Flood

by Brennan McPherson

  Her breathing sped.

  “I saw it in your eyes days ago. The same feeling I had when I killed your attacker.”

  “Then why did you trust me?”

  “I didn’t,” he said.

  She whipped around, eyes twitching. “Tell me why you stayed.”

  “You have no reason to be angry with me.”

  “I have every reason to be angry with you.”

  “Name one.”

  She eyed the serpent on the dagger’s hilt. One to threaten, the other to strike. “Because,” she said.

  “Do you hate yourself?”

  A deadly chill seeped into her fingers. Her vision narrowed and for all the fire that sparked in her words, her voice lay distant and cold. “I hate only the ones who . . .”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  She laughed, snatched back the ring and dagger, and held them aloft in the light. “Don’t you get it? This is all that’s left of the house of Zillah. This, and—” She motioned to Jade.

  Lamech nodded. Frown deepening.

  “Stop nodding,” she said, but the room blurred and her throat ached. She looked away and wiped her face on her sleeve. When she looked up, his eyes were red and filled with tears. “Why are you crying?” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as intimately as if he had kissed her.

  She stood on her good leg, balancing one hand on the wall, clutching the dagger and ring in the other. “How could you be sorry? You don’t know what it’s like. I was happy, until they ruined it. A man like you could never understand what that was like.”

  Lamech stood, and for the first time since she attacked him, she saw anger in his eyes. “What do you know of me?”

  She turned away. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve told you what you wanted to know. Go figure out if this village has all the supplies we need, and let me rest.”

  He waited a moment, as if weighing whether to speak his mind. Of course, as before, he knew she was still hiding things. Then, with one last infuriating nod, he left.

  As soon as the door closed, Elina collapsed and wept until her breaths failed and she choked. Jade and Noah’s cries were little anchors for her soul. All she wanted was to drift beyond the horizon, into the darkness past which the sun only set. Instead, she wiped her eyes, caught her breath, and scooted toward them.

  As she lifted Jade, her daughter looked up with eyes of gray so pure that they struck a furrow through her soul, and all her anger poured out. After Jade drank her fill, she tended Noah, whose little body was hardly half the size of Jade’s.

  Then she laid them beside her and stared out the window as they slept, thinking of Lamech’s face glistening with tears.

  Chapter 28

  As demanded, Lamech left Elina and locked the door behind him. He pressed his back to the wall and listened to Elina weeping quietly. He wondered if he should stay to make sure she didn’t hurt the children. But after Jade woke and cooed, Elina seemed to feed her and the cries slowly dissipated.

  Lamech knew he would have to spend more time apart from Elina while she cared for Noah in the future, so he made up his mind to trust that the madness would not return. Risks were inherent, and he couldn’t deny that she had cared for Noah. Indeed, if not for her, his child would have already died.

  So he walked the halls, trying to keep from worrying about his son. He noted the thud of pewter goblets on oaken tables, the slow scrape of feet over dirt-encrusted floors, and the earthen smells of men and fire.

  He was thankful his soiled garb matched the travelers at the inn, for it kept their eyes from roaming his appearance too frequently. But the heat of the hearth made the room stifling, so he made his way toward the exit.

  He stepped outside and the air lightened. The sun hung roughly midway through its course, and most of the villagers worked carrying goods, hoeing gardens, slicing meat, bundling herbs and wheat. The kind of labor that leaves one exhausted and satisfied. He could see it in their faces. A sense of quiet purpose in simple lives. It was so quaint as to make the smell of his burning home a distant memory.

  But he knew that what evil now swept the lands was a truth as undeniable as Adah’s absence.

  As he made his way toward the edge of town, he let his thoughts stumble toward Elina. She hadn’t needed to tell him of her family history. So why had she?

  In part, it seemed clear her admission had been designed to push him away, and when that failed she had lashed out—as cornered animals often did. But there was something else. Some lingering hope in her words, in the way she studied his reaction.

  “I was happy, but they ruined it.”

  Maybe she was totally insane, but he thought it unlikely. There was too much life behind her eyes. Too much pain. Too much that he recognized in himself.

  What would she do when he returned? Would she act as if they had never even spoken? He thought it likely, for she seemed ashamed of herself.

  But Lamech understood now that the terror of loneliness was the truest of pains, and she was in the deepest throes of isolation. What else would have forced her to admit murder?

  Of course, she hadn’t told him everything. But he wondered if she would ever fully voice what harm she’d endured. He hoped she would. Because he would try to help her bear it. He would be there for her.

  He would . . .

  He stopped himself, feeling a sudden rush of warmth to his face. What was he thinking? Adah was gone, and their vows had been made in life for life, but even still, it seemed perverse to think of intimacy with another.

  Even more, he wondered if he and Elina could ever be more than acquaintances.

  Why not?

  “Because,” Elina had said. Because of the pain. Because of the impossible gulf between them. Because of shame and guilt and brokenness.

  Why must he ever long for what could never be? For his mother, for Adah, and now for Elina’s friendship.

  The herbalist’s home stood before him, and he realized he had been standing in front of it for several moments, drawing the attention of a girl holding a basket of flowers. She ducked inside as he glanced her way and followed after, pushing aside the heavy curtain guarding the entryway.

  The air inside was pungent with crushed herbs. Several young men and women ground dried burdock, chicory root, and rosemary with mortar and pestle. Too absorbed in their work to worry about a traveler in soiled clothing. They paid him no heed as he explored the shop.

  Braided garlic and clusters of medicinal flowers hung from racks. Strange smelling powders sat in clay jars arranged neatly on shelves against the walls. The floors were remarkably clean, seemingly swept daily to keep the molds away. And there were no windows. Nothing to let sunlight in. Even the doorway was protected with a long covering, and the only light came from seemingly hundreds of slouching candles placed haphazardly throughout the rooms. The shop spoke on a primal level, as if inviting him to a feast.

  “Do you need help identifying what you need?” said a hoarse, female voice. He turned, saw an old crow of a woman leaning on a walking stick. Back bent, eyes bulging between snarled raven hair, nose and ears overgrown with age. A wry smile played at her lips, and her fingers moved deftly over the knots of her walking stick.

  “No,” Lamech said. “I was just admiring your shop.”

  “Admiring?” She laughed, though it turned to a wheezing cough. “In my eight hundred and fifty years, not a one has admired my shop. You want free gifts from Granny, eh? Thought to bribe me with flattery?”

  Her age staggered him. If she spoke truth, the knowledge she could have of herbalism would be far beyond anything he had ever encountered. “I would like to work for you,” he said. “Though I don’t know how long I can stay before having to move on.”

  She turned those bulging eyes on him, and pressed her lips together until her smile appeared no more than an extension of her wrinkles. She snatched a jar off the counter, thrust a hand inside, retrieved dark berries, and crushed them between her fi
ngers. “Tell me,” she said, wafting the scent toward him. “What are these, where do they grow, and what is their primary purpose?”

  The astringent aroma of juniper leapt through him, conjuring images of dwarf shrubs clinging to hillsides, pale blue and silver green grown from bone branches. “They are juniper berries, and they grow where moisture is little and height is great. You ask of their primary purpose?”

  Her bulging eyes widened as she bent toward him.

  “They increase the expulsion of water,” he finished.

  “Urination,” the woman corrected, and nodded with an appraising look. “What brings a mountain dweller here?”

  “Knowing juniper doesn’t mean I’m from the mountains. How do you—”

  “Don’t ask Granny questions. Just answer hers. And follow me while you’re at it. You interrupted my preparation of extracts.”

  He followed her into a dark room more pungent than the last. The scents of sweetness and bitterness mixed to form a web riding his breaths in and out. The thought gave him the strange sensation that he was connected, somehow, to the countless visitors who had already walked through the dark hovel.

  The woman crossed to a hand-crank press, where dripped a lemon-scented oil from green leaves. She continued her work, bottling the extract in a tiny clay jar that she sealed with wax. “So?” she croaked. “Answer my question.”

  “What brought me? Death, I suppose.”

  “Ah, Death. Our infernal enemy. Some say he is greater than the herbalist’s craft, but they are wrong. He only continues because the Almighty has offered him power over man.”

  Lamech squinted at the strange reference.

  “Yes,” she continued, “we ourselves gave Death power over us when we chose to worship ourselves over the Almighty.”

  “Who is the Almighty?”

  She turned those bulging eyes on him. “The Weaver of body and spirit. The One who strung every vein through every leaf we use to staunch the wound and heal the mind.” She turned back to the little vial she’d filled. “This is lemon balm, a green herb that grows throughout our forest. It is used to calm the spirit of those who endure much.”

  “I would buy it from you,” Lamech said, “if I had money. But I have none to spare.”

  “Yes, yes, you want to work for your goodies. And why not? You know more than most, Granny can see. Oh, yes, she can see. You’ve a talent for the craft, eh? Fancy yourself learned. But you know little in comparison. I would teach you, yes. But for how long? There is a darkness before and behind. You stand in the midst of shadowy flames that burn and burn and burn. You have come to the oasis to quench the heat only a moment. And sooner than you think, you must return to the path you follow. Whither it goes, no one knows.”

  He stepped back. “I did not come here for an oracle.”

  “I have seen you before. Yes, many times. Many times.”

  “I came for a job,” he said. “If you will not give it, then I would rather leave.”

  “Do you not long for answers? Is that not the deeper reason why you came here? To find some way through the wilderness?”

  Lamech’s mouth dried, and he thought it might be because the moisture in his body had been transferred to his palms.

  “The Weaver makes webs of dreams. Cold visions from heights above. Many meanings deciphered by those who love him.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  “Not riddles. Poetry. We who love the Almighty love all that is beautiful.” She smirked. “Which excludes me, I know. I made peace with that centuries ago. But the Almighty is beautiful enough to cover my ugliness, for he has made all the world beautiful in its time. Seasons come and seasons go, and the earth he formed grows and withers and buds and blooms. I just happen to be withering, though you hold one who buds.” She nodded at him, those bulging eyes seeming to bore into him, understanding more than he felt comfortable allowing. “Yes, these words speak to you, for your pursuer is not far, and he seeks to force you into isolation!”

  “Someone follows me?”

  “The Almighty knows all, but chooses a select few to enact his will. Sometimes,” she narrowed her eyes, “they don’t even know that they have been chosen.” Her eyes widened, and she bent as if someone was whispering in her ear. When she spoke again, it was in a shaky whisper. “Dreams. He has given you dreams of a darkness coming to separate us from the constellations—to separate us from the promise of the Savior who would deliver us.” She made a sign he assumed meant to ward off evil, and Lamech stepped back, feeling a prickling across his neck and shoulders.

  She started rocking, expression strained, worried. “There is a heaviness borne on the shoulders of the little one. Until he is old enough to bear it, you must bear that heaviness for him. That is your purpose. The child, the boy, he will bring relief to us through the earth. He will quench the burning, burning, burning!” Her arms reached into the air, and the smoke from the candles seemed to curl around her outstretched fingers.

  Lamech was shaking, attempting to form words.

  “Go,” she said, straightening. “Flee! They are coming! They have sensed us!” Now she screeched. “The devils! They’re coming to stamp us out!”

  She thrust him away, and he turned and stumbled out of the room, nearly knocking over the flower girl. “Sorry,” he muttered, and exited the herbalist’s shop to dash for the inn, wanting only to see Noah, get away from the herbalist, and hide himself from her piercing gaze.

  From those terrible, knowing eyes.

  Chapter 29

  Elina rested her hand on the dagger as Lamech returned and locked the door behind him, his face covered in a sheen of sweat, gaze skittering around the room.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “Nothing, I—” He caught sight of Noah, crossed to him, kissed his forehead, and felt his little fists.

  “Stop,” she said. “You’re making me anxious. Where have you been?”

  “I was walking through the village,” he said. “I visited the herbalist’s shop.”

  “You don’t need a job now that we have money.” She held up the silver coin, more than enough to purchase the supplies they needed.

  “I desired training, not money,” he said. “It would be a waste to spend our money on what I can gather myself. I have skill as an herbalist, but I do not know the plants in this region as well as I’d like. I wanted to learn of their make and usage, and how to find them. The mushrooms worry me most. They can be deadly.”

  “Did you find the herbalist?”

  “A crone. An old crone,” he said, and readjusted Noah. “Tried to fill my head with nonsense.”

  His actions and words held a disturbing furtiveness. She gathered Jade in her arms and scooted against the wall, careful of her wounded ankle. “How about the market?”

  “What?”

  “Did you visit the market? Do they have what we need?”

  “Oh,” he said. “I forgot.”

  “We have no food.”

  “Right. I’ll request some from the innkeeper.” He left, and Elina stared at the knots in the wood until he returned with bread, sausage, and wine. They ate their fill, and Elina tossed the leftover sausage into her bag, leaning back to rest.

  Lamech did not look at her, but seemed intent on the window, as if drawn to the light. Noah sat in his lap, and when the boy grew fussy, Lamech paced. “Do those shutters lock?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Take Noah for a moment.” He handed the boy to her. Juggling two infants still felt awkward, but she held him and watched as Lamech closed the shutters and tried the lock. They bent as he pressed his shoulder into them, and he frowned.

  “They are built to withstand pressure from the outside, not the inside,” she said.

  “Could not someone work a hook underneath the shutters and pull them free while standing outside?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I just want to keep us safe,” he said. “I think I
will go to the market before it grows dark. Maybe see if I can’t haggle for supplies.” He held out his hand for the silver coin, and Elina examined him, wondering whether she should offer the money. It felt risky, somehow.

  He waved his hand, hurrying her along, and she knew she could wait no longer. She handed him a silver coin, and the brush of his fingers against hers made her stiffen.

  She forced a smile and said, “Leave the door unlocked. I’d like to breathe the air outside.”

  Lamech shook his head. “I think you should rest.” He grabbed her bag, and she thought she saw him toss something into the bag, though she assumed it was the coin. “The quicker you can recover, the quicker we can continue.”

  “The hearth, then, to warm me.” She willed herself from staring at the bag—the bag that held her family’s dagger—her only weapon.

  He stared at her for several moments. “Rest would be best.” He shut the door and locked it, taking the dagger with him.

  Her hand still tingled where he’d touched her. She rubbed it, furrowed her brow, and looked down.

  Her ring was gone.

  Chapter 30

  As Lamech leapt the final step of the inn to the packed earth beyond, the sun threw red overhead, and the wind carried the scent of blood and leather from nearby butchers. His body shook as the herbalist’s words echoed through his mind.

  How could he explain to Elina the old crone’s mystic words and private meanings?

  He didn’t believe some transcendent force could have followed them, so the only reason he could think they might be in danger was that Elina had risked revealing her identity to extort money from the hunters. It had been dangerous, and though he hated the idea of deceiving her, he felt certain taking her ring and dagger was necessary.

  Because if the hunters were why the crone claimed danger, they would likely need Elina’s family seals to prove she had tried to steal from them. If they called the village guard to try to get their money back, they would find no proof that she had claimed to be anything but a mother with two infants.