Rafe looked the woman over. She was quite young, not much older than him, but she had evidently had a hard life. Every second of it was etched into her face. There were scars across her chin and throat from some old accident or attack, and her eyes held no fear, only defiance.
“We have only three horses, so why should we give you two?”
“Because of what I can offer,” Hope said. She went to slip the bag from her shoulder and a man stepped from behind a shed to their right, leveling an over-and-under crossbow at them. He could kill them both within a heartbeat.
“I want no fight with you,” Hope said quietly.
“Looks like you’ve had enough of fighting for a while,” the man said, but the aim of his crossbow never wavered. Rafe could not tell whether he was tired or scared or bored.
“We’re running from a fight, if that’s what you mean. Forgive my appearance; I usually make more of an effort if I’m to meet new people.”
“Your hair’s a mess,” the woman said, and Rafe was sure he saw a blink of humor in her eyes.
“I lost my comb,” Hope said. The woman smiled.
“Running from a fight, eh?” the man asked. “Maybe you’re not much to fear, then.”
“No, we’re not,” Hope said.
“Do you bring the fight to us?” another woman asked, appearing from inside the farmhouse. She held a longbow, arrow strung and ready to loose. She was much older than the first woman-her mother?-and even from this distance Rafe could see that something terrible had happened to her; her face was a mass of pale scar tissue, knotted and badly healed.
“Not if we can make a deal good and quick,” the witch said. “Then we’ll be on our way.”
“What if we can’t make a deal?” the younger woman said, glancing at Rafe for the first time. He realized that she was much more frightened than she was willing to show.
“Then we will still be on our way,” Hope said. “Though we’d appreciate some food and water. We have a long way to go.”
“Are you being pursued?” the man asked.
“I don’t know.”
He stared at them along the length of his crossbow, eyes flickering from Hope to Rafe, back again. “I believe you,” he said. “So, this is how it happens. The boy comes to me. Witch, you deal with Josie. And when we’re all finished, everything goes back to normal.”
“That’s fine,” Hope said. Rafe stared at her- they want me as their guarantee! -but she merely looked at him and nodded. Rafe turned to the farmer, tried to meet his eyes and see the intent there, but he was inscrutable.
There was a sudden rush of sound in Rafe’s head, so loud and clear that he looked around to see where it came from. He knew straightaway that it was personal to him-none of the others in that farmyard were aware of it-and he knew what it was. When he looked down at his feet the land spoke to him. The voices and smells and sensations calmed him, like his mother’s bedtime soothing when he was having a nightmare or his father’s hand on his shoulder as they harvested another diseased crop, telling him things were all right. And although he still did not know the language, he knew the tones well enough.
He looked up at the farmer and smiled, and as he walked toward the man who aimed a crossbow at his face, Rafe wondered if this was the first real dreg of magic. I’ve been told that things are fine, he thought. I’m being looked after.
“Stop there, turn around, kneel down,” the farmer said, not unkindly. “Don’t move, boy, and everything will be fine. I’ve no wish to hurt either of you. I do wonder what you’re doing with a witch, though.”
Rafe did as the farmer instructed. “She’s looking after me,” he said. “My parents are dead.” He felt the cool kiss of metal on the back of his neck.
“Sorry to hear that, boy.” The farmer fell quiet, watching the trade between Hope and Josie.
Hope opened her shoulder bag slowly and pulled out a jar, a wallet of some unidentifiable material and a small book. “I want two horses,” she said. “I know how precious these animals are to you, but right now they’re worth more to us. As such, not only will I pay you enough tellans for you to ride into Pavisse and buy two more horses as soon as the mood takes you, I’ll also recompense you with a trade. One of these three could be yours, over and above the going rate, which is. ..?”
“A thousand,” Josie said quickly.
Hope smiled. “Seems fair.” She pointed at the jar. “Heart of skull raven. It never corrupts. It drains bad dreams, sucks up nightmares, gives you easy sleep-”
“Don’t taunt us with fake magic, witch!” Josie hissed. Rafe stiffened, felt the farmer stretch forward and press the sharp bolt into the base of his skull.
“I don’t taunt you at all,” Hope said. “I know there’s no magic, and I don’t pretend otherwise. Where’s the use in that? The skull raven’s heart isn’t magic, it’s a resource, just like your crops or your sheebok. And what it does is a process. Just as you plant your seeds and water them and watch them grow, so this incorruptible thing will shrink your nightmares. Application to your head while you sleep, that’s all it takes. Don’t ask me how, I simply know that it works. That’s what the name witch implies: not magic, but knowledge. Few people alive know the things I know, and that makes me a good witch.”
Josie stared at Hope, glanced down at the three items set on the ground between them. Though she was trying to exude distrust, Rafe could sense the hope within her. The hope that this trade would work, and that her struggling family would come out with something precious and worthwhile.
“What about this?”
Hope picked up the strange wallet, tattoos pulling her face into awe. “This is something I’ve never opened. I don’t know what’s in it. I’m scared to open it, because it once belonged to a Sleeping God. This wallet has not been unraveled since before magic fled this land, and its owner is still alive somewhere, awaiting magic’s return. There could be anything in here. Anything.”
Josie stared at the wallet for a few seconds, and then glanced quickly toward Rafe and the man standing behind him.
“Ah, but this,” Hope said, pointing at the book. “This is surely what you need. In here-”
“This really belonged to a Sleeping God?” Josie asked, pointing at the wallet.
Hope paused, then nodded. “Yes. Although I’m sure they’re not really gods. And for all I know it could be empty.”
Josie stared in awe at the wallet as Hope picked up the book. Rafe already knew what the witch would be giving away, and he thought she did too. Nevertheless, she opened the book and flipped its thick pages.
“This is a Book of Ways. It was written by Rosen Am Tellington, one of the great mapmakers, long before the Cataclysmic War. It charts the land of Noreela from north to south, east to west, with only a few obvious areas left blank. Back then, there was more certainty in things: a path did not change from one year to the next; mountains remained in place; swamps did not dry out and deserts did not become lakes.”
“So what’s the point in that now?” Josie asked. “The world’s changing, and magic’s gone. And we’re only farmers. Why do I need a map of New Shanti when I’ll never be within five hundred miles of it?”
“Tellington was a visionary,” Hope said. “She knew that things would change, and so she thought around things as well as through them. She mapped out hidden routes that have long vanished into myth, and which only now exist in her books. And there are few enough of them. In here you will learn of underground paths through the Widow’s Peaks, for instance, not fifty miles from here. You can read of how to get from Noreela City to Long Marrakash without passing across the ground in between.”
“Magic!” Josie scoffed.
“Some, yes, and that’s inevitable. But as I said, Tellington was a visionary, and she knew that even magic may not last forever. In here are hidden Ways. Who knows when you might need them?”
“We’ll take that,” Josie said, pointing at the Sleeping God’s wallet.
Hope sat back on her heels and frowned. “Are you sure? Don’t you have nightmares? Doesn’t the skull raven’s heart-”
“We’ll take the wallet,” Josie said. She looked up at the man behind Rafe. “We’re taking the wallet,” she said to him.