You cannot doubt he is the better one!”

“He is not of our people!” the other woman declared shrilly. Olikea feigned amazement. “Firada, how you talk! He is a Great One. How can he not be of our people? Do you dispute one that the magic has chosen and sent to us?”

Firada was not persuaded. “I…I do not see how it can be so. Who has taught him the magic’s way? He is fat, that is true, but who could have trained him? Why does he come to us?” She turned to address the gathered folk. “Is this wise, my family, to take in a Great One who does not come to us from our own? Jodoli we have seen since the day his mother birthed him. We all witnessed the fever, and we all saw him return to us, and when he began to fill with magic, we rejoiced. We know nothing of this plain-skin Great One! Shall we replace Jodoli with an untried stranger?”

I spoke, much to Olikea’s quick disgust. “I did not come here to replace anyone.

Olikea simply asked me to come and meet you all. I cannot stay.”

“He cannot stay tonight!” Olikea hastily corrected me. Her hand gripped mine firmly. “But soon he will come to live among us, and the richness of the magic that swirls inside him will benefit all of us. All of you will be grateful for the mage I have brought you. Never before has our tribe-family been able to boast of such an immense mage loyal to our clan.

Do not doubt him lest he be offended and, leaving us, choose another family for alliance. Tonight you must dance and sing a welcome to him, and bring him food so that we may feast the magic.”

“Olikea, I cannot…” I began in a low voice.

She gripped my hand hard, digging her nails into me. She leaned close to speak by my ear. “Hush. You need food. Eat now. Then we will talk. See.

They already scatter, to bring you food.”

No other words could have driven all my concerns so completely from my brain. My hunger came back, a roaring beast. Like a returning tide, the People came back, bearing with them every imaginable sort of food. There were berries and drupes that I had no names for, but also the tender tips of leaves and flower buds, a bowlful of nectar-heavy blossoms, and finely shaved tree bark. They brought me dense, golden bread, made not from grain flour but from ground tubers. It was studded with dried fruit and spicy little nuts. I hesitated over a basket of smoked insects. The woman offering them to me took honeycomb in her fingers and pinched it to drizzle the honey over the gleaming black bodies. They were crunchy and smoky and strangely oily. Delicious. I washed them down with a forest wine served in wide clay bowls.