Chapter Text
Fire:
“The spells may be cunningly concealed, designed to show up after years, when the child is grown,” says Japa suspiciously.
Ogden looks into the toddler’s half-shut eyes, so unusual yet so trusting. Absurd, to suspect a foundling of spycraft. The Zebak would hardly be so astute: for centuries now they have tried land invasions of Rin, despite being beaten back time and again.
But there is the question of how she has survived in such treacherous waters. He puts aside his personal feelings, his desperation for a child. This is, after all, his tribe, and a lapse of judgement now might mean a price paid in Traveller, Rin and even Maris blood.
He takes a deep breath before stoking the small fire with crushed laurel and bay leaves. Show me what you are hiding, he thinks, concentrating with all his might on the swirling smoke. Show me your secrets.
To his private relief, the fire remains orange, and the smoke unfocused. Nor is there any response to his mental search, except that the girl begins to squirm and whimper in her sleep.
“I have checked her twice over for every possible Zebak magic and found none,” Ogden murmurs, when he is sure. “Besides, I cannot explain how, but I feel she is sound.”
Hours: Within three hours after the augury, the foundling’s ridged brow, light brown hair and pale face, which so mark her as Zebak, have been festooned with bright marigolds, smeared with cedar paste and kissed and cooed over by every adult in the tribe, until she is almost indistinguishable from any other Traveller child.
Water: “Zeel,” says Stellan. “Her name shall be Zeel, waterfall, for the water that bore her to us.”
Thanksgiving: As the tribe sings the child’s name over the roaring blaze, to welcome her into the family, Ogden is too overcome to chant with them. He can only give mute, tearful thanks to fate for his little pale-eyed daughter, so unexpected and so precious.