“At first he taught a few Efe magicians, called Warriors, how to boost their powers. Little rites requiring a drop of their own blood. The extra power would dissipate when the task was completed. Then Hersh showed them how to mix their blood with ink and inject it into their skin. Now the power did not dissipate and they became stronger Warriors. Soon they discovered using another’s blood was even more potent. And heart’s blood, taken from the chambers of the heart was incredibly empowering.”

Moon Man shifted his weight and stared into the black sky. “The problem with using blood magic is it becomes addictive. Even though the Efe Warriors were powerful, they wanted still more. They did not kill their own clan members, but sought victims from neighboring clans. No longer content to follow the cattle and forage for food, they stole what they needed from others.

“This abuse continued for a long time. And would have continued if an Efe named Guyan had not stopped the Warriors. He kept his magic pure. Sickened by the horrors he witnessed, Guyan organized a resistance. The details of the battle are lost to time, but the amount of magic pulled from the power blanket was enough to knock over the Daviian Mountains and shred the blanket of power. Guyan organized what was left of the clan, and established the role of Story Weavers, who helped mend the people and the power.” Moon Man yawned.

I compared his story to what I had learned about Sitian history. “Can you really mend the power source? I read a history where a magician had bunched the power around himself, and it took two hundred years for it to smooth out.”

“Guyan was the first Weaver,” Tauno said. He hadn’t moved a muscle during Moon Man’s story. “Guyan’s incredible powers could mend the power source, a skill not seen in another since.”

Moon Man agreed. “The blanket is not perfect. There are holes, tears and thin patches. There might come a point in time where it will be worn away and magic will be a story of the past.”

A loud pop sounded from the campfire. I jumped. The last of Leif’s oil nuts sputtered and died, leaving the three of us in darkness. Tauno offered to take the first watch as Moon Man and I readied for bed.

I lay awake shivering in my cloak, thinking about the power source. Finding out about those holes called Voids had been a nasty surprise. Alea Daviian had dragged me into an area without power to torture and kill me. Being unable to access my magic, I had felt quite helpless. The fact I had been tied to a cart had reinforced my complete lack of control. Alea erred by not searching me for weapons, and I had used my switchblade to escape.

Alea had also wanted to collect my blood and I wondered if she’d planned to perform the Kirakawa ritual on me. I supposed I wouldn’t ever know. I couldn’t ask a dead woman. Or could I? An image of invisible spirits hovering over me filled my mind and I felt as if a layer of ice coated my skin.

The next morning we ate a cold breakfast of jerked beef and cheese. Moon Man estimated we would reach the Sandseeds’ main camp by late afternoon.

“I tried to reach the elders,” Moon Man said. “But there is a strong barrier of protective magic tenting the encampment. Either my people managed to fight off the Vermin and this new shield is a safeguard against another attack, or the Vermin have taken control and are defending themselves.”

“Let’s hope for the first one,” I said.

We mounted and rode for most of the day, stopping only once to rest the horses. Before we reached the point where we would be visible to the Sandseeds’ camp, we halted. Tauno would scout the camp and report back.

Taking off his bow and arrows, Tauno doused himself and his clothes with water then rolled in the sandy soil. Granules clung to his skin. He blended in so well with the surroundings, he soon vanished from our sight.

I paced and fretted while Moon Man appeared serene.

“Worrying can not change anything,” he said to my unspoken question. “I would rather conserve energy for when we can do something.”

“You’re right, of course, but on occasion logic does not win against emotions.”

He shrugged. I resisted thinking worrisome thoughts and focused instead on what I could do.

Smells? I asked Kiki.

Sweet. Home, she replied. Itchy.

Clumps of mud clung to her copper coat. I rummaged in my pack until I found the currycomb. I was still combing Kiki when Tauno returned.

“The camp is secure. If we leave now we can get there before dark,” Tauno reported.

As we prepared to go, he told us what he had seen. “Everything looked normal. Yanna washed clothes and Jeyon skinned a hare. I crept closer and saw the elders arguing over the fire. The children at their lessons. The youths practicing with their wooden swords. Many heads drying in the sun.”

“Heads?” I asked.

“Our enemies,” Moon Man replied in a matter-of-fact tone as if decorating with decapitated heads was a normal occurrence.

“It is a good sign,” Tauno said. “It means we have won the battle.”

Yet Tauno didn’t look happy. “Did you talk to anyone?” I asked.

“Yes. Jeyon signaled to me everything was fine. I did not want to waste the daylight finding out the details.” He peered at the sky. “A hot meal by a warm fire will be most welcome.”

I agreed. Tauno joined me on Kiki’s back, and Moon Man mounted Garnet. In high spirits we joked and raced to the Sandseeds’ camp.

The gray twilight waned as the white tents of the camp became visible. Many Sandseeds had gathered near the fire. A few stirred the contents of large cooking pots, and, by the heady aroma, I guessed venison stew bubbled inside. Yum. Others waved to us as we approached. We slowed the horses.