PROLOGUE Read Online Free Page A

came among the houses. Two women coiled clay into pots while a third smoothed the coils into a flat surface on which she spread a fine paste of paler clay. A finished pot, still unfired, sat beside her, stamped with the imprint of a braided cord. Four men scraped hides. Two half-grown boys toiled up the slope carrying water in bark buckets.
    The headwoman of the village emerged from her house. Adica offered her the bead necklace from the north country, a proper meeting gift that would not disgrace her tribe, and in return the
    headwoman had a girl bring warm potage flavored with coriander and a thick honey mead. Then she was given leave, by means of certain familiar gestures, to continue on up the slope to the house of Falling-down, the tribe's conjuring man.
    As she had hoped, he was not alone.
    Falling-down was so old that all his hair was white. He claimed to have celebrated the Festival of the Sun sixty-two times, but Adica could not really believe that he could have seen that many festivals, much less counted them all. He sat cross-legged, carving a fishing spear out of bone. Because he was a conjuring man, the Hallowed One of his tribe, he put magic into the spear by carving ospreys and long-necked herons along the blade to give the tool a bird's success in hunting fish. He whistled under his breath as he worked, a spell that wound itself into the making.
    Dorren sat at Falling-down's right hand. He taught a counting game to a handful of children hunkered down around the pebbles he tossed with his good hand out of a leather cup. Adica paused just behind the ragged half circle of children and watched Dorren.
    Dorren looked up at once, sensing her. He smiled, sent the children away, and got to his feet, holding out his good hand in the greeting of cousins. She reached for him, then hesitated, and dropped her hand without touching him. His withered hand stirred, as if he meant to move it, but he smiled sadly and gestured toward Falling-down, who remained intent on his carving.
    "None thought to see you here," Dorren said, stepping aside so that Falling-down wouldn't be distracted from his spell by their conversation.
    Faced with Dorren, she didn't know what to say. Her cheeks felt hot. She was a fool, truly. But he was glad to see her, wasn't he? Dorren was a White Deer man from Old Fort who had been chosen as a Walking One of the White Deer tribe, those who traveled the stone looms to learn the speech of their allies. As Walking One, he received certain protections against magic.
    "I heard that Beor made trouble for you in your village," he said finally while she played nervously with one of her copper bracelets.” You endured him a long time. It isn't easy for a woman and a man to live together when they don't have temperaments to match."
    He had such gentle eyes. With the withered hand, he had never
    been able to hunt and swim like other children, but he had grown up healthy and strong and was valued for his cleverness and patience. That was why he had been chosen as Walking One. He had so many qualities that Beor so brazenly lacked.
    "Some seem better suited than others," he went on. Surely he guessed that she had watched him from afar for a long time.
    Her heart pounded erratically. Remarkably, his steady gaze, on her, did not waver, although he must have heard by now about the doom pronounced over her and the other six Hallowed Ones. Seeing his courage, she knew the Fat One had guided her well.
    He began anew, stammered to a halt, then spoke.” It must seem to you that the days pass swiftly. I have meant to tell you " He broke off, blushing, as he glanced at the path which led to the village. A few children loitering at the head of the path scattered into the woodland, shrieking and giggling.
    "There's a woman here," he said finally, in a rush, cheeks pink with emotion.” Her name is Wren, daughter of Red Belly ,and Laughing. She's like running water to me, always a blessing. Now she says that I had the man's part