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utter stillness had descended. She stared up the slope. Half a dozen of the Lady’s followers had been working in the trees, harvesting firewood. Every one of them had fallen to his knees, ax or saw dropping from limp hands into the snow.
    Whiteblaze whined, looked up at her, and wagged his tail.
    Mara turned around and saw the Lady standing perhaps thirty feet behind her, arms spread wide, palms upraised, eyes closed. The six wolves with her had all lain down on their bellies. Their heads rested on their outstretched paws. Their eyes were closed.
    Mara felt a chill that had nothing to do with the frigid air or the near-escape from white death. Her question had been answered. The Lady of Pain and Fire had not only drawn magic from her wolves,
she had drawn it from her villagers
. Just as Mara had done at the mining camp, she had ripped magic from their living bodies.
    The Lady’s eyes opened. She took a deep breath. Her gaze met Mara’s. She smiled. “As I said . . . you have much to learn.”
    Mara turned away from the Lady to stare back up at the men from whom she had drawn magic. When Mara had done it involuntarily in the mining camp, everyone had collapsed, unconscious. But the villagers, though they certainly looked dazed, were clearly still awake. Not one of them had fallen prostrate. Already they were gathering their tools, climbing to their feet. In another minute they were back at work as though nothing had happened.
    The sounds from the camp had turned from screams of terror to shouts of relief. Mara turned around and looked back down at the huddle of tents and lean-tos. Mothers hugged crying children, men engaged in agitated conversation, and everywhere faces were turned up slope, looking at the Lady . . . looking at her.
    Looking at them with both with fear . . . no, she realized suddenly: not fear,
respect
. Their expressions were not those of people afraid of a monster, but those of people grateful to have been saved by someone stronger than themselves.
    If the Lady of Pain and Fire is not a monster
, Mara thought,
then even if I am fated to become like her, I may not become one, either.
The thought seemed to release something deep inside her, something hard and tight and cold. It opened and warmed. And suddenly she knew what that strange new feeling was.
    Hope.
    Mara turned to face the Lady once more. “You’re right,” she said. “I have a lot to learn.” She paused. “Will you teach me?”
    The Lady smiled. “My dear child. Did you really think I would not?” She strode forward, the wolves flowing around her feet. “Come inside, and I will begin.”
    Mara stood aside as the Lady approached. The wolves did not enter the tent, instead scattering, as if given a secret signal, spreading out in all directions and vanishing into the fading light, all but Whiteblaze, who remained at Mara’s feet, tongue lolling, eyes fixed on her face. The Lady swept aside the tent flap and went inside. Mara moved to follow, but paused as she heard a shout from behind her. “Mara! Mara, are you all right?”
    She felt a flash of irritation.
Not now
. She turned to face Keltan, dashing up the snow-covered slope toward her. “Of course I’m all right,” she called back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
    He skidded to a halt and stared at her. “Why? The avalanche—”
    â€œThe Lady stopped it.”
    â€œI know, but . . .”
    â€œKeltan, I’m fine. Go back down to your tent. Help Hyram. I have to talk to the Lady.”
    Keltan’s face, a pale blotch in the twilight, frowned. “Hyram doesn’t need any help. The tent has already been set up. I thought we could eat together—”
    â€œNo,” Mara snapped, then softened her tone, feeling guilty. “Sorry. Keltan, I have to talk to the Lady. I have to find out how she did what she did. She knows how to control this