by L. L. MacRae
Something about her was unnerving. Was it the way she moved? The way her jaws hung open in a perpetual scream? He couldn’t quite place the feeling. Maybe it was just Calidra’s suspicions rubbing off on him.
‘Help me. Help my child!’ the woman repeated, another sob punctuating her words.
‘Fenn! What in the name of Neros are you doing out here?’
He whirled around to find Selys several trees away, racing towards him, glaive out, a dark streak of blood across the tip of the blade. ‘Selys? I was—’
‘This is the edge of the deadlands! Surely even with your curse you can feel how dangerous it is?’
Fenn lowered his head as she scolded him. ‘I was just looking. I wasn’t going to go out there!’
‘Oh, really?’ Selys came to a halt beside him and glared out at the dry land beyond. ‘Because it looked to me like you were getting ready to run down there.’
He scratched his nose to stall while he thought of an excuse. Lying wasn’t his strongest suit—Varlot had that right—so he opted for the truth. ‘Okay, I wasn’t going to. Honestly! But then there was a woman out there. All alone. She was calling for help and I thought I should—’
‘Where?’ Raising her glaive, Selys stepped past him and held her ground, gaze scouring the length of the cracked lands.
‘She was…she was there a second ago…’ Fenn couldn’t see her now. Even if the woman had run off, she’d been close enough that he should have seen her.
‘Fenn…’
He swallowed. ‘It…she…it wasn’t another of those shadow creatures. It was a woman! She was crying! Looking for her child!’
Selys lowered her glaive when she couldn’t see anything, then turned to him. She patted his shoulder with one hand. ‘Fenn. This place is known as the deadlands. You can see there’s no life here. Nothing for spirits. Nothing for us.’
‘What happened?’
‘It’s the site of a battle against the Myr. One of the biggest in history. It’s said their remains still hold power. They are creatures of pure magic, Fenn. What you saw might have been part of it. These tales aren’t limited just to ships and sailors.’
‘The apothecary said something like that…’ He stared out at the empty plain. ‘What I saw was definitely a woman.’
Selys shook her head and gave him a small, sad smile. ‘The Myr are our greatest enemy. They are creatures of pure magic, in direct opposition to the magic of our spirits. They feast on us in any way they can. Some create beasts of war and violence. Or creatures of stealth.’
‘The death spirits?’
‘Yes. And others. That “woman” is often an omen. If she sees you, you’re marked for one of their attacks.’
‘She didn’t see me.’
‘For your sake, Fenn, I hope not. It seems Tassar itself is conspiring to see you dead. And why wouldn’t it? You’re tainted by the Myr. So please, stick with us, and don’t make it any easier for them.’
20
The Shrine
calidra
As far as Calidra was concerned, vomiting was the worst affliction of sickness a person could endure. The very act of it was beyond repulsive. And why did it have to come out through the nose, too?
She rubbed Jisyel’s back and held her hair as she retched up every morsel of food she’d consumed over the past day or two. Then, it had turned to bile—an awful substance that turned Jisyel’s voice scratchy and rough.
It had been three hours of sickness, another hour of retching, and now Jisyel had to endure sharp hiccups and the foul-tasting medicine. But it was working. After the second dose, Jisyel had more colour in her cheeks, and by the third dose, she was no longer puzzled. Calidra was just glad Jisyel could finally have a proper conversation.
She refused to acknowledge the fact that Varlot had carried Jisyel all the way through the Spindle Woods to the town, paid for their room and board, and paid for Jisyel’s medicine. She refused to give it any thought at all.
Once the worst of her vomiting had passed, Jisyel had taken a cool bath and rinsed out her hair, which had considerably improved her mood. Her foot had swollen, her skin stretched and sore, but the bath had helped. For the past thirty minutes, she’d been tentatively sipping water, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
‘Here. Something easy to eat.’ Calidra put a bowl of red grapes on the table in their room.
‘Thanks.’ Jisyel picked a few of them, the biggest in the bunch, and popped them into her mouth.
Calidra also ate some. She’d not had much of an appetite, but knew it would be better to have a handful of the sweet fruits than nothing at all.
After she’d eaten less than half, Jisyel shoved the bowl away.
Calidra scowled and pushed it back to her. ‘Don’t be childish. Eat them all, not just the big ones.’
‘I don’t like the little ones.’ Jisyel eyed one as if it had done her a great insult by simply existing. ‘They’re not as sweet.’
‘Jisyel, you can’t even taste the difference!’
She pouted, unwilling to eat the smaller grapes. ‘I remember I don’t like them.’
Calidra shook her head. ‘You need to eat. Especially after what you’ve been through today. Come on, or I’ll make you have some of those pickles I brought for Malora!’
With a long sigh, Jisyel did as she was told. She chewed methodically, slowly, without satisfaction. After she’d eaten a few more, she sighed. ‘I’m sick of this.’
‘I can imagine. But hopefully the medicine will have put a stop to it. It’s been a few hours since you last—’
‘No. I’m sick of this.’ Jisyel gestured to herself.
‘What?’
Jisyel grabbed Calidra and kissed her on the lips. ‘I’m sick of not feeling that.’ She pointed to the grapes. ‘I’m sick of not tasting those.’ She lifted her swollen foot—it had been wrapped in a linen bandage—and scowled. ‘I’m sick of not feeling anything!’
Calidra took her hand and gently squeezed her fingers. ‘Jisyel…’
‘I know it’s my own fault. I know I was stupid. Reckless. I should never have joked around with Hassen. Even a young spirit like him…dragons are too powerful.’
‘I wasn’t going to say it was your fault…’
Jisyel put her hand on her face, hiding herself as tears fell down her cheeks. ‘Stupid spirits! Stupid me!’
‘Jisyel. It’ll be okay,’ Calidra said. It was the default thing to say when someone was upset. When you could do nothing to fix it, but be there for them and offer a hand of support and comfort through the distress. ‘I know it’s been a tough day. Everything with my mother this morning, then Varlot…And now the tanglethorn.’
‘No! It’s not that!’ Jisyel got to her feet and ran both hands through her hair. ‘It’s this stupid curse. Three years I’ve put up with it. Three years I’ve ignored how much hogshit it is!’
Calidra knew Jisyel preferred to put on a positive face and pretend things were better than they were. But she hadn’t realised Jisyel hated the curse quite so much.
‘Fenn is doing something about…about whatever’s happened to him. I stayed on the island and kept on at you about going back to Bragalia. I’m such a hypocrite!’
‘You always like to put others first, Jisyel.’
She laughed, but it was joyless. ‘I know. Have to make sure gran is okay. Guests are okay. You’re okay. Fenn’s okay.’ She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the window. ‘What happened to me was punishment for being stupid. I understand that. My problems aren’t as big as yours. Or Fenn’s. Or anyone else’s!’
Calidra stood up and crossed the room to her. She wiped away Jisyel’s tears before wrapping her arms around her. ‘Your problems are just as important as everyone else’s! You know that, Jisyel. Don’t think you are any less!’
Jisyel shook as she cried. Calidra knew it was probably a mix of stresses, including what her body had been through—emptying its entire contents in a handful of hours would be en
ough to drain anyone’s energy—but she also knew Jisyel had been holding onto her sadness for a while.
She’d always evaded conversations about Hassen or the curse he’d inflicted upon her. Always laughed it off like nothing serious, as if there was nothing in all of Tassar that could get to her. But the truth was the opposite.
Jisyel hated it.
Hated the lack of touch, of taste. Of anything and everything physical.
And worst of all, she hated being a burden. It was why she never spoke about it, never acknowledged it was even there.
Calidra squeezed her tightly, trying to impart some comfort, some reassurance that she was loved, that she was important beyond all measure, regardless of what she thought of herself.
Jisyel quietened, but kept her face pressed into Calidra’s shoulder. She sniffed. ‘…Pay respects…to Alnothen…’
‘What?’
‘That’s…what Selys went to do. Didn’t she say that?’
Calidra thought back. Honestly, she hadn’t paid much attention to the priestess. Not when Jisyel had been on the verge of vomiting, unable to walk or talk. ‘I think so. Alnothen’s shrine is deeper in the woods.’
‘I want to go there. I want to ask Alnothen for help.’
Calidra didn’t think the spirit would be interested in talking to someone who travelled with Varlot, not after the accusation she’d given him. ‘I’m not sure that’s the best idea…’
Jisyel wiped her flushed face clear of tears. ‘I want to. Maybe Alnothen can help? She could get rid of what Hassen did? When have I ever had a chance to approach a powerful spirit before now?’
‘Jisyel, you can hardly walk. The swelling hasn’t even started to come down—’
‘I don’t care. I’ll hop the whole way there on one foot if I have to!’
Calidra shook her head. Stubborn as she was, Jisyel was even more so. She couldn’t remember a single argument where she’d won, not after Jisyel had dug her heels in. Jisyel already had that look in her eyes.
She glanced out the window. It was starting to get dark.
Going to the shrine was a terrible idea, but she couldn’t let Jisyel stand this close to a spirit powerful enough to potentially help, and not act. She’d stayed on the Isle of Salt for so long, looking after Bellandri—and then herself—without ever taking the chance to do something about her own curse. It had only been three years, but they had taken their toll on Jisyel. ‘Well, you’ll need help. Be typical you catch your other foot on another growth of tanglethorn, and I can’t carry you the whole way. I’ll see if Fenn is around. Or if Selys is back.’
Jisyel smiled, and Calidra’s heart lightened at the sight. ‘Get your cloak on. I’ll go and find Fenn.’
‘Thank you, Cal.’ Jisyel half-hopped, half-jumped forward and threw her arms around Calidra.
‘Don’t thank me yet. Alnothen might not even want to talk to you.’
‘Maybe not. But I’ll have tried.’
Calidra stalked back through the darkening streets, furious. Where was Fenn? Why was he out and about, wandering around Spindelford when he’d been Myr-touched?
What if someone knew what he was? Called for an Inquisitor?
She couldn’t find any trace of him in town, and the apothecary hadn’t offered much help either, which had fuelled her frustration.
It had also taken her far longer than she’d wanted to look for Fenn. Selys hadn’t returned either, and Jisyel was eager to get going. If they waited any longer, it would be too late to go. Strolling around in the Spindle Woods in the dark wasn’t something Calidra wanted to do with a poisoned Jisyel on her arm. Calidra knew she was strong, but she couldn’t do that by herself.
It left only one option.
And Calidra wasn’t sure how much more of her pride she could swallow that day.
Alnothen hated Varlot. If she asked him to help, the spirit would probably outright refuse Jisyel’s plea. But she didn’t have any other options. If Varlot didn’t help, they wouldn’t be able to go at all.
She gritted her teeth, reminding herself this was for Jisyel, and entered the inn. She spotted him quickly enough in the small crowd.
Varlot was hunched over a large tankard of ale, wearing his bearskin cloak, at the far end of the bar. He’d kept his hood up, too, despite the warmth of the room, and Calidra wondered whether he was trying to hide himself.
She crossed the threshold, picking her way between the few patrons eating their dinners, until she reached his side. There was no need for small talk. ‘Varlot. Jisyel needs to go into the woods. Can you help her walk?’
Varlot glanced up at her, then returned his attention to his mug. ‘What’s she going into the woods for? She needs to take a piss, there’s a latrine out back.’
Calidra fought to keep her eyes from rolling. ‘Actually, she wants to speak with Alnothen. I can’t carry her the whole way.’
‘What makes you think I’m going back out there? You heard what the spirit said. Ain’t exactly a warm welcome.’
‘Alnothen is a spirit of life and creation. She won’t hurt you.’
Varlot shook his head. ‘Maybe so. But it ain’t gonna be pleasant for me, I can tell you that. And if she’s been throwing up her guts all afternoon, probably best she don’t go for a late night stroll either.’
Calidra couldn’t agree more, but she was doing this for Jisyel. What she thought was best didn’t factor into it. ‘I know. But she has a curse. And Alnothen might actually be strong enough to lift it.’
‘What makes you think the dragon will even listen?’
‘She probably won’t. But there’s a chance she might, and that’s enough for Jisyel.’
Varlot took a large swig from his mug, downing it in a single gulp. ‘Woman got herself cursed. Tripped over tanglethorn. You try and get her out of that mess, I don’t want no part of it.’
Calidra seethed. ‘I know you’re only here for Fenn, though I don’t have any idea why, but could you be a bit less petty?’
He shrugged and let out a belch.
‘You know what, Varlot? I think you’re just an angry, bitter man who has done some awful things. There’s no need to take it out on me.’
‘How dare you talk to me like that! After everything I did for you!’
‘For which I’m grateful. But helping me doesn’t give you free pass to behave like a…like a…wild hog!’
Varlot’s hand went to the handle of his axe.
Calidra didn’t flinch. ‘What? You’re going to hurt me because I said something you didn’t like? Is that what you do to people who don’t fawn over you?’
‘You’re one to talk! Always waving your dagger around!’
‘I defend myself. For someone who’s always moaning about being alone and unwanted, you ought to treat us better.’
Varlot went still. ‘Excuse me?’
Calidra narrowed her eyes. She knew she was suspicious of everyone, but the fact he’d agreed to come with them after wanting to head off had set alarm bells ringing. She didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust what he wanted with Fenn. ‘Just because you helped Fenn against Torsten, you think you can guilt him into keeping you around? I know your true colours.’
‘You were going to give him to the Inquisitors!’
‘I was. I made a mistake. Something I’m willing to face, unlike you.’ She was aware of people in the tavern staring at them, but she didn’t care.
‘Wait. Varlot? Varlot Keir?’
Varlot withdrew as a man named him.
‘By Alnothen, it is you!’
Calidra frowned at the short, balding man, who’d crossed from his table over to them. ‘Do you mind? I’m trying to have a private conversation and—’
‘Death brought you back again, did it?’ the man continued, pushing past Calidra. ‘Have you even visited your wife and son? Hmm? Or are you straight back to the bottom of a bottle?’
Varlot huffed and shook his head, clearly angry but unwilling to take the bait.
‘Hmm? Why
don’t you show some respect!’
Varlot stood up and towered over the man. ‘Why don’t you go back to your dinner before things get messy.’ His voice came out as a low growl, and Varlot’s warning was clear.
The man shrank away, though his glare remained, and he shuffled back to his table, where his companions watched in stunned silence.
Varlot said, ‘Calidra. Get Jisyel. Let’s go.’
Her shoulders dropped in relief. She knew it was a risk, but she didn’t know what else to do. Tell Jisyel they couldn’t go? That she’d missed her chance because she’d been poisoned and was too sick to walk unaided?
Calidra wondered why the man had spoken so harshly to Varlot, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. She had no idea when they might next find another spirit—or shrine—that could help Jisyel.
For three years, Jisyel had put up with Hassen’s curse. But speaking to a spirit would have meant leaving the Isle of Salt—something Calidra hadn’t wanted to do. It was her own selfish fear that had kept both of them on the island, and Jisyel had always played off her curse as if it didn’t bother her. She’d probably just accepted it, as Calidra had accepted she was never going to have closure with her family. It had been enough that as long as they were together—even on the island—nothing could hurt them.
Calidra hadn’t realised how upset the curse had made Jisyel. How much Jisyel hated it.
And she was going to do what she could to put it right. They needed to see Alnothen while they could.
She followed Varlot out of the bar and towards the wooden staircase that led up to their rooms.
She’d been a little in awe of him when they’d first met. He’d been kind, generous, and willing to help. When people had been thrilled the former general had been in their presence, he hadn’t belittled them. He’d even ignored the looks from women, when many others would have revelled in the attention.
