The Twisting by Laurel Wanrow Page A

seem inclined to leave you alone, so…” He waved a hand. “That lady is a…hedge-rider.” Although he suspected the woman had worked her Knack on Annmar, he couldn’t outright accuse Old Terry of being a Basin witch. “They mostly keep to themselves, just mixing with the rest of us enough to make their livings. I found it unusual she gave you a doodem. They tend to be rather tight-fisted. I think she had a reason to make the gift, like to encourage you to see her again.”
    Annmar looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then stepped to the wing chair and picked up her sketchbook. “I’m sure you’re right. My drawing doesn’t do justice to that underground tunnel she took me to, but between it and Old Terry’s mention of my parents, I do want to talk to her again.”
    Just as he’d feared. She thumbed through, found the sketch she wanted and scooted beside him to show the page.
    Daeryn closed his eyes. He hadn’t thought she’d ever let him look at her sketchbook again. Or stand within a hair’s breadth of her. He wrestled his body from those thoughts and studied the drawing. Rough walls arched over a surprisingly clear pathway twisting into the distance. Closer, roots and a couple of insects skittered over the dirt sides, but stones dotted the majority of the surface. Annmar had drawn radiating lines from each one, so varied and delicate that his mind instantly converted the lines to sparkles.
    He turned his face to hers. “You’re too humble. I run burrows. Fox, badger, hare. Lots of underground tunnels. Your sketch captures them perfectly, though I’ve never seen sparkling stones.” He tapped one of the rocks. “That is what you mean, isn’t it?” Annmar nodded. “I can see why you find it fascinating. I wonder what Old Terry wants.”
    Annmar sighed. “Do you think she’s dangerous?”
    “Never talked to her directly.” He shrugged. “Have you asked Riv?”
    With a shake of her head, Annmar closed the sketchbook and held it to her chest, the only outward sign of the nervousness he now detected in her scent. “It’s the strangest thing,” she said, “but I sense there is something about those tunnels I need to learn. Old Terry knows about them and doodems, which might help me understand my Knack.”
    His gut churned. She’d be going back to see the woman. “I saw another unusual thing happen that day: Your eyes turned blue when she touched you—I mean bluer than their usual color. Did Rivley tell you that?”
    “No, he didn’t say anything about it.”
    “He didn’t—” Damn that quiet avian. “Maybe he didn’t see it happen.”
    “I’ll find out. Um, what color of blue?”
    What an odd thing to be interested in. But she was an artist, so maybe it meant more to her. “Bright? Like the sky on the rare clear day.”
    She nodded. He expected some sort of explanation, or answer. Instead, the doll-like mask slipped back over Annmar’s features. Maybe Annmar didn’t understand the bewitchment. He’d talk to Riv before sharing his suspicions.
    “Have you blessed the doodem?” he asked.
    “It’s supposed to be blessed?”
    “It’s of no use to you unless you do. It’s simple, like all the Creator Path ways. Take it to a piece of ground—not a field, undisturbed ground—and dig a shallow hole. Place the doodem in the hole and say—here, can I write it for you?”
    Annmar handed over her sketchbook and a pencil. He wrote the short prayer. “Say this. Embellish the words, if you feel moved to. Lay your hands on it for the last lines. Then, pick it up and carry it for a day. After that, you don’t need to anymore. It’s set and will strengthen your life journey.” He closed the sketchbook and gave it to her.
    “You’ll be careful if you go to see her again?” he asked. “Maybe take some of us with you? I’d be happy to go, if you’d like the company, that is.” He didn’t sound too eager, did he?
    “I’d like the company. Thank you for your offer.”
    He