But it would seem that my dream had only this much to show within that hall. Then I was outside, going down a passage, and between great towering gates on which crouched creatures out of nightmares; they turned their heads to look solemnly upon me as I passed, yet I knew they were bound against harming such as I.
That journey was in such detail that I thought, should I, waking, come upon that same place I would know it instantly and be able to find my way again into that hall, as if I had been born within those walls and lived there through my childhood.
The reason for my dream I did not know, though such dreaming is always sent for a purpose. I could only believe, when I awakened, that it had sprung from my attempt to “read” the scroll. My head still ached with a pain which made the morning light a torment to my eyes. But I sat up with a jerk and looked to where Ifeng slept. He was stirring and I lurched quickly to him, drew forth the thorn, hiding it in the hem of my cloak, and then sank back as he opened his eyes.
He blinked, and, as intelligence came back into his face, he smiled oddly with a kind of shyness which sat oddly on such a man.
“Fair morning . . .”
“Fair morning, leader of men.” I gave him formal greeting in return.
He sat up on the cushions and looked about him as if he were not quite sure of where he had rested that night. For a moment or two I was wary, wondering if the dream I had spun for him had been so badly woven that he would know it for a dream. But it would seem that I need not have feared, for now he bowed his head in my direction and said, “Strength grows strength, Farseeing One. I have taken your gift to me and we shall be great always, even as it was under Utta’s hand.” Then he made a gesture with two fingers crossed which was common to his people when they spoke of the dead, so warding off any ill from naming those gone before. He went from me as a man well satisfied in the doing of some duty.
But if the dream satisfied Ifeng and those of the tribe he must have reassured with his account of that night, it also made me an enemy—this I was not long in discovering. For, after the custom, I was visited during the morning by the senior and chief women of the tribe, all bringing gifts. Ausu did not come to me since I had made it clear that we were equal in Ifeng’s family, but Ayllia was the last to visit my tent.
She came alone, and when I was alone, as if she had waited until there was none to witness our meeting. And when she entered, her hostility was like a dark cloud about her. So much had my powers advanced that I could so read danger when I met it face to face.
Alone among her people she seemed in no awe of my sorcery. It was almost as if she could herself look into my mind and know how little I really knew. Now she did not sit, nor did she give me any formal greeting. But she flung with force, so that it struck the ground before me and burst open, spilling forth its contents, a small box cunningly and beautifully fashioned. And the necklace it had held was a great work of art.
“Bride price, elder one.” Her mouth twisted as if the words she spoke tasted bitter. “With Ausu’s welcome—”
I dared not allow her this insolence. “And yours, younger sister?” I asked coldly.
“No!” She dared that denial, though I noted she held her voice prudently low. For some reason she was wrought to strong anger, but she still had prudence in that she did not want those who might listen to know ill feeling lay so nakedly between us.
“You hate me,” I put the matter bluntly; “why?”
Now she did come to her knees so that her face was nearer on a level to mine. She thrust her head forward so that I could see the congestion of fury darkening it, the small flecks of spittle at the corners of her wide mouth.
“Ausu is old; she is ruler in Ifeng’s tent only in small things. She is sick—she no longer cares.” The words came forth in a rush bringing mouth moisture with it to touch my cheek. “I”—her fist beat against her gaudily painted breast—“I am chief in Ifeng’s sight, or was. Until your witchery stole his mind. Aye, dealer in spells, blast me, turn me into a worm to be crushed beneath the boot, to a hound to draw a sled, to a stone to lie unheeding—better would that be to me than what I am now in the tent of Ifeng.”
And I knew she spoke the truth. In her rage of jealousy she would rather have me enchant her as she believed I could rather than take her place and leave her to watch what she believed to be my triumph over her. It was the courage of complete despair and envy past bearing which led her to defy the person she thought I was.
“I want not Ifeng,” I said steadily. Once I might have taken over her mind, her will, made her believe what I said was so. Now I strove to impress her with the truth, but I feared with small success.
At least she sat silent, as if she were thinking upon my answer. And I hastened to use any small advantage I might have gained.
“I am a dealer in spells, as you have said,” I told her. “I do not depend upon the good will of any man, be he chief or warrior only. It is within me—me—do you understand that, girl?” I brought my hands to my breasts, took upon me with what I hoped was good effect a semblance of the arrogance the Wise Women wore as easily as their robes and jewels.
“You lay with Ifeng,” she said sullenly, but her eyes dropped, seemed to study the open box and tumbled necklace which lay between us.
“For the good of the tribe. Is it not the custom?” I might—just might—have disarmed her completely with the true version of the night, yet I decided against it. To keep one’s secrets well is the first lesson of any seeker after knowledge.
“He—he will come again! He is a man who had tasted a feast and goes hungry until he eats so again!” she cried out.
“No, he will not come again,” I told her, and hoped I spoke the truth. “For this is true of those of us who walk the path of Power: we cannot lie with a man and use still our learning. Once—to make sure our strength passes to the chief in part as it should—but not again.”
She met my eyes and this time her anger was dulled, but her stubbornness did not yield. “What cares a hungry man for words? They but sound in his ears and do not fill him. You have one mind, yes, but I tell you Ifeng is of another. He is as one who dreams—”
I tensed. Had she hit upon the truth of this without my telling? If so, what harm could come in her resentment?
“Tell me,”—she leaned still closer, until her breath mingled with mine—“what sorcery do you Wise Ones use to ensnare a man who has always thought clearly and was not bemused by such things?”
“None of my making.” But was it so? I had dealt quickly, and perhaps not with clear thought when I had laid Ifeng under my spell. If that was what mattered I had the answer now. My hands pressed on that part of the cape I had pulled about me, and through the fabric I felt the prick of the thorn I had concealed there. “Be assured, Ayllia, that if he was bespelled by chance, then shall I break it, and speedily. I want this no more than you do!”
“I shall believe you when Ifeng goes with clear eyes and comes to my bed place as eagerly as he did two nights agone,” she told me bleakly. But perhaps she did believe in me a little. Now she got to her feet. “Show me, Wise Woman, show me that you are not unfriend to me—perhaps to all of us!”
She had turned on her heel and went from me. When I was sure she was gone, I dropped the tent flap and made it fast to the inner stake set as a kind of lock to insure privacy. With the flap down, no one by custom would enter.