She was bewildered much of the time, but Daj called hermira again, and when she asked Drina what it meant, the girl replied,“It means she likes you. It means you’re family.”
Family. It could have kept her walking for a hundred miles. And she did walk far. The country grew rougher and quieter, with deer browsing in the middle of the road. The rain kept falling. Thevardo wheels grew thick with mud, and at night socks were propped up on sticks at the fire like toasting sausages. It was miserable, but secretly Plain Kate was glad. She didn’t have to look at her shadow.
Every once in a while, when the rain broke into gusts of drizzle and sun, she saw it: what was left of her shadow. It moved in ways she did not. It stood in the air where no shadow could stand. It was too long and too thin, and it pointed, sometimes, in the wrong direction. She was losing it, and she was not sure what would happen when it was gone.
Plain Kate lay next to Drina at night, with Taggle in the crook of one arm. She closed her eyes and thevardo seemed to spin. She set her back against Drina’s warm back, and pulled Taggle closer to her, and listened to Daj snore. Often she dreamt she had two wings, and one was frightened, and one was happy.
¶
All the time they drew closer to Toila, where the Roamers would decide whether to keep her or abandon her. It depended on her carving.
Plain Kate obeyed Rye Baro and made her objarka as burji as she could stand, ugly enough to scare off even a return of theskara rok. She made a man with a pig snout, a bat-faced thing with comically hinged ears, a face that was nothing but teeth. She made the screaming face of the woman she’d glimpsed burning in the witch fire. She made the impossible face she saw sometimes in dreams, a blankness with eyes of hair. They would sell, she thought. Surely they would sell.
Taggle, meanwhile, made himself popular, killing rats and bringing a rabbit into camp every evening, preening in the praise—silently, thank God, though at night he recounted choice bits to Kate: “Rye Baro says I am a princeling; he split the leg bone for me so that I could eat the marrow. They love me. And I’m sure they’ll keep you too.”
Mira, she thought, and treasured it each time she heard it.They must keep me. Family.
Thevardo inched down the road, deep in the wild country. Plain Kate had always known that Samilae was a little town, a long way from anywhere. But she hadn’t known what it would be like to walk for weeks and see no one, to follow a road through a wood that seemed as large as the story of the sea. Inside its dripping tunnel of branches, the road was sloppy, and her boots had to be greased every night against rot. She oiled her tools too, but rust still dappled them.
At night the fog was thick and full of lights, and sometimes voices.
¶
One night the river fog came up so thick that thevardo seemed like islands in it, like boats. Plain Kate sat on the steps of the redvardo where she slept with Drina and Daj, carving with Taggle curled over her toes.
The fog was so thick that she couldn’t see the ground. It billowed, and when Drina came walking up, it rippled in her wake. Drina swung up beside Kate and settled in. Taggle cracked an eye open, stood, stretched as if for a long journey, then took the two steps over to Drina’s feet and flopped down over them instead.
“Faithless,” Kate scolded, nudging him with her toe. He leaned his cheek on her foot and rubbed her toe with the corner of his mouth, purring.
Drina reached down and scratched Taggle between his ears.“I wish I had a cat. Before my mother died I had a raven.”
As Drina said it, Kate suddenly remembered seeing it. She had been whittling a top at her father’s feet. The wood she was working had been light birch; it had been that week in springtime when winged maple seeds stuck up between the cobbles; she had been watching Roamers put on a show for coin. How many years ago had that been? She had been careless and cat-less and happy. The show had lifted her spirits: a man playing a fiddle, another man juggling, and a girl—a little younger than Kate—who had a raven on her shoulder, and tumbled.
“I saw!” Plain Kate said to Drina. “You and the raven. And—” Yes, she remembered now: Her father had broken two fingers when a chisel slipped, and Kate had thought it was the end of the world. One of the Roamers was a young woman, who had sad eyes but a quick smile. She re-broke the fingers and set them, singing all the time, a strange, liquid tune.
“That’s worth true silver,” her father said, wincing and holding his hand up, sweat beading on his face like resin coming out of pine when it is very hot. “You sang the pain right under.”
The woman laughed.“And that’s why you’re more pale than me, I suppose.” Kate remembered that she had been a witch-white, like Linay: her hair and skin the color of sunned linen. Before she began her work she’d plaited two rings for Piotr Carver, strange braided things of weeping willow and her own white hair. “I’ll take copper,” the woman said, “and thank you to spread no tales.”
The woman called the girl to her and the raven came flying—and that was the end of Kate’s memory.
“I saw you,” Kate told Drina. “You came to Samilae before my father died, before theskara rok. You had a raven, and you tumbled for coin.”
“I went everywhere.” Drina leaned forward. Taggle half rolled over and allowed her to rub the wishbone hollow under his chin. “I went everywhere with my mother’s clan. We tumbled, and sang, and told the bones and the stars.” She leaned farther forward, touching noses with the cat. “Whenmy mother died, my father took me and came here. This is his clan.” Her hair swung around her and Kate couldn’t see her face. “No one asked me.”
“There was a woman,” said Kate hesitantly, caught by the memory but cautious. “A healer woman, a witch-white…”
Drina’s head flicked up, her loose hair flying. “That was my mother! You knew her?”
“I—” Kate began, but just then Taggle, who was no longer getting petted, rumbled, “Oh, please, don’t stop.”
six
secrets and roses
Drina leapt to her feet. Her skirts swirled and tangled and she stumbled and tumbled to the ground. Fog billowed up around her.“Did he—” she gasped. “Did the cat—?”
“Did he what?” the cat drawled.
“Talk,” gulped Drina.
“Drina…” Plain Kate shivered and her skin burned. She was ready to beg but not sure what to beg for, or how to begin. “Drina, if you tell—if people find out—”
“They’ll kill you.” Drina looked white-eyed as a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt.
It was so quiet for a moment that Plain Kate could hear the flame in the lantern behind her beating its wings.“You know,” said Taggle, “you were just reaching that itchy spot over the jaw.”
“Taggle,” hissed Kate. Then suddenly words came spilling out of her. “Drina,mira Drina, please, I’m not a witch, there was a man, and he was a witch, he made me give him my shadow—he’s the one who made Taggle talk.”
“You’re under a curse,” said Drina. “He cursed you.”
Plain Kate hadn’t thought of it that way, but she nodded. Her throat had almost closed and her skull felt as if it might break through her skin.
“I’ll—” Drina’s voice broke; she swallowed. “I’ll help you break it.”
Plain Kate stared at her.“You will?”
“My mother—” Drina looked down at her hands, rubbing her thumb against the place on the step corner where the red paint had worn away. “My mother was a witch. I have her power, I think, and I was learning when she—she was going to teach me. But they killed her.”
“They—” said Kate.