Beyond the Hanging Wall by Sara Douglass

pulling the saddlebags from the horse’s back, paused in amazement.
    She was the loveliest woman he had ever seen—even the exotic dancers who accompanied the travelling troupes through the major cities of Escator could not compare with this woman in beauty.
    She was about his own mother’s age, and with the same dark hair, but there the similarity ended. She retained a girlish slimness, and a paleness and firmness of complexion. Her eyes were the lightest grey that Garth had ever seen, and ringed with thick dark lashes, while her bone structure was so exquisite that Garth did not think even the most skilful sculptor could match it. She walked forward, her movements subtle and graceful.
    She stared at him, then held out a long-fingered hand, palm uppermost. “So you are Baxtor’s son. He mentioned some years past he had a son who would take up the trade.”
    “I…ah, my name is Garth.”
    She smiled, and Garth made a faltering attempt to return it. If he had thought her lovely before, then it was nothing to what he thought her now.
    “My name is Venetia.”
    “Yes,” Garth managed.
    Her smile widened, and for an instant Garth thought it slightly predatory. No wonder his father felt uncomfortable about coming out here.
    “Will you come inside?” Her hand slowly fell to her side.
    Garth nodded, and finally managed to pull the bags from the horse’s back.
    She stared at him for a moment longer, then turned in one sinuous movement and disappeared into the hut.
    Garth hesitated at the doorway. The hut was only small, yet the dimness of its interior gave the impression of spaciousness.
    “Come,” Venetia’s voice called, slightly impatient.
    Garth hefted the saddlebags over his arm, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
    He blinked as he entered, his eyes struggling to compensate for the hut’s gloomy interior. For one moment he thought he stood in some vast, misty cavern, but then his eyesight cleared, and he saw that the interior of the hut was as listless and woebegone as its exterior. Did the woman make no attempt to clean or brighten her home? Apart from a rickety bed to one side, the only furnishings were a table, scratched and marred with countless knife-scores, and two old stools about a dusty hearth. How did she manage to live here?
    “You’ve brought herbals?” the woman asked softly to one side, and Garth started, embarrassed at the thought that his face had so clearly mirrored his disgust.
    “Yes, father wasn’t sure what you wanted, so…” his voice trailed off. For one heartbeat he thought theback wall had faded into nothingness, revealing yet more nothingness beyond, but the instant passed, and Garth stepped over and placed the saddlebags on top of the table. “I’ve brought a number of different herbal powders.”
    Venetia smiled slightly, her pale eyes brilliant even in this gloom, and Garth bent over the bags, starting to undo their straps.
    The woman glided to his side, her slim white fingers brushing his aside and undoing the straps with barely concealed impatience. Garth stood back quickly, his fingers tingling with her touch.
    Again his vision blurred, and the back wall appeared to fade until only vastness replaced it.
    Garth took a quick intake of breath, and Venetia looked up sharply. “What is it?”
    “Nothing,” Garth said hastily. “A little overheated from the ride, that’s all.”
    Venetia stared at him, her eyes searching, then she pulled the first few packages out of the saddlebags. “Ah,” she breathed, “fultate, and here is some norstail. Your father has remembered my needs well.”
    Garth finally found the courage to initiate some conversation himself. “What do you do with the powders? Do you use them to heal?”
    Venetia smoothed the packs out before her, then raised her eyes. “Heal? Oh, occasionally, Garth Baxtor. Occasionally. Mostly I use them to dream.”
    Garth took a sharp breath. “Dream?”
    Venetia sighed, and Garth could see she was impatient.