had she asked a question of a patron, or seen such a death, or one of her own
cards in a reading. And in all the years of memory within the S’danzo community
within the bazaar, never had any of them crossed fates with the gods.
No, I have nothing to do with gods. I do not notice them, and they do not see
me. My gift is S’danzo. I am S’danzo. We live by fate. We do not touch the
affairs of gods.
But Illyra could not convince herself. The thought circled in her mind that she
had wandered beyond the realms of her people and gifts. She lit the incense of
gentle-forgetting, inhaling it deeply, but the sound of Dubro’s anvil breaking
and the images of the three cards remained ungentle in her thoughts. As the
afternoon waned, she convinced herself again to approach Moonflower for advice.
The obese S’danzo woman’s three children squalled at each other in the dust
while her dark-eyed husband sat in the shade holding his hands over his eyes and
ears. It was not an auspicious moment to seek the older woman’s counsel. The
throngs of people were leaving the bazaar, making it safe for Illyra to wander
among the stalls looking for Dubro.
‘Illyra!’
She had expected Dubro’s voice, but this one was familiar also. She looked
closely into the crowd at the wine-seller’s.
‘Cappen Varra?’
‘The same.’ He answered, greeting her with a smile. ‘There was a rope across
your gate today, and Dubro was not busy at his fire – otherwise I should have
stopped to see you.’
‘You have a question?’
‘No, my life could not be better. I have a song for you.’