Inkmistress

by Audrey Coulthurst

  CHAPTER 4

  IN CONTRAST WITH MY TROUBLED MOOD, THE GOOD weather held for the next few days. Necessity demanded I trek to the lake. I preferred its water for my tinctures, as it was much easier to purify than melted snow or the muddy creeks just beginning to flow. Also, the lake carried history in its depths, memories of the mountain far deeper and more enduring than the streams that came and went with the seasons. I loved the lake. If I hadn’t known my father to be the wind god, I might have wondered if the parent who’d given me life was one of the genderfluid gods—water or spirit. Their fluid natures might have explained the magical gifts that made fate so malleable in my hands.

  Only a few wispy clouds overhead hinted that winter might not yet be done. Life stirred all around as I traversed the mountain. Pine trees pondered the bursts of fresh green needles that would soon adorn their branches. Animals stirred in their nests and dens. Beneath the dirt and snow, bulbs released their first shoots, pulsing with life I could feel but not yet see. Still, spring felt more like a curse than a promise if the coming summer wouldn’t be like the last.

  I checked the vista on my way out, hoping against reason that Ina would be waiting for me again. But I found it empty. All I saw was a fresh funeral pyre in the valley sending a thin coil of black smoke up into the sky. With a pang of sadness, I sketched the symbol of the shadow god and whispered a prayer. I still had important duties, and potion work seemed like the only thing I had control over now. My options for how to help Ina hung over me, each one feeling increasingly impossible. The deeper I dug in search of a reason she should be with me instead of Garen, the more empty my hands came up. I couldn’t give her normalcy. I couldn’t bear my own children—a fact that devastated me anytime I dwelled on it for more than a few heartbeats.

  Nuts and dried berries in my belt pouch made for a lean breakfast as I crossed the mountainside toward the lake. Even as I ate, my stomach growled at the prospects spring would bring, like fresh hare roasted with salt and honey and spices, or fiddlehead ferns sautéed in butter brought to me from the village. On the north face of the mountain, snow still obscured deep gullies that cut through the land, but I knew the ridges and ravines of the mountain like I knew the contours of my own hands.

  As I crested the last part of the summit, the expanse of the frozen lake glittered below. I picked my way down to the shore and knelt beside the lake. Water gently lapped at the lacy gray ice falling apart near the edge. Beneath the frigid surface I drew a variation on the water god’s symbol to clear the mud and ice from a patch of water. I dipped jars in to capture some and stopped them with corks. Once my satchel was repacked, I had everything I needed to brew my next batch of potions—just in time to see ominous clouds gathering over the western peaks.

  I raced back to my cave, arriving as the first wet flakes of snow began to fall. The wind whooshed wordlessly outside, souring my mood. If this was my father’s answer to the vespers I’d sung to him, I wasn’t impressed. Ina was down in the valley with Garen. I was on the mountain, alone. The thought of things remaining that way for the foreseeable future made me ill all over again. I hadn’t known true loneliness until I met Ina—until I knew what it was to want someone beside me always.

  I put on a kettle filled with the lake water I’d gathered, and laid out my supplies close to the fire: empty vials, the blue fire flowers, small sachets of dried peppermint and black elderflowers I’d picked last summer, and finally the thin silver knife I used for all my magic work. Candles completed my preparations, arranged in a semicircle, as much for light as to invite the blessing of the fire god. I settled on the worn fabric of my wool-stuffed cushion, crossing my legs beneath me before closing my eyes and letting the outside world disappear.

  I reached inside myself to the deep, dark place where magic swirled like a black river winding through my soul, peaceful and boundless as a night sky filled with glimmering stars. Warmth blossomed in my chest and swept through my veins, suffusing my body with magic, accompanied by the sudden, fierce longing to pick up the knife to set my blood free and put quill to paper. The magic begged me to write something, to shape the future into something better, though I knew every word would cause me pain. As always, I could not give in to the temptation. Only the gift of healing was mine to give.

  When I opened my eyes, everything glowed in my Sight, living things surrounded by soft auras, and magical things, like the fire flowers and my silver knife, far brighter. I could use the Sight any time and often caught glimpses of it at the edges of my vision, but it was never as bright or clear as when I performed a magical ritual.

  I placed a peppermint and elderflower sachet in each jar and poured boiling water in them to steep, sketching the symbols of the water, fire, and earth gods over each one to acknowledge their contributions. While the infusions darkened and cooled, I carefully plucked the lambent tubelike petals from each blue fire flower, the ones closest to the centers where the sparks at their hearts had once burned. They left soft trails of glittering dust on my fingertips.

  After I pulled the sachets from the jars and squeezed them against the sides with the blade of my knife, the petals went in, seven for each container. From within myself I called forth a tendril of magic that I released into each vial, sketching the symbols of the spirit god and shadow god, who between the two of them held the powers of life and death. Finally, I asked my father to bless each one, for his cleansing air to sweep away any impurities laid before him. Each potion came to life, the fire flower petals dissipating into pinpoints of light that hung in the liquid like motes of dust in a summer sunbeam.

  I stopped up each bottle with a piece of cork and lined them up with the others in the cabinet closest to the hearth, where the temperature would keep them from freezing at night.

  Not certain if the storm might prevent Ina’s timely return, I considered going down the mountain myself. Then Miriel’s words of warning rose in my mind as they always did. If mortals knew the extent of my powers, they might try to manipulate or harm me to get what they wanted. Miriel’s favorite cautionary tale was about a demigod daughter of earth whose bones sprouted apple tree branches if they were left untended. The demigod had been cared for at one of the earth god’s temples, until a mortal lord caught wind of her extraordinary ability and abducted her. He put her in his garden and drove stakes through her arms and legs to espalier her like an ordinary shrub. Eventually her own growth swallowed her, encasing her in wood. It was said that when pressing an ear against the enormous tree, one could hear her weeping even as her branches bore the most exquisite fruit.

  I packed and unpacked my satchel a few times, not sure what to do. If anyone died because I was too cowardly to go down to the village, those deaths would be on my hands. But as I made the final decision and reached for my cloak, Ina’s voice called from the mouth of my cave.

  “Are you home?” she asked, slightly out of breath. My heart sped up at the sound of her voice. It was as if my thoughts had made her appear before me.

  “Come in,” I called.

  Ina’s cheeks were rosy from the mountain wind, her boots wet from trudging through the slush. A smile was on my lips before any thought could enter my mind.

  “Can I set my boots by the fire?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said. After all this time, there wasn’t any need for her to ask permission, but I loved that she did. She had always been thoughtful about how she behaved in my space. I held out my hand. She smiled and gave her cloak to me. The things that went unspoken and the small familiarities we had with each other made me long for the contentment I’d felt with her last summer. It wasn’t the same with her manifest and betrothal hanging over us.

  “How is the village?” I asked.

  She sat down at my table while I put on the kettle. “The tinctures you gave me last week helped. No one else has fallen ill since then, and the only person we lost had already been sick for some time. I expect there to be a lot of gratitude shared when the community gathers tomorrow for the
weekly tithe.” She sounded so much more optimistic than she had before.

  Relief washed through me, a soothing balm to all my fears. “I’m so glad. I have more you can take when you leave.” It was convenient that she had come, but I was almost disappointed that I didn’t have reason to break the rules and make the journey to the village. Some dark part of me wanted to get a look at Garen. I trusted her, but he was an unknown—one of which I was very skeptical.

  “I brought you something,” she said, interrupting my brooding thoughts.

  “Oh?” I said, joining her at the table.

  From her pocket she produced a black silk ribbon threaded through a flat piece of silver carved into the shape of a rearing dragon.

  My breath caught. Wrap bracelets were given only as courting gifts. I’d often thought of making one for her but couldn’t risk her parents seeing it when they didn’t know about our relationship. It wouldn’t be easy to convince them to accept our love, not when they had such big dreams for their daughter. “It’s beautiful,” I said, and extended my wrist for her to tie it on. This had to indicate I meant more to her than the boy her parents expected her to marry.

  Her fingers made swift work of it, dancing over my skin with the lightness of feathers.

  “Thank you,” I said. I loved how it pressed on my skin like a promise.

  “I knew it was meant for you from the moment I saw it.” She leaned across the table and kissed me, teasing the edge of the ribbon with her fingers to send tingles up my arm.

  “Where did you get it?” I asked. There weren’t any metalworkers in Amalska.

  “Garen gave me a few. His parents are silversmiths.” She shrugged.

  “I’ll get the tea,” I said, turning so my face couldn’t give away that the gift had suddenly soured for me. Even if Ina loved me, she clearly meant more to Garen than a marriage of convenience for their villages. He wouldn’t have given her a gift like this otherwise, and if he’d arrived last fall carrying bracelets, he’d known he planned to court someone. I couldn’t figure out if I should be flattered that she gave a courting gift to me or upset that it was a hand-me-down from another suitor. Her seeming indifference about it gave me heart, but why did she tolerate his courtship at all if it wasn’t what she wanted? It must have been her parents’ expectations and her desire to help the village. Ina wasn’t someone to suffer anything that annoyed her. I wanted to ask her what it all meant, but what if I didn’t like the answer?

  I dropped herb sachets into two thick mugs and poured the hot water over them, then made one last trip to the cabinets for some honey to satisfy Ina’s insatiable love of sweets.

  “Have you thought about whether you might be able to help with my manifest?” she asked, spooning honey into her tea until the liquid rose dangerously close to the top of the mug.

  I nodded reluctantly. The thought of giving her the knowledge she needed to manifest in the old way frightened me. The ritual did not include a vow to one of the Six Gods or the customary oath to serve the monarch. Sharing the information with her could be interpreted as treason. But the king had chosen not to help us, so now we had to take care of ourselves. Besides, knowing that Garen was courting Ina made everything feel more pressing.

  “Tell me? Please? I’ll do anything.” She reached across the table and took my hand.

  “You have to make me a promise,” I said.

  “Anything.” She squeezed my hand.

  “Swear to me you won’t try this ritual except as a last resort. And if it turns out to be the only answer, promise me that you’ll always act in the interest of Zumorda and its people.” It wasn’t too much to ask.

  “Of course.” She nodded, her expression serious. “Nothing is more important to me than Amalska and my family. It’s why I hope to become an elder.”

  I sat back on my stool and took a deep breath. “Miriel told me about an old way to take a manifest, used ages ago before manifests or the monarchy were bound to the Six. The ritual is one of blood, not to be taken lightly. If something goes wrong, you could die. You can’t try this unless there is no other way.”

  Ina set down her tea and leaned forward. She had always liked dark stories and tall tales. Her favorite was the legend of the griffin queen, a Zumordan monarch who had somehow taken two manifests—an eagle and a lion. Sometimes she appeared as one of the manifests, other times both at once to strike terror into her enemies. She’d made short work of the badger king and his champions. I hoped Ina would understand that what I was about to tell her was no parable. If she attempted to manifest in the old way, she would be taking her life in her hands. I didn’t even know if it would work.

  Instead of asking one of the gods to send her manifest animal to her, she’d have to call it herself. She’d have to bind the creature with her own blood instead of asking the gods to seal the union and bless her as she merged with it. I explained the details as she listened with a serious expression on her face.

  “You mean this ritual doesn’t include an oath to the Six?” Ina asked. “What would I be bound to, then, besides the animal?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, but my guess would be the land itself. Life itself. The magic that ebbs and flows all around us,” I said. It was the best assumption I could make based on what Miriel had told me and my Sight revealed to me about manifests.

  “The magic you can see as a demigod?” Ina’s eyes widened.

  I nodded slowly. The spark of excitement in her eyes worried me. Blood magic should never be taken lightly. I knew that better than anyone.

  “If I succeed, would there be any consequences to having this different kind of manifest?” She frowned, concerned.

  I thought for a moment. “I doubt anyone would be able to tell, not unless they could see magic. So another demigod. Or the king, if he can borrow that ability from the gods.” I wasn’t sure what the boar king’s geas with the spirit god allowed him to do.

  “I think it’s safe to say the king will never visit Amalska. He can’t even be bothered to send any help to villages this far south. If he had, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.” She muttered a curse under her breath.

  “I know,” I said. “But please, Ina . . . understand that the blood rite could kill you if it goes wrong. If that happened, I could never forgive myself.” Fear consumed me at the thought of losing her.

  She met my eyes. “I know that manifestation should happen in its own time, but I’m not sure how much longer I can wait. There are so many others expecting me to take a position of leadership soon. I need to be able to live up to those expectations.”

  “There’s a lot of pressure on you,” I acknowledged. “But what do you truly want?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, tracing her finger around the edge of her mug. “I want to do what’s right for my community, and my parents think that means marrying Garen, but I’m not sure. I feel like I’d be more certain about everything if I had my manifest.”

  Disappointment swelled in my breast. I wanted her to be sure about me, if nothing else. “You’ve always said you want to be a leader, but there might be other ways to achieve that than marrying. Ways that allow you more autonomy.”

  “You’re so good to me,” she said. “That’s what I love about you. You always want the best for me and to let me find my own path.” Her eyes brimmed with warmth.

  “I care about you. That’s all,” I said. The words were far too small.

  The truth was that I was selfish. I wanted her to be free to choose me. I wanted some hope of a future for us, no matter how fleeting it was in the face of my much longer life. I wanted the best for her, but I wanted to be the best thing for her.

  “I care about you, too.” She reached across the table and traced her fingertips over the back of my hand. The knot between my shoulder blades eased a little. I needed to have faith that everything would work out as it was meant to.

  After our tea was gone, we retreated to bed. I lost all sense of time as words became far less imp
ortant than the spells woven and stories told by her hands on my skin. Afterward we went deeper into the mountain to soak in the hot spring of my bathing chamber, but by the time we emerged warm and hungry, it was to howling wind.

  “Listen,” I said. Outside, pine boughs finally free of snow hissed against one another with every gust. “The trail won’t be safe.”

  “I didn’t want to go home anyway.” Ina smiled, and brushed a lock of hair from my cheek. “Is it all right if I stay? My parents won’t mind. They’d rather I be safe. I’ll have to leave early in the morning to be back in time for the community meeting—if the wind has died down.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  I wanted her to stay until the snow melted.

  Until the flowers bloomed.

  Until the leaves fell.

  Until the winter returned again.

  I wanted her always.

  So we passed the evening talking, sharing a meal of spiced boar stew with juniper and a dessert of cherry preserves spread on thick slices of butter cake she’d brought. Long after night fell, when our conversations finally gave way to yawning, I brewed her some chamomile and valerian tea, rubbed her pillow with lavender, and gently stroked her hair until her eyelids grew heavy.

  “You’re everything that’s good in my world,” she mumbled, kissing my fingers just before she drifted off. My love for her almost drowned me in that moment. But once her breathing grew soft and even, I lay awake, troubled.

  Miriel had never told me if blood manifests worked differently from gods-blessed ones. Could some evidence of the ritual disqualify Ina from becoming an elder? Worse, what if my darkest fears came true and she died trying it? I would be to blame.

  If I got over my cowardice, I could prevent Ina from having to perform the blood rite at all. Would it hurt to use my true gift one time to bring hope and happiness to someone I loved and trusted? To help the village I was put here to protect? I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

  Perhaps the effects on me wouldn’t be severe if I helped along the process of Ina finding her manifest rather than dramatically changing the future. It would hurt, but not as much as it would wound me to see Ina suffer. The smaller workings I’d done with Miriel by using a little of my blood to intensify tinctures or to temporarily bestow some of my powers on her had never had dire consequences. There had been fevers, some minor aches, but not the agony of that one time I’d written the future.