With the back of her hand, Olikea pushed aside the bowl of seaweed. In its place she set out the dark blue leather pouch and made a ceremony of opening it while Moma pretended disinterest. Her failing eyesight betrayed her, for she craned her neck to see as she leaned closer to the plank shelf. She was tellingly silent as Olikea lifted the treasures from the bag and arranged them carefully on the plank. She did not hurry. Earrings went with their matching necklaces and bracelets. Figurines were carefully spaced. These were Lisana’s finest treasures. I had never seen them in strong, clear daylight. Despite their years, they shone, glittered, and gleamed. Earrings of carved ivory vied with those of hammered silver, figures of jade and amber flanked soapstone statues, bracelets of linked gold spiraled temptingly on the plank.
I wondered why she displayed it all. Surely we would not trade all of our best items for dried leaves and shriveled mushrooms. A rising tide of dismay tightened my throat; Soldier’s Boy shared my extreme reluctance to see Lisana’s treasure frittered away. Yet Moma stood with bated breath as Olikea opened the bag wider and peered within. Then Olikea dipped her whole hand into the bag. Gently, as if lifting a living creature, she raised the scarf-wrapped object. She held it in her palm and deftly opened the wrappings to reveal the ivory child cradled there.
Moma gasped in awe and one of her hands lifted. The reaching fingers reminded me of a hawk’s greedy talons. They were stretched toward the sleeping baby, the fertility charm that had failed Lisana but remained her greatest treasure. Horror rose in me.
“No!” I exclaimed, and in that same instant, the word emerged from Soldier’s Boy’s throat. For that moment, we were fused, a single united entity. I was shocked at how wonderful it felt. I was full of power and whole. This was what I could have been, had the Tree Woman never divided me. I felt a flash of anger at all the ways my life had gone wrong. This was what I should have been!
But the emotion and the thought were not solely mine. They stank of Soldier’s Boy and I tore myself free of him. I would not become a minor part of some Speck shaman, some forest mage. I was still Nevare, Nevare Burvelle, and I did not intend to surrender that. As if from a distance, I heard Olikea respond to me. She gave a silvery laugh. “Oh, no, of course not! This is not for trade. I know what your hopes are, Great One! We could not part with this, not until it has done its work for us.”
And before Moma’s reaching fingers could touch the figurine, Olikea had flipped the scarf back over it. As quickly as she had displayed it, she lowered it back into the open sack. Then she patted my arm as if I required calming and reassurance.
Moma held out an entreating hand. “Wait. Do not be hasty. For that one item, I will give you a winter’s worth of magical provisions. A generous winter’s worth.”
Olikea laughed again, but this time I heard not the tinkle of silver but the clang of steel. In disbelief she asked, “Is a Great One’s babe not worth more than a winter’s worth of herbs?”
“Two winters,” Moma offered and then recklessly changed it to “Five winters.”
“Not for ten winters. Not for barter at any price,” Olikea replied coldly. Then she stood a moment, tapping her lips as if considering something. “I am young. I have many bearing years ahead of me, and as I have already borne a child, I know I need not fear I am barren. So, perhaps…To a very trustworthy woman, a woman of good standing, I might lend this charm. For only a season, of course, just long enough for her womb to catch a babe. Then I must have it back.”
I sensed an invisible bargain was being struck. Difficult as it was, both Soldier’s Boy and I held ourselves still. Moma’s breathing was loud, an echo of the endless rush of the waves against the shore.
“How came you to have it?” she suddenly demanded. “The Ivory Child passed out of all knowing more than two generations ago.”
“That does not matter,” Olikea informed her. “It has been kept well, in secret, and used wisely. Now it is my turn.”
“It is a very desirable thing,” Moma told her. “Some would kill to possess that. You should be careful, very careful, of showing it here in the Trading Place.”
“I think you give me wise counsel, Moma. I will be more cautious. I will not show it again.” Her sudden show of respect and deference to Moma’s wisdom surprised me. Olikea paused significantly and then added, “And if one comes to me, quietly, wishing to talk of borrowing it, then I will know that she knows only because you have judged her a worthy and trustworthy woman. For only to you have I shown this. She would be in both our debts, such a woman.”
