Beneath the Starlit Sea, page 5
The black mare knows something is wrong and stands stock-still as I dismount at the stables, and I tell Thierry to go fetch Garit. He takes off with the speed of a lightning bolt. His bark echoes over the walls of the courtyard, and I fling the horse's reins over the branch of a tree, hoping someone will take notice and bring her back to her stall.
My knees buckle as I enter the west wing, my hand quickly turning from a deep crimson to a black that perforates my spotty vision. I only have so much time to get the concoction on my hand and enchant it before I'll lose my limb all together. Stories say that nixies are evil creatures in that way; you can't touch their bodies without losing part of your own, but when they appear as beautiful women on the shoreline, they drag men in with their songs and whispers to make their true nature less obvious. Once back in the water, they're more like sirens, killing their captives for energy from their souls, or for sport.
I'm crawling over the stone when Garit comes running, Thierry nipping at his heels in a valiant attempt to urge him to go faster.
"Illyse, what happened to you?"
"Nixies," I breathe, seething through the pain. "There are nixies in the water."
"Nixies? Like in the legends? They haven't been spotted around Sjökanten in centuries." It's then that he glances down at my hand, the skin rotting away, covered with blisters. The look on his face changes to an expression I’ve never seen him wear before. "What do you need? I've never treated a nixie burn before."
"I have what I need. Cottonflower and gooseberry mash, upstairs." I crawl up the steps, but Garit reaches down, hoisting me up in his arms in one fell swoop before ascending the spiral staircase. Thierry runs up past the two of us, howling and whining his foolish head off, happy to be indoors where he's not supposed to be. The scent of oils surrounds me, Garit's blondish braids tickling at my face as I try my hardest not to shed any tears and ruin the cosmetic around my eyes. It's for naught, because the pain is awful, my pulse thumping in time with Garit's boots up the stairway, one kick of the door opening it wide.
"I feel like the worst doctor right now. I can't even help you."
"Take me into the library," I reply, my vision wobbling as Thierry bounds into the bedroom and onto the bed with his dirty paws. There’s no stopping him because my mind isn't working properly, the spell for control completely escaping me and the pain combined with the iron band sapping my energy to perform it, anyway. I drop my satchel on the floor. "I'll teach you. You can make it. My hand..."
Garit places me down on the chaise, carefully, as to not hurt me more than I'm hurting already. "Tell me what to do."
"There's a blue leather bag on the farthest shelf. Find the driest cottonflowers and muddle them." The words come out breathy and slow; I'm about to pass out from searing pain that shoots up from my hand to my elbow. The poison’s spreading. "Then find the gooseberries, by the window. They'll wet the cottonflower and make it into a paste."
Garit rushes around the room, my vision turning black with hurt, and I try to keep myself awake to give him instructions on what to do next. I can just barely observe the silhouette of his body against the fading light of the day, but I know he's there because I hear him breathing, stomping, bustling around the library. I can’t tell if he doesn’t need guidance or if I’m just no help because I’m passing in and out of consciousness.
In my mind, I see Aske, the trees of Freja’s Forest, and hear the guards coming to take me to the king. They’re a mixture of sounds and visions, just snippets at a time, like sudden and brief dreams.
"Illyse!" Garit commands, gently shaking my shoulder and placing the bowl of paste on my lap. His touch does something to me, the delicate nature of it, the smell of the oils on his skin, the way the supple leather of his vest brushes over me while he checks if I'm breathing. It gives me a little boost of whatever it is I need to keep going. "Illyse?"
"Brenne," I whisper, extending my unblistered palm. A tiny flame appears, barely enough to stir any heat, and I use all my might to push it into the bowl.
The little fire turns blue before disappearing into the mash with a wisp of smoke. It's hot and ready, and I don't wait for the poultice to cool before I dunk my hand in for relief. It feels the same as running and jumping into the Kincajd on a hot day, my whole body chilling immediately to where I shiver. Garit dips his hand into the bowl and slathers the mash up my arm, trying to keep up with the spread of the nixie's poison. The stars in my eyes and the ebony blindfold that covers my vision soon start to fade, and I know that it's worked. Between Garit and me, we've saved my hand, possibly my entire arm, and I can breathe again.
When I look over my right shoulder, Garit's there, kneeling with a clenched jaw. "I thought you told me once that you weren't a healer."
"The sorceresses at Aske made sure we knew some things. Things I always thought were a little bit useless, but I suppose I was wrong."
“Tell me about Aske.”
I suck in a breath of the library’s air, and it smells like fire and gooseberries and flowers instead of rot, the nixie’s magic fading away like the close of a bard's song. “What’s there to know? There’s only so much I can say. Aske is one of those mountainous regions that only those who know how to get there can find.”
“And what’s it like there?”
We sit and watch for a moment as the crimson and black that covered my arm and hand recedes into my regular, pale flesh. “It’s quiet. There are no birds. Just caverns and cliffs that jut out into the sea with sparkling blue water filled with fish that can’t be found anywhere else in the realm. We—the other young sorceresses in training—had bedrooms with cracked mirrors and stone walls. It was beautiful, in a mysterious way. So many rooms we couldn’t enter. So many plants that I’ve never seen since leaving. People I’ve never seen again. But what I do remember is the ball at the end of the year when those of us who were successful were presented to the elder sorceresses. That’s when we got our mark.”
Talking about the mark reminds me about the tingling on my skin where the mash rests, the spots where Garit had rubbed it in to make sure the poison didn’t spread any farther. It’s almost up to the wavy lines and circles branded into my skin, the edges of the mixture touching the faded purple and crimson, nearly covering the ‘A’ intertwined in the symbols.
“What does it mean?” Garit’s voice is soft, and he adjusts his kneeling position ever so slightly. His gaze drops gently to the rest of my exposed skin as Thierry saunters across the room and sits down at my feet.
“It’s to show what I’m attuned to. The lines are a fire. The circles are spirit. The ‘A’ denotes I’m of Aske lineage.”
He hums for a moment, seemingly taking in my words and absorbing them. His fingers twitch, like he’s going to reach out to touch my mark, but then his brow quickly furrows and he leans back, rising.
"Can you get me a rag?" I ask him, gesturing to the round table at the center of the room where he had mixed up the bowl. "If I don't get this off, it turns to jelly. Then I'll have Thierry's fur stuck to me."
"Right," Garit replies, like he should have thought about that. Reaching behind him, he picks up a white cloth I previously used to wipe up a spill of alcohol. At least I know it's clean.
I clean my arm, scrubbing off the fibers of cottonflower, as Garit looks on and pets the fox's head like it’s a worry stone.
"You scared me there, Illyse," he admits. "I wasn't sure there for a moment if—"
"Hush now, I had extra energy from the earth this morning. If I would have thought for a moment longer about the powder, I think I would have realized that it was a nixie who left the scales behind. It's my own fault for being distracted." I don't bother to admit to Garit that lately my preoccupied thoughts are daydreams of him.
"Your power though, it's amazing. I mean, I've seen you use it on Thierry to control him, but never to heal. I think you're more powerful a sorceress than you let on."
He isn't wrong. If he only knew I had all the makings of a truth serum and a love potion to turn anyone into an honest man or a doting lover. Of course, the objects and plants I have scattered around the room mean barely anything to him as a doctor, magic and medicine only intermingling in situations such as this one. I wiggle my fingers around, making sure I have full use of my hand again before I put any weight on it to rise from the chaise.
"I can't thank you enough," I reply, ignoring his statement. "You work quickly. Most doctors I’ve been acquainted with take as much time as possible to care for something that’s relatively routine."
“Perhaps I’m not a typical doctor.”
“Perhaps not.”
He smiles at me, a grin that's tinged with a relief I can feel from my position halfway across the room. "I guess since we know it's the nixies responsible for killing the men, I can bring your books back."
"You might still need them.” I shake my head. “We've got to figure out how to drive them off—or kill them."
"I’m not certain I can be of any help. Especially not if it’s truly nixies in the water. They’re probably worse than sirens. I’d practically be a fish on the line for them.”
I remember from the Aske legends we memorized as part of our schooling that you can be rid of a pod of nixies in one of several ways, all of them complicated, one of them including letting a sorceress out of her ore. My thoughts flicker back to Graciella, and how she requested I find a way to have Analeisa released. This may be a way to take care of both her request and the king’s at the same time, freeing an Aske sorceress in the process from her life in ore.
“There might be a way to make this work. But I can’t be certain.”
Garit sighs, placing both hands on the table. "I need more information."
"And you'll get it. It's not like this is going to happen on the morrow. I need supplies. I need time and strength. And—” I pause, trying to judge his expression before continuing, but it’s blank. “We need the ore of a sorceress, which may take some convincing since I assume King Whys isn’t willing to give up one of his witches in order to test out my theory."
"Why not?" Garit asks, and I pause, hesitant, until he repeats his question. "Why not, Illyse?"
"Because then she'll be released." I try to remember the details. “We might be able to bond the nixie to the ore, if what I was told is true. Remember, the sorceress’ soul is still alive in the ore. By melting it in just the right conditions, you can release the woman inside. But to do that, you have to give up more souls than the number who are bound. Sometimes it's two. Sometimes it's twenty. And, to be honest, I'm not sure nixies have souls to give."
Garit runs a hand over his head, fingering the ends of his hair that isn't in tiny braids. "I should probably get back to my studies, read up on nixies, see what I can learn. Are you sure you're alright now?"
"I'm fine." I show him my hand that's back to looking perfectly normal and is now without pain. " Of course, now I need to collect some more gooseberries and cottonflower, but that can be done another day. After we figure out how to drive the nixies back into the depths of the ocean where they belong."
"If you're certain—"
"Which I am."
"I'll head back to my chambers, then. Should I take Thierry to the yard?"
"I'll go. I need to check on Hadli and make sure someone's put her away and not left her tied to the branch. I threw her reins over." I whistle to the black fox and he trots to my side, leaving behind whatever it was he was sniffing at on the library floor.
We descend the stairs in silence except for the sounds of our boots on the stone floor. The last of the day's sun shines through the window, making patterns on the walls of the turret, while sparkles of dust and fox fur glow in the air. Thierry takes off into the bruised purple dusk, ready for his yard and his dinner, while Garit and I languish over leaving each other—or at least, I do. There's an extra bond between us now that he's saved my hand, little threads of connection, and I know he feels it too because he can't meet my eyes.
"Garit?" I whisper his name, extending my fingers to brush them against his bare forearm. I hesitate the first time, but the second time I make contact. I know what I'm doing, and I shouldn't be doing it, but he looks up at me with those eyes like the Kincajd Sea and I can't help myself.
"I think there's a few bottles of mead down in the cellar?" I suggest, knowing full well that there are because I drank one of them while trying to get myself to sleep after the particularly grisly death of Rigel, a fisherman, by the water.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that maybe we have a drink tonight, to saving my hand and potentially figuring out how to stop the nixies."
For a second, I think he's going to deny me. Then, the twitch of Garit's smile gives him away, followed by the dimple on his chin that only appears when he's amused or considering something deeply.
"Well, I can't deny the company now, can I?"
"You could, but would it be worth it?"
Garit shakes his head. "I'll see you at dark, when the moon appears over Freja's trees. Before then, I need to study, get my mind elsewhere. Finish up with Alhrik, on whom I found the same scales with skin. Let his family take his body to the burial grounds."
I nod, quivering a smile as well. To the devils with the Kincajd Sea tonight. Tonight is for me, for Garit, for all the corpses we've seen and studied. For the kingdom of Sjökanten, the realm, the city of Moningrad, the neighboring town of Morrows, all the way to Strandkant.
Tonight is for us all.
five
After feeding Thierry a dead chicken and putting him in his yard for the night to chase the feathers on the breeze, I descend toward the coolness of the cellar to fetch the drink Garit and I will need to melt away our bad memories. One could say I have an affinity for mead, a weakness that seems to afflict many in the villages, and maybe even bring them to the waters of the Kincajd at night to watch for the beautiful women there. I don’t want to watch for anyone but Garit—my feelings having grown in intensity and clarity since he saved my hand. There’s something about the way his touch slid up my arm, the way we’ve changed our tone with one another, that affects me more than any other man I’ve been with.
Once I gather a collection of bottles from the cellar, the evening draws in quickly. I make my way back up the turret to change into something more suitable for an evening of intoxication, something that doesn't smell like fox or horse but like elderflower, grapeseed oil, and fresh soaps. On top of it all, I spritz the scent of candlelight, a long-ago spell given to me by one of my sisters at Aske when we first discovered the few sorcerers in the coven. Candlelight scent is said to intoxicate men more than drink.
It’s not that I want to get Garit drunk on the mead and the scent mixed together. However, I’d like him to have at least some of the same feelings for me I have discovered I have for him.
I sweep my hand around the library's sitting area; the candles adorning the room bursting into flickering flames of ivory light. I've changed into a soft purple dress I bought in Abbotsfjeld, the fabric brushing against my bare feet and covering them, being too long without boots. I like the way it hides my toes, like I'm floating above the stone floor, as the sorceresses of the old times were said to do. My hair is undone and brushed out with the tiniest touch of oil, waves cascading over my shoulders like waterfalls. Every time I move, I catch the subtle scent of elderflower and candlelight, and it makes me smile.
I can’t help but think about the way the aromas will mix with Garit’s musk, the idea floating around in my head as I busy myself moving around objects in the library. I have no reason to continue tidying, as my space is always a perpetual storm, but there’s something nervous roiling in my stomach about tonight’s intent.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, echoing in my heart, and I jump to answer it. Garit's standing there, dressed in black slacks that accentuate his legs, and a black shirt that's rolled up to his elbows. The cerulean buttons are gorgeously cut from seashells, and their surfaces flicker in the candles' incandescent glow. Around his neck is his doctor's pendant, silver with a serpent imprinted at the center. As I look at him, quickly and discreetly, my fingers start to shake on the door handle. Was I even thinking when I invited him here, knowing he would arrive looking like that and affecting me like this?
"Evening, Illyse."
My voice trembles the tiniest bit. "Evening, Garit. Do come in."
I spot his eyes flickering to the bedroom as we pass through the small corridor. The room darkened with only the glow of a couple of candles on the vanity table. Deer skins and bear furs are laid out on the bed, as I've unpacked my winter things to keep me warm up in the turret. The question crosses my mind if he'll be under them tonight with me, the mead working magic of its own. I give my head a little shake as we enter the library, where, only a few ticks of the sun before, I was in deadly pain on the chaise. No, he won't be in my bedroom. He can’t. It's banned, and we work under the employ of King Whys. Someone would surely find out.
Forcing myself into a state of distraction, I pour mead into a mug, the golden liquid swirling around and making a froth. Once full, I pass the tankard to Garit before pouring my own. There’s silence around us except for the sound of the crackling fire.
"I can't thank you enough for your quick actions earlier today," I start before Garit puts up his hand to stop me. His mouth is full of drink and I wait for him to swallow and speak.
"It's my job to save, Illyse. That's what Whys chose me for. No thanks are needed. The mead is quite enough—even though you stole it from the cellars."
A smile plays at the corner of my lips. "Think of it more as permanently borrowing."
"I'll think of it as payment rendered for our services."
I nod and bring the mug to my lips.
"I have to ask." Garit places his cup down on the table, licking at his lips in such a way that my stomach feels as if it has a fox running inside. "How long before I start to feel the effects of your—what's it called? Potion?"
