Chapter 47
Marshen was deep asleep. He was sprawled on the bed I’d made him move to the other corner of the small hut the night before. I tiptoed my way out.
I appreciated the sunrise. My face, my arms, willingly absorbed the warm rays that made their way through ruffling oak tree leaves.
I basked in it as I stretched my stiff muscles, then went about my routine, using a piece of log for added weight.
Eldric’s voice guided me throughout. Bittersweet.
Just like the fresh, cool breeze kissing my exposed skin—the memory of it.
I stifled all of it, finding solace in the steamy bath.
I’d barely made it up the hill when I heard his voice—Blake. He met my pace. “Morning,” he said, removing his woven hat.
“Good morning,” I returned.
“Are you a warrior or something?”
I chuckled. “A warrior? No, nothing of the sort.”
“Then why were you training?”
A pause, then, “It makes me feel better, stronger.”
“I know what you mean. I also train sometimes. Unlike the others here, they never do anything. No fighter chose to come here; they’re all cowards. Did King Ryvar send you to find us as well?” Blake asked.
“No, I…I came here of my own free will, sort of.” I failed to mention that it was tens of armed Naari soldiers and their mouthfuls of threats who’d sped up our encounter.
“Why did you come here, then?”
I didn’t meet his chestnut eyes when I answered, “I came here because I was made to believe that what I searched for was here.”
“And what’s that?”
I met his gaze, slowing my pace to a halt. “Answers…answers about my family. I lost my parents in an accident when I was very young. I have questions about them.” I gave him more than half the truth, I would say.
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry. I, too, lost my father. But what made you believe your answers are here? Does anyone else know about us?” I swore this boy had the mind of an ancient being.
“No, no. I read something in a book—it’s a long story. But hey, since you’re here, do you know anyone else who goes by the surname Wildheart?”
His puzzled eyes softened. “Mmm, no, sorry. You’re the first Wildheart I’ve met—not that I’ve met many people. I’m stuck here, remember? Maybe you could ask my mother or some of the others.”
It was serene in the afternoon.
The hut felt cozy. The only sounds were those of birds chirping, insects buzzing, and water boiling. Alma and I sipped on green tea while Marshen and Blake went out to chop logs for the stove.
“Must be strange for you, huh? To be in such quiet. Your friend is quite a talkative one,” Alma commented, lowering her cup.
I snickered at that. “He sure is.” Then I asked, “So…what gave it away? Our friendship.” I bet it was the separated beds.
She stared at me for a while, then said, “Your eyes, dear.” I shied them away.
“You know, I carried that same look once—eyes that spill hurt and betrayal.” She reached for my hand.
“It’ll pass. And do you know why I’m so certain?
It’s because the first time I met my husband, Norrin, I was sitting on the sand of Crystal Bay, pouring tears into the ocean.
Tears for a different man—tears he didn’t deserve.
Then someone sat beside me. I remember lifting my head and getting lost in his deep blue eyes.
He showed me his palm. It was filled with translucent pearl-like beads.
I only realised what they were after he told me, ‘No one deserves your tears, not even the sea of our goddess.’ The beads floated at his command, one after the other, finding their way around my wrist,” Alma said, rubbing the memory of her bracelet.
“They melted away when our powers were taken,” she whispered.
New tears trailed down her cheeks. No one was there to give them back to her now, so I took her hands in mine and spoke words of solace.
“You’re right,” Alma murmured, wiping her cheeks.
“I should forever hold on to the beautiful memories.” She smiled.
“How could I not? He took me in—a girl with a broken heart—and turned me into something else. Made me part of his powerful family. I hadn’t known my true strength until then.
Norrin taught me how to listen to the beat of my own powers, how to make use of them. ”
“Are you a Water Nymph?” I asked, perhaps a bit too curiously.
Alma chuckled. “No, girl. If I were, I wouldn’t have these creases and white hairs popping out of my head by the minute.”
“Oh.”
“The Water Nymphs haven’t aged in the past ten years, but they lost their ability to shift. Their daughters, stripped of their right to the Confirmation.”
“The Confirmation?” I asked, pouring us more tea.
“Mmhmm. It’s a traditional ceremony—or more like a sacred ritual pertaining to the female lineage of Water Nymphs. When their daughters become of age, they…well, they drown them.”
I almost choked on my tea, giving her a horrified look that deepened as she laughed. Her eyes, though, were gentle. They lingered on mine.
“What?” I asked quietly, “Seems a bit cruel, don’t you think?”
“I laugh because you remind me of someone.”
“I do? Who?”
“A curious young girl who passed on a long time ago.” My eyes softened.
Alma thankfully continued, sparing me from finding the “right” words.
“And yes, it does sound cruel. It is, in a sense, but it’s also very beautiful.
Spiritual—to find that connection between your soul and Thalassa.
And if the young lady is indeed a Water Nymph, a melodic wail is heard, similar to the haunting cry of a humpback whale.
The echo pierces your ears, vibrates your body, but I swear to you, Delia, the moment the sound fades, you immediately long for it—weep for it.
And then the shifted daughter emerges triumphant—a Water Nymph, with thick, blue-grey skin, large eyes, razor teeth, and webbed hands and feet.
Their sight is beyond marvellous—dangerous, too.
A grand feast is held later that evening to celebrate a successful Confirmation. ”
I may have stared at her in silent judgment—at the way she beamed—then asked, “What happens if the Confirmation is not successful. Do the daughters always drown to death if they’re not Water Nymphs?”
“No, not always. Most drain their daughter’s lungs and accept them as humans.”
Thank the gods. “Well, it sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“It is. Water Wielders also start manifesting their powers at a similar age. I cannot tell if Blake is a Wielder or not.”
“You’re a Water Wielder, then?”
“Yes, which means there’s a strong possibility that Blake is a Wielder, too. Only goddess knows if we’ll ever find out. Not that it matters, though.”
My lips pursed. “What’s it like? To wield water,” I asked, my voice low.
“Oh! It was the most fascinating thing,” Alma exhaled, her face blushing.
A grin took over her face. “It felt like a surreal connection—an invisible yet tangible thread between my soul and water. A thought, a pull and a push, and it moved as I wished. It felt empowering, like a puppet master in full control of its puppet’s strings.
” Her eyes gleamed. “Parting the sea was my favourite. Every month, Norrin and I, we would take Blake to Crystal Bay. We used to go for long strolls deep into the ocean.” Alma shook her head.
“How can something feel like yesterday and a million years ago at once? I still remember how the wet sand felt beneath my bare feet, as Norrin and I cleared a path through the sea. Blake used to point and laugh at the fish swimming around us, above us. Thalassa drown me, what I wouldn’t give to go back to those times. ”
“That truly sounds wonderful,” I murmured, wondering why her husband did not flee with his wife and their only son.
But I didn’t want to pry, so I asked something else.
I asked her the same questions I’d been asking around the village all morning.
“Alma, I—there are answers I seek. By any chance, do you happen to know anyone else with the surname Wildheart?”
She appeared focused, as if trying to flip through all of her past memories. “No, sorry, nobody comes to mind. It’s a lovely surname, Wildheart.”
“Or perhaps you’ve heard about an accident that occurred in Ramel? In Kalnar. The parents died but the daughter survived.”
Her gaze turned puzzled. “No, sorry, nothing comes to mind. Do you have any first names?”
“No, just Wildheart.”
“Sorry, dear, you’re the only Wildheart I know. May I ask what kind of accident it was?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Delia, did something happen to—”
Marshen and Blake returned, bringing with them sacks of logs and a ruckus. They lit the hearth and fed the stove. I poured them tea—servants’ habits. Then I helped Alma chop vegetables for the octopus stew.
“How do you guys catch your fish?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, with the strong currents, it must be difficult to fish. I imagine no one goes in or even near those waters.”
“Oh, no. But farther north, near the waterfall, there are natural pools. Quiet waters, shielded by boulders. Our fishermen set their nets there. It’s one of the only two places on this island where we can swim.
Ironic, isn’t it? You know, since we’re Ilmans trapped on an island with so many restrictions.
” Alma added a bay leaf and covered the simmering pot.
“There, it should be ready in a couple of hours.”
That meant we had time on our hands…
“Marsh?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you come with me? I need to speak with you.”
Marshen raised a brow. “Uh, sure,” he said, following me to the door.
“Thanks, Alma, we’ll be back in a few hours,” I voiced from over my shoulder.
“Bye for now, darling.”