaving for a few days. I need to finish sorting this stuff anyway.” She gestures to the trunk. “And we need more candles.”
My eyes flick to Gee’s designated candle shelf, which practically groans under the weight of candles in every color, length, and scent.
“You can never have too many,” I agree, but my smile falters. “There’s something else.”
Gee cocks her head at me curiously. I move to join her on the bottom bunk, setting both cups of tea on the floor. She knows about my intuition already, of course. We just don’t talk about it.
When we tour with the travelers, I ply my trade as a fortune teller – natal charts and predictions using my skills in astrology. But over the last year, I began to sense more than what I could glean from the stars. I could sense…people. Shadows of their guilt, joy, pain. I knew instantly what to say to soothe the worried or embolden the enamored. The queues for my star charts grew longer each season.
Gee shuffles closer, large opal earrings swaying from her lobes, her familiar sandalwood perfume soothing me.
“My intuition’s getting worse,” I say softly. “This morning, when Espen was hunting hares in the forest, I felt the chase, the panic. The animals’ emotions seeped into me, then I felt a pain like I’d been shot.”
A dull headache presses down between my brows. The wagon suddenly feels too small, too hot, too perfumed. I want to be outside and gulp down lungfuls of clear, cold mountain air.
Gee takes my hand in hers, her powdery skin soft and warm against my clammy fingers. Her rings glint up at me. “If it’s getting stronger,” she says gently, “if you need to learn to control it, perhaps we should–”
“I’m not going back.” My voice is tight.
Gee takes a deep breath and pins me with a stare.
I swallow. “I made my peace years ago about not having an Awakening, Gee. This is my life now. Traveling with you. Casting star charts. Being normal. I’m happy.”
Gee brushes a curl away from my face, then strokes a hand down my hair. I close my eyes for a moment.
“You know, when your father – stars rest his soul – had his Awakening, he tried to hide it from me.”
My eyes widen. “Why?”
“He was afraid the snatchers would take him away. But magic–”
I flinch at the word.
Gee gazes at me intently. “It doesn’t like to stay hidden.”
“I won’t let the snatchers find me.” I stand abruptly. “I’ll hide. But I’m not going back there.”
“And I would never force you.” Gee stands slowly, her rings digging into my fingers as she gives my hand a quick squeeze. “But that doesn’t mean we can live in denial when it comes to your magic.”
“Okay,” I mutter. “Shall I go to the village and tell them about the snatchers? To be on the safe side, maybe I should take all the children of age with me.”
“It’ll look far more suspicious if the snatchers arrive to find no children at all. Henling is a small village. It’s unlikely any of the children here have had their Awakening without everyone knowing about it.”
Gee grabs my wet boots and sets them in front of me. “Now, put these back on. We’ll spread the word about the snatchers, then go to the Bryher’s. On the off-chance there are any other children showing magic…” She huffs at my reaction. “Stop wincing every time I say the word. If there are any, you’ll take them to the enclave after dinner.”
Gee has the kind of self-assurance that comes with age and years of traveling around Myrsia. Living with her anchors me. She’s right. I’ll be gone before the snatchers arrive. So will Timo and any of the other children needing sanctuary.
I lever my foot back into the boot, cringing at the wetness. “And when I return, when it’s safe, the pass will be clear so we can leave.”
Gee pats my head, picks up her tea, and takes a sip. She walks back toward the trunk as another fit of coughing rattles her lungs.
Chapter Three
Dusk creeps up on us as we crunch through the snow to the Bryher’s house. Night falls fast and early this time of year, the sun slipping behind the jagged mountains in a smear of purple before five bells.
I heft my bag over my shoulder, which is weighed down with books, star charts, and clothes for my stay at the enclave. In the distance, the windows of their home glow orange and smoke curls from the chimney as the trees, sky, and houses around us fade to gray.