“You are kindhearted, Moma, very kind indeed,” Olikea replied in a rather brittle voice. “But I think I have brought enough trade goods to provide well for my Great One. If your prices are fair, that is.”

The old woman’s eyes retreated into pits of wrinkles when she narrowed them. “The best goods, fairly priced, are still expensive, girl. Winter comes. It is easy to find the berries, the nuts and herbs, the gall of a squirrel when the world is green and growing. But in winter, those things are gone and feeders must turn to the wise provider who has harvested and stored such things. Who is that provider? Why, only Moma! Only she has what the Great Ones need to dream-walk, to hear music in the wind, to quick-walk tirelessly, to see with the hawk’s eye, to walk the hidden paths.”

“Varka has a stall of herbs also.” Even to my ears, Olikea’s interruption sounded impertinent and challenging. It seemed unwise. What was she thinking?

Moma took offense, as I had expected her to. “Oh, yes, he has a market stall. And he will sell to you, cheaper than I will, if what you want are moldy herbs and berries dried away to sour pits! Do you think to drive a hard bargain with me, little Olikea? Beware. All know that there are never enough quality supplies to see all of the People’s Great Ones through the winter. Those with foolish feeders must do without.

“I do not need to sell my goods right now. And if you will not meet my price, I shall not. I will keep them and I will wait. Before winter is gone, Kinrove’s feeders will seek me out, to buy all I have and at a good price, too. And they speak to me always with respect.”

“Oh, respectful tongues are fine,” Olikea conceded in a tone that said otherwise. “But only if those tongues speak of the very finest trade goods. I shall not disappoint you in what I offer, Moma, but do not think me a foolish little girl. I know what things are worth.”

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.”

Moma smiled. It came over her wrinkled face slowly but it was a wide smile. For such an old woman, her teeth were very good. “That she would,” she agreed, pleased and thoughtful. “That she would.”

Something seemed to have been settled between the two women, something I did not grasp. They were both very pleased with themselves, as if they had reached an important accord. After that exchange, they traded, but in an oddly congenial manner. I sensed that Moma gave us very good value and she insisted on choosing for Olikea the largest dried mushrooms and the preserved herbs with the best color. She carefully folded our purchases into little packets made from woven reeds. The packets filled a substantial net bag. Some of Lisana’s jewelry she took in exchange, but the most of it Olikea returned to the pouch. At the last, however, Olikea held out a pair of large silver hoop earrings rimmed with drops of amber.

“Always you have been so kind to me,” Olikea told her. “Ever since I was a little girl, you always had a kind word for me. Please accept these as a gift, as a sign of our friendship. I know it would please my Great One if you wore them as a sign of the warmth he feels toward you.”

Olikea held them out in her palm, not to Moma but to me. Subtly she jostled her hip against mine. Soldier’s Boy took her hint. He lifted the earrings from her hands. Holding them delicately, so they dangled appealingly, he offered them to Moma. “I would be very pleased to see you wearing these.”