Chapter 11 Declan #2
The roof, walls, and floors were made of several layers of tightly lashed bamboo.
Blanketing the bamboo roof were large interlocking tiles I was used to seeing on Melucian houses.
As we entered, I found that the bamboo structure surrounded an oval courtyard that consumed most of the structure’s interior.
The men escorting us had to prod me to continue walking as I stopped in the doorway to gawk at the tropical paradise of the courtyard.
Flowers and palms of every variety filled the area with sweet scents and brilliant colors.
A cobblestone path led from the door to a clearing at one end of the garden, where several chairs and small tables lay scattered.
In the center of the tables and chairs, a high-backed bamboo chair held court.
It reminded me of the seats of power used by the Triad back home, less refined yet somehow more regal.
A frail-looking woman with wiry gray hair and luminous brown eyes lounged upon it.
Her skin, stretched taut across spindly arms, was dark and rich, while that of her face was losing its battle with wrinkles and creases thanks to years baking beneath the island’s sun.
As we approached, the woman’s eyes passed over me, fixing instead on the owl perched on my shoulder.
We stopped a few paces from the woman. The men offered no bow or other gesture of obeisance, but it was clear who was in charge.
One of the men leaned near my ear and whispered in a quiet, dark voice, “Ya stand before Larinda, Mother of t’is Isle. Don’t move from t’at spot and show respect, and she might let ya leave in one piece.”
The elder turned her gaze to me and scowled. “Who are ya, and why are ya disturbin’ our peaceful shores?”
Her voice carried the rasp of age but the steel of one accustomed to being obeyed.
I offered a deep bow in the mainland style. “I am Declan Rea, a Ranger of Melucia. Arch Mage Velius Quin and Mage Atikus Dani sent me in search of aid.”
Larinda’s scowl deepened. “Ya’ve seen our village. What kinda help do ya think we have t’ give ya? We want no part in mainlander foolishness.”
I sucked in a breath. I’d played this conversation in my mind a hundred times over the past few days, but it never went like this. I didn’t know if I could trust this woman but didn’t see any other options.
Here we go . . .
“I seek the Keeper’s aid.”
Everyone—and everything—froze.
The gentle breeze tickling the flowers and palms stilled. The sounds of waves crashing and the cawing gulls quieted. In a blink, nothing existed except the old woman, the owl, and me.
Larinda rose from her throne and planted her fists on her hips as the barkeep had. Her head rose to my shoulder; yet, in that moment, she towered above us.
“What do ya know of t’ Keeper?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
Before I could respond, the owl peeped several times and hopped from my shoulder onto the path, then bounded over to Larinda, where she began tugging at the woman’s linen trousers.
Larinda, startled by the sudden movement, gawked as the owl released her pants and uttered another stream of peeps.
The old woman staggered back and slumped onto her throne, her mouth agape and eyes wide. The tension that had built only moments earlier dispersed, and the sounds and breath of the ocean filled the courtyard again.
“Dear Spirits of t’ Deep!” Larinda covered her mouth and stared down as the owl climbed up her leg and perched on her lap. The woman cupped both hands to her mouth and broke into childlike laughter as tears fell onto her cheeks.
“Yes, dear one, it is good t’ see ya again after so long!” She stroked the owl’s head.
My brows peaked with wonder. The barkeep had mentioned that Larinda would want to see the owl . . . but I could never have imagined this turn of events. The woman spoke to the bird as though meeting a long-lost relative.
“Ya done right t’ bring ’em t’ me,” she said to the men behind me. “Now, leave us alone t’ talk a while. We be fine.”
They glanced at each other, then back to Larinda, who made a shooing motion with her hands. “I said go. What ya waitin’ for?”
As the men retreated, Larinda motioned to me. “Drag t’at chair over here. We need t’ talk.”
My head spun, but I did as I was told.
I sat in silence as the old woman fussed over the owl. There was a familiarity—no, an intimacy—to their interaction. I saw it in the bird as much as in the woman. They were gentle and affectionate, as only those who’d lived a lifetime together could be.
I couldn’t take the silence any longer. “How . . . How is this possible? You know her?”
Larinda continued stroking the owl, never looking up, a broad smile creasing her wizened face. “Young man, I’d know t’is beautiful Spirit anywhere.”
My jaw dropped.
To invoke the Spirits—a Spirit—when speaking of another? A bird? It was blasphemy.
Larinda’s eyes rose. “When did she bond wit’ ya?”
“Bond? What does that even mean?” It felt as if this woman had switched to speaking in a language made of grunts and growls that no man could understand.
My head swam as I grappled with her implication.
Then something she’d said echoed in my thoughts.
“Wait . . . you said ‘after so long’ a minute ago. She can’t be more than a month or two old, and there’s no way she traveled from Melucia to this island in that span. How could you possibly know her?”
The woman laughed again, a rough yet joyful sound reminding me of a battered chime the Mages hung at the entrance to their living quarters. “Ya really don’t know, do ya? She’s órlaith, t’ Golden Princess. She has always been and will always be, so long as magic flows through our world.”
“órlaith? The golden what?”
“Ranger Declan Rea, I don’ know why, but t’ Daughter of Magic has chosen you for her Bond-Mate.”