Silver in the Bone, page 18
I felt Ignatius’s own eye roll beneath its lid as I rewrapped him and took a stab at changing the subject. “You said something about bathing?”
“Yes,” Betrys said. “I did. If you’ll follow me?”
“Actually…,” Emrys said. “I’m exhausted. Is it possible to be shown to wherever you’re going to have us sleep?”
“I’ll accompany you,” Bedivere told him.
“Wait, if you wouldn’t mind,” Olwen said, catching Emrys’s arm. “That is, if you aren’t too tired, would you take a look at my garden and see if there’s anything I may not be hearing from the herbs about what they need to thrive?”
My eyes narrowed on the place her fingers still curled around the crook of his elbow. Really? It couldn’t wait until morning?
Something clenched in my chest as he nodded. I forced myself to look at the floor. He’d never been able to resist the opportunity to charm before, so this was hardly a surprise.
It was just that we had come here together—the four of us. It seemed important to stay together until we had a better grip on what was going on.
But Cabell had his hand on my shoulder and was guiding me out through the door before I could say anything at all. The door shut behind us on Emrys’s soft laugh, snuffing out the faint but soothing glow that had briefly sheltered us from the cold and dark of this Otherland.
And if we had dared to forget them, even for a moment, the restless Children of the Night had not forgotten us. They shrieked from the other side of the old stone walls, piercing the peace of the courtyard. Relishing their starless night.
Betrys led us across the courtyard, toward a door in the fortress’s wall. A man in armor leaned over the rampart above us, curious. Behind him, a fire pot licked at the sky, doing little to brighten it.
At Neve’s sharp gasp I looked back, only to do a double take. A massive figure, nearly ten feet tall, slowly lumbered around the tower’s stone face, heading toward the tree that served as the tower’s foundation and spine.
Its body was like a rough sketch of a human, cobbled together from twisted branches and roots, with hollows near the joints. They groaned and creaked as the creature walked. Atop its head was a spiked crown of twigs and leaves. As it moved, the seams of its body exhaled a mist that glowed green in the night.
As it turned to observe us, the mist illuminated its eye sockets, but its face seemed to have no mouth, no expression.
“Cripes,” Cabell breathed out.
“That’s Deri,” Betrys said when she realized we were no longer following her. “The hamadryad bound to the Mother tree. All of the trees of Avalon once had their own hamadryad caretaker, and there were other unbound dryads to assist them, but…well, you’ve seen what’s become of the land.”
I gave a dazed nod, acknowledging her words. The hamadryad stooped, scraping dark muck from the tree’s bark in slow, thorough strokes.
“Come on, then.” Betrys tilted her head toward the waiting door, and we followed. Beyond it was another spiraling staircase, and, yet again, we descended.
After a while, the stairs widened. A distant rush of water echoed on the stone walls, and the air gained an almost mineral taste, not unlike the smell of dust just before the rain. The deeper we traveled, the brighter it seemed to become. Soon the faces around me, my skin, my hair, my clothes—everything was awash in strange cerulean light.
We made one final turn around the stairs, and the springs unfurled below. I slowed. Cabell tried to nudge me forward, but I couldn’t bring myself to move just yet.
The cavern was vast, its arched ceiling decorated with carvings of young women—the Goddess and priestesses, I presumed. The structure was supported by the shoulders of three massive statues. One, a young woman wearing a crown of flowers and a flowing gown. The second, a peaceful motherly woman in an apron, a basket and loom carved around her feet. The third was an elderly figure, stooped and wearing a cloak that swirled around her and depicted the stars and phases of the moon. These were the three aspects of the Goddess: maiden, mother, crone.
At their feet, a river of glowing water ran down the center of the chamber, seeping out from a split in an enormous root of the Mother tree, as if it were sap. Narrow tributaries branched out from it, filling smaller round pools. Mist or steam rose from the surface of each, promising much-needed relief for my stiff and sore muscles.
Bitterness warred with awe in me. How many breathtaking places, how many wondrous sights, had I missed before I’d had the One Vision? Nothing in my imagination could compare to what I’d seen here, either for beauty or for monstrosity. To the Tamsin of even a week ago, it would have appeared to be nothing at all.
Tidy bundles of clothing with surprisingly modern-looking undergarments had been placed beside three of the individual baths. I toed the top layer, a thin towel for drying off, revealing a simple tunic and dark brown breeches below.
“This is incredible,” Cabell said, turning to look around. “What makes the water glow like that?”
Otherworldly light shimmered from the depths of each pool, creating a soothing ambiance in what might otherwise have been a creepy, cavernous space. I set the wrapped Ignatius down on the bottom step, well away from the pools.
“The water is said to be tears of the Goddess,” Betrys said. “Flowing from her heart, which resides at the center of the Mother tree.”
I cringed. “I think I liked it better before you brought up bodily fluids.”
To my surprise, Betrys laughed. “It’s restorative—healing in a different way than what Olwen can do.”
Neve breathed in deeply, as if relishing the rain scent. Her wide eyes glimmered with wonder.
“I need to take my hour on the watch,” Betrys explained. “I trust you don’t mind waiting until I return to show you to your rooms?”
“Honestly,” Cabell said, “you’ll probably have to drag us out of the water.”
She turned her back to us. “I’ll take your clothing to be laundered if you’ll leave it there beside the baths.”
We undressed awkwardly, careful not to look at one another. Covering myself with my arms, my face burning from being so exposed, I stepped down into the water and tentatively stretched a foot out.
I shivered with pleasure at its warmth. The longer I stared into the swirling mist gathering on its surface, the more intolerable the chilled air around us felt. I descended farther into the pool, then plunged, immediately finding its smooth bottom with my toes.
There was a weight to the water I hadn’t expected, as if it were thick with salt. A ledge had been carved into it at the perfect height to sit with my head and shoulders above the surface.
Days of dirt and blood lifted away from my skin. My whole body softened, and my mind was quick to follow. I breathed in deeply, then dunked my head beneath the water, scrubbing at my hair and face with my hands.
I surfaced again with a gasp, wiping the hair from my face. Cabell sighed as he settled fully into his pool. He turned to face me, bracing his arms on the rocky edge. “This beats the Roman baths in Algeria, eh?”
“And we didn’t even have to break in to use them,” I said. “A novel concept for us.”
I hadn’t realized Betrys was still standing there until she breathed out two words: “Those symbols…”
I followed her gaze down to Cabell’s tattooed arms and shoulders.
“Why would you cover your body with curse sigils?” Neve asked, pulling herself up to look over the side of her bath. She had carefully twisted her braids up and away from the water.
To show off all the curses he’s broken, I thought. To seem cool and mysterious to girls who have no idea what they mean.
“To remind myself curses are only dark because of how they’re used,” Cabell said.
Betrys looked as if she might say something else, but she only turned, hurrying up the steps with our things.
“You have to stop doing that,” I whispered to Neve, coming to the edge of my own bath.
“Doing what?”
“Telling them everything before we figure out how they’ll react,” I said. “The whole leap-before-you-look thing with you is getting old. We need them on our side if we’re going to be able to look for Nash.”
“You really don’t trust anyone, do you?” Neve said, shaking her head.
“I trust people will always lash out when they’re afraid,” I said. “And that they’ll do anything when they’re desperate enough.”
Neve sank back down into the water with a grateful sigh. Guilt, my least-favorite emotion, bit at me.
“Are you all right?” I asked her. “You’ve had a rough few hours.”
That was putting it far too kindly. In truth, I’d seen a lot of the world and expected the worst of it, but I’d been shocked by the malice toward her.
“Yes,” she said with her usual resolve. “But I’ll be better once I have my wand back and we find Nash and the ring.”
I nodded.
The thing was, you spend so long being afraid of sorceresses and all the ways they can hurt you that you don’t necessarily think about the way the world hurts them back. The way it punishes them for that same power.
I’d brought her here, to a place where sorceresses were reviled. Where she was outnumbered and just as much at a loss about what was happening as Cabell and I were. A place of monsters.
I sank down, letting the water rise above my chapped lips. The stinging there eased within a heartbeat, but the regret lingered.
“Avalon is a place of beauty,” Neve said softly. She stared straight into the mist gathered in front of her and recited from memory. “The most beautiful of all of the Otherlands, for it was born of the Goddess’s heart, as dear as a child. The groves are ripe with ancient secrets and a bounty of golden apples…”
“Not the noxious stench of impending death?” The joke was grating, even to me.
“After everything I’d read,” Neve started again, keeping her back to us, “I had this vision of it in my mind for years. It was as sacred to me as the stories my auntie told me about my mother. They were both distant and beautiful.”
I leaned my head against the edge of the pool, my hair dripping over my face, curling around my cheek like a tender hand. “Does it really feel like a curse to either of you?”
Before the One Vision, I’d been able to sense magic the way you could feel a shift in the air’s pressure. It had been amorphous and ever-changing. Sometimes, with the older curses, you could even feel the fury or spite radiating from the sigils. Gaining the second sight had ripened those senses, making them fuller, and it was still expanding in ways I couldn’t completely comprehend.
“It does,” Cabell said, “and then it doesn’t. I’m not sure how to explain it.”
Neve finally turned to face us, drawing herself up. I did the same, watching their faces in the cerulean light.
“It feels similar—icy and harsh—but somehow more concentrated?” Neve groaned. “I’m not making any sense.”
“I agree,” Cabell said. “I think it was the druids and whatever magic they gained from Lord Death. It doesn’t feel like the magic we draw from the universal source.”
It felt good to fall into our usual back-and-forth pattern of theories. He had always been the more valuable player in our work partnership, but I’d made it a point to retain as much knowledge as possible.
“I don’t know much about Lord Death,” Neve said, brow furrowed.
“There are a number of different legends about him,” I said. “The one Nash told us was this—he was a powerful enchanter in the time of King Arthur and at one point even traveled with Arthur and his knights. But he broke an oath and was placed in charge of Annwn as punishment, as much a king as a jailor for the souls too dark to be reborn.”
“What was the oath?” Neve asked.
“Nash never said, so I’m not sure he knew,” Cabell said. “I’ve never read that account anywhere, either, so he could have invented it. Most know Lord Death as the leader of the Wild Hunt, roaming between worlds to collect wicked souls for Annwn. His power allows him and his retinue to pass through the mists separating the Otherlands.”
“Creepy,” Neve said with just a little too much appreciation. “Now I’m even more convinced the sorceresses were the ones in the right. Lord Death and the druids would have done unspeakable things if they gained control of Avalon.”
“Well, if we’re right, they managed to do unspeakable things anyway,” I said. “Case in point, we almost got eaten by the undead.”
The three of us sank back into a heavy silence at the mention of our crossing. When I closed my eyes, the dark violence of the night crept up behind me, wrapping its bony fingers around my throat.
And Septimus’s face…
As if sensing my thoughts, Cabell reached across the small distance between us and put a heavy, reassuring hand on my head. “We’ll be all right. We’re going to find Nash and the ring, and we’re going to find safe passage back to the portal.”
I knew how hard it was for him to say that—to be willing to leave behind the man he’d idolized for years. The least I could do was force a smile. “Right.”
I twisted back around, keeping my back to them, breathing in the damp air. My wet hair clung to my face, but I let it hang there.
“I feel like I could fall asleep here,” Neve said, her own eyes closing. “All I need is a warm mug of chamomile tea, a hypoallergenic pillow, and a good book.”
“Is that all?” I said, amused.
“I have no books, but I do have stories,” Cabell said, his expression brightening. There was color in his cheeks again, and his pale skin was no longer the sickly hue of bone. Even the hollows beneath his eyes had faded.
Maybe Betrys was right, and the pools healed more than the body. They also touched the spirit. The soul.
“No,” I begged. “No stories.”
“Speak for yourself,” Neve said eagerly. “Tell me one of your favorites.”
“I’ll do you one better,” Cabell said, sending a splash of water over to me, “and tell you one of Tamsin’s favorites.”
I knew exactly which one he meant. “That’s not my favorite.”
He frowned. “Yes, it is. You used to beg Nash for it over and—”
“Okay, fine,” I muttered. “Just tell it, then.”
Cabell straightened, running his hands over the water’s surface. He cleared his throat. “In ages past, in a kingdom lost to time, a king named Arthur ruled man and the Fair Folk alike, but this is a story that came before that, when he was a mere boy.”
Something in me clenched. The cadence, the rhythm of his words—it was so much like Nash.
“He had been smuggled out of Tintagel Castle shortly after his birth by none other than the wise druid Merlin, who knew Arthur’s life would be in danger as the various lords warred over the right to rule, including Arthur’s own father, Uther Pendragon. Arthur was brought to a noble family and raised as their own. One day, a great stone appeared in the land, with a mighty sword thrust through it. The stone bore a strange message: Whoever Pulls the Sword from This Stone Is the True-Born King of Britain.”
“Who put the stone there?” Neve asked. “Merlin?”
“Yes,” Cabell said, impatient with the interruption. “So, a tournament was called, and all the great lords and their sons entered, including Arthur’s foster brother, the knight Sir Kay. Realizing he didn’t have his sword, Kay sent his squire, Arthur, to find one for him. And Arthur, seeing that the nearest one was the very sword embedded in that strange stone, went to it. He gripped its cold hilt and pulled it free with ease, much to the shock of everyone around him. And that is how Arthur’s true identity, and his fate, were revealed.”
I sank back down in the water, letting the warmth ease the unwelcome burn from my eyes. It was a stupid story, with an even more unrealistic ending.
“Is any of that true?” Neve asked.
Cabell shrugged. “Does it have to be?”
Bright indigo lights rose in the pools around us, sending playful splashes of water between them. Their energy and erratic motions spoke of pure, unbridled mischief. The lights suddenly clustered over one bath, drawing its water up into the shape of a bird. It soared over our heads, dripping like rain, only to transform midair into a cat. It flicked its translucent tail against Neve’s cheek and she laughed.
“Nixies,” Cabell said, watching them.
Their lights reminded me of a question, one I’d been forced to push aside for more pressing ones.
“Neve,” I began. “Why did Olwen hum her spell for the fire instead of drawing sigils?”
Sorceresses had a carefully curated and precise way of calling magic; they drew power from the universal source of it, yes, but their collection of sigils instructed the magic to perform a task.
“I don’t know,” Neve said. “There are many ways of using magic—just look at the Cunningfolk. They don’t use sigils, either. Maybe spellwork is just more…instinctive for priestesses.”
“That could be why you were able to cast that incredible spell, Neve,” Cabell pointed out.
“I’ll ask Olwen,” Neve said. “I think we can learn a lot from each other.”
I nodded, letting the quiet dripping of water and splashing of nixies ease the tension between us.
My gaze drifted up over the nearest statue—the maiden. Her expression was knowing as her stone eyes watched over us, and it made me think of what Caitriona had said earlier about the security of knowing that a greater being was there to care for you in your life’s journey.
But I couldn’t imagine what god remained in this land darkened by death.
A half hour later, Betrys’s voice carried down the steps. “All finished?”
I stood from the water, wrapping myself in the towel and moving behind the maiden statue’s feet to dress. My wet hair dripped onto my shoulders, allowing the chill to cut deeper—and that was before I put on my sludge-soaked boots.
