brother says you can find that which has been lost.”
She set the cards aside and brought the candlestick to the center of the table.
“If you can describe what it was that you lost. Sit down.”
“It’s not a ‘something,'” Molin explained as he sat on a stool opposite her.
“I’ve had … visions … myself: warnings that there is something within my
past which is-or could cause-great trouble. Illyra, you said once that the
S’danzo saw the past as well as the future. Can you find my-” He hesitated at
the ridiculousness of the request. “Can you show me my mother?”
“She is dead, then?”
“In my birth.”
“Children bring about such longings,” she said sympathetically, then stared into
the void, waiting for inspiration. “Give me your hand.”
Illyra sprinkled powders and oils of various colors on his palm, tracing simple
symbols through each layer. His palms began to sweat; she had to hold his
fingers tightly to stop him from pulling his hand back in embarrassment.
“This will not hurt,” she assured him as, with a movement so unexpected he could
not resist it, she twisted his wrist and held his palm in the candle flame.
It didn’t. The powders released a narcotic incense that not only prevented
injury but banished all worry from the priest’s mind. When she released his hand
and extinguished the candle, most of the morning had passed. Illyra’s expression
was unreadable.
“Did you see anything?”
“I do not understand what I saw. What we do not understand we do not reveal, but
I have revealed so many things to you. Still, I do not think I want to