Renegade's Magic
The old woman peered at Olikea, paying no attention to me. “You do not need to be here,” she announced. “Your sister has already purchased all that is necessary for the Great One of your kin-clan. Unless, perhaps, he has fallen ill?”
“I have not recently seen my sister or Jodoli,” Olikea replied stiffly. “I am not here on her behalf. You might notice, Moma, that I have a Great One of my own to tend now. Or has age so darkened your eyes that you cannot perceive even one of such glorious girth?”
Olikea stepped to one side as if she had been concealing me behind her. It was a laughable charade, like hiding a horse behind a cat. But Moma obediently lifted her hands as if suddenly astonished. Olikea caught the old woman’s cane before it toppled. Moma seized it back from her and stabbed the cane in the ground at my feet. “He is magnificent! But I do not know him! What kin-clan have you robbed? Who now weeps and gnashes their teeth that he has been lured away? Or have you taken a new loyalty to his kin-clan, Olikea?”
“I? Never. I know to whom I was born. Indeed, Moma, I have stolen him. I took him from the foolish Jhernians, who did not even know his worth.”
“No! Is such a thing possible?” The old woman teetered forward a few steps. With one veiny hand, she patted the swell of my belly as if I were a large and friendly dog. I thought she was astonished that a Gernian could become a Great One. But then she said, “They did not know his power, even when he carries it in such glory? How can this be?”
Olikea pursed her lips sagely. “I think they are blinded by all the iron they use. Even on a Great One, iron, iron, iron. Iron in knots on his chest, and on a great buckle he wore at his waist!”
“No!” Moma was scandalized. “I am shocked that he was not stunted by such treatment.”
Again Olikea pursed her lips in the Speck gesture of denial. “I fear he was, mother of many. Great as he is, still I must wonder what he could have been if he had not been mistreated and near starved of his proper foods.”
“Tormented with iron and starved,” Moma lamented for me. “Then you have been his savior, Olikea?”
Olikea spread her hands and bowed her head modestly. “What else was I to do, Moma? If I had not gone to him, I fear he would have perished.”
“Such a waste that would have been! And at a time when the People have more need of our Great Ones than ever.”
So far Soldier’s Boy had remained silent. I sensed his approval of Olikea’s words.
Moma set one of her wrinkled hands atop the other and rubbed the back of it. “So, then, you who have never before had the care of a Great One have come to trade with me. There is much you will need for him, so much. I fear you may not have enough to barter. Yet I shall do the best I can to see you have at least some basic supplies for him. It is the least I can do after all he has suffered.”
“You are kindhearted, Moma, very kind indeed,” Olikea replied in a rather brittle voice. “But I think I have brought enough trade goods to provide well for my Great One. If your prices are fair, that is.”
The old woman’s eyes retreated into pits of wrinkles when she narrowed them. “The best goods, fairly priced, are still expensive, girl. Winter comes. It is easy to find the berries, the nuts and herbs, the gall of a squirrel when the world is green and growing. But in winter, those things are gone and feeders must turn to the wise provider who has harvested and stored such things. Who is that provider? Why, only Moma! Only she has what the Great Ones need to dream-walk, to hear music in the wind, to quick-walk tirelessly, to see with the hawk’s eye, to walk the hidden paths.”
“Varka has a stall of herbs also.” Even to my ears, Olikea’s interruption sounded impertinent and challenging. It seemed unwise. What was she thinking?
Moma took offense, as I had expected her to. “Oh, yes, he has a market stall. And he will sell to you, cheaper than I will, if what you want are moldy herbs and berries dried away to sour pits! Do you think to drive a hard bargain with me, little Olikea? Beware. All know that there are never enough quality supplies to see all of the People’s Great Ones through the winter. Those with foolish feeders must do without.
“I do not need to sell my goods right now. And if you will not meet my price, I shall not. I will keep them and I will wait. Before winter is gone, Kinrove’s feeders will seek me out, to buy all I have and at a good price, too. And they speak to me always with respect.”
“Oh, respectful tongues are fine,” Olikea conceded in a tone that said otherwise. “But only if those tongues speak of the very finest trade goods. I shall not disappoint you in what I offer, Moma, but do not think me a foolish little girl. I know what things are worth.”