Spirit of the Sea Witch

by Tara West

  Zier let the shield slide to the ground with a clank. “Your brother fought the ice goddess and lived to tell the tale?”

  Alec scanned the attentive faces around the campfire. “He did.”

  Grim racked his knuckles. “Forgive me if I find this story too wild to believe.”

  Alec fixed Grim with a stern gaze. “He did, and when the Elementals sent him back to Adolan, her dragon came after him again. Dianna was able to stop the dragon and make it bend to her will.”

  When soft murmurs rose, Alec nudged Des, who had been preoccupied with his pies.

  “Laddie.” Grim stood, sweeping a hand across the camp. “Surely you do not expect us to believe this.”

  Alec’s chest tightened at their disapproving looks. Ryne had already given the dwarves cause not to like them. He didn’t want to give them another. “I would not believe it, either, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “I saw it, too,” Des added, picking crumbs off his breeches and popping them in his mouth. “The dragon made me a slide of ice.”

  “Dianna has flown the dragon to the Shifting Sands, far from Madhea’s eye.” Alec glanced at the dark forest, knowing somewhere beyond the trees and the distant shore, his sister was alone with her dragon. “She is looking for a place for our people before Madhea’s wrath comes down on us all.”

  “Or before the ice melts,” Des added.

  Grim and Zier bent heads, murmuring into each other’s ears. Finally Zier turned to Alec with a drawn mouth. “This news is both fascinating and troubling. But you never told me how Markus survived a battle with the goddess.”

  Alec let out a slow exhale, knowing his tale was about to get wilder. “He wore a magical stone that deflected her magic.”

  “Where did he get such a stone?” Grim snapped, his eyes alight with mistrust.

  “From the ice people,” Alec said, fearing the night was only going to get worse.

  Gorpat’s eyes flew open, and she jumped to her knees. “Fire! Fire!” She pointed to the ice dwellers, then lifted Ven out of his bedroll.

  The blue man screamed, trying to swat the giant while dangling upside-down in the air.

  Ryne jumped to his feet and kicked Ven’s bedroll. A red stone rolled out, its color fading to white as it came to rest beside Ryne’s foot.

  “It is not a fire, you beast!” He pointed at the giant, his pale eyes lit with fury. “It is Ven’s warming stone.”

  Gorpat’s face fell, and she dropped Ven back on the ground. He hit the dirt with a thud, cursing as he rolled onto his side.

  Zier scratched the back of his head, sharing startled looks with his cousins. “Warming stone?”

  Ven stood and limped to Ryne’s bedroll, scooping up the stone. “I use it to chase away the chill.”

  Zier turned to Alec, an excited gleam in his eyes. “Is this stone like the one Markus used to deflect the goddess’s magic?”

  Alec nodded, finally relieved he had proof his story was not a hoax. “It’s exactly like the stone Markus used.”

  A chorus of excited whispers broke out as the dwarves jumped to their feet, heads bent and arms wildly waving.

  Zier hobbled over to Alec, patting him on the knee. “I’m sorry for doubting you, son.”

  “Why do you ask?” Ryne’s booming voice cut through the dwarves’ chatter.

  All eyes shot to Ryne, and not a sound could be heard except for Gorpat blowing her nose into her sleeve. Ryne glared at them with legs braced apart, his hand on the hilt of his blade.

  Zier rubbed his beard, eyeing Ryne for a long, tense moment. “How many do the ice people have?”

  Ryne jutted a foot forward, speaking through clenched teeth. “Again, why do you ask?”

  “I would gladly trade any of my goods for such a stone,” Zier answered.

  Ven tucked the stone back in his bedroll and went to stand beside Ryne, his youthful face transformed into a mask of hard angles. “This stone has been in my family for generations and is not for trade.”

  Zier rubbed his hands together. “I have spices, gold, weapons.” He waddled back to the campfire, lifting the shield with a groan. “Look at this fine workmanship.”

  “Again,” Ryne boomed as the other ice dwellers rose from their beds and flanked him, “this stone is not for trade.”

  “Very well.” Zier heaved an overly-dramatic sigh and lowered the shield. “But if you should change your mind—”

  “Our minds will not change.” Ryne said firmly.

  Alec’s breath caught in his throat at the murderous look in Ryne’s eyes, the same look the dwarves were reciprocating as they flanked Zier, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. The dwarves outnumbered the ice dwellers seven to one, not to mention they had a giant on their side who could flatten them all into hotcakes.

  Brendle ran behind Des, shaking as if he’d just been pulled from an icy river. Tar stood between the dwarves and Ryne, dancing on his paws.

  “Come here, Tar!” Ryne growled.

  Tar nuzzled Grim’s hand before slinking over to Ryne, his tail between his legs.

  The dog didn’t want to see his master fight with the dwarves, and neither did Alec. He had to think of something, and fast, before their disagreement escalated.

  He stepped between the dwarves and Ryne, holding up both hands. “Why don’t we all get some sleep?” He did his best to keep his composure, despite the wild beating of his heart. “We can discuss the stone in the morning.”

  “Are you as daft as the dwarves?” Ryne pointed at Alec with an accusatory finger. “There will be no discussion.”

  “Go to bed, Ryne,” Alec spoke through a frozen smile.

  “Do not tell me what to do.”

  Ryne was either very stubborn, very foolish, or both. Either way, Alec had had enough of his temper. Balling his hands, he channeled his dead father’s dark and violent moods as he stalked toward Ryne. “I said, go to bed!” He jutted a finger at Ryne’s bedroll, feeling the heat creep into his chest as he and Ryne locked gazes for several interminable, thudding heartbeats.

  So enraged was Alec, he was barely aware of his own shallow breathing or of Gorpat sniveling behind them.

  “Friends no fight,” the giant cried.

  Alec couldn’t let Ryne win this battle of wills. As the dwarves’ grumbles grew louder, Alec knew their lives depended on Ryne backing down.

  Finally, Ryne threw up his hands and stomped back to bed. “What a fool I was for allowing a land dweller to accompany us.”

  Ryne flopped on his bedroll, punching the ground beneath him before turning his back to Alec and the dwarves. His companions slowly made their way back to their bedrolls as well, their wary gazes traveling from Ryne to the dwarves. Alec turned to the dwarves to apologize, but their attention was locked on Ryne, their bulbous noses and round cheeks as flame red as the fire’s embers. ’Twas then Alec knew nobody would get much sleep that night.

  * * *

  Dianna made her way through the labyrinth of stairs, accompanied by two guards, who promised to wait outside and escort her to supper. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved or unnerved. Their spears could take down Lydra. These men were tall and muscular, like Simeon, but their eyes were dark, not bright with gold flecks. Their faces were masks of granite, impassive and unfriendly, unlike Simeon with his wide grin.

  Luckily, the giggling girls in her room left her alone with a clean change of clothes, and she was able to bathe in peace. The throbbing in her fingers from slapping Simeon was starting to subside, and it felt good to wash off the sand and grit. She lingered longer than she’d intended, but the warm water was soothing.

  After she dried off, she enjoyed running a brush through her hair, though it took a while to work out all the knots. Dressing was another story. She didn’t wish to wear her grimy breeches, but the girls had left her only a gown. Sirens’ teeth! She loathed dresses. What good were they? She couldn’t hunt in one or ride a dragon without chafing her thighs.

 
Dianna held the fabric in her hands, so light it cascaded like water through her fingers. She supposed she’d have to make do until her breeches were laundered. The dress fell around her legs like a soft cloud. It cinched at the waist and the top with thin straps that barely covered her breasts. Never before had she gone out in such revealing clothes, but after gawking at enough scantily clad Shifting Sands women, she feared she wouldn’t find anything with more coverage. She thanked the Elements the people of Adolan or her brothers couldn’t see her like this. She caught her reflection in a looking glass hanging above her dresser. She could not deny the dress was radiant, a shimmery gold that reminded her of the way Tan’yi’na’s scales reflected the sunlight.

  What will Simeon think of my gown? she thought, then berated herself for caring. His opinion mattered naught to her. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

  She pulled her hair back, threading it into a braid with nimble fingers, a trick her adoptive mother had taught her years ago. She tied it with a leather band, wishing she had a fancy ribbon to compliment her clothing. Again, she berated herself for her foolish whims. Why did she need a ribbon when she had more important things to worry about, like saving her people?

  She looked in the mirror, and a strange sense of recognition fell like a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach. She’d seen this woman in paintings of the sky goddess. With the exception of Madhea’s translucent wings, Dianna looked like her mother.

  She heaved a resigned sigh as she gazed at the white stone sitting on the bed. Could this be why Sindri rarely spoke to her? Did her cursed cousin resent her because she looked like the witch who’d destroyed her family? Dianna hoped the stone couldn’t see her. After all, it had no eyes. But though it had no mouth, Sindri spoke to her. If Sindri was listening to her thoughts, she made no attempt to allay her worries. The stone on her bed was inert, as if it possessed no magic at all.

  She heaved a frustrated breath and plopped on the bed with an unladylike grunt. I’m not my mother, she thought to herself. I’m not, she thought again, not knowing if she was trying to convince herself or Sindri.

  Her stomach churned, and she realized it was most likely from hunger. Pleasant smells of roasting meat and freshly baked bread wafted into her room, making her stomach protest even more. She decided she’d save worrying over her mother’s similarities for another time.

  She laced up a pair of tan sandals that wrapped around her ankles, admiring her slender feet. She couldn’t remember a day when she hadn’t worn her boots, but the sandals made her feet look pretty. She thought of the giggling girls who’d flirted with Simeon. They, too, had worn sandals, only their toenails were painted bright colors. Dianna’s toenails still had traces of grime under them, but it was not to be helped. Those girls with painted nails hadn’t just ridden a dragon across the desert. She grabbed the stone off the bed and tucked it into a leather pouch, then attached it to her belt. She placed a few loose coins on top of the stone; if anyone asked, she’d say the pouch was a coin purse. She still wasn’t ready to show her stone to Feira.

  Dianna made it a point to not look directly at the guards when she emerged from her chamber. She felt indecent in the borrowed gown and feared the heat in her face was visible for all to see. She kept her attention centered on one guard’s dark, broad back and followed him to the great hall, where he told her she was to dine as an honored guest.

  The great hall was just that, a long room of dark stone decorated with a table of polished ebony wood that seemed to stretch for an eternity. She stopped counting the chairs, but estimated the table sat at least two hundred. Her mouth watered when she saw the roasted birds, jugs of wine, a variety of colorful fruit and plants, and baskets of rolls and pastries. She could almost taste the myriad savory scents. How did the sand dwellers find so much food in the middle of a desert?

  The lively chatter and music died down when she entered the hall as all eyes turned to her. She turned up her chin, ignoring curious looks by focusing on the furnishings. Intricately carved flaming balls of metal hung from the ceiling, and the walls were decorated with magnificent colorful tapestries, depicting seven beautiful dark-skinned women adorned in jewels. She instinctively touched the stone on her belt.

  These women had to be the goddess Kyan and her daughters, for the final tapestry depicted seven pale stones surrounded by flowers, and hovering behind them was a magnificent golden dragon, a single tear dripping down his long snout.

  It was then she noticed how many seven-pointed stars were woven into the tapestries and carved into the walls and table. Though she tried to ignore the Kyanite’s scowling faces as they pressed against the wall, turning up their noses as she passed, she noticed seven-pointed jeweled emblems around their necks and seven-pointed tattoos on their arms. Kyan and her daughters were more than just dead deities to them. They were living memories, and these people mourned their deaths every day, all because Dianna’s mother had killed them. She feared the sand dwellers would never forgive her for Madhea’s sins.

  Destiny is not forged in blood. It is made in spirit. Sindri’s voice echoed in Dianna’s skull.

  “What does that mean, Sindri?” she whispered to herself as she passed more unfriendly faces.

  It means you control who you wish to be, despite the cursed blood which runs through your veins. Do not let Madhea’s past actions shape your future.

  “Tell that to the Sand People,” she grumbled. “They think I am like her.”

  Sindri didn’t answer.

  As she stole glances at the others in the room, she observed two distinct classes of people—those who wore fine clothes and held their noses high while sipping from shiny goblets and those who seemed to be servants, wearing plain clothes and stacking food on the tables.

  The two guards brought Dianna to the end of the table, where Feira was waiting. The deity was seated beside a man so old and wrinkled, Dianna feared he was a corpse. The guards bowed to Feira, then backed against the wall, standing so still, they appeared to be sculpted of granite.

  Feira gestured to the seat beside her, and a man stepped forward and pulled it out.

  “Sit,” Feira said to Dianna.

  She sat in the chair, warily eyeing the decrepit man who sat across from her. His eyes were devoid of color, covered with a milky haze, and his gray flesh hung so far off his bones, he looked like a skeleton draped with an old, worn sock.

  She jumped at the sound of a loud gong. The hall filled with a cacophony of scrapes as the other diners pulled out their chairs and sat at the long table.

  Feira stood, holding up her goblet and sloshing red liquid on the table. “Children, please join me in welcoming our honored guest.”

  Dianna shifted uncomfortably, not liking being the center of attention, especially when she knew the Kyanites would rather feed her to Tan’yi’na than toast in her honor.

  When Feira held her goblet in the air, the others followed suit, their expressions pained. They obeyed their deity, however.

  The heat that flamed Dianna’s face was discomforting. She looked into her cup of swirling red liquid, unable to keep her gaze on the long row of scowls. A quick glance revealed that Simeon wasn’t present. She wondered if the empty seat beside her was meant for him.

  Feira ripped open a roll and bit into one end. Then she chased it down with a hearty drink. Another gong sounded, and the music resumed. People piled their plates with food.

  Dianna was glad to see her presence hadn’t dampened their appetites. She was famished again, and despite the nervous roiling in her stomach, she grabbed several slices of pink meat, a few rolls, and a heaping spoonful of creamy, purple fruit.

  “Where’s Simeon?” Feira asked a nearby servant, then frowned when the man whispered in her ear.

  Dianna fought the urge to slink under the table when Feira turned her pointed gaze on her, then flashed a rueful smile.

  Feira leaned toward Dianna. “I’m afraid Simeon won’t be able to join us.”

  Forcing a s
mile, Dianna infused indifference into her voice. “Oh, that’s too bad.” She met Feira’s assessing gaze and squeezed a roll so tight, filling squirted out one end and splattered the table. “Oops. I didn’t know that would happen.”

  Before she could clean up the mess, a servant was doing it for her.

  When she thanked him, he only nodded and backed away. Dianna thought his behavior odd, though she wasn’t used to servants attending her. In her town of Adolan, only a few of the very wealthy had servants, and they were generally treated as members of the families they served. When she looked down the row of people, she saw those dressed in fine clothes waving away plain-clothed sand dwellers with disdain or demanding they refill their goblets. Dianna pitied those who waited on her.

  “Most of these people are my descendants.” Feira waved toward the people gorging on food and giving orders to the servants. “Those with my eyes have my magic. The brighter the gold, the stronger the magic.”

  “Like Simeon,” she breathed. For the first time, she noticed a key difference between the servants and those they waited on—their eyes. The servants had inky black eyes while those drinking wine and laughing with their friends had eyes ranging from dark amber to bright gold.

  “His power to charm is indeed strong, but not strong enough to work on you, or is it?”

  Dianna’s jaw dropped. The old woman was flashing a toothless grin. Had she made it obvious she was attracted to Simeon?

  “No, it’s not,” she lied. Truthfully, his magical charms had worked on her too well, and she was sorely wishing he was here.

  “This is my husband, Tumi,” Feira said, patting the knee of the living corpse beside her.

  She thought she saw a muscle twitch in the old man’s jaw, but she wasn’t sure. Having gotten used to the frail and nearly deaf prophet, Dafaur, Dianna raised her voice so Tumi could hear her over the din of music and laughter. “Nice to meet you.”

  Feira smiled affectionately at her husband. “He can’t hear you.”