“I don’t taunt you at all,” Hope said. “I know there’s no magic, and I don’t pretend otherwise. Where’s the use in that? The skull raven’s heart isn’t magic, it’s a resource, just like your crops or your sheebok. And what it does is a process. Just as you plant your seeds and water them and watch them grow, so this incorruptible thing will shrink your nightmares. Application to your head while you sleep, that’s all it takes. Don’t ask me how, I simply know that it works. That’s what the name witch implies: not magic, but knowledge. Few people alive know the things I know, and that makes me a good witch.”

Josie stared at Hope, glanced down at the three items set on the ground between them. Though she was trying to exude distrust, Rafe could sense the hope within her. The hope that this trade would work, and that her struggling family would come out with something precious and worthwhile.

“What about this?”

Hope picked up the strange wallet, tattoos pulling her face into awe. “This is something I’ve never opened. I don’t know what’s in it. I’m scared to open it, because it once belonged to a Sleeping God. This wallet has not been unraveled since before magic fled this land, and its owner is still alive somewhere, awaiting magic’s return. There could be anything in here. Anything.”

Josie stared at the wallet for a few seconds, and then glanced quickly toward Rafe and the man standing behind him.

“Ah, but this,” Hope said, pointing at the book. “This is surely what you need. In here—”

“This really belonged to a Sleeping God?” Josie asked, pointing at the wallet.

Hope paused, then nodded. “Yes. Although I’m sure they’re not really gods. And for all I know it could be empty.”

Josie stared in awe at the wallet as Hope picked up the book. Rafe already knew what the witch would be giving away, and he thought she did too. Nevertheless, she opened the book and flipped its thick pages.

“This is a Book of Ways. It was written by Rosen Am Tellington, one of the great mapmakers, long before the Cataclysmic War. It charts the land of Noreela from north to south, east to west, with only a few obvious areas left blank. Back then, there was more certainty in things: a path did not change from one year to the next; mountains remained in place; swamps did not dry out and deserts did not become lakes.”

“So what’s the point in that now?” Josie asked. “The world’s changing, and magic’s gone. And we’re only farmers. Why do I need a map of New Shanti when I’ll never be within five hundred miles of it?”