6. A Strange Cottage and a Beautiful Woman with Magic Hands
A Strange Cottage and a Beautiful Woman with Magic Hands
SAPPHIRA
S apphira is groggy, her head pounding and body aching. A sickly sweet smell invades her nose, and the bed beneath her is unusually hard.
Groaning and turning to her side, Sapphira blinks into an unfamiliar room.
Her eyes widen as she takes in the cluttered space—a small, warm cottage awash in the hue of a coral reef lit by the rising sun.
It’s garish and bright, an absolute mess.
And the air is damp and sticky, moistening her armpits and where her thighs touch.
Sapphira comes awake slowly, piecing her memory back together. When she remembers being chased by King Cornelius’s soldiers, she bolts upright, wary as she scans the place.
Where am I? Did his men capture me?
She peels back wet hair that clings to her forehead and climbs off the long wooden table she’s lying on, her body sore and muscles straining.
When Sapphira catches sight of a small blade on the table, she quickly grabs it and threads it between her fingers as she walks carefully toward a door she hopes will lead her outside.
Once I’m outside, I can get a better sense of where I am.
I have limited experience outside of Dansui, and haven’t left since I was a child, but I know things about the other kingdoms. Like, Tideholm is very wet and humid.
Neptor is vibrant, with big, colorful cities and packed with people.
Abyssius is rough and cold, with soaring mountains.
Sapphira’s head is on a swivel, and when she looks up, she gasps, nearly dropping the knife.
The ceiling is a map . Strung across the ceiling is parchment, stretched along the wood in patches with messy scrawl written across it.
There’s a spot marking where she is: Cielo .
Small islands lie between vast stretches of sand that resemble oceans.
Scrawled across the top is “Sule?hare?n”: the Sand Isles .
“Where am I?” Sapphira repeats in shock. Stumbling back, she makes it to the door.
When she opens it, she finds a cheery-looking woman holding a basket of twigs. She looks as startled as Sapphira, whose face pales at the sight of the woman’s head. Tawny roots grow back from her mass of curls, twisting outward and ending in a point by her ears.
“You’re awake,” the woman squeaks, her eyes widening when Sapphira slams her against the wall, holding against the petite woman’s neck the blade she found.
“Who— No, what are you? And why am I here?” Sapphira demands to know. The woman gasps, mouth hanging open, but no words come out. “Are you some sort of succubus? A demon? Am I in the afterlife?” She spits out question after question.
The woman’s eyes soften, and she tilts her head as if she finds Sapphira to be some amusing creature. Her bell-like giggle cuts off into another gasp when Sapphira presses down harder with the blade.
“Don’t even try to seduce me, witch. I won’t fall for such tricks again. Now, tell me why you brought me here. What were you doing to me?”
The woman stiffens beneath Sapphira, her smile dropping.
“I’m no bruja,” she says seriously, all humor sapped from her face.
“I brought you here to heal your— I mean, patch you up. I gave you poultices and salves, but you are still in rough condition. You shouldn’t be up. You need rest and more medicine.”
“I’m fine,” Sapphira says through gritted teeth, though her side twinges when she moves. She can still feel last night’s battle, but she ignores it to focus on the woman before her. The healer appears to see through her blustering, which irritates Sapphira more than it should.
“What are you?” Sapphira asks. “Answer me.”
The woman smiles. “I’m the chimera Isabella Bajiyah. Nice to meet you.”
Sapphira groans, pressing harder. “Stop that. Just answer my question.”
“Just call me Isabel,” the woman says, more slowly this time. She’s staring up at Sapphira with big, brown eyes, her flat nose scrunched and brows meeting in confusion.
“Not your name, Isabel ,” Sapphira says, rolling the pretty name over her tongue. “Are you human or—” She motions to the top of Isabel’s head, where the roots form.
“My horns? I am a chimera. Half-homnid, half-anima hybrid.”
“That is impossible,” Sapphira breathes, taking a step back. “You’re playing a trick on me.”
“I’m not,” Isabel says. “I think you may be confused. Perhaps you hit your head harder than I realized?”
The pretty woman begins muttering under her breath so fast that Sapphira can’t keep up with her thoughts. She catches—
“Where did she come from . . .”
“Falling from the sky . . .”
“Doesn’t know chimera. . .”
And “Not a draek?n shifter.”
Isabel is wholly unfazed by Sapphira’s blade, which is a bit insulting.
“Hey, stop that!” Sapphira huffs in frustration, stamping her foot to stop the stream of words. The woman is startled from her muttering, her cheeks darkening.
“Sorry, I don’t even notice I’m doing it. It drives my best friend up a tree.”
Sapphira stares blankly down at her. Who is this woman? she wonders. And what is wrong with her?
“Where in Dansui—”
A loud banging rattles the door.
“Healer, Isabella. Please!” a woman’s voice shouts from the other side of the wood. “I need your help. It’s my daughter.”
Isabel tries to move, but Sapphira doesn’t let up. The healer’s eyes widen. “ Please ,” she hisses. “A little girl needs my help.”
“It’s a ruse,” Sapphira shoots back, glaring at the woman beneath her blade.
Isabel’s voice is full of desperation. “It is not. I am a healer, as I said. Just look at yourself—look at your wounds! I saw you falling from the sky last night and brought you back here to patch you up.”
“Falling from the sky? Am I supposed to believe that?”
“Look!” the chimera shouts, pointing at Sapphira.
Sapphira finally looks down at herself. She is dressed in a bright, loose garment made of coarse fabric, and the arrow that was lodged in her thigh has been replaced by a sun-bleached wrap.
There are leaves and clumps of herbs where her wounds were.
Even her ankle is wound tight to give her weak ankle support. It twinges when she moves it.
Using her free hand to feel at her side, Sapphira finds some sort of wrapping around her stomach too, the material cool and thick, like foliage. The work is that of a master, as good as or better than the physicians at the castle.
When the frantic knocking continues, Sapphira finally takes a step back. With a deep sigh, she lowers the blade and lets the woman go.
“You better not try anything,” Sapphira warns, stepping back into the corner as Isabel turns to the door. Isabel gives her a wary look before wrenching open the door, a smile pasted on her full lips. The panicked couple on the other side look relieved when they see her.
A small girl is cradled in the man’s arms, and the woman beside him is teary-eyed.
The man and girl have the same bright-red hair and freckled cheeks, like twin copies.
The mother’s hair is raven black, and she’s willowy.
Sapphira watches her rock back and forth on her heels and fears she might fall right over.
“I’m very sorry. I was asleep.” Isabel lies smoothly, bowing. She gestures at the family to come inside as she pats the frazzled curls piled atop her head.
Sapphira watches with intrigue as Isabel moves easily around the cottage.
She’s quite beautiful, with wide hips and skin like burnt umber.
She appears completely comfortable having strangers in her home, even knowing Sapphira waits in the shadows with the blade that was just pressed to her smooth neck.
“Gracias, Isabella,” the woman says, murmuring this over and over and over like a prayer.
“We were foraging in the jungle this morning and went farther west than usual. We lost sight of Maribella for only a moment, and when we found her, she was holding her throat. Her face began purpling and swelling, then shortly after, she lost consciousness.”
Isabel nods along to the mother’s story.
Sapphira can see her mind moving behind her eyes.
Her hands hover over the girl, traveling down from her head to her feet and back, eyes squeezed shut and nose scrunched in concentration.
Sapphira’s fist tightens over the blade.
What is she doing? She has never seen a healer do that.
Sapphira leans against the wall, watching closely to study the woman. Isabel smiles as she works, bottom lip bitten between her teeth.
“How far west?” Isabel asks, her voice high and light as she gently opens the girl’s mouth and reveals her gums. Her lips are stained blue-black.
“N-near the edge of Jakartha,” the mother says, fingers twisting in her shawl. The man is stiff and silent behind her, his eyes never leaving his daughter.
Isabel raises her head and squints at the mother, who squirms under her gaze. “Near the edge of Jakartha? What were you doing all the way over there?”
The woman averts her eyes, unable to keep still.
She fidgets with her hands and a strand of her hair, anything within reach.
The father finally steps forward, blocking his wife from Isabel’s view, and Sapphira leans forward in anticipation.
Her legs are aching from standing so long, straining her injuries, but when Isabel’s eyes flicker to her, she swallows the whimper.
She can’t show weakness in front of this stranger.
“We were in Jakartha,” the father says. “Not near it. We were searching for something.”
The man says nothing more, and Isabel doesn’t press him. Her eyes are wide as she turns back to the little girl and begins mumbling beneath her breath.
“Jakartha. Jakartha, Jakartha, Jakartha . . .”
Sapphira isn’t sure what the Jakartha jungle is, but it doesn’t sound very good. It sounds like the way her people talk about Nightmare Forest.