The Oracle's Queen Read Free

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, he’d 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 fadedcompletely 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 Mahti’s splayed fingers intersected the carved designs. He was a long time at it, humming and sucking his gums.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Mahti. “Is it a bad luck cycle?”
    â€œThis is the Sojourn mark you’ve 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. “You’ll travel among strangers until this oo’lu cracks. Whether that’s good luck or bad, only the Mother knows, and she doesn’t feel like telling me tonight. But it’s a strong mark you made. You’ll 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 Lhamila’s 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, let’s hear this fine horn I’ve 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.
    Sojourn’s 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 thathe would do great magic with Sojourn, surpassing all he’d done with Moon Plow.
    By the time he finished the claiming song he was light-headed. “It’s good!” he gasped. “Are you ready?”
    The old man nodded and hobbled back into the hut.
    They’d agreed on the payment their first day together. Mahti lit the bear fat lamp and set it by the piled furs of the sleeping platform.
    Teolin shrugged off his cloak and undid the ties of his shapeless robe. The elk and bear teeth decorating it clicked softly as he let it fall. He stretched out on his pallet, and Mahti knelt and ran his eyes over the old man’s body, feeling compassion tinged with sadness rise in his heart. No one knew how old Teolin was, not even the old witch himself. Time had eaten most of the flesh from his frame. His penis, said to have planted more than five hundred festival seeds, now lay like a shrunken thumb against his hairless sac.
    The old man smiled gently. “Do what you can. Neither the Mother nor I ask more than that.”
    Mahti leaned down, kissed the old man’s lined brow, and drew the fusty bearskin up to Teolin’s chin to keep him warm. Settling beside the platform, he rested the end of the horn close to the old man’s side, closed his eyes, and began the spell song.
    With lips and tongue and breath, he altered the drone to a sonorous, rhythmic pulse. The sound filled Mahti’s head and chest, making his bones shiver. He gathered the energies and sent them out through Sojourn to Teolin. He could feel the song enter the old man, lifting the strong soul free of the frail, pain-wracked body, letting it drift up through the smoke hole like milkweed fluff. Bathing in the light of a full moon was very healing for a soul. It returned to the body cleansed and