“But Da wasn’t really a sorcerer. I mean, he had the knowledge, but nothing he ever did—”
Hanna looked at her strangely. “Of course he was! That’s why we were all so glad he put roots here and stayed each year, when we thought he meant to move on. You didn’t know? People don’t visit a sorcerer whose spells are useless. What about old Johan’s cow that wouldn’t calve until your Da wove a spell to open up its birth canal? What about that first spring, when the snow wouldn’t melt, and he called up rain? I could tell you twenty other stories. You really didn’t know?”
Liath sat stunned. All she could remember was the butterflies, fluttering and bright and then fading into the warm summer air like the phantoms they were, like the phantom his magic was, which had all faded and vanished after her mother died. “But—but did it ever do any good? A storm can come by itself, you know. The weather can change, even without tempestari to call it up.”
Hanna shrugged. “Who’s to know if it was prayer or magic or just good fortune? What about that wolf, then, the one that eluded everyone else until your Da trapped it in a cage woven of reeds? That must have been magic, for any wolf could have escaped such a delicate trap.”
Liath remembered the wolf. Da had been terrified, hearing reports that a wolf was lurking in the hills but not killing the sheep. He had trapped it, though he had let others kill it and had wept for days afterward. It had taken her three weeks of crying and pleading and arguing to get him to agree to stay in Heart’s Rest after the wolf.
Hanna was still talking. “Maybe he wasn’t a true sorcerer, like the devils who built the old Dariyan Empire, who built the wall south of here that stretches all the way from one sea to the other. It’s all fallen over now that there are no more sorcerers of that lineage to keep it standing.”
“I don’t think Da was that kind of sorcerer,” Liath said, more talking to herself than to Hanna. “Maybe he pretended to be, even tried to be, even once or twice succeeded. But it was my mother who was one. A real one. I remember that, if nothing else. She was murdered for it. I was only eight years old, but I do know that she had true sorcery, and that she worked …” Here she paused to glance around the room again, although nothing had changed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “… old Dariyan magic.”