Chapter 17
I actually found her.
Coming here was a spur-of-the-moment decision I made once I felt that Dryhill was far enough behind me.
Once I reached the crossroads, I decided that I did need to speak to someone, and there’s only one person in all of the Balar Coasts that I trust with information that plagues me.
By a stroke of fate, she was on the way to the coastline.
An ancient aura exudes from the hut before me, constructed out of worn riverstone that stretches up into an uneven cedar roof. Deep green ivy covers the structure, and lozenge windows reflect the surrounding forest.
Whisps of smoke lazily curl out of the chimney. Melted, unlit candles line the property; a rather figureless effigy made of obsidian perches in an alcove by the door—the dark god that the witch inside worships. Its name is Solerin, if I remember correctly, a being that controls the manipulation of shadows and use of blood magic.
Its eyeless face haunts my peripheral, the surrounding air vibrating with power as if every leaf is an eye that stares at me.
Perhaps they do.
Cypress, a woman with no true age known, is a witch whose legend speaks of her ability to exist in more than one place at once, like a mirrored reflection that has no ends. It would be akin to leaving a double of myself with Soren while this version sought refuge.
Cypress also sees things… and she is greedy in her tolls for those truths.
The red door to her home slowly creaks open, my blood frigid at the eerie movement among the stillness. Dad always said Cypress is from beyond the Black Sea, bringing with her a magic that many on this continent couldn’t dream of overpowering.
And she’s the only person I can think of that might help me.
Long fingers wrap around the edge of the door before a pale woman with inky hair peers out of the threshold. Heavy-lidded eyes connect with mine, their color as black as obsidian.
“Jane,” she croons, her velvety and ethereal voice caressing my name. “Jane, Jane, Jane .”
Every bone within me can sense how dangerous this is, but desperation drives me forward. As steady as I can say, I mutter, “Hello, Cypress.”
She opens the door further, appraising me slowly as if every inch tells a different story, the poor condition of my clothes not helping my presentation. Or maybe it will, and she’ll take pity on me. I suppose it depends on whether her and Father had a good last encounter.
Cypress adds, “Last I saw you, you sat on your father’s horse as nothing more than a child.”
The words are ones that could be spoken by an old friend, but her placid tone contrasts any possible hospitality. Her neck reveals signs of aging while the skin on her cheeks and forehead are smooth and unmarred.
“Yes, it’s been a while,” I say, moving forward when she calmly raises an arm to greet me inside. I hastily take in the rather simple black robes she wears, thinking this decision over one last time before committing. Passing by her, intrusive thoughts burn into my mind of her grabbing my neck and choking me, claiming my soul as an offering to her faceless god.
The vision is so strong I half wonder if it’s a bewitched warning rather than my subconscious telling me how damning this is.
My reckless side, as always, wins over and pushes me forward until I’m standing inside the hut that smells of wood, herbs, and something musky. A large fire roars to lick the black, overhanging kettle. Rubies of all sizes, encased in various fixings, adorn the space, their crimson hues shimmering all around me. “You still trade rubies, I see,” I say, attempting small talk.
My gaze remains still when I spot a collection of necklaces and earrings, recalling my mother. Dad would often visit to buy her jewelry from here, as it was her favorite gemstone.
Charles Ritter trusted Cypress.
It’s the only thing I have right now.
Cypress circles me, her long robe dragging on the floor. Glossy eyes peer into my skin just like Soren does, the witch not answering me.
I can’t believe I actually wish Soren was here right now, knowing that he could help navigate this if he weren’t the one I’m actively running from.
He’s out there, hunting me. He has to have awakened by now.
If I thought the silence incited anxiety, my heart pounds into my ears when I spot a pile of raw meat on a table, the amount far too great for a single witch. For some reason it feels entirely unnatural, even if it could be as innocent as her having skinned an elk.
Maybe I’m just on edge.
Cypress doesn’t turn around to confirm what I see before saying, “Those are for my hounds. I called them off to allow you to approach.”
Okay, take that. She wants to talk. “So, you saw me?” I ask, my composure as thin as paper while she leads me to a wooden seat at a table.
“I see it all, Miss Ritter.”
My breath hitches as I sit, ignoring how it feels to be referred to as a Ritter . I’m honestly not sure what to do with Cypress, or how to ask for aid. Am I supposed to offer anything? Staring at the table with many gashes, as if it’s been stabbed repeatedly, I say, “Then you’re aware I need help.”
“Oh, yes, you most certainly do.” Her grim voice holds an air of inevitability, the witch scooting a chair on the wooden floor to sit across from me, dirt filling in the underside of her nails.
“I don’t know what to do, or what to offer you.” I lift my gaze to meet hers, her heavy lids raised to reveal eyes so removed of emotion she may as well be a corpse. I nearly stutter as I say, “But I want your help… please.”
She arches a brow, still not blinking. “You will offer me nothing, and I will give you nothing. Other than a pair of ruby earrings for a discount.”
My lips twitch in a threatened laugh, although all humor fades when I look into her stony face. No matter how much I replay those words, I can’t make sense of them. “Wait, what?”
“Your father used to come here to buy them for your mother,” she plainly states.
A lump forms in my throat, my hands tightly lacing together. “Why would I take nothing but a pair of earrings at a time like this? I’m fleeing for my life. I assaulted a Zenith . What will earrings do for me?”
Her head slightly tilts, obsidian eyes locked in her skull much like an owl’s. “Don’t you want something of Eleanor’s?”
I look down so abruptly that my hair falls into my face. Why is she doing this, and not helping me? I haven’t heard Mom’s name in over ten years, especially her full name over the nickname of Nora. I wipe my nose, rapidly blinking. “Obviously I would,” I say through a trembling voice, collecting myself. “But I need help ,” I plead. “I have a very dangerous man after me, and I need off this continent as soon as possible. But I need to know if I’m making the best decision.”
She slowly smiles, revealing aged teeth. “And you’re wondering what to do with Melona’s warning?”
“ Yes ,” I quickly confess, eager to make progress here. “I—I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to flee.”
“Then don’t.”
My lips part, a tiny sound escaping my throat that hints at a poorly controlled grunt. “ Okay ,” I say, overpronunciating that word as my temper gets the best of me. “But if I don’t leave, then I’ll go to Skull’s Row. Melona gave me a siren’s prophecy. Not only do I have to heed her words, but If I go back on my promise, I can never enter the oceans again or the sirens will take me. You know this. So why tell me not to leave?”
No one quite knows where the sirens take mankind when they sink their claws into flesh and pull them under. Legends say the souls are morphed into something inhuman, affixing to the sea floor in a monstrous memory of their life, forever stuck that way as sirens use their scales for their magic.
Breaking the prophecy not only means that people die, but if I get near the ocean, I’ll be subjected to a horrendous fate.
I couldn’t even consider that when near Soren, or else he’d wonder why I was worried about sirens. The man is too sharp to have risked that.
Cypress has a stillness to her, even when she speaks, that makes my skin crawl. “You have already paid your debt to Melona.”
Leaning back in my seat, a chill runs down my spine as those are the exact words I wanted to hear, even if I didn’t realize it.
She’s toying with me; has to be.
“My dad trusted you,” I state. “Is that not honored at all?”
Two fingers raise as her only acknowledgment. “And you should trust me as well.”
My anger helps combat the fear I have for her, staring boldly into eyes that reveal the whites above and below her black irises. “This advice makes absolutely no sense. I’m supposed to buy some earrings from you, trust that my debt to Melona is magically paid, and then what? Just go about like nothing ever happened?”
“You have to return to the land of your blood, Jane.”
I huff, flattening my palm on the table. “Well, seeing as how you refuse to tell me how I’ve paid my debts, I think it’s safe to say this is a waste of my time. I need to be on the move, not talking to someone who speaks in circles or lies to me.”
She shrugs. “Then don’t listen to me. I can’t force you.”
I knew she was cryptic, and that she drove many mad with her vague words, but I came here because her precision in the sight drives everyone to try and understand her riddles.
This just has me confused.
I’m about to pardon myself and get back on the trail when Cypress stands.
“Let's get you a pair of ruby earrings that your mother once bought. They’re the sister set, ones I saved for a moment just as this,” Cypress suggests. The oddest thing occurs as humanity returns to those black eyes like I’ve been speaking to another version of her this entire time.
Have I been?
“Well, no, wait. What do I owe you for something like that?” I half expect her to ask for a blood oath. “I’m not giving you anything.”
“You are as ardent in personality as Charles.” She nears a collection of shelves, not looking at me as she adds, “Five of the gold coins you stole from Soren will do.”
She pulls out something wrapped in animal skin that’s stained black. When she places it on the table and unwraps it with nimble fingers, she says, “I sold the sister pair to your father, as I said. Keep these wrapped in this goatskin for extra protection until you choose to wear them.”
I can hardly do anything more than stare at the two pendants encased in gold, a golden ball sitting between the two to connect them, just as Mom had. The weight of my mother’s presence is heavy in my heart as if I forgot what it’s like to remember her.
“This is so entirely useless…” I mumble, even if tears silently stream down my face.
“You have paid the debt of Melona’s prophecy whether you see it or not, just as it was intended when she received it. It’s not by happenstance that you never knew the debt, as you staying put in Coalfell was necessary for fate to align. The sirens will not take you into their depths, nor will innocents die in droves. So do as you wish now, Jane. I trust the fates will guide you.”
Without thought, I reach out for the earrings like they’re a gift directly from Mom, staring at them.
Well, even if Cypress said what I wanted to hear, I’m slightly shocked that it means so little to me, my mind only seeing her as a merchant speaking whatever they have to in order to sell their goods.
“I’ll take these,” I say, sliding over Soren’s coin, having no idea where this will get me. Perhaps hearing comforting words—and not being assuaged by them—was the answer I sought.
Greed glints in her eyes as she wraps her fingers around the coins, sliding them off to place them inside an ornate, crimson box.
“Is that all?” I ask, gripping the earrings. They feel silly to have, but I guess it’s better than leaving empty-handed. Watch all this be just a way to make some coin off of my fear.
“Yes. Be careful, Jane Ritter,” she hums, her back to me as she nears her fire. “It will all make sense, in the end. You may see yourself out, now.”
Standing, I survey the hut one more time before nearing her door, opening it slowly as I look over my shoulder.
My breath stills when she’s already looking at me, the entirety of her eyes completely red as if ink stains them.
That’s enough to send me fast on my feet, leaving her behind as I lightly jog up the dirt trail that first led me to her home.
A day had already passed since leaving Dryhill, night nearly upon me once more as I realize I don’t even have a lantern, nearing the settlement of Inkstone where my horse is. The last thing I need is to be in her woods when the sun is down.
Panting—those creepy ass eyes burned in my brain—I’m up on the stable with many checked-in horses, placing a hand over my aching stomach that needs another round of healing. I spot the one I rode in on, hastily caressing its fur.
A thought crosses my mind, considering stealing another horse, since this is the last post that I can take my branded steed to before editing the coasts.
Wouldn’t hurt to add one more layer of subterfuge.
Yes, I definitely need a fresh horse, no matter the direction I choose to go in.
I stare into the horse's black, glossy eyes as I think over possibly the most important decision of my life—do I flee? Or do I stay in these lands and try to hide once more?