“You’ve never met anyone else with the gift?” she asked curiously. Makami stared at her perplexed. Gift?
She moved towards him, reaching a hand for his chest. He flinched slightly but did not pull back when her fingers touched the markings on his skin, slowly tracing their movements.
“I had thought I was the only one as well,” she said, “until I met another. She was a woman, older than me by perhaps a few seasons. She too had the gift. The markings she wore covered her whole body, even her face. And she too could make them move.”
“What is it?” Makami found himself asking. He looked down to his chest where her hand still lingered. “What are they?”
“Skin magic,” Kahya said. “That’s what the woman called it. She said only few were born to it, a magic woven into our very skin. Patterns like the ones we wear, marked into our skin, can bring that magic alive. I first learned of the gift when I was young. I thought my ability was to only make the art I worked into my skin move. She showed me however, that it could do more.”
“More?” Makami asked. His heart pounded. Could the answers he had sought have been right here all this time? Did the gods delight in teasing him so?
“It allows us to work magic.” The woman smiled slightly. “Sometimes I am able to create patterns that allow me to not feel the heat of the sun. Or heal a slight sickness. Or speak with my thoughts. Once I even managed to make water spring out of the sand. The woman said that with time I could learn to do even more—fantastic things. But I have no need for such power. I am kept satisfied by my small magics.” She looked up to him, those dark eyes probing. “What do yours do?”
Makami stiffened at the question. That answer was more than he was willing to give. Besides, he had another question.
“You made yours stop. How?”
“It is the skin that is magic,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Whatever patterns we place upon it are ours to control.” Seeing his blank expression, she frowned slightly and squinted with curiosity. “You truly don’t know?” He shook his head. Magic of the skin? He had never heard of anything like this.
“Fine then, I’ll show you.” Placing her palm flat against his chest she closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. “Breathe,” she told him. “Breathe like I do. Clear your thoughts of nothing but the markings, see them stilled, and breathe.”
Makami watched her for a while, attempting to emulate her actions. It took a few tries, but finally he matched her breathing, taking breath and releasing as she did so. Closing his eyes, he saw the markings in their normal dance, swirling about beneath his skin. He tried to see them stilled, imagining what they would feel like, finally at peace. It was a pleasant thought.
“Good,” Kahya said. “You learn quickly.”
Makami opened his eyes. He was readied to ask her what she meant, until his eyes fell to his chest. The markings had gone still. They sat there, unmoving, as if trapped in time. He gaped at them in wonder, a surge of happiness threatening to escape his mouth in a mad laughter. Looking to Kahya he saw a slight smile on her lips, as if amused by his own joy. He opened his mouth to thank her when a familiar feeling suddenly came. Gazing back down to his chest he found the markings moving again. They did so slowly at first, but soon built up speed, returning to their normal pace. His own smile vanished, at the loss of this minor triumph.
“Worry not,” Kahya told him soothingly. “You only need practice. Your magic is strong. It will be harder to control. If you like, I can teach you.”
He pulled his eyes from his chest, looking up to her. Teach him?
“Yes,” he nodded, unable to hide his eagerness. “I would like that. Please.”
Kahya lifted her shirt back to her shoulders, pulling it more firmly about her.
“Wait a while,” she said picking up her lamp as if preparing to go. “Then come to my tent.” Covering her face, she walked out into the howling storm, leaving him alone.
Makami did not waste time, hurriedly dressing. He had never wanted to learn a thing so much in his life. It was some time later that he found himself outside Kahya’s tent, a large one she reserved for herself. He stood hesitantly, uncertain if he should announce his entrance. In the midst of his thoughts her voice suddenly came, amazingly in his thoughts, telling him to enter. Doing as instructed, he pushed back the flaps and walked inside.
Master Dawan’s eldest daughter’s dwellings were at least twice the size of his own and more. It was filled with soft cloth and other strewn items. An iron brazier with red-hot coals kept the space warm, and provided the only illumination. A bowl of water was suspended above it, sending out steam to fill the tent in mist. Beyond the thick vapors there was a sweet scent in the air that tickled his nose. Of course, there was also Kahya.
The woman sat in a corner of her room, reclined upon several thick reams of red cloth. She had retired her usual billowy shirt and trousers, and now lay wrapped in light blue cloth that left her shoulders and most of her legs bare. Beads of water rolled down her bare skin, as the mist of the room clung to her. Leaning back, she held a long and ornately carved thin
