Skull Gate by Robin W Bailey Read Free Book Online

the table. The tiny flame set shadows dancing on the walls and ceiling as they moved around. Oona returned the brand to the outside fires.
    â€œDon't like to do that inside,” she said, closing the door again. “Afraid the place might burn down. Poor as it is, it's mine.” She rapped her knuckles on the doorframe. The walls vibrated in response.
    Frost smiled her appreciation as she tugged on another skirt, the third, and tied them all around her waist with a length of cord. Ages since she'd worn such things, and they felt strange. She pulled a tunic over her head, plain homespun that reached nearly to mid-thigh, and belted that with another cord. She rolled the sleeves halfway up her arms.
    â€œMake, sure you never touch that,” Frost warned, pointing to Demonfang as she spread her weapons on the table. She couldn't take them with her; they'd make her too conspicuous. At last, she thought herself ready. She smoothed her skirts and patted back her hair. “Well?” she said, turning to Oona.
    The old woman frowned, shook her head.
    Too clean. Frost decided. She went outside, rubbed dirt on her face, in her hair. She rolled on the ground. Unused to the skirts, she tangled her legs, rose, tripped and fell, rose again. “Well, now?” she asked again, back inside.
    â€œNo good at all,” the healer announced. “You're too healthy for a beggar, not lean or haggard enough. It shows."
    â€œA farmer's wife, then."
    â€œNot humble enough, not broken down from the work. That shows, too, in your bearing and in your walk; worse ... in your eyes!"
    Exasperated, Frost threw up her arms.
    â€œWait.” Oona carried the candle stump to the trunk where she'd stored the clothes and bent over it, digging. When she straightened up she tossed something.
    Frost caught it, curious. She sobered at once, recognizing the feel of silk with leather bindings. She motioned for the candle and sat down at the table. Oona brought the light and sat opposite her.
    Yes, white silk and a thrice-wrapped leather binding. She looked across into the old woman's eyes as she untied the bundle. Dark shadows, a trick of the light, swallowed Oona's face. Her old hands rested quietly by the candle.
    When the silk was removed a pile of cards spilled out. Frost turned one of them over, gazed at the crowned half skull that peered back at her. She turned another and another.
    â€œA Descroiyo?” She leaned forward. The candle flame was hot on her cheeks. “You want me to be a Descroiyo?"
    Oona leaned closer, too, until the shadows no longer hid her face. “What better?” she whispered. “No one seeks a fortune-teller but the bored or the desperate. And you are familiar with the cards. You know their ways."
    â€œThey won't work for me, you know that."
    â€œYou know their meanings. You can lie about the rest, make up stories.” She shrugged, and her sigh set the flame to flickering. “All anyone wants to hear is how rich they're going to be, when they will marry, or how many women they'll make love to. You can handle that."
    Frost thought about it. Yes, it was good. The Descroiyos occupied a special position in this land of the One God. No one believed in their power to tell the future, but most were afraid to disbelieve it. Hence, they came and went as they pleased, scorned but left alone. A good disguise, she decided. She gathered up the cards, retied them in the white silk, and placed them in a pouch that Oona gave her. She kissed the old woman.
    â€œOne more thing,” Oona said. She went to the fireplace and reached up into the chimney. She came back, her finger smudged with soot.
    â€œBend down here.” Frost obeyed and Oona made a dark crescent moon on her brow. “That's the sign,” she said. “Everyone will know what you are."
    Frost thanked the old woman and went outside. Ashur was nowhere in sight. She never tied or hobbled him but let the unicorn wander, munching