***

Consciousness returned with the smell of smoke, the cries of the injured, the wailing of children, and a tickling on her left palm. Deborah opened her eyes and saw they were still hidden under the cowhide in the merchant’s stall. The red-haired woman sat close beside her, cradling Deborah’s left hand. Her rescuer was rocking back and forth, humming, and scratched at Deborah’s palm with a piece of charcoal.

“What are you doing?”

The small woman looked up and smiled. “Ah, the lady arises!”

“I ask again, what are you doing?” Deborah spoke more forcefully, pulled her hand away. Looking at her palm, she saw a symbol drawn there. It resembled a wagon wheel, from the center of which radiated eight spokes. But instead of connecting with...

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