Gabria started out of her thoughts and glanced ahead. A line of trees blocked her way and, as she followed the otter closer, the line became a dark, heavy wall of mangrove. The strange trees grew close together, their prop roots pushing into the stagnant water. Under their branches, the air was stuffy, and very little light forced its way through the dense foliage.
Gabria poled her boat with care through the tangled roots of the mangroves, following a twisted path only the otter could see. The trees grew close together, and open spaces of water became fewer and farther apart. The air was stifling and fetid.
At last, the otter crawled onto something solid and came to a stop. Gabria glanced up in surprise. They were at the foot of a huge framework of roots. In the center, the prop roots merged into a mangrove unlike any other. It was tremendous; its roots delved deep into the waters of the river. Its branches spread out in a vast, gloomy canopy.
The otter waved a paw at the tree and chirped. .
“There?” Gabria asked in disbelief.
Reluctantly, the girl climbed out of the boat and teetered on the slippery roots. Before she could protest, the otter whisked away into the water and vanished. Gabria was left alone. She looked around. There were no insects or birds or frogs, and the gloomy swamp around her was .completely silent. Gabria shivered. She would have given anything to be safe and dry in Piers’s tent, instead of wet, filthy, and clinging like a snail to a slimy mangrove root in the heart of a sorceress’s domain.
Gabria gathered her courage and clambered over the roots to the main trunk. The tree was incredibly wide; compared to other trees, its trunk was a massive column in a forest of sticks.
Where would a sorceress live in a thing like this? Gabria looked up into the branches, around the roots, even into the water, but there was no sign of any life, human or otherwise. The girl was beginning to think the otter had deceived her, when she saw a narrow, horizontal crack in the side of the tree. It was barely wider than a handspun and ran several lengths above her head. Gabria peered in. Although it was completely dark within the tree, she sensed it hid a cavity large enough to enter.
There was no other possibility. Gabria squeezed through the crack into pitch darkness. The air was stifling. It seemed quiet within the tree, but as Gabria’s senses sharpened in the, darkness, she became aware of a soft rasping and, even softer, a creaking rustle like tiny whispers. Gabria waited—for what she was not sure.
After several moments, a single shaft of red light struck down from somewhere above and illuminated the sorceress. The old woman sat on a chair, which in turn rested on a platform that hung from an unseen ceiling. She was more like a corpse than a woman, hunched and wizened and incredibly pallid. Her unblinking eyes shone red in the light. She had a beautiful, mad-looking face, and she stared down at Gabria with a triumphant sneer.
“So, you have come at last,” she said, her voice harsh from disuse. “I have waited too long for a magic-bearer to find me.”
“I—,” Gabria started to say.
The woman cut her off. “You have come to learn. I know who you are . . . but I do not know if you are ready to pay my price.”
Gabria stared up in fascination. She was both horrified and awed by the feverish power that blazed in the woman’s red eyes.
The sorceress met Gabria’s gaze, and her face contorted into rage. “I know what you’re thinking,” she cried. “You think I am only an old hag hiding in a swamp, tripping through my ancient skills and feeding on old grudges. Well, I was a powerful sorceress once, a Shape-Changer. My power brought men to their knees. Behold!”
She threw her arms wide and sang a chant in a strange tongue that reverberated to the rootlets and twigs of the great tree. Gabria pressed back against the wood. The interior began to waver and fade; the air hummed like a harp string. The woman’s voice rose to a cry of triumph as a vision formed in the chamber. To Gabria’s gaze, the tree was transformed to a palace where gold gleamed on mirrors, water sprang from a thousand fountains, and the walls shimmered with the silk banners of a noble house. Before Gabria stood a woman, a sorceress as she had always imagined one to be: fair yet dangerous, lovely and fell, clothed in gowns of velvet and bejeweled like a queen.
But as quickly as the vision formed, it dissipated to a thin mist and vanished in a puff. The woman, diminished to an ancient crone, sagged back in her chair with a groan of exhaustion. “My strength is almost gone,” she whispered.
Gabria stared about bemused, half expecting to see the dark-haired woman still standing nearby. But the vision, whether the truth of the past or the dream of an aging hermit, was gone. The girl leaned back slowly and tried to keep her face expressionless. It was obvious the woman was a sorceress, and though she had lost the strength to wield her powers, she still had knowledge.
“It takes more wisdom than strength to use magic,” Gabria said, trying to placate the old woman.
The sorceress glared at her irritably. “Foolish. What do you know of sorcery? I have watched you since the massacre of the Corin. All I saw were your paltry attempts to discourage a few overenthusiastic men.”
“Discourage’” Gabria cried. “I killed a man.”
“You see? Discouragement would have been better. But you bungled it. You know nothing of magic.”
Gabria forced her anger back and said, “That is why I came to you.”
“I take no more neophytes.”
“Not even for a price?” asked Gabria after a moment’s hesitation.
The woman looked down at her. “What price are you willing to pay?”
“Whatever you ask that is within my means.”
“Your means. That is limited indeed.” The sorceress waved her hand through the red light and her platform descended slowly to the floor of the tree chamber. Her hand, spiderlike, crept over Gabria’s wrist and pulled her down to sit on the platform beside the chair. Gabria flinched at the dry, dusty touch, but she did not withdraw her hand.
“What is it you seek from sorcery, clanswoman? You know the practice is forbidden on pain of death.”
Gabria could feel her blood pulse beneath the woman’s grip. She knew without question that it would not avail her to hide the truth. “I seek vengeance for the murder of my father, my brothers, and my clan.”
“Ah, yes. Is that your only reason?” Her eyes pierced Gabria’s like needles, dissecting every layer of thought. “Vengeance is a dangerous motive for sorcery; it can warp your will and turn on you like a snake.” The woman turned her nose up and her eyes slid sideways to watch the girl. “But it can also precipitate one’s learning.” She paused. “This Medb you wish to destroy, he has grown powerful of late and will require much cunning and will to overcome.”
“He is also overconfident. He thinks he is the only sorcerer in the clans.”
The woman nodded in agreement. She had studied Gabria for some time and was pleased with what she saw. “At the moment, he is. But the man is a savage. It is because of sorcerers like him that the people rose up against us and purged magic from the plains. Now, only I remember the bright days of grandeur and wisdom, when magic was a glory and its wielders were worshiped with honor.” Her voice began to rise in fury. “But, now. . . Now, I hide my power from the eyes of men in the reek and mire of this foul swamp.”
The woman’s face twisted with rage, and her words screeched in her throat. Suddenly she began to laugh—a rude, maniacal sound that terrified Gabria. “A just punishment he shall have for doing this to me. We will topple this self-satisfied malefactor into the muck.”
Gabria straightened and asked breathlessly, “You will help me?”
“Did I not just say that?”
The girl nodded, uncertain whether she was pleased or frightened. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet.” She released Gabria’s hand and sat back, her rage still embedded in her ancient face. She studied the girl for a moment and a sharp gleam, like a hungry rat, lurked in the sorceress’s red eyes. Oh, yes, she would teach the girl the secrets of using magic. She would give Gabria enough knowledge to defeat that upstart, Medb. Then, if all went well, the girl would pay the price of her training. The Woman of the Marsh smiled, a slow, wicked twist of her lips, and cackled with anticipation.