Chapter Ten Finlyr
chapter ten
finlyr
When Isagani said they knew a place to hole up, I didn’t expect an inn at the heart of Umasa.
We stand awkwardly at the wooden desk and watch the guests filter in from the day.
It’s bustling, unlikely they’ll have any space for us, especially with the little we have to our names.
I can smell the oniony stench of my own pits, the fearful sweat rolling down the back of my exposed neck. So many folk in close proximity.
‘Everyone passes through here,’ Isagani says. ‘I imagine more so now, now that Paranish’s ports are open.’
‘And how do you know of this place?’ I ask.
‘Narra’s always got trimmings going. She’s been kind to me,’ they say, growing red.
I ignore their embarrassment. No shame in helping each other out.
‘You’re both new.’ A woman appears behind the desk and hands us two tankards. Her countenance is bright and open, with dark attentive eyes and an unruly mane of dark curls. ‘I’m Ligaya. What brings you to Narra’s inn?’
Now I hear it, the lilt of Lassren.
‘I’m Larkin. My daughter Isa and I are passing through Umasa,’ I say, giving her a small, polite smile.
‘Please help yourself to jellied zoa.’
‘Jellied zoa?’ Isagani asks, with genuine curiosity.
I look at the swirling purple liquid inside the cup.
‘A popular beverage in Lassair. I’ve fashioned my own version, something more like your piyata cider, I think,’ Ligaya says.
The liquid fizzes on my tongue. It’s only lightly fermented but the thick globules of jellyfish burst with spice and earthiness on my tongue. It pales in comparison to the real stuff from Lassair, but it’s not half bad.
‘You’re merchants, you said?’ Ligaya asks.
‘From Nila on the Summer Isle,’ Isagani chimes in quickly.
‘Oh, I’m a fiend for ube,’ Ligaya says, excitedly. ‘Can’t get enough of it when the Summer Isle merchants come through. That’s not your trade, is it?’ she adds, hopefully.
‘Unfortunately not,’ I say, warily.
‘We’re in the business of sourcing crews,’ Isagani adds with a smile. ‘And what brought you to Paranish?’
‘I’m a kitchen witch, apprenticing with Narra for a spell.’ Ligaya nods at an older woman making her way slowly down the stairs into the hallway. Weaving between her legs is an otter-cat, black as midnight with steely eyes.
I choke down my drink. Holy Aistra, I thought all the touched were at the temple or the Bastion.
‘New guests,’ Narra says, coming to stand beside Ligaya behind the desk. Her expression is stern, but her large eyes are warm. ‘In the evenings we put on a spread and then guests are free to share drinks and tales by the fire. After you’ve refreshed yourselves, of course.’
Ligaya leads us up the narrow staircase behind the front desk.
I follow in Isagani’s wake, watching them deftly hoist their skirts on the steep incline.
The wooden stairs are rickety and uneven, but the room itself is cosy.
A round window looks out to the town square below and the slanted roof’s cedar beams fill the room with a pleasant fragrance.
Two short beds line the walls, and they’re softer on the buttocks than expected.
‘How long must we bide our time here?’ I whisper through gritted teeth, as soon as we’re alone.
‘I’ll put word out around town,’ says Isagani. ‘Get some of my old filchers to listen for any skeleton crews taking off.’
I shoot them an incredulous look. ‘And my ship?’
‘Didn’t you see it in the harbour well enough from the gallows?’
I deliberately let my bag swing around and hit them on the back of the legs. ‘Won’t be long until it’s repurposed as a Seaguardian vessel. Everything I’ve got left is on that hunk of wood.’
Isagani plumps the pillow and muses. ‘We need a time when Umasa will be swarming, when the Seaguardians will be distracted.’
‘No easier place to hide than blending into a crowd.’
‘Let’s go down and gather some gossip.’
The evening brings thoughts of warm dinners in bellies and soft beds. The chaos of the town square has long dissipated, and the stones of these walls feel like a sturdy sanctuary – at least for now.
‘Are you expecting a lot of guests now that the Nishian borders are open?’ Isagani asks politely, taking a sip of a cup of tea Narra has put in our hands.
‘We’ve seen a lot of ships pass through Umasa in the past few weeks,’ Narra answers. ‘Not just returners but many visitors for the birth.’
We don’t respond quickly enough, and an awkward silence hangs between us all.
‘Blessed be their arrival,’ Ligaya eventually jumps in, raising her cup.
I make a grumbling noise of assent. ‘No use visitors planning; a child arrives whenever they like.’
I’m dizzy, my tongue swollen in my mouth and sticking to the insides of my cheeks. I stare at Isagani. They look pale and green about the gills as they stare back at me.
I hear a sound under the table and look down to find the black otter-cat looking up at me.
It wraps itself around my legs, but I spot the sharp glisten of its claws too late.
I yelp, hitting my knee hard against the wood, sending the tea service flying and Isagani jumping into the air.
My limbs spasm, as if caught in a cramp.
‘My good Larkin, are you quite well?’ Narra asks, standing suddenly. Her face is the picture of concern, but I notice a subtle glint in her eyes.
‘That abominable otter-cat,’ I shout, although it’s incoherent, because my tongue has become a rubbery nuisance in my mouth.
The black mass jumps onto my lap and gives me a self-satisfied smile.
‘Sinigang’s a vicious beast sometimes,’ Narra scolds.
‘It’s the otter in him, you see,’ Ligaya adds, half-apologetic.
‘Get off, you fiend,’ Narra insists.
The otter-cat reluctantly jumps down to the floor and sits, looking like a smirking loaf of bread. A voice, deep and vibrating, says, ‘You’re a dead man walking, aren’t you?’
I look down at the otter-cat and its fish-eating grin. ‘You can talk?’ I slur in a feeble whisper.
Sinigang flicks their ears. ‘And I hear pretty well too.’
Isagani glowers at me from the other side of the parlour, glued to the armchair by the force of Narra’s stare and what we now recognise as magic.
There’s no one except Ligaya to save us from whatever fate the innkeeper has in store for us.
The room spins and my body barely feels like it’s mine.
It’s not unlike being drunk on palm liquor.
‘Hedge witch,’ I mutter, succumbing to the heavy feeling in my limbs. I sink as though a blanket weighs down my body.
‘Mind your manners, you’re still Narra’s guests,’ Ligaya tuts.
‘Falsehoods never last long under my roof,’ Narra insisted. ‘Who are you, truly?’
‘Finlyr Pane,’ Sinigang addresses me, whipping his tail across my face as he treads across my lap, ensuring he sinks his claws into my gonads.
‘You are a dead man walking then,’ Narra says, stroking her chin. She’s an ample woman, short and stout, with a coronet braid of thick silver hair crowning her head. Her eyes are penetrating, as if she can read my thoughts.
‘And your companion?’ Ligaya asks, intrigued. ‘Who is it really, under all this? Is Isa your true name?’
Isagani blushes deeply, and I remember that there is still a scared kid under the dirt and bravado. ‘Isagani. Nobody really.’
Narra touches the top of their head. ‘No. I know you. I’ve seen you here before.’
Isagani’s face is a mixture of terror and shame.
Narra continues, her voice nothing but warmth. ‘You’re everyone and anyone. A skill few of us can truly master.’ She stirs her piyata tea thoughtfully.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Look, are you turning us into the Seaguardians or what? I don’t want to do this dance all over again for their benefit.’
Narra smiles, patting her hair with hands that are dark and wrinkled, like worn leather. ‘Your bravado hides a hurt, Finlyr.’ She reaches down to stroke the otter-cat.
I take deep breaths and count to three in my head. Then I wrench myself up from the chair and throw a punch at the innkeeper.
My fist moves as though the air is thick syrup. Narra sighs and brings the cup to her lips. I fall to the floor, all the wind knocked out of me.
‘What have you done to him?’ Isagani asks, a hint of concern – but mostly fascination – in their voice.
‘A simple binding spell against violence.’
I lie on the floor, unable to move, and decide now’s as good a time as any to ask what’s been on my mind since we arrived. ‘If you’re both witches, why aren’t you at the Temple of Aistra?’
Narra’s eyebrows rise so quickly it’s as if I’ve just asked to rummage through her knickers. ‘I was around long before that edict on gifted children. They didn’t bother with older self-taught witches like me.’ She sniffs. ‘We’re of little use to the Bastion.’
‘And you?’ I ask, turning to Ligaya.
She bristles. ‘Visitors to Paranish aren’t subject to that edict. And Lassair doesn’t have such practises.’ Her tone is measured but she can’t fully hide the disgust on her face. I remember the same reactions from other Lassairians; our fear of the arcane seems downright narrow-minded.
I sigh. ‘How long until I can move my body again?’
‘Give it an hour,’ Ligaya snips. ‘And you might want to stretch later. It’ll be painful.’
‘You’ll be staying here until we figure out what to do with you,’ Narra says firmly. ‘It won’t be a royal suite, but we’ve got room, despite the influx of visitors.’
‘So you’re not turning us in to the Bastion?’ Isagani asks, hopefully.
‘Not yet,’ Narra says, glaring at me. ‘Depends if I have a use for you. Now I think it’s time for bed. I’d like footfall as light as Sini’s, please.’