Chapter 12
Dusk had fallen over Algola like a heavy down quilt, bringing with it a dense, all-encompassing fog.
The earth itself, heated from the day’s light, simmered against the icy chill of darkness.
Procyon, trailed by a small party of city guards, retreated to the comforts of a local pub, seeking the warm buzz of ale to cast out the autumn night’s frost.
Tethys declined the invitation, and much to her surprise, Procyon allowed her a night of peace.
She supposed he kept his image in mind. What would the Algolans think to find their king’s new bride sipping a pint in the back bar?
He was to keep her on a pedestal, like a doll made of porcelain—pristine and proper.
She, however, didn’t protest when he said his goodbyes and trudged down the sloping street toward the village’s square.
Much to her relief, when she finalized her decision to seek out the ancient Algolan woman, Araes hadn’t been seen.
Maybe he’d found a barmaid’s bed to crawl into for the night.
Something about the idea bothered her, but she didn’t allow herself to linger on those thoughts.
“Ah, dearie, you’ve come to see me again.” The old crone smirked as Tethys approached. Candlelight danced along each wrinkle and the woman rose from her hearth-side seat and greeted Tethys with a toothless grin.
“I’d like to browse your other wares,” Tethys said, fighting the shiver spilling down her spine.
Crickets sang their shrill melodies as flashes of firebugs crossed the frosted-over windows.
None of the clothing her staff packed were suitable for the colder climate.
Even the furs she now wore weren’t thick enough to block the insidious chill.
“Come in then, dearie, and have a look.”
The shop front was deceptively large as Tethys shuddered through the entrance.
A small hearth in the corner cast shadows along the stone interior, reflecting light off glass jars of dried herbs and spices.
On the opposing wall, various knitted shawls, scarves, and outerwear were displayed, the woolen yarn dyed in a vast range of colors.
“These colors are exquisite,” the goddess said, tracing a delicate finger along an intricately-patterned shawl.
Dye was an expensive import, even before the war.
It was unlikely this lowborn shopkeeper had the means to purchase such rarities, and yet, the skeins of yarn stacked hip high against her seat suggested otherwise.
“You’d be surprised to hear I dye them myself. The lake provides an excellent variety of herbs, yes, but it’s the rocks at its bottom that are most precious. We use the pebbles to color our yarn,” the woman said, hobbling to join Tethys as she browsed. “Plus they have some…mystical properties.”
“Impressive, to say the least, ma’am.” Tethys wandered further into the shop’s depths, passing a collection of trinkets. “May I ask you a question?”
“You may, but whether I’ll answer remains to be seen,” the crone mused.
Tethys smirked and glanced over her shoulder at the woman, her golden curls loose down her back. “I’m in no way insulted by your casual nature, but most mortals shy away when I approach them.”
The woman chuckled and shifted on a knotted pine countertop. “When you’ve lived as long as I, customs and etiquette feel more of a nuisance than anything else, dearie.”
Tethys grinned. It wasn’t uncommon for mortals to forget just how long she’d lived already. Her appearance suggested she was in her mid-twenties, but in reality, she’d lost count of how many centuries had passed since her birth.
“I realize I’m addressing an old woman in comparison,” the crone mused, “but relatively speaking.”
“Well, your casual conversation is refreshing, nonetheless,” Tethys said, retrieving a jar from its shelf. The contents shimmered like star dust in the warm light.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Something far more ancient than me…maybe even you, Your Highness,” the woman replied.
With a skeletal, shaking hand, she plucked the jar from Tethys’s palm and placed it delicately back on the shelf.
“And something that isn’t for sale. However, if you’d like to browse the rest of our wares, allow me to offer you a glimpse into the future. ”
“What, you’re a seer?” Tethys asked, growing wary of the woman’s claims.
The woman cackled, her frail frame shaking with each laugh. “No, dearie. I’m no seer, but the runes speak to me. Two gold coins will get you a reading,” she replied, holding her palm out.
Tethys eyed the woman, scanning each wrinkle creased over her brow. There wasn’t a trace of humor reflected in the candlelight. Tethys grinned. She’d play along. Tethys pulled out her coin pouch and placed her payment in the crone’s hand.
It wasn’t uncommon for mortals to lead these scams for an extra coin or two, and knew the coins would go a long way for the woman and her family. Especially in a village like Algola. The crone pulled a stool from under the counter and guided them to the hearth.
“If you’ll allow me,” she said, taking a seat and gesturing for the goddess to join her.
The crone’s tired eyes glinted with newfound electricity in the flickering candlelight.
Tethys approached the crone, her throat dry and burning.
Maybe she’d been a fool to come here. It was too late to turn back, however.
Tethys nestled into the adjacent rocking chair and watched her retrieve a small burlap sack from the folds of her dress. Tethys leaned in, entirely entranced by the mortal’s skeletal fingers as she held the bag out and emptied its contents.
Yellowing bones, each three to four inches in length, carved with crudely traced runes, scattered across the scarred wooden floor.
With cracking knees, the woman knelt by them and held each one up in the hearth light.
She bit her lip, analyzing the runes over and over again.
Tethys loosed a breath as the woman collected them into her leathery palm.
Her eyes went vacant, like she’d traveled somewhere far from here.
Tethys held her breath, awaiting the crone’s astral return.
“I’ll issue you a refund,” she whispered as her body swelled to life once more. Darkness clouded her tired eyes, and Tethys’s blood went cold.
“What did the runes say?” she asked.
The woman rose and hobbled to the counter. “Nothing, Goddess. Here, take your coins.” The terror in her voice suggested the runes, in fact, had spoken something of great importance. Something dark and laced with malice.
“Tell me,” Tethys pressed. “What did you see?”
The woman’s lips parted then shut, as if contemplating how best to phrase her next words.
“It’s alright. Tell me,” Tethys repeated, tucking the coins back into the woman’s palm.
“They showed me a babe. A boy. Born of both mortal and divine blood.” The woman’s horrified eyes branded into Tethys’s skin like hot iron. “A boy with golden hair and fire in his heart. ”
“A babe? That’s impossible,” Tethys replied.
“The bones are rarely wrong, Goddess,” the woman said, returning to her seat at the hearth’s side.
“And what of this boy?” Tethys asked, bracing herself against the shop counter. The room was suddenly too hot. The air was so thick it slithered down her throat.
“They will try to take him. They will fail, but his will be a watery grave.”