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 I did not say that you did, the herdsman replied quietly. On the other side
of the cat-a-mountain, Simna made gargling pig noises in his sleep. Behind
Ehomba, the withering fire continued to cast warmth from its bones.  I asked
if you could find out.
Canine eyes searched his fine, honest face.  You are an interesting man,
Etjole Ehomba. I can herd the lightning, but I think maybe you could shear
it.
He smiled.  Even if such a thing were possible, which it is not, what would
one do with clippings from the lightning?
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Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
 I don t know. Feed it to a machine, perhaps. Coming to a decision, she rose,
stretched her front feet out before her and thrust her hips high in the air,
yawned, and beckoned for him to follow.
She stopped in the cozy room s farthest corner, facing a two-foot-high
handmade wooden box with a forward-slanting lid. On the front of the lid
someone had used a large-bladed knife to engrave a pair of crossed bones with
a dog heart above and singular paw print below.  Open it.
For the barest instant, Ehomba hesitated. His mother and father and aunts and
uncles and the elders of the village had often told the children stories of
warlocks and witches, of sorcerers and sorceresses who could turn themselves
into eagles, or frogs, into oryx or into great saber-toothed cats. He had
grown up hearing tales of necromancers who could become like trees to listen
silently and spy on people, and of others capable of turning themselves into
barracuda to bite off the legs of unwary gatherers of shellfish.
There were rumors of hermits who at night became blood-supping bats, and of
scarecrowlike women who could become wind. Others were said to be able to slip
out of their skins, much as one would shed a shirt or kilt. Some grew long
fangs and claws and their eyes were said to be like small glowing moons of
fire.
But he had never heard of a witch among the animals themselves, who had not at
some time been human. He told her so.
 Do you think only humans have their conjurers and seers? Animals have their
own magic, which we share but rarely with your kind. Most of it you would not
understand. Some of it would not even seem like magic to you. We see things
differently, hear things differently, taste and smell and feel things
differently. Why should our alchemy also not be different? Eyes the color of
molten amber stared back up at him.  If you want my help, Etjole Ehomba, you
must open the box.
Still he hesitated. A backward glance showed that his companions slept on.
There was no sign of movement from the direction of the cottage s single
bedroom.  Does Coubert know?
 Of course he knows. Her muzzle brushed the back of his hand, her wet nose
momentarily damp against his dry skin.  No one can live with a witch and not
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know what she is. Human or dog, cat or mouse, we are all the same. Some things
you cannot hide forever even from the ones you love.
 And he has no magic powers of his own?
 None whatsoever, she assured him.  But he is good to me. I have clean water
every day, and I do not have to kill my own food. For the barest instant, her
eyes blazed with something that ran deeper than dogness.  We are comfortable
here, the two of us, and if a right woman or strong husky were to come along,
neither of us would resent the other s pairing. We complement one another in
too many ways.
She gestured with her black nose.  The box.
His long, strong fingers continued to hover over the lid.  What is in it?
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Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
 Dog magic.
Lifting the cover and resting it back against the wall, he peered inside. No
crystal globe or golden tuning fork greeted his gaze. No bottles of powdered
arcanity or pin-pierced dolls stared back up at him. There was not much at all
in the bin, and what there was would not have intrigued a disgruntled thief
for more than a second.
Some old bones, more than a little rancid and well chewed; a long strip of
thick old leather, also heavily gnawed; a ball of solid rubber from which most
of the color and design had long since been eroded; a stick of some highly
polished pale yellow wood covered with bite marks; and a few pieces of
aromatic root tugged from a reluctant earth comprised the bin s entire
contents.
 My treasures, murmured Roileé.  Take them out and lay them before the fire.
Ehomba did so, taking a seat on the hearth when he had finished. As he looked
on, the dog witch used her paws to align them in a particular way: bones here,
stick crossed there, ball in position, leather strip curled just so, roots
positioned properly to frame them all. With her nose, she nudged and pushed,
making final adjustments. When all was in readiness, she lay down on her
belly, tilted back her head, and began to moan and whimper softly. Neither [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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