was on him. The Iron Water assistants as well as their chief’s daughter had their eyes open. This ritual could not be corrupted—it was Mooriah’s chance to show Oval and the others her true worth. Her opportunity to advance and prove herself. Plus, she had no desire to show weakness in front of Iron Water.
She made the decision in a split second. Raising her voice, she began to practically shout the chant, startling several around the circle. Now the attention was on her instead of Ember. In the breath between repetitions, she invoked a blood spell to conceal her movements for the next few seconds. Even Oval would not be able to see what she did. Those watching would only see her as she’d been the moment she’d uttered the spell.
She grabbed Ember’s hand, wiping the blood away and grabbing the pin. She pricked his finger and, ignoring his flinch, added a drop of his blood to the bowl. Then she took the bowl from him.
The brief concealment spell petered out, and she finished the ritual like nothing had happened. The new caldera rose into the air like the others, an offering to the Breath Father and Mountain Mother. Beside her, Ember looked dazed, but held his peace.
After a few minutes of forced pleasantries between clan chiefs, Iron Water retreated. Ember and his family left as well. Mooriah glimpsed him trying to catch her eye, but she studiously ignored him.
Once the others had left, Oval turned to her, face stony as ever. “A thorough, if enthusiastic performance, Mooriah.”
She lowered her head. “Many of the old rituals mention that additional fervency in our pleas gratifies the Breath Father.”
“Hmm,” was his only utterance before he turned away with Glister on his heels. The other apprentice hadn’t looked directly at Mooriah since Oval had made his choice.
Murmur eyed her strangely as she cleaned up, putting away her materials.
“Do you think I will get marked down for too much exuberance?” she whispered.
He considered Oval’s retreating form. “You could have gotten through it faster and perhaps quieter, but given the Exemplar’s penchant for a snail-like pace, I would not worry overmuch.” He smiled kindly and patted her shoulder.
Her triumph was somewhat dimmed by the oddness with Ember, and she hoped that helping him had not hurt her chances of joining the clan.
~ 3 ~
Charm of Entanglement: To confirm an agreement between non-rivals to work together for mutual benefit.
Mix sapphire basil and crushed mammoth bone until well blended. Phantom rosemary may be substituted if the basil is overly fragrant but be mindful of its tendency to cause hiccups.
—WISDOM OF THE FOLK
For two days, Ember searched the city for Mooriah. When he wasn’t training or studying, he was finding reasons to be near the shaman’s cave. He caught glimpses of the old man coming and going, but never the woman he sought. And he couldn’t just ask one of the elders because they would doubtless want to know why he was looking for her, and he couldn’t really lie to them. It was said that elder blood mages could suss out truth without even piercing your skin.
Having no idea where she lived, he wandered the criss-crossing paths which stretched across the open cavern of the city, hoping to run into her. Silly, since such a thing had never happened before.
There were so many levels and tunnels and honeycombed chambers within the Night Snow mountain home. Endless staircases and bridges led to dwellings and businesses tucked away in caverns cut out of the rock. Moriah was not in the farming grottos on the bottom level, where firerocks shined bright as the moon and stooped farmers tended their plots. She was not with the fishers in the streams which circumnavigated the city or with the tanners or the masons.
He entered the teeming marketplace, wincing at the cacophony of voices echoing on the stone. Vendors shouted from stalls sectioned off with colored rope. The scents of stews and skewered meat wafted over, but did not entice Ember, preoccupied as he was. He was despairing of ever finding her as he turned a corner and ran, nearly headfirst, into Glister.
“Ember,” she said, smiling brilliantly. “You nearly mowed me down.” Her shaved head was painted with delicate artistry in the clan colors of white and gold. The nightworm silk chestcloth and waistcloth she wore were more expensive than all his possessions combined. Her family cultivated the creatures and harvested the fiber and even the chieftain only had a few bits of clothing