“I have something she wants to keep safe,” he told the old woman. “She will accept the magic.”
Chamani continued to rock in her chair, wrapping an old, worn shawl tight around her bony shoulders. The night wasn’t cool and yet she shivered. The priestess turned her head sharply to the left as if she’d heard something he did not. All of the color leached from her eyes and her body stilled. The white orbs stared at something that Tarron couldn’t see. As if the swamp also sensed a presence, the steady cacophony of noises around them suddenly died down, and they were left surrounded by an unnatural silence. He didn’t interrupt her, though his body tensed with the urge to know what she was seeing. There was no point in asking. She would tell him when the vision had past, or when she was good a
