21 - Ariadne #3
Brass wind chimes make tinkling, pinging sounds as rain drops fall against them where they hang from the roof of the stone house carved into the side of a grey mountain, a structure undeniably constructed through the use of magic.
Ariadne knocks on the front door and glances at Iona, who admires the water dripping from the bells, her eyes not entirely focused on what she sees.
Then a young girl with tanned skin and dark hair opens the door.
She wears a bright yellow dress, and, in her arms, she holds a familiar orange tabby cat.
“Oh,” Ariadne says, surprised.
“Namaskāra.” The girl bows and smiles shyly.
“Good morning.” Ariadne bows to her, motioning for Iona to do the same. “We’ve come to call on Samaira. Is she here?”
“Yes, she is at the peak.” The girl sets the cat down and beckons them to follow her.
She leads them up a steep mountain path that twists around and around. Bracing against the wind and rain, Ariadne struggles to keep pace with the sprightly child. She hates the cold, despises rain even more, but this visit isn’t for her.
When she cannot help glancing again at Iona, there is a renewed sense of calm in her expression, just as Ariadne hoped. The weather is somewhat similar to what Iona has grown accustomed to from her days living in Cornwall, much more so than the warm summer days in Triora.
They reach the summit where Samaira sits cross-legged on a rock. She is drenched with rain, her black hair loose against her back, and her expression reflecting perfect serenity.
“Samaira,” the girl says. “Forgive the interruption. Your visitors have arrived.”
Samaira opens her eyes and slowly returns to the present moment. She smiles and blinks away the raindrops that catch on her eyelashes.
“Thank you, Ehani,” Samaira says, sliding off the rock and onto her feet.
Ehani bows again, then hastens back down the path, while Samaira embraces Ariadne and Iona in turn.
“You’ll catch your death in this storm,” Ariadne says.
“On the contrary, cleansing rain is exactly what I need,” Samaira says.
“Is she your relation?” Iona asks, gesturing to Ehani.
“No, no, she lives in a monastery not far from here,” Samaira says. “I am teaching her magic.”
“She is a witch?” Iona asks. “How did you come to find her?”
Samaira leads them back down the mountain and Ariadne strains to hear her over the wind.
“Ehani’s parents sold her into indentured servitude, so she ran away. She was skin and bones when I came across her climbing the mountain,” she says. “I sensed magic in her and knew I must help however I could.”
“She is not human?” Ariadne asks.
“There is a touch of magic in her ancestry somewhere,” Samaira muses. “Even if she hadn’t, I couldn’t very well leave her there to starve.”
“The poor dear,” Iona says. “She seems very well now. Healthy, I mean.”
“Once she’d found her wand, the very first spells I taught her were the conjuration of bread, water, meat, anything she might need. Her well of magic is quite shallow but with practice I hope it will grow,” Samaira says.
She tells them of Ehani’s progress as they descend the mountain path, explaining that she is particularly gifted in phytology.
There is an outbreak of smallpox in the Kathmandu Valley, and Ehani often brews healing potions to help prevent infection.
Under the cover of night, they fly down to heal as many humans as they can before the sun rises.
Shivers creep down Ariadne’s back when they finally make it inside. She sheds her rain-soaked cloak and rubs her arms, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
“I’ve needed this time apart to recollect myself,” Samaira says. “But I must say, I’ve missed you both an awful lot. Oh!”
Iona pulls her into another fierce embrace, which she returns wholeheartedly, before glancing over Iona’s shoulder. In Samaira’s brown eyes, Ariadne sees conveyed what she’d already noticed. Iona is not herself, as if her inner light has dimmed.
“What say you to a warm cup of green tea, perhaps dal bhat tarkari, and yomari?” Samaira pulls away and gently cups Iona’s cheeks.
“Is that food?” Iona asks, her voice thick with emotion. “I would very much like to eat.”
Samaira’s responding smile is warm but brief. She goes rigid, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, and her terrible scream has Iona flinching away, but she catches Samaira before she can collapse onto the floor.
“Ari!” Iona looks at her in panic. “What is happening? What should I do?”
She rushes over and helps Iona slowly lower her to the floor.
“She is having a vision, I think,” Ariadne says.
Samaira screams again, this time in agony, and Ariadne tries to take her hand, but the sapphire ring burns her, the stone glowing as the vision persists.
Instead, Ariadne carefully repositions her hand to run a thumb back and forth across the black and red feathers of Samaira’s witch’s mark, depicting a crimson sunbird on the back of her hand.
“We’re here,” Iona whispers as she brushes hair from Samaira’s eyes. “It’s alright. You will be alright.”
All at once, it’s over. Samaira goes limp, groaning as her eyes roll back into place, and she presses a hand to her forehead.
“Oh,” Samaira winces.
“You had a seizure.” Iona’s shoulders slump and she expels a shuddering breath.
“Yes,” Samaira says. “Well… Not to worry.”
Iona and Ariadne exchange a concerned look as Samaira stands and brushes dust off her skirt.
“I would also like to eat,” Samaira says, with a tired smile.
“Does that happen every time you have a vision?” Ariadne asks.
“No.” Samaira averts her eyes. “Only when I see the darkness. Only once per day.”
We cannot allow her to endure this a moment longer. Iona smooths her trembling hands against her skirts.
When last she removed her ring, the malefician made their first kill, Ariadne reminds her.
Yes, but they committed their second just as easily. It was Marina’s reading of the stars that told us when the murder occurred, not Samaira’s vision. Iona pushes herself onto her feet.
Ariadne considers this, taking Iona’s hand when it’s offered. I suppose, but just as before, we do not know what sort of visions might present themselves. Without the ring, we are all the more blind.
Iona pulls her up, while Samaira rolls her shoulder and sighs at the ache in her strained muscles.
“Stop worrying over me,” she says firmly. “Removing the ring is just what the malefician would want.”
“Perhaps I was unfair to expect this of you,” Ariadne says, but Samaira puts up her hand.
“I am strong,” she says. “We must all make sacrifices.”
She wavers on her feet, until Iona takes her arm and steadies her.
“I shall speak no more of this,” she says. “Please, I must… I would like to sit down.”
They usher her to the dining room where they sit and conjure the food that Samaira had suggested.
Ariadne watches silently, ruminating over Samaira’s plight.
Her friend acts as if nothing had happened and had Ariadne not seen it with her own eyes, she never would have guessed that Samaira had been convulsing on the floor with a terrible vision only moments ago.
“Iona, I wondered if you might accompany me to the valley tonight to heal the sick,” Samaira says.
Iona’s mouth is full of rice, which she promptly forces down to say. “I would be very glad to. Is it quite safe?”
“We will keep our distance from the infected,” Samaira assures her. “Ariadne and I had our own trips to the valley on occasion, when her family would visit.”
“I often wonder… how was it that you two met?” Iona asks.
“Shall I tell it?” Samaira asks, and when Ariadne nods, she says. “My father hails from India and has a home near The Sundarbans mangrove forest. Within the swamp, there are ghost lights called Aleya that appear on the darkest of nights.”
“Ghost lights?” Iona asks.
“In your culture, they are called will-o'-the-wisps,” Samaira says, reaching down to scratch beneath Wisp’s chin until she trills with contentment. “My father’s family were stewards of that forest and its magic for generations.”
“Until my grandmother intervened,” Ariadne says, her voice hard.
“Katrin struck an alliance with my family to allow them continued access to the mangroves so long as they abided by Katrin’s rule,” Samaira says, unperturbed.
“And so, one day, Ariadne was brought along by her mother to visit the forest when we were both… seven years old, I believe. A year before Katrin died. We hosted the Zerynthos family at our estate during the summer monsoon.”
“It stormed day and night,” Ariadne remembers, glancing out a nearby window at the mild rain pattering against the glass.
“One night, our parents were away performing their rituals,” Samaira says.
“We were meant to be asleep,” Ariadne says with a disapproving look.
“I was asleep.” Samaira lifts her chin. “But an Aleya shown through my bedroom window and woke me. I was utterly transfixed by the most beautiful blue light I’d ever seen, rivaling the glow of magic itself. Wanting to see it closer, I snuck outside to investigate.”
Ariadne interjects, “It was lucky that I’d shared a room with her that summer or-”
“No, no!” Samaira protests. “You said I could tell it.”
Smirking, Ariadne takes a bite of food and allows her to finish. Being drawn into the story, Iona leans against the table and rests her chin in her hand.
“The Aleya lured me deeper into the mangroves. I paddled a boat out onto the Arpangasia River, thinking the light might be leading me to my wand,” Samaira says.
“But I lost track of it in the midst of the storm, which only grew more treacherous. The wind knocked me right off my feet and into the water.”
“Goodness!” Iona exclaims. “What did you do?”
“It is not what I did,” Samaira says. “Now mind you, Ariadne was the most sullen, circumspect child I’d ever encountered. I was well terrified of her, was even scared to sleep near her some nights when she shared my room. It was her eyes… As a child, they unnerved me.”