Chapter 17 A Sea Witch’s Offer
Unique amongst their sisters, Hydraids and Oceanids are the only types of nymphs who were not created by the goddess Mòr.
Instead, they were born from the Smaurhiel sea line, House Aethelmaer.
Unfortunately, the documentation of their joining the other nymphs in Aurorae is extremely limited, as is the original nature of their gifts.
–Excerpt from 'A Slavers Guide to Aurorae', by Crismund Burke
There's a ripe silence in the air as we paddle toward the coast. Archer and Aizen, the gray haired twins, grunt through each hard stroke, moving in perfect harmony with each other.
Rhyland Crow doesn't so much as blink away from the dark shore, as though he fears it will vanish if he does.
Briggs and a shadowy, tired looking Reave mirror his stoic look.
It's our unexpected guest that has me puzzled.
He hasn't looked away from me once yet, staring unabashedly.
He studies me like I'm a riddle to be solved—or uncharted land that needs to be canvassed beneath his hands.
Cyprian, Rhyland called him. Map maker and navigator. Supposedly he can read the stars and tell by that alone which way we need to go. A natural instinct for direction. And he'll know before any of us if a storm’s coming.
Crow had hesitated before letting him join.
‘She won't want you mapping out her island,’ he warned.
Cyprian had only nodded. ‘I know. I just want to see the isle of legends. Its haunting landscape and poisonous flora. Would you deny me such a pleasure, Captain?’ He'd asked it with one of the most charming smiles I'd ever seen.
And even shot me a quick wink that made the little line between Rhyland Crow's brow deepen.
I try not to stare back at the mapmaker but it's hard when I can feel his gaze practically burrowing into my skull. It doesn’t help that he's quite interesting to look at.
Soft, sandy blonde hair brushes a pointed jaw.
His warm beige skin tone is evenly set over his face, and has soft brown eyes that don't stop smiling even when he's not.
The shirt he's wearing, loose, tied with crossed string at the neck, only deepens his tan.
It seems far too cold for the cutting wind around us, but he doesn't look bothered by it.
A leather satchel's strapped over his shoulder, overflowing with rolls of thick parchment.
Ink stained fingers move to fidget with their curved edges every few moments, like he can't be made to sit still.
I realize, once we hit the sandy shallows, that he's distracted me from my fear for the entirety of our short trip to land.
But once my eyes take in the gloomy coast, so near it's but a leap away, I shiver and sweat gathers at the small of my back.
I picture Aurorae and her gleaming shores, fields of green like emeralds and trees that yield fruit all year around.
Elaris appears to be the antithesis of such a place.
It's a wonder that sunlight could ever penetrate through the thick mists lingering at every corner, coating each plant and fallen log like a shroud of fog.
Willow trees hang low, their branches and leaves the color of ash, and from somewhere far off the croak of a raven slices the air.
Rhyland stands and tosses a length of rope ashore. “Stay on the path. Those of you who've made this trip before know what happens if you stray. Those who haven't,” he gives Cyprian and I a pointed look, “don't want to find out.”
Reave chuckles and the shadows that linger within every crevice of the land pull toward him like dogs, eager to please their master.
I have to wonder about the strange power.
I thought perhaps I'd imagined it back at the gambling den, the weaving and manipulation of cast silhouettes, but no, the shadows gather to him like a second skin.
It's wishful thinking when I move to get out of the boat on my own. Rhyland has me scooped up in his arms within seconds, stepping into the shallows before the rest of the men get out and heave the boat onto the bank.
“What are you doing?”
“I remember a certain vow to keep you close and unharmed.”
“Not this close,” I grumble.
His chuckle is dark enough to blend with the air around us.
The shadow of night smokes from the sea's edge.
We follow a rocky, beaten path that trails along the coast, and I catch the scent of a dark watch tower before it comes into view over the horizon.
The smell is borne of sulfur and ancient stone; musty hints of damp earth and burning incense like rotting cypress and vetiver.
My nose scrunches, and I rally against the urge to bury it into the warm leather of Rhyland's coat.
A rough mile away the jagged tower splits the sky, melded with the shades of gray clouds.
Beyond that is the rocky coast that crests with jagged points, like sharpened teeth, and up the trail, skeletal trees dot the highs and lows of the hills around it without the faintest hint of green life clinging to their clawed branches.
No, what adorns them is far more disturbing than a splay of leaves.
I squint, trying to surmise the dangling spheres.
Rhyland's low warning to look away doesn’t come soon enough.
Skulls.
The witch has human skulls hanging from her trees like baubles.
My stomach lurches but Reave’s laugh cuts the air behind us. “The Sea Witch certainly knows how to make a statement.”
“Yeah, leave.” Cyprian's chuckle melds with the ashy night.
Around the crumbling tower there’s thick stretches of twisted plants; vine-like, thorny bushes with clusters of dark, bell-shaped flowers. I’ve never seen the likes of it before.
Reave lets out a low hiss at the sight. “This shit still grows here?”
Rhyland’s stormy gaze rakes over the plant and he cuts a wider berth in the path, giving it plenty of room as though it may come alive and wrap tight around our ankles.
“What is it?” I can’t help but quietly ask, staring at the plant that seems to pool with smoky shadows. Some of it creeps up the side of the tower.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with. The Sea Witch should have taken care of it. Everyone steer clear. Don’t let it touch your skin.”
There’s a rough finality to the words, something so closed off I don’t dare press for more answers. We keep going.
I feel Rhyland tense beneath me but he doesn't say another word.
The climb over the hills, past the ominous structure, is steep and jostling, enough to quiet the banter of the men trailing behind us.
I don't dare look at the hollowed eyes or broken teeth from the skulls, hanging so close I could reach out an arm and run my finger over the weather bleached bone.
I want to retch before I realize how little I’ve put in my stomach these last few days.
Rye bread and cheese, I think, on the morning we rode into that coastal city.
But then I was asleep for gods knows how long, and waking on a ship didn’t do much to stoke my appetite.
It’s not the first time I’ve gone stretches without food, but unlike the nymphs of Aurorae, I can’t go indefinitely—feeding off the power of the land and rivers or eternal flame.
Most never know true hunger unless they become ripped away from their power source, like the slaves stolen and chained.
In the end, being carried might be a blessing in disguise, as I’m not sure I could have made it up this ridge with such low energy and a busted ankle.
The Sea Witch’s home isn’t what I imagined; it's like stepping into another world. The darkness recedes, sky brightening. It’s nestled amongst windswept grasses and soft dunes, not grand but whimsical—a gathering of weathered wood and sun-bleached shingles that reflect the sandy hues around it.
An intricate web of green vines adorn the stout wooden door which sits ajar as though she’s been expecting us.
I’m not sure why, but I imagined having to fight our way in through cursed spirits and ghouls.
Maybe it has something to do with the haunting watch tower or skull baubles.
We step inside, met with a high ceiling strung with sea glass that casts dancing reflections and splotches of color on the sand-shaded walls.
The air’s alive with the scent of dried herbs—lavender, rosemary and sage.
They hang in thick bundles from the rafters, a kaleidoscope of earthly greens, dusky purple, and sunkissed yellow.
A young woman greets us in the front hall and I almost swallow my tongue to realize I recognize her.
My brain grasps for the time and place as I study her starlit eyes and braided dark hair.
The lethal grace about her is stitched behind a soft, unassuming smile.
The way she looks at me and quickly away hints that she must recognize me, too.
“Sora,” Rhyland nods to her and finally sets me back on my feet where I make quick work of putting space between us, though the movement sends a spasm of pain up my calf. I shift, taking the brunt of the weight onto my other foot.
“Talon.” The woman’s lips quirk at the corner. “I’m to lead you into the dining room and offer you wine. My lady will join you shortly.”
Someone behind me clears their throat. “Perhaps something to eat as well? Ireus knows we won’t get another decent meal for weeks.”
Reave elbows the twin who spoke, hard, and offers a dazzling smile when Sora turns to scowl at them.
I can see in their faces they’re beguiled by her beauty, but she only seems to have eyes for one.
They slide over the sea captain’s broad shoulders, down his trim waist and sturdy thighs. “You all seem well fed.”
“Yeah, if you can call the slop Davvey feeds us food,” the other twin pipes out.
Reave buries his face in his palm.