The Snow Queen Read Free

fish brain!” A cloud of
sand exploded around their ankles.
    She threw
her arms around him for balance, squeezed the indignation out of him as her own
amazement tightened her hold.
Sparks
pulled free, subsiding; the net dropped, forgotten, like the village, the bay,
their reunion. Moon tugged at the hem of her hand-me down sweater, knitting her
fingers into the heavy rust-red yarn.
    The woman
smiled down at them, the radiant oval of her face touched with windburn above
her ancient gray parka, the thick pants and clumsy boots worn by any islander.
But she was not from Neith, not simply from any island ...
    “Did—did
you come out of the Sea?” Moon gasped.
Sparks
gaped beside her.
    The woman
laughed; her laughter broke the spell of otherworldliness like window glass.
“No ... only across it, on a ship.”
    “Why?”
    “Who are
you?” Their questions ran together.
    And in answer
to both, the woman held out the medallion she wore on a chain: a barbed trefoil
like a bouquet of fish hooks, glittering with the darkly sinister beauty of a
reptile’s eye. “Do you know what this is?” She went down on one knee in the
sand, her black braids dropping forward. They shuffled closer, blinking.
    “Sibyl ...
?” Moon whispered timidly, seeing
Sparks
clutch his own medal out of the corner of her eye. But then her gaze was wholly
the woman’s, and she knew why the dark, compelling eyes seemed to open on
infinity. A sibyl was the earthly channel for supernatural wisdom, chosen
through the Lady’s Own judgment, who by temperament and training had the
strength to withstand a holy visitation.
    The woman
nodded. “I am Clavally Bluestone Summer.” She set her hands against her
forehead. “Ask, and I will answer.”
    They did
not ask, dazed by the knowledge that she would—could—answer any question they
could imagine; or that the Lady Herself would answer them with Clavally’s lips,
while the sibyl was swept away in a trance.
    “No
questions?” Formality fell away again, held at bay by her good humor. “Then
tell me who you are, who already know everything you need to know?”
    “I’m Moon,”
Moon said, pushing at her bangs. “Moon Dawntreader Summer. This’s my cousin,
Sparks Dawntreader Summer, and I don’t know enough to ask about anything!” she
finished miserably.
    “I do.”
Sparks
pushed forward,
holding out his medal. “What did this used to be?”
    “ Input ... ” Clavally took it between her
fingers, frowned faintly, murmuring . Her eyes turned
to smoky quartz, moved wildly, like a dreamer’s; her hand fisted over the disc.
“Sign of the Hegemony—two crosses bound within a circle symbolize the unity of
Kharemough and its seven subordinate worlds ... medal awarded for valorous
service, Kispah uprising: “What all may strive for, this one has found. To our
beloved son Temmon Ashwini Sirus, this day, 9:113:07.” Sandhi, official
language of Kharemough and the Hegemony. No
further analysis .” Her head dropped forward, let go by an unseen force. She
swayed gently on her knees, sighed, sat back. “Well.”
    “But what
does it mean ?”
Sparks
looked down at the disc which still
danced against his parka front, and his mouth formed an uncertain line.
    Clavally
shook her head. “I don’t know. The Lady only speaks through me, not to me.
That’s the Transfer—the way it is.”
    Sparks
’s mouth quivered.
    “The
Hegemony,” Moon said quickly. “What’s the Hegemony, Clavally?”
    “The off
worlders.” Clavally’s eyes widened slightly. “The Hegemony is what they call
themselves. So it’s an off world thing, then ... I’ve never been to Carbuncle.”
Her glance went to it again. “How did this get here, so far from the star port
and the Winters?” And back to their faces, “You’re merrybegots, aren’t you?
Your mothers went to the last Festival together, and were lucky enough to come
back with you ... and also this keepsake?”
    Sparks
nodded, as much in awe of adult
logic as he was