After the End(60)

Tallie’s watching me, so I begin. “The concept behind Reading is that everything in nature is alive in a certain fashion. So everything has its own version of what it sees or experiences: either past memories, what is happening in the present, or, since we think time is flexible, a ‘memory’ of what will have happened in the future. Every living thing is connected through the Yara. So Reading is just reaching out to the right element in nature that can give you the information you want to know. Some things, Whit has established as being consistently reliable for transmitting their knowledge, and those things can be accessed by using a certain object that he’s matched with it.”

“In a way it’s like Beauregard. He’s my tool for reading the future,” Tallie says.

“I have a feeling it might be all part of the same thing,” I confess. “You use the bones to connect with the Yara—or whatever your women called it—just like I can use an animal skull to Read where to hunt our next kill.”

Tallie smiles and nudges me. “Sisters in sign reading. I knew you’d be special. I’m shutting up now. You go ahead.” She runs her finger over an uncut amethyst.

“The precious stones act as a conduit for pretty much anything,” I explain. I pull my opal from under my shirt. “Most of our clanspeople wear one on them at all times to facilitate Reading, although the adults usually leave the Reading to the kids. We’re better at it than they are.”

“And you’re the most talented of all?” Tallie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Um, yeah, actually,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed. “My father says that my mother and I were prodigies, like any math or musical prodigy, but our gift was in using the Yara. My mother would have been the next clan Sage if she hadn’t died.”

“I’m sorry,” says Tallie softly.

I nod. “It’s been a long time. Anyway, because of my ‘talent,’ I was chosen to be the next clan Sage.”

“Figures,” she says with a wry smile.

“Why?”

“Because my goddesses wouldn’t bring just anyone to teach me the ways of Yara. They’d only bring me the best.”

I laugh, and continue taking her through the stones, herbs, ground-up minerals, and bones, skin, and fur, including the rabbit feet, and explain their different purposes.

“And Whit’s the one who came up with all of this?” she asks when I finish.

“He says he ‘culled the world’s wisdom’ for it. This is Whit’s firepowder,” I say, pointing to the rapidly dwindling supply in my bag. “It’s a mix of ground mica, gypsum, and a couple of other minerals local to Alaska. Besides skipping stones, fire is the earliest thing children Read because it’s one of the easiest.”

I hand the pouch to Tallie and then shuffle over next to where she’s plopped down in front of the fire, being careful not to flex my ankle. “You do it first,” Tallie says, looking as excited as a kid at a magic show.

“Like I said, nothing is working for me right now. But this is how I would do it.” I take a pinch and throw it into the flames, where it pops and sparkles silver for a second. “You need to get really relaxed. Slow your heartbeat. Slow your breathing. And then focus on the person you want to see. You can even say their name if it helps. And then you open yourself up and let the Yara make that connection for you.”

“Where am I supposed to be looking?” Tallie asks. She’s arranged herself in a lotus position and has rested her wrists on her knees, palms facing up like Whit does when leading the elders in their daily yoga session. This makes me smile.

“Look just above the fire and a tiny bit to one side. And then try to see patterns in the top of the flames and the shimmering of the heat above them.”

“Does the person have to be alive?” she asks, not daring to tear her eyes away from the fire.

“Yes—you use fire-Reading for seeing things in the present.”

“Says who?” she asks petulantly.

“Whit,” I respond.

She pauses. “Okay,” she says, “Yara, show me that lying cheat Nick Chowder, may his pecker shrivel to the size of a cheese puff and rot in hell.” She stares hard at the fire, squinting at it like she’s daring it to comply. I can’t help but giggle, but try to hide it so as not to distract her.

“What?” she says, finally turning from the fire with an irked expression. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I wouldn’t try to start with someone whose guts you hate,” I say. “Your emotions are supposed to be calm. Like meditation.”