“Bah.” The butcher swept his hand through the air. “It’s I repaying you, Apprentice. My wife and I, we had so little when we came to you—we thought ourselves too poor to marry. We’d decided, but you reshaped our lives. You gave us everything.”

The butcher’s words were filled with gratitude and wonder, but Alba shivered hearing them. So not just a mirror, she thought. Perhaps not really a mirror at all.

XXX

A MOUNTAIN TO MAKE THE SOUND MM

As promised, the next morning, Nessa woke Rae before the sun had even much warmed the sky.

“Come, daughter,” Nessa said, gently shaking her. “Did you not want to go to the market?”

“Oh, yes!” Rae bolted awake.

All together, she and Nessa and Mop and the sheep made their way through the market. Around them in the morning’s sloping light, other vendors had already begun to set out their wares, and early customers were haggling at the stalls. The alleys buzzed with activity. Rae, who had never seen any people besides Mop and Ness, gaped at everyone. Here, a stick-thin man was shouldering a sack of grain as large as the sheep Mop was leading. There, an older woman with a delicate hook of a nose was skewering and roasting rabbits over an open fire. In the distance, a young, mud-splattered man was yelling rude things and chasing a piglet escaped from its pen.

“Child.” Nessa put her hands over Rae’s ears.

“I’m sorry there aren’t more children here today,” Mop said as they turned down another aisle. “There are usually so many. There are even games for them, sometimes, in the fields in the afternoons.”

Rae glanced around: Though she had not noticed their absence, it was true. Despite the crowds of people, she saw no children at all. Only a few infants still carried in arms.

“Well.” Mop squeezed Rae’s shoulder. “It’s early. Perhaps later.” He smiled down at her.

The lack of children did not bother Rae. There were more people passing than she had thought existed in the whole world. She was entranced by the market sights and sounds and smells… the trays full of fragrant, golden spices; the basket squirming with eels. The table sagging under the weight of a butchered hog; the shelf draped with cloth in dozens of shimmering colors. And the people, so many people—tall, short, round, narrow, rough, graceful, pocked, smooth, bearded, bare—chattering at one another, haggling with merchants, carrying their goods, swarming past.

From time to time, one of the merchants looking up from their stalls would recognize Mop and then, seeing Nessa as well, call out a surprised greeting—Halloo, Mop! And Nessa! How good to see you, too! How many years has it been?—and Mop and Nessa would return their own cheerful hellos. And who is with you? the merchants would ask, leaning over their wares. This is Rae, Nessa would say, as Mop announced loudly, beaming with pride, This is our daughter, Rae.

Mop was delighted. His voice shone as he repeated, My daughter. Our daughter. He did not seem to notice how the merchants’ faces would change then, puzzled and concerned. Daughter? they would call, questioning. He did not seem to notice their strange looks, did not seem to see how they turned and whispered. Rae, overwhelmed in the ever-growing clamor, also did not notice, but she felt how Nessa clutched her hand more tightly and hurried them along until they reached their stall.