Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

Thanks, first and foremost to Dr. Doug, my main Muse and best friend. Also to Pat York, Anne Groell, Lucienne Diver, Matthew and Timothy Flewelling, Nancy Jeffers, Dr. Meghan Cope, and Bonnie Blanch for all their helpful feedback and patience, and to all the readers whove given me such great support over the years.

The cold night breeze shifted, blowing stinging smoke from old Teolins campfire into Mahtis eyes. The young witch blinked it away, but remained squatting motionless, his bearskin cloak pulled around him like a little hut. It was bad luck to fidget during this last crucial step of the making.

The old witch hummed happily as he heated his knife again and again, using the tip and edge to incise the rings of dark, intricate patterns that now covered most of the long wooden tube. Teolin was ancient. His wrinkled brown skin hung on his skinny frame like old cloth and his bones showed through. The witch marks on his face and body were hard to read, distorted by the ravages of time. His hair hung over his shoulders in a thin tangle of yellowed strands. Years of making had left his blunt, knobby fingers stained black, but they were as nimble as ever.

Mahtis last oolu had cracked one cold night this past midwinter, after hed played out an elders gallstones. It had taken months of searching to find the right kind of bildi branch to make a new one. Bildi trees werent scarce, but you had to find a sapling trunk or large branch that had been ant-hollowed, and the right size to give a good tone. High as your chin, and four fingers broad; so hed been taught and so it was.

Hed found plenty of flawed branches in the hills around his village: knotted ones, cracked ones, others with holes eaten out through the side. The large black ants that followed the rising sap through the heartwood were industrious but undiscerning craftsmen.

Hed finally found one, and cut his horn stave from it. But it was bad luck for a witch to make his own instrument, even if he had the skill. Each must be earned and given from the hand of another. So hed strapped it to his back over his bearskin cloak and snowshoed for three days and nights to bring it to Teolin.

The old man was the best oolu maker in the eastern hills. Witch men had been coming to him for three generations and he turned away more than he accepted.

It took weeks to make an oolu. During this time it was Mahtis job to chop wood, cook food, and generally make himself useful while Teolin worked.

Teolin first stripped the bark and used live coals to burn out the last of the ants leavings. When the stave was fully hollowed he went out of earshot to test the tone. Satisfied, he and Mahti rested and traded spells for a week while the hollow branch hung drying in the rafters near the smoke hole of Teolins hut.

It dried without warping or cracking. Teolin sawed the ends square and rubbed beeswax into the wood until it gleamed. Then theyd waited two more days for the full moon.

Tonight was the sit-still.

That afternoon Mahti had scraped away the snow in front of the hut and dragged out an old lion skin for Teolin to sit on. He laid a large fire, with more wood stacked within easy reach, and hunkered down to tend it.

Teolin sat down wrapped in his moth-eaten bearskin and set to work. Using a heated iron knife, he etched the rings of magic onto the wood. Mahti watched with rapt attention as he fed the fire, marveling at how the designs seemed to flow from the tip of the blade, like ink onto deerskin. He wondered if it would come so easily to him, when the time came for him to make oolus for others?

Now the Mothers full white face was high overhead and Mahtis ankles ached from squatting, but the oolu was nearly done.

When the last of the rings was complete, Teolin dipped the mouth end in a little pot of melted wax, then rolled a softened lump of it into a thin coil and pressed it in a ring to the waxed end of the horn. He squinted across at Mahti, gauging the size of his mouth, and pinched the wax in until the opening was about two thumbs wide.

Satisfied at last, he gave Mahti a toothless grin. Ready to learn this ones name?

Mahtis heart beat faster as he stood and stretched the stiffness from his legs. His last oolu, Moon Plow, had served him seven years. In that time hed become a man and a healer. Honoring the Moon Plow mark, hed planted many fine children in womens bellies at Mother Shekmets festivals. His sons and daughters were scattered through three valleys and some of the oldest were already showing witchs talent.

When Moon Plow cracked, this cycle of his life ended. He was twenty-three summers old, and his next future was about to be revealed.

Drawing his own knife, he cut his right palm and held it over the mouth of the oolu as Teolin held it. A few drops of his blood fell inside it as he sang the claiming spell. The black tracery of witch marks across his face, arms, and chest tickled like spider feet. When he thrust his hand into the fire, he didnt feel the heat of it. Straightening, he moved to the far side of the fire and faced the old man. Im ready.

Teolin held the oolu upright and chanted the blessing, then tossed it across to Mahti.

He caught it awkwardly in his fire hand, gripping it well below the center. Even hollow, it was a heavy thing. It nearly overbalanced, and if it had fallen, hed have had to burn it and start all over again. But he managed to hang on to it, gritting his teeth until the witch marks faded completely from sight on his arms. He took the horn in his left hand and inspected it. The shiny black print of his fire hand was branded into the wood.

Teolin took it back and carefully examined how the marks of Mahtis splayed fingers intersected the carved designs. He was a long time at it, humming and sucking his gums.

Whats wrong? asked Mahti. Is it a bad luck cycle?

This is the Sojourn mark youve made. You better spit for it.

Teolin scratched a circle in the ashes at the edge of the fire with his knife. Mahti took a mouthful of water from the gourd and spat forcefully into the circle, then turned away quickly as Teolin hunkered down to interpret the marks.

The old man sighed. Youll travel among strangers until this oolu cracks. Whether thats good luck or bad, only the Mother knows, and she doesnt feel like telling me tonight. But its a strong mark you made. Youll travel a long way.

Mahti bowed respectfully. If Teolin said it would be so, then it would be. Best just to accept it. When do I go? Will I see Lhamilas child born?

Teolin sucked his gums again, staring down at the spit marks. Go home by a straight path tomorrow and lay your blessings on her belly. A sign will come. But now, lets hear this fine horn Ive made for you!

Mahti settled his mouth firmly inside the wax mouthpiece. It was still warm and smelled of summer. Closing his eyes, he filled his cheeks with air and blew gently out through loosened lips.

Sojourns deep voice came to life with his breath. He hardly had to adjust his playing style at all before the rich, steady drone warmed the wood beneath his hands. Gazing up at the white moon, he sent a silent thanks to the Mother. Whatever his new fate was, he knew already that he would do great magic with Sojourn, surpassing all hed done with Moon Plow.

By the time he finished the claiming song he was light-headed. Its good! he gasped. Are you ready?

The old man nodded and hobbled back into the hut.