The children giggled.
Moria continued, "If you behave yourselves and stay away from the sanctuary, I might tell some stories tonight. But you must stay away. Ashyn needs complete silence outside or she'll forget the words to all the chants." She lowered her voice to a mock whisper. "I think she might have gotten too close to a ritual when she was little."
Ashyn made a face at her. Moria tossed back a grin. Despite the insult, Ashyn knew Moria was doing her a favor--a quiet sanctuary would indeed help today. It was the first time she'd conduct the Seeking rituals alone.
"Now, what kind of creature do you want for tonight's story?" Moria asked. "Thunder hawks? Sand dragons? Water horses?"
As the children called out suggestions, a small voice whispered beside Ashyn. "Are you scared?"
She looked down at the girl, walking so close Tova had to give her room. There were always a couple frightened by Moria's stories and scowls. This one was Wenda, just past her ninth summer. Ashyn stroked the girl's black curls.
"I've assisted with the rituals many times," Ashyn said. "It's not frightening."
"I mean the Seeking. Finding the"--Wenda shuddered--"bodies. And the spirits. Momma says when the damned die, they become the forsaken and can hurt us." She looked up, dark eyes glistening. "They can hurt you."
"But they won't. I'm there to calm them and make sure they are buried properly. That takes away their anger. They'll go to the second world and be happy."
Moria glanced over, her rough voice softening. "Ashyn's been training for this since she was smaller than you. She's ready."
Ashyn wished she shared her sister's confidence. It was true they'd been training most of their lives. The Seeker and Keeper from the imperial court had come every season to train them and conduct the rituals. Ashyn was not fond of the harsh old Seeker, but she wished Ellyn could be here now to guide her, even if she could not enter the forest with her tomorrow--only one Seeker was permitted in at a time.
Ashyn couldn't even appeal to the ancestral spirits for guidance. While she often heard their wordless whispers, their actual communications were little more than a few words. From that, she had to interpret what they wanted--and it was all about what they wanted. She was their servant. They did not assist her.
"Who wants Ashyn's fortune today?" Moria asked.
The children clamored to be chosen. Then Wenda whispered, "I think Ashyn should take it. For luck."
Ashyn shook her head. Anyone who left an offering was welcome to a fortune, but she never took hers because there was a chance it could be a curse. It seemed an unnecessary tempting of fate. So Moria let the village children take it, which was fine, because a curse didn't count if you weren't the one leaving the offering.
The children ran to the offering tree. It was set just under the eaves of the sanctuary, sheltered from the rare rains. Made of metal, the tree had fortune scrolls in place of leaves and a slotted hole for the offering. The shrine caretaker replaced the scrolls with shipments from the court priests.
Ashyn knelt beside the metal tree and dropped in a copper coin, hearing it clink at the bottom. Then she closed her eyes, selected a scroll, and handed it to the little boy Moria had chosen. He shoved it into his pocket to be opened later, so he wouldn't miss the next part.
Moria waved the children away from the tree and stepped back five paces, coin in hand. She measured the distance. Then she pitched the coin. It sailed squarely through the slot and rang off the metal like a bell.
The children cheered, but the show wasn't over. They went quiet as Moria pulled a dart from her cloak. She turned around and threw the dart over her shoulder. It flew straight through a scroll and pinned it to the wooden sanctuary wall.
The children whooped and cheered. Ashyn shot her sister a grin. Moria smiled and went to retrieve her prize.
"Leaving an offering is a sacred act, Keeper," said a deep voice behind them. "It isn't a child's game."
Two
Ashyn winced as Gavril Kitsune stepped from behind the children, but Moria only said, "Yes, it is a sacred act, and so I honor the spirits by demonstrating the skills I have developed for the protection of my village."
Ashyn swore she heard the whispery chuckle of the ancestors.
One of the older boys turned to Gavril. "The Keeper protects us from the spirits of the damned. Like your father--"
Moria laid her hand on the boy's shoulder, silencing him. Gavril's mouth tightened. One could think he was reacting to the insult, but Ashyn suspected Moria's defense bothered him more.
When Gavril first came to Edgewood, the village had recognized the uncomfortable irony of sending a young man to guard the forest where his father had been exiled to his death. They'd tried to welcome him. But Gavril was as hard as the lava rock of the Wastes. He did his job and asked for nothing, expected nothing, gave nothing. Still, he wasn't rude to the villagers . . . with one exception--the person who'd been the most outraged by his predicament and had tried most to befriend him.
Gavril goaded Moria, challenged her, and caught her when she was up to trouble. Moria forbid Ashyn to complain. "It's practice," she'd say. "He pokes at me and insults me and watches me, and I learn to be tougher, quicker, and stealthier."
Now Gavril walked close enough to Moria to make Daigo growl. He towered above her by a head, his dark braids brushing her head as he leaned over to whisper to her. His muscled arms glistened with sweat, as if he'd just left his morning drill. The perspiration made the green eyes on his nine-tailed fox tattoos glitter.
"Remember what I said," he murmured. "If you try tomorrow, I'll do it. I swear I will."