If Regbi had expected to find any more clarity in sleep, she woke disappointed. She dreamt of sewing machines and rose from her pallet with a familiar stiffness in her fingers. If the shaman’s sickness hadn’t struck her down she might have been a full fledged tailor by then, making a decent wage in exchange for her drudgery. She glanced down at the overly-long tunic Khadan had given her and shook her head: give her an hour on one of the old machines and she could have it fitting her like a glove. Instead she would have to make do with clothing that swallowed her up and spit her out like a child playing dress up. Regbi rolled up her sleeves and tied a sash tightly around her waist before trundling over to the fire. Khadan was gone, leaving breakfast in his wake. She helped herself to a bowl of hot, thickened milk mixed with grains and an obligatory cup of tea.

The sun peering down at her through the rafters was deceptively bright, the sort that masked a bitter cold. She could feel it scratching at the seams of the door, waiting for an invitation to flood the womblike confines of the ger with a bone-chilling draught. The thought of it made Regbi shiver; she filled her bowl with another helping of porridge to steel herself against it. Fat was a luxury the same as any fur coat. As Khadan would probably take exception to her skinning his camel, she would have to settle for filling her face instead. She did just that and licked the bowl clean too. Another week or two of eating like this might see her filling out her clothes like they were meant to be, she thought to herself. With some luck she might see curves again instead of the sad bones that poked against her as she slept.

After brushing out her hair, wetting her face, and cleaning her teeth, Regbi ventured into the cold. It slapped her cheeks and tweaked her nose. They were glowing a rosy red in a matter of minutes. Ulaan was tied next to the ger with a blanket draped across the furry boulders on her back. She spit at Regbi’s feet as she walked by, as if to blame her for the weather. It made her thick red fur appear all the warmer and the image of a lush, camel hair coat danced in Regbi’s eyes. The mare that Khadan rode was missing. Regbi shook her head; if he weren’t careful someone might steal it. A pretty horse like that with desert wind beneath its hooves might prove too great a temptation for a passing thief. Being Teb-Tengri made him more complacent about such things than he should have been, Regbi decided. As it was, she didn’t have to look far to find the horse or its master that morning. She saw them both cresting a nearby hill. Khadan waved to her from the top of it, gesturing for her to go back inside. She didn’t need much convincing.

“You’ll catch a cold going out like that,” Khadan said in greeting as he ducked through the door a little while later. “Take a hat with you next time at least. You can borrow one of mine.”

It was a mundane start to their new arrangement. Being scolded by Teb-Tengri for not wearing a hat. Some part of her had expected a great show of magic to kick of the day. Though it had scared her at first, Regbi found herself wanting another taste of it; it was probably the same stupid impulse that sent moths flying headfirst into a fire. But if Khadan had any intention of indulging it, he didn’t show it. The shaman took his seat by the fire and warmed his hands. He seemed to have forgotten about Regbi entirely after his talk of hats. Trying not to appear too eager, she scooted her way next to him, bridging the distance inch by inch. She held her hands out over the fire as well, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He regarded her with a wry glint in his eyes, his bushy brows peaked ever so slightly.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing…” She looked back to the fire. Patience had never been one of her virtues. She swore to herself, then wondered if his Third Eye could read her thoughts. She conjured up an image of herself skinning his camel and slid her eyes towards him. His expression was unchanged. “So…what are we doing today?”

“Doing? That’s a strong sort of word,” Khadan said, shaking his head. “If you’re not careful you’ll make me think that you want to work.”

“I thought you were going to teach me,” Regbi said, her voice lilting into a question.

“Yes.”

She regarded him curiously, waiting for him to finish his thought. The words never came. “What are you going to teach me today then?” she asked, feeling as if she were an ox pulling against a very heavy plow.

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“To relax.”

It was normally a lesson she would have applied herself to with gusto. If anyone else had decided to teach it to her that was. From a shaman like Teb-Tengri it could only be a disappointment.

“To relax,” she repeated, her voice flat as the steppe. “That’s all?”

He nodded solemnly in response.

“But I thought…” Regbi’s voice trailed. She didn’t know what she had thought, only that it would be different than this.

“That I might put you through your paces? Have you making potions and summoning spirits?”

“Something like that,” she admitted. The way he said it made it seem rather silly. A child’s version of what a shaman should be. What she had thought it would be like only a year ago; apparently not as much had changed since then as she initially thought.

“It wouldn’t do you any good even if I did. I could work you like that for a year and nothing would come of it,” Khadan said, turning to her. “You’re not weak, Regbi. What you are is frightened. And until you overcome that fear, there’s nothing that anyone can do for you.”

Regbi. Since when did he call her that? Even since learning her name she had only been Magpie to him. It distracted her from what he was saying and he frowned his displeasure. She could think why: she doubted anyone ever did anything but stare reverently up at him when he spoke. He didn’t need to have a Third Eye to see that she wasn’t attending to him like she should have been.

“When you’re scared you become combative and when you’re combative your body shields itself. What you need is to be open,” Khadan said. The tone of his voice made it clear he was repeating himself. “Relaxed. Once you’re not so tense we can work on other things.”

“How long will that take?”

“It depends on you. But it seems to me like you’ve been shutting yourself off from your spiritual side for some time now. Your magic has become compressed inside of you like a knot because of it. I did what I could to untangle it when I bound mine to yours, but there was only so much I could do without hurting you; you fought me the entire time, whether you realized it or not.”

“Was that why it was so painful?”

“It was painful because you were experiencing magic you weren’t prepared for. But it would have been less painful if you were calm.”

Pain was no stranger to Regbi. She carried it with her wherever she went in the limp of her leg. It didn’t mean that she was any less afraid of incurring it. And pain it seemed, went hand in hand with being a shaman. It was the price you paid for power and the greater the power, the heavier the price. She had allowed herself to be weak in a vain attempt to avoid it and didn’t relish the thought of opening herself to it again. It was as reckless as baring her wrist to Teb-Tengri’s knife. Having tasted the full bite of it before, Regbi didn’t see how she would ever not fear it.

“It’s all right to be scared,” Khadan said in softer tones than before. “Being scared doesn’t make you weak. It’s letting it overwhelm the better part of you that does: embrace the fear but don’t let it consume you.”

“How exactly?”

“By coming to terms with pain. If you can’t avoid it, better to—”

“Embrace it?”

“I was going to say tolerate it. I’m sure I don’t like pain any more than you do; I’m not a masochist. I’m just more used to confronting it is all.”

“Was it painful taking in your spirit?” Regbi asked him.

“I was very young when I did and it was a powerful one. I wasn’t as calm about it then as I’m cautioning you to be now.” The memory of pain stretched across his face like a shadow. “But if I had taken my own advice it would have been easier. The ones I’ve taken in since then posed less of a challenge because of it.”

Regbi wondered just how young he had been, but it seemed rude to ask. There were lots of questions waiting for him on the tip of her tongue: how long he had been Teb-Tengri for; how it was that he had come to be in the first place; his age and where he was born, if he had any family. But she figured they were all intimate questions and until she answered any of his, it wasn’t her place to pry.

“One day maybe you’ll look back on your own experience and say the same,” Khadan said with a light smile. “When you’re a full grown shaman with lots of spirits tucked in your belt and apprentices of your own. But for now you need to focus on the task I’ve set for you.”

“Relax,” Regbi said, as if having the word wrenched from her mouth like a stubborn tooth.

“There are plenty of pillows in here. Be a good little bird and make yourself a nest out of them. You can smoke if you like, or drink tea, or take a nap. Whatever works best for you.”

It was a dismissal, albeit the gentlest Regbi had ever received. She saw no choice but to accept it for what it was and simply shrugged her compliance.