“As I said, fun.”
“That doesn’t sound like—” Talfi began.
“I didn’t say it was fun for you,” Death interrupted. “And now you’re going to ask where the power of the shape can be found, yes?”
“That was the point of coming here, great lady,” Ranadar said.
“Hmm.” Death tapped the tips of her needles against her chin. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”
Danr’s heart plunged into his feet and his hands turned cold. “What? After all that I—”
“Really, dear,” Death interrupted. “You need to listen more. I said
I
can’t tell you.”
“Oh. Uh . . . someone else can tell me?”
In answer, Death raised her head, though her features remained in shadow. “I think it’s time, sisters.”
The darkness behind her stirred. Vik! Danr backed up a step with a twinge of fear, and he clutched his old bag, feeling small and defenseless. When Death called something up, you didn’t want to be close to it, no, you didn’t. The others tensed as well. Talfi touched the amulet at his throat.
From the cool shadows slipped three women. They wore cloaks in different shades. The first wore the green of pale spring leaves and carried a bag of seeds. The secondwore the rich green-brown of summer grass and carried a hoe. The third wore the riotous rainbow of an autumn forest and carried a sickle. The blade had a smear of blood on it. All three women had strange faces that were neither beautiful nor ugly, old nor young, though they looked tired. The third, the one with the autumn cloak and sickle, looked particularly pinched and weary.
Danr’s legs went weak when he recognized them, though he’d only heard of them in stories. These were the Three Gardeners, the Fates Nu, Tan, and Pendra, and they planted a seed for every life in the shade of Ashkame, the Great Tree. Each seed grew in rows pushed and perfected by the Gardeners. Some plants they coaxed into full bloom and let them twine around those close to them. Other plants they ripped out and threw away. Even the Nine bowed to the Gardeners. Most people lived their lives hoping never to gain their attention, and now they were looking straight at Danr. His blood stopped flowing.
“Great ones,” Danr murmured, and managed a shaky bow. The others followed suit. Ranadar put his hand over his heart.
“You brought us a present,” Nu said in a flutelike voice.
“A gift,” said Tan.
“A sacrifice,” said Pendra.
“I did?” Danr cast about, suddenly desperate. He hadn’t brought anything, and in any case, what did you give the Gardeners?
“It’s on the table, sister,” said Death.
Pendra, with slow, tired hands, picked up the squid’s beak in one hand. In her other, the sickle gleamed, and the air curled around it. For a moment Danr considered looking at it—at her—with his true eye, then recoiled at the idea. For all he knew, gazing at the Three with his one true eye might strike him blind.
“Delightful,” said Tan. Her voice was ancient as a star and just as steady.
“You’re too kind,” said Nu.
“I thank you,” said Pendra, and a droplet of scarlet blood dripped from her hand. It tapped the cave floor. Danr watched it fall, more than a little startled. Had she pricked herself on the beak? It had never occurred to him that the Gardeners could bleed.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Pendra glanced down at her hand and shook another droplet of blood away. “When I think big, I am fine. But where is Aisa? Why did she not come?”
“Aisa?” Danr repeated. “She . . . I didn’t ask her to come. I didn’t want her here.” His face flamed as the embarrassing answer forced itself from his chest. Why did they have to ask? Didn’t they know the answer already?
“A pity,” said Nu.
“A shame,” said Tan.
“A loss,” sighed Pendra. “A petty decision that will complicate future rows.” She crushed the squid’s beak in her hand and it crumbled to a dust that she wiped on the front of her autumn
“That doesn’t sound like—” Talfi began.
“I didn’t say it was fun for you,” Death interrupted. “And now you’re going to ask where the power of the shape can be found, yes?”
“That was the point of coming here, great lady,” Ranadar said.
“Hmm.” Death tapped the tips of her needles against her chin. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”
Danr’s heart plunged into his feet and his hands turned cold. “What? After all that I—”
“Really, dear,” Death interrupted. “You need to listen more. I said
I
can’t tell you.”
“Oh. Uh . . . someone else can tell me?”
In answer, Death raised her head, though her features remained in shadow. “I think it’s time, sisters.”
The darkness behind her stirred. Vik! Danr backed up a step with a twinge of fear, and he clutched his old bag, feeling small and defenseless. When Death called something up, you didn’t want to be close to it, no, you didn’t. The others tensed as well. Talfi touched the amulet at his throat.
From the cool shadows slipped three women. They wore cloaks in different shades. The first wore the green of pale spring leaves and carried a bag of seeds. The secondwore the rich green-brown of summer grass and carried a hoe. The third wore the riotous rainbow of an autumn forest and carried a sickle. The blade had a smear of blood on it. All three women had strange faces that were neither beautiful nor ugly, old nor young, though they looked tired. The third, the one with the autumn cloak and sickle, looked particularly pinched and weary.
Danr’s legs went weak when he recognized them, though he’d only heard of them in stories. These were the Three Gardeners, the Fates Nu, Tan, and Pendra, and they planted a seed for every life in the shade of Ashkame, the Great Tree. Each seed grew in rows pushed and perfected by the Gardeners. Some plants they coaxed into full bloom and let them twine around those close to them. Other plants they ripped out and threw away. Even the Nine bowed to the Gardeners. Most people lived their lives hoping never to gain their attention, and now they were looking straight at Danr. His blood stopped flowing.
“Great ones,” Danr murmured, and managed a shaky bow. The others followed suit. Ranadar put his hand over his heart.
“You brought us a present,” Nu said in a flutelike voice.
“A gift,” said Tan.
“A sacrifice,” said Pendra.
“I did?” Danr cast about, suddenly desperate. He hadn’t brought anything, and in any case, what did you give the Gardeners?
“It’s on the table, sister,” said Death.
Pendra, with slow, tired hands, picked up the squid’s beak in one hand. In her other, the sickle gleamed, and the air curled around it. For a moment Danr considered looking at it—at her—with his true eye, then recoiled at the idea. For all he knew, gazing at the Three with his one true eye might strike him blind.
“Delightful,” said Tan. Her voice was ancient as a star and just as steady.
“You’re too kind,” said Nu.
“I thank you,” said Pendra, and a droplet of scarlet blood dripped from her hand. It tapped the cave floor. Danr watched it fall, more than a little startled. Had she pricked herself on the beak? It had never occurred to him that the Gardeners could bleed.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Pendra glanced down at her hand and shook another droplet of blood away. “When I think big, I am fine. But where is Aisa? Why did she not come?”
“Aisa?” Danr repeated. “She . . . I didn’t ask her to come. I didn’t want her here.” His face flamed as the embarrassing answer forced itself from his chest. Why did they have to ask? Didn’t they know the answer already?
“A pity,” said Nu.
“A shame,” said Tan.
“A loss,” sighed Pendra. “A petty decision that will complicate future rows.” She crushed the squid’s beak in her hand and it crumbled to a dust that she wiped on the front of her autumn
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