Chapter 19
19
D OWN AND DOWN I SINK . The embracing cold shortens my breath and cripples my lungs, my hair slithering through the gloom like strands of fiery grass. Squeezed in my icy palm, the roselight dissolves the dim into fragments. Strange, ethereal creatures slink along the silty bottom. They possess unmistakable female anatomy, dips and swells beneath shreds of wet cloth, limbs shaped into fins. The naiads peer at me with enormous milky eyes.
Harper drifts at the bottom of the lakebed.
Her hair, as thin and insubstantial as mist, hangs like a shifting veil around her face. Two naiads guide her in this listless state, bubbles trailing from her slackened mouth and boots dragging through the silt.
I kick upward, head breaking the surface of the lake. Zephyrus screams at me from the boat, but I’m already diving, propelling myself forward with sturdy kicks. The deeper I swim, the greater the water’s crushing weight. Another hard kick closes the distance.
As my fingertips brush her shoulder, cold slime wraps around my ankle. I glance down. One of the creatures grips my leg with webbed appendages. Bubbles burst from my mouth in a scream, and I kick once, twice, until the naiad releases me. Once free, I catch Harper’s waist. Her weight sags against me. We begin to sink.
My ears pop painfully, and pressure thrusts at my eye sockets. We hit the sludge-filled lakebed. I push off hard, Harper in tow, and swim with all my strength. The hazy surface seems an impossible distance. My head feels like it will split open, but we are nearly there. I can almost taste the air on my tongue.
Long, brittle fingers snag my hair, and something rushes past at the edge of my vision. I twist to meet my newest foe as the grip on my skull tightens, my hair drawn up by the roots. Snatching the dagger from my waist, I lash out, striking one of the creatures in the shoulder. The blade plunges into soft, rubbery flesh, and the naiad recoils with a low wail, a stream of smoky liquid clouding the water.
A second creature crowds my back. I spin, cutting low to give myself distance as Harper slips from my grasp. I feel my lungs begin to wither, pain coiling into a white-hot star.
Kicking away from the advancing mob, I regroup. My head pounds with unrelenting agony as the naiads writhe, dragging up silt, fogging the water. One strikes out with curled nails. Pain erupts across my shoulder, and I swing the dagger in a wild arc. The creature rears back, the seam of its lips wrenching open to reveal triangular teeth ringed in rotting gums.
Another lunge with the blade, and the creatures scatter. I dive, grabbing the back of Harper’s dress with one hand, and begin hauling her toward the distant light. In the corner of my eye, I spot Zephyrus gripping Harper’s other arm, lending strength to the task. Amidst the turmoil, I did not notice him dive into the lake.
My head breaks the surface in a spray of droplets. I gasp, sucking in a mouthful of frosty air. The boat has drifted farther downstream, knocking against the far wall.
“Bring her to shore,” he manages.
Together, we drag Harper’s limp body onto the sloped, rocky bank. I’m already kneeling at her side, knees digging into sharp rocks, hands clutching her pale, waxy face. I give her a rough shake. No response. I slap her once, twice. Nothing.
“There’s no point.”
“Hush.” Her sternum, the plate of hard bone, bows beneath my weight. I once watched the physician revive a man by pressing on his chest. I give two hearty pumps, and her head flops with the motion. She appears shrunken beneath her dress, the white, knotted cord squeezing her waist into nothing.
Zephyrus’ soaked boots enter my periphery. “She was under for too long.”
Harper will live, if only so that I can hold this over her head for the rest of her life. I switch to hammering blows against her back. It might dislodge the water in her lungs.
“It won’t work. The paralysis—”
“Let me tell you what I promised this woman on the first day we met.” I do not stop the rhythm. “I was alone, terrified, grieving. She saw my loneliness and took advantage. Tripped me in the middle of the refectory, causing food to splatter the front of my dress. I told her I would never forget her cruelty. And I would never let her forget it either.” She cannot die. It is too sweet a temptation to see her live, and witness her failure when I eventually gain Meirlach for myself. Whether or not Mother Mabel learns of my broken vows, I will have my triumph.
A scream breaks free of my chest. “Breathe—you—wretched—cow!” I slam a fist against her heart.
Harper’s eyes snap open. She stiffens, her head wrenching sideways, water gushing from her mouth. Her fingers scrabble at the rocky shore.
I sit back on my heels, weary to the bone with trembling. When her lungs have emptied, Harper slumps to the ground, hair tangled in her own sick. She squints at me, features twisted with conflicting emotions, as though she understands how near to death she was and yet cannot comprehend the sight of her savior: dripping water, clothes plastered to my skin, color riding high on my face. But—she is alive. It is enough.
“We need to build a fire,” I say, lifting my eyes to Zephyrus. He studies me, dumbfounded. “Is there something we can use for fuel?” When he does not immediately respond, I snap, “Zephyrus.”
His mouth twists, and the motion pulls at the discoloration patching his skin. For whatever reason, it appears to have evened out somewhat. “There is a sea-nymph village,” he concedes. “It’s not far. But don’t expect a warm welcome.”
“I thought those creatures in the lake were sea-nymphs.”
“Those were naiads—freshwater nymphs. The sea-nymphs are their distant cousins.”
I struggle to keep track of the sheer variety of creatures. Sprites, naiads, dryads, sea-nymphs. What else? “Will we be safe there?” I can no longer feel my fingers or toes. “We need to get warm.”
Harper’s limbs twitch erratically. Grasping her face, I survey her features. Bloodless skin and blue-tinged lips. She stares right through me, the color of her eyes dulled.
And then I realize something else. The grassy path has disappeared.
“The trail.” I look to Zephyrus. “What happened to it?”
His gaze drops to the ground. “Under likely anticipated our arrival a few miles downstream. It did not expect you to jump into the lake.” He quirks an eyebrow at my alarmed expression. “Don’t worry. As long as you two stay close, nothing terrible will befall you.”
“And the village? Is it safe?”
The West Wind’s hesitation concerns me, for he has always acted with unflappable conviction. “That is open to interpretation. Keep your guard up. If something were to happen to me, you would have to find another way out.”
Trusted guides are difficult to come by, but I would not consider Zephyrus one anyway. “We don’t have a choice, unfortunately.” After wringing out my dress, I stand. “Take us to the village.”
Huddled beneath my cloak, I struggle to muffle my heavy breathing as Zephyrus propels us down the River Mur. The dim remains unchanged, altering neither in color nor form. Cupped between my palms, the roselight offers little reprieve from the darkness and even less warmth.
“How is she?” Zephyrus asks quietly.
Curled in the bottom of the boat, Harper lies with eerie stillness, muscles twitching every so often in an attempt to warm her sodden limbs. She is present in body, but not in mind. The unfocused, small-pupiled eyes betray her mental retreat. “No recent changes.”
I wait in anticipatory silence, but Zephyrus adds nothing more. He has not asked after my well-being. I try not to let his lack of concern bother me, though the sinking sensation in my gut is a most unwelcome visitor.
“Will she recover?” I haven’t inquired until now, fearful of his answer.
Water splashes as the West Wind lifts the pole, allowing the current to drag us around a hairpin corner. “That depends on how the sea-nymphs react to our arrival. Their clan has the means to revive her, but the matriarch has the final say.”
“You don’t think the matriarch will help us?”
“She might help you, in exchange for something of value. But me?” A coarse, raw noise. Laughter, I realize. “Probably not.”
I turn to glare at him. “What did you do?”
He meets my gaze without flinching, almost as if he expected this question. “I have done a great deal.” His mouth crimps beneath that large, crooked nose. “I, too, have regrets.”
I grow weary of his evasiveness. While others plant their feet, Zephyrus flits from hill to knoll, each landing brief.
Facing forward, I demand, “What will happen if Harper is beyond help?”
“She will not die, but who is to say she will not be changed in irreversible ways? No one can know what the long-lasting effects will be.”
Irreversible change? I sincerely hope she will recover. I can’t return to Thornbrook with a senseless companion, but I can’t return without her either. The decision to enter Under was shared, yet I can’t help but feel responsible for Harper’s misfortune. My involvement with Zephyrus led us here. Then again, we would not have been able to enter Under without his help.
Something squeals in the distance, cutting through the silence of the cave. I clench the roselight tighter, watch the pink light seep through the spaces between my fingers.
“We’re close,” Zephyrus murmurs.
I pray there is a fire, or at least an extra set of warm clothes.
“Do the fair folk who live in the wilds participate in the tithe?” I wonder.
Zephyrus slows our passage through the water. When I sense his gaze on my back, I shift on the bench to face him. “Have you ever attended the tithe?” he asks curiously. But there is something else in his voice, too. Shame?
“No. I was ill the last occurrence.”
I’d hoped Mother Mabel would select me as one of the twenty-one participants, but I’d barely had the strength to walk, much less make the journey belowground. Fourteen years old, and already my dreams had been dashed.
He appears relieved by this. “Those in the wilds typically do not participate. They do not agree with the Orchid King’s rule in these parts. You can understand why their presence would irritate Pierus.”
“He cannot govern those whom he cannot control.”
“Exactly.”
I think of what Zephyrus said, and then I think of what he has not said. “What would you change, if you were in the Orchid King’s position?”
Hushed is the underground, the long, coiling gullet through which the channel courses. Zephyrus’ silence says much, and yet—
“Everything,” he says. “I would change everything.”
As the conversation tapers off, we ease around a bend, and the tunnel widens, the River Mur stretching outward. A rocky shelf juts out over the river, a village perched on top of it.
I study the fair folk from the safety of the boat as we drift nearer to shore. These creatures are lean, but wide in the belly. They dwell in squat grass huts whose roofs rise to blunt points. The men wear trousers shorn at the ankle, their torsos bare. Fish-pale skin and milky eyes give them the appearance of long-limbed salamanders.
“What’s wrong with their eyes?”
“The sea-nymphs are among the most ancient of the fair folk and have dwelt in Under’s deepest grottos for centuries, seldom exposed to sunlight. They have adapted over time to make do without their eyesight, sheltering in caves and deep water when traveling toward the sea. Though I should warn you,” he murmurs, “their sense of smell is keen as a bloodhound’s.”
A group of sea-nymphs busy their hands winding twine into fishing nets. One angles its head toward the river, its wide, slitted nostrils flaring with each inhalation. The group follows suit, abandoning the nets at our approach, straightening their long, reedy bodies. Zephyrus calmly docks and gestures for me to remain seated.
He disembarks, his movements so smooth the vessel does not rock from his departure. Harper stirs, her gaze flicking from creature to creature. Though my hand drifts to the dagger at my waist, I do not draw the blade.
A woman—or at least I believe it is a woman, judging by her garb—steps forward. “Bringer of Spring. It has been some time.” Her voice emerges reed thin, the words choked as if by fluid in the lungs. A blue tinge coats her rheumy eyes, which shift without sight.
Zephyrus eases along the outcropping, though I sense his desire to put space between himself and those congregating. “Annag.”
The woman I assume is this clan’s matriarch holds out a waiting hand, palm up. A long, grimy dress hangs in strips around her shins, clinging to a body more skeletal than not. From her shoulders sprout small protrusions akin to broken coral.
Zephyrus sighs and draws his dagger. A prick at his fingertip produces a drop of blood, which he lets fall into her outstretched palm.
The sea-nymph brings it to her nose with a deep inhalation. “Such strength,” she whispers, before lapping her skin clean. “How have you fared since our last encounter?”
“Well enough.” After wiping the blade on his trousers, he returns the dagger, freshly cleaned, to its sheath. Those gathered monitor his movement, their small, pointed ears twitching as the metal slides into its case. “I hear we share an acquaintance.”
“The sailor.” She nods. “Ten years in Troy. Ten years at sea. The man was stronger than we first assumed, and clever. What was his name?”
“Odysseus.”
“Odysseus, yes.” A slow cant of her head. “That witch, Circe, warned him of our presence. She ordered his sailors to stuff their ears with beeswax. They tied Odysseus to the mast of the ship.” A few of the female sea-nymphs chuckle in response.
Annag smiles. Her teeth remind me of fragmented shells. “Oh, how he begged. We sang to him the loveliest ballad. A feast for us, it would have been. But alas, things do not always go as planned. They refused to be swayed.”
“I heard.” Zephyrus scans the crowd before retreating to the edge of the overhang. Harper and I continue to observe from the boat.
“I admit, I was surprised to learn you’d helped Odysseus.” She picks at something caught between her teeth. “Unless I am mistaken?”
“I did my best to steer Odysseus back to Ithica, but men are fools, as you know. His sailors released the bag of winds gifted to them, which sent them hundreds of miles back out to sea. They alone are responsible for their misfortune.”
“A pity.” The sea-nymph’s eyes track slightly to the left, unable to pin his exact location. “But let us discuss the present. You have brought company. It is not every day we encounter mortal women.”
Zephyrus angles toward us. Dark are his features, shrouded in secrecy. “One of the women is in need of a healer. Both require warm clothing.”
“And you expect my clan to provide this for you?” A smile sweetens her voice despite the lack of curve to her mouth. “You expect a lot, Bringer of Spring.”
“I understand this will not come free.”
“Indeed.” A long, insectile tongue pushes between her lips, fluttering with gentle undulations against the air. “One of the women tastes of fire. The other, salt.”
“We encountered the naiads a while back,” he explains.
“If it is a trade you seek, I would rather trade with the woman who tastes of fire.”
“No.” I’ve never heard a command so sharp from such a honeyed tongue. “Your business is with me.”
A small, serene smile graces the sea-nymph’s mouth. He’s revealed too much, I fear. “Very well,” she says as the crowd at her back spits out a guttural language I cannot understand. “Let us discuss.”
“And my companions?”
“I will allow them to take refuge in our guesthouse until an agreement has come to pass. They will be kept warm.”
Zephyrus catches my eye, and I give him a nod. “Thank you, Annag. I appreciate that.”
“I’m sure you do,” she says quietly.
As the matriarch draws him into one of the huts, two female sea-nymphs approach the boat, skinny arms laden with baskets of cloth. Their large, round, white eyes stare straight through us.
“We smell your filth, human women.” They speak simultaneously. “Come. We will show you to the baths.”
I disembark, thankful for the solid ground beneath my feet. Harper, however, hasn’t moved. I shake the boat to get her attention. “Come on.”
Her expression blurs into an unfocused vagueness. “I won’t,” Harper mumbles through chattering teeth. “Have you seen those things? They’re hideous. How do you know they won’t drag us off to some distant corner and strip the flesh from our bones?”
“I don’t.” The farther we stray in this dark realm, the less I know and the less I am certain of. “But you need to get well. They can help us.”
“You trust Zephyrus’ word?”
He has gone great lengths to ensure our safety. Maybe I misjudged him.
She scratches at the wood, then stops, her breathing shallow. “I feel the water on my skin. The voice in my ear… I do not think it is the Father’s.”
I lay my hand against the hunch of her upper back. “You hear a voice?”
She lifts her face. A sheen films the whites of her eyes. “You don’t?”
“Harper,” I whisper, making sure her name will not carry. “I’m here.” She clutches my hand with iron strength. She will not let go.
A wave of concern moves through me with startling intensity. A weakened Harper, an uncertain Harper, a frightened Harper. None sit well with me. “Come.” I coax her from the boat onto the rocky shelf.
The two sea-nymphs lead Harper and I to separate huts. Clay walls, fired red by the single candle sputtering in the room’s center, enclose the circular interior. A tub full of steaming water awaits, and a change of clothes rests on a sturdy wooden chair. Once I remove my boots, the sea-nymph departs to give me privacy.
My knees creak as I hobble toward the tub, but I’m unable to unbutton my dress, so stiff and icy are my fingers. Blast this fabric. I step into the tub fully clothed, sinking into the scalding water with a helpless whimper. Once I regain use of my limbs, I’m able to slide off my gloves, unbutton my dress, and peel it from my soiled skin. They have provided soap, which I use to scrub away all remnants of that nightmarish lake. I briefly remove my undergarments and wash those, too.
Skin pink with irritation, I climb from the tub and don the long linen dress provided, my cincture and gloves, and a burgundy cloak. Then I go in search of Harper.
She huddles near one of the cooking fires, hair wet from her bath. Instead of wearing the clean clothes provided, she has changed back into her filthy, sodden dress. She shivers, blue eyes locked on the dancing flames, and she does not appear so certain of herself in this moment, her spine curved and wariness abloom in those dark pupils. Well, good. That makes two of us.
With a sigh, I remove the cloak from my shoulders and drop it onto Harper’s lap. She stares at it before handing it back.
“Take it,” I snap. “Otherwise you’ll freeze to death after I’ve gone to such lengths to save you.”
Her fingers tighten around the fabric. After a moment, however, she tugs it around her body.
Sinking onto a nearby log, I join her in studying the lash of red-orange flames. The air reeks—fish and char. “Did you let them heal you?”
“They gave me a tonic.” The words are mumbled. “The voice stopped. I should recover without any adverse effects.”
I’m relieved. I hate that I am relieved.
Our packs sit at Harper’s feet. Someone must have brought them from the boat. Tugging mine closer, I pull out a few strips of dried hare. When I offer some to Harper, she shakes her head.
“Why did you save me?” she whispers.
I stow the food in my pack, taking the opportunity to think of an appropriate response. “How do you know it wasn’t Zephyrus?”
Harper snorts, hunching lower, and stares at the ground. “Why should the West Wind care for me? All I do is irritate him.”
I’m not going to argue with that.
Along the shore, a trio of sea-nymphs drags a net from the water. It bulges with writhing, eel-like fish. The clan eats what the River Mur provides them.
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know why I saved you. If you ask me, it was a senseless decision to save a woman who has spent the last decade doing everything in her power to make my life miserable.”
Harper frowns, hands clenched in her lap. “That’s not—”
“Don’t say it’s not true,” I growl. “Don’t you dare say it.”
She falls quiet.
What, exactly, compelled me to desert the safety of the boat and dive into those dark unknowns? We believe water acts as the entrance to Hell and eternal woe. Those who drown may never know peace. Yet I leaped without regret.
A stone rises to block my airway, warping the emerging sound. “Maybe I should have let you drown. The Father knows you deserve it. But I suppose I can’t stand to see someone die, however cruel that person is.”
Harper will not look at me. Neither will she speak. She is not heartless. I have witnessed her kindness, however twisted, however rare. Maybe she’s just heartless to me.
“Nothing to say? Not even a thank you for saving your life?”
“I’m sorry,” Harper whispers.
Clumps of fabric wad between my clammy hands. “I’ve spent the last ten years waiting for those words.” One glimpse of remorse, genuine regret at her actions. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. “But it’s not enough.”
Her head snaps up. In the shifting light, a distinct sunken quality distorts her cheeks.
“You’re apologizing to appease whatever guilt you feel,” I say. “But you don’t mean it. You don’t care. You’ve never cared.”
Maybe that was my downfall. I, Brielle of Thornbrook, have always cared, and because I care, I place others before myself. I become timid. I am reduced to the inked markings in my journal. I forget the parts of myself I actually like. I forget my dedication. I forget my skill with a hammer and blade. I forget my kindness. And I have failed myself, not once, but again and again in lacking the conviction to assert my boundaries, having believed I didn’t deserve that grace. How sad I feel for that girl now.
“Why me? Why was I the target of your vitriol? Was it because you felt threatened by me? Because Mother Mabel favored me over you?”
With each word spoken, a weight lifts from my chest. How long have I carried it? Years. But today, now, I cast it far and wide.
“Or maybe it was insecurity. Deep down, you don’t actually have what it takes to become an acolyte. You don’t study. You shirk your duties. You treat the other novitiates like dirt. You barely respect the current acolytes.” My voice—my entire body—shakes at Harper’s muteness.
“And do you want to know something truly sickening? For so long, I wanted to be your friend. I wanted to be accepted into your circle.” It seems silly, yearning for something that would never come to pass. “But I’ve felt like a stranger at Thornbrook for a decade, and that is your doing.”
Harper’s mouth quivers, then flattens to a line. Still, she says nothing.
“The thing is,” I whisper, “I look at what you’ve become and I feel sorry for you. You may acquire Meirlach first. You may even become the next acolyte. But I will fall asleep at night knowing I did right, even when I didn’t have to.”
Pushing to my feet, I stride off, abandoning Harper to her own wretched company. I cannot continue on this path. I cannot bare my stomach for someone else’s blade. That life was mine, but no longer.
Not anymore.