Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(44)

When I don’t speak, she takes a handkerchief from her pocket. The small square is stitched with the same design on the shop sign and my blade’s handle. “See the overlapping rings, each different. They represent the four energies that govern our world. Wind and water. Land and flame.”

“Channeler energy,” I say, mostly to myself in puzzlement. Why would Papa’s daggers have Channeler symbols on them? Did my mother give them to him? Is this proof she was a Channeler?

Her spotted skin stretches over her hand as she reaches for a sprig of rosemary and binds it to a vine the color of eggplant. “Aye. Would you like to learn more about them?”

Yes. Yes, I would. I have so many unanswered questions.

Knowing time is short, I quickly walk between wooden crates, looking over jars of peculiar things. Claws of a bird float in pinkish liquid. A tapestry hangs in the back of the shop, above stacks of books. It’s woven with the same Channeler symbols on my dagger, except placed differently. Each symbol rims the edge of a circle like a compass, and in the center is a fifth symbol, the stitching still a shock of blue, considering how old the tapestry appears.

“It was passed down from my grandmother’s mother.”

I spin around to find the woman resting against a cane. She points at the symbol in the center. “That’s the sign of ether. The fifth energy.”

“Ether?”

“Spirit.”

My mind suddenly latches on to the clergyman’s words. “Is ether what Spiriters control?”

She nods. “Channelers influence energy. They connect with it differently than others do. For example, a land Channeler could encourage plants to grow faster, stronger.”

Like the moonflowers at the Merryluna Festival. So would a Spiriter be able to influence a person’s spirit?

“Why haven’t I heard about the fifth power? Is influencing spirit, or ether, black magic?” I repeat the clergy’s words.

“That was two questions.” She winks and taps me with her cane. “I’ll answer both and then you’ll do the same for me. Yes?” She must sense my leeriness, because she smiles, adding, “Harmless questions.”

This old lady is crafty. But I want her to answer mine, so grudgingly I agree.

“People don’t talk of the fifth gift because it’s rare. Ether was the first of all creation, and all natural powers stemmed from it. It’s the spark of all life.” Although she has one hand holding her hunched form over the cane, she pokes a surprisingly spry finger into my sternum. “Even inside you.”

I skip back, distancing myself from the woman’s jabbing hands. “Ether is soul?”

“Not just soul. It’s energy and intelligence.” She flicks her fingers, circling in the air, her gaze clearing as she speaks. “We’re energy first, body second. Ether is in every part of the world from rocks to trees to the ocean to all animals.”

“I think I understand—”

“Good place to begin. Other people don’t try to understand.”

I turn away from her wry smile and check the door. “Why would someone call it black magic?”

Her nose wrinkles, skin bunching on her face like a sagging sock. “Ah, ignorance. It’s easy to misunderstand what you cannot see. It’s been years since a Channeler was accused of black magic. The woman used her gift to heal a small boy.”

I chew my lip, growing uneasy. I healed the dog like the woman healed the boy. “And they called that black magic?”

“No, no. Tragedy struck near the same time. The boy’s sister suffered an accident. Poor thing passed. That’s when people spoke of black magic. A life for a life.”

I frown. “Is that possible? One life for another?”

She taps her cane. “Even if it is, it goes against the code of Channelers: Never harm. Our gifts should improve life. Never take. Since Chief Auberdeen declared any act of harm by a Channeler a crime, there have been no accusations of black magic made.”

“Who was she?” I ask, need blossoming inside. “Where is she now?”

She tsks her tongue twice against her teeth and winks again. “First, you owe me.”

Seeds, there are so many more answers to be found, and little time left. If Cohen realizes I’m gone . . . “Go on.”

“Who’s your mother?” Her question is so plain, almost as if she were asking me about the weather. It catches me off-guard.

Seeing no harm in answering, I say, “Her name was Rozen.” Her brows rise, and her rheumy gaze hones in on my face. The sudden attention makes my armpits grow sweaty. I shift my weight. “I didn’t know her. She died when I was a baby. And your next question?” I push on, wanting to finish this discussion.

She shakes her head, muttering to herself. “Never mind. I suppose the first question answered the second.”

I’m not sure what to make of her cryptic comment. I’ve stayed too long, even though there’s so much more I want to ask. I force myself to thank her and walk toward the door.

“One thing before you go.” Her cane clips against the floor as she shuffles back to her table. She pulls a pinch of dried hemlock from a jar and puts it in a small satchel. As she moves on to another jar, she looks over her hunched shoulder at me. “The Spiriter who healed the little boy . . . her name is Enat.”