The stand’s small legs ended in finely chiselled rams’ heads covered in gilt. Small, facetted garnets decorated the curling horns of the beasts, tapering back into the black iron of the supports. The crystal shown dimly with the warm colors of sunlight. Chanar marveled at it. Staring into the stone was like looking out on a sunny morning through a small hole in the tent wall. Warmth and light danced in front of his eyes, just beyond his reach. When he stared into the stone closely, he thought he saw shapes flicker and fade deep in its heart. He wondered what Bayalun, sitting across from him, saw as she hunched over the orb. The khadun chanted. Her nose was practically pressed against the crystal, and her hands were carefully cupped around the base of the tripod. Chanar squirmed. His legs were going to sleep, but he didn’t want to move for fear of disturbing Bayalun. She had been sitting in the same position for the last half-hour, repeating the same chant over and over again. Chanar wondered how she managed it.
