The pillars of creation

"Your tea will help all that?"

"Oh yes. It's a very powerful tonic. It will cure many problems. You'll see for yourself."

Oba saw that she was drinking the same thick tea. She was sweating, sure, so he figured she was right about that. She downed the rest of her cupful and poured herself another.

She held her cup up in toast. "To sweet life, while we have it."

Oba thought it an odd toast. It sounded almost as if she was admitting that she knew she was about to die.

"To life," Oba said, lifting his cup to tap against hers. "While we have it."

Oba took a gulp of the dark tea. He grimaced at recognizing the taste. It was what the symbol on the board represented-the mountain fever rose. He had learned to identify the bitter taste from the times when Lathea crushed one and added it to his cure.

"Drink up," his companion said. Her breathing seemed labored. She took a few long swallows. "As I said, it will solve a lot of problems." She drained the rest in her cup.

He knew that Lathea, despite her mean streak, sometimes mixed up cures to help sick people. While he'd waited on her to make cures for him and his mother, he had seen her crush up a mountain fever rose in many a concoction she mixed for others. Now, Althea was downing it by the cupful, so she obviously had faith in the distasteful herb, too. Such heavy humidity always gave Oba a headache. Despite the bitter taste, he took another sip, hoping it would help his sore muscles in addition to clearing his head.

"I have some questions."

"You mentioned that," Althea said, peering at him from over the rim of her cup. "And you expect me to provide answers."

"That's right."

Oba took another swallow of the heavy tea. He grimaced again. He didn't know why the woman called it "tea." There was no «tea» about it. It was just ground dried mountain fever rose in a little hot water. Her dark-eyed gaze followed as he set the big cup on the table.

The wind had picked up, beating the rain in against the window. Oba guessed he'd made it to her house just in time. Foul swamp. He turned his attention back to the sorceress.

"I want to know what a hole in the world is. Your sister said that you could see holes in the world."

"Did she now? I don't know why she would say such a thing."

"Oh, I had to convince her," Oba said. "Am I going to have to convince you, too?"

He hoped so. He tingled with the anticipation of getting to the bladework. But he was in no rush. He had time. He enjoyed playing games with the living. It helped him understand how they thought, so that when the time came and he looked into their eyes, he was better able to imagine what they were thinking as death hovered close.

Althea tilted her head in gesture to the table between them. "The tea won't help if you don't have enough. Drink up."

Oba waved off her concern and leaned closer on an elbow. "I've traveled a long way. Answer my question."

Althea finally looked away from his glare and used her arms to lower her weight from her chair down onto the floor. It was quite a struggle. Oba didn't offer to help. It fascinated him to watch people struggle. The sorceress pulled herself to the red and gold pillow, dragging her useless legs behind. She worked herself into a sitting position and folded her dead legs up before herself. It was difficult, but she managed with precise and efficient moves that looked well practiced.

All the effort puzzled him. "Why don't you use your magic?"

She peered up at him with those big dark eyes so filled with silent condemnation. "Your father did the same to my magic as he did to my legs.»

Oba was stunned. He wondered if his father had been invincible, too. Perhaps Oba had always been meant to be his father's true heir. Perhaps fate had finally stepped in and rescued Oba for better things.

"You mean, you're a sorceress, but you can't do magic?"

As distant thunder rumbled through the swamp, she gestured to a place on the floor. While Oba sat down before her, she dragged over the board with the gilded symbol and placed it between them.

"I was left with only a partial ability to foretell things," she said. "Nothing else. If you wished to, you could strangle me with one hand while finishing your tea with the other. I could do nothing to stop you."

Oba thought that might take some of the fun out of it. Struggle was part of any genuinely satisfying encounter. How much could a crippled old woman struggle? At least there was still the terror, the agony, and witnessing death's arrival to look forward to.

"But, you can still do prophecy? That was how you knew I was coming?"

"In a way." She sighed heavily, as if the effort of pulling herself to her red and gold pillow had left her exhausted. As she turned her attention to the board before her, she seemed to shrug off her weariness.

"I want to show you something." She was speaking now like a confidant. "It may finally explain some things for you."

He leaned forward expectantly, pleased that she had at last wisely decided to reveal secrets. Oba liked to learn new things.