She only smelled burnt flesh a second before she passed into darkness.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Nineteen
Awakenings
Jendara pried open her eyes and lay still a moment, staring up at huge cedar rafters that didn't belong in her house or her cabin on board the Milady. The wonderful smells of bacon and pancakes filled the mysterious space. The events of the night tumbled through her mind. "Kran," she whispered.
"Ah, I see my stupidest patient is awake."
That sour voice could only come from Gerda. Jendara pushed herself up on her elbows and scowled at the Alstone wisewoman. "That's some beside manner, Granny."
"Sometimes the truth hurts. What did you think you were doing back there—burning the brand off your hand?" Gerda rolled her eyes. "I suppose you thought that would be a very dramatic way to take care of your problems, didn't you?"
"It made sense at the time," Jendara protested.
Gerda thrust a mug at her. "Drink this. And stop trying to think. You're no good at it. Luckily, you were too worn out to do much damage to yourself."
Jendara took a sip of the steaming brew and made a face. It tasted too bitter for a stomach to manage. "Did I...pass out?"
"Honestly, I think you just fell asleep. You gave yourself a minor burn, but you had no real signs of shock. I'd guess you simply overexerted yourself." Gerda's eyebrows drew together. "You're not drinking."
"It tastes horrible."
"It'll make you feel better."
Jendara took an obliging gulp and shuddered. It tasted even worse this time, almost as bitter as the feeling of loss inside Jendara's heart. "Any news of Kran? And is Vorrin all right?"
"He'll live," Gerda said. "But it will be a long while before he gets out of bed. His leg is broken in three places, he sprained a wrist, and he cracked two ribs. Still, an unluckier man would have snapped his neck."
Jendara swallowed. She'd come awfully close to losing him last night. She closed her eyes a second. "And Kran?"
"We organized a fire brigade and managed to save a handful of smaller boats, including Fambra's. She took off after the Kalvamen, but a fog came up. She got turned around in it, which stinks of some kind of magic. We sent out patrols this morning, but no one found hide nor hair of those devils."
The lump in Jendara's throat grew larger. She'd been hoping for better news. "The Milady?"
"Ah, she's fine. The Kalvamen never made it out to her dock—that's how Fambra's boat came through all right. They're lazy, these Kalvamen." Gerda pressed the back of her hand to Jendara's forehead. "Islanders would have done much more damage."
Jendara managed to smile.
Gerda sat back on the little stool beside Jendara's cot. "It was ugly enough," she admitted. "We've lost some good people, and there are at least a dozen missing. I'm guessing Kalira's people took them. Plus, Chana and I have our hands full of wounded. Nearly half our defenders had some kind of injury."
Jendara followed the old woman's gaze. Chana, Sorind's wisewoman, was tending another patient beside the fire pit. The meeting hall looked full to bursting with wounded folk. Jendara looked back up at the ceiling. This must be pretty close to the spot where Hazan had slept after they found him knocked out in his own ship. Had he known, lying here staring at the rafters, the kinds of trouble he'd be involved in? She caught herself staring at the bandage on the back of her hand.
"I don't know what to do," she admitted.
Gerda absently stroked the blue spiral on her cheekbone. "Things are difficult for all of us," she answered.
"I don't know where Kran's been taken. Hazan said she moved her people to a new camp, but he didn't know where. Kalira could be anywhere in these islands. Plus, if I get close to her, this brand could act up again. I couldn't even hold my own sword back there." Jendara threw back the last of the bitter brew in her mug. "I'm tired, I'm sore, and I just want my boy back." She puffed out her cheeks. "I can't think straight about all this."
"The brand is what worries me," Gerda said. She took Jendara's hand, staring at the ugly raised flesh of the mark, now half-covered by a fresh burn blister. "I think you were lucky last night. The brand's poison hadn't spread enough to completely control you. But it's going to keep growing, Jendara. And so's her hold over you."
"I can't let that happen. I'd rather lose my arm—"
Gerda cut her off with a wave of her hand. "There's something else we can try first." Her lips tightened. "It's dangerous, especially for someone like you."
"Someone like me?" Jendara's eyes narrowed. She felt an echo of the anger she'd felt when Gerda scorned her home for its lack of clan totems.
"You have no faith in the ancestors. And to do this thing, you will need their help."
"What can a bunch of spirits do for me?" Jendara snapped. "They didn't protect my father when he needed help! They didn't stop those Kalvamen from torturing my sister into absolute madness! Why should I have faith in them?"
Gerda's eyes filled with tears. She leaned forward, cupping Jendara's face in her hands. "Because they have faith in you."
Jendara shook her head, but the hands stayed, warm and gentle. "I don't understand," she whispered.
"You don't have to," Gerda said. "You're an islander. We're not like other people. We keep to ourselves and we keep to our islands. Even our dead can't bear to move on to the other planes. Why would they want to leave the fog and the wind, the stones and the sea?"
Jendara had heard this before, she realized. She could remember the words in her father's low voice as he put a loaf of fresh hot bread on the altar beside the crow totem. Why would anyone want to leave the islands? All this fog and wind. Is there anything more beautiful than this place?
She closed her eyes, remembering her father's face, his blue eyes dancing above his thick white beard. She remembered the lines that outlined his smile and the boom of his laugh. There was a rumble in his laugh that reminded her of the sound the sea made when it hit the shore of Sorind's bay, a sound felt more than heard, vibrating up through the ground.
She opened her eyes. Gerda was still staring at her, studying her face as if she could find the answer to a question Jendara hadn't heard her ask.
"The ancestors," Gerda said, "like these islands, can only make you more yourself."
Jendara felt the hair rise on her arms. Did she want to be any more herself? And just who was she, anyway? She looked down at the backs of her hands. On her left hand, the black tattoo of the pirate goddess stood out sharply. That wasn't her anymore, she knew that much.
On the back of her right hand, hidden for now beneath the snow-hued bandages, there was Kalira's bird-wing symbol, forcing Jendara down an ugly road she knew she would have never chosen. A road that could only break Jendara into the shape Kalira planned for her.
Jendara put her hands down on the soft woolen blankets. "I don't know how much I believe in the ancestors," she admitted. "But I'm willing to look for them. I'm willing to let them help me."
Gerda's expression remained serious. "Then you might survive your trip."
"My trip where?"
"To the place where the wisewomen of Sorind and Flintyreach quest for knowledge. The place where the great ones of our people go to be buried. To the Isle of Ancestors and the norns who live there. If anyone can help you find your boy, it's them."
Jendara sank back against the pillows. There was a reason wisewomen and shamans were rare creatures on these islands. Many had gone to the Isle of Ancestors. Few had returned.
"I'll need a map," she answered.
∗ ∗ ∗
Jendara looked around the tiny kitchen of her cottage. The window hangings she'd made the winter before—in red and orange, Kran's favorite colors—hung askew. A mug Vorrin had bought for her sat on the table, a dead fly floating on the surface of someone's forgotten tea. Her heart twisted. The house felt empty.
She bit her lip as she made her way to her bedroom. Kr
an's door stood open, revealing the preternatural neatness. He liked his bed made with sharp corners, his sleeping fur folded at the foot. The only sign that he had left his room in an unusual state of mind was the ball of string sitting on his pillow—he must have tossed it out of his belt pouch to make room for more sling ammunition.
She picked it up. He was like a sailor that way, always fiddling with knots and rope. He would miss this, wherever he was.
"I told you," she said, turning the ball in his fingers. "I told you not to get so attached to using marbles. You'd have had room for this if you would have just used rocks."
She squeezed her face tight, holding in a wave of pain and tears. Her fingers dug into the string ball.
She spun on her heel and hurried to her room. She needed to get her gear and get moving. The ball went into her belt pouch. Kran would need it when she found him again.
Jendara readied herself quickly, keeping her eyes focused on her clothing and weapons. She refused to look at the curtains when she tore through the kitchen, gathering dried fruit, nuts, and a bit of hard bread. She closed the door firmly behind her and stepped out into the garden.
"Jendara!"
She turned toward the familiar voice. "Fambra."
The other woman pounded her on the shoulder. "I heard you were laid up in the meeting hall, but when I got there they said you'd left. Glad I finally found you."
"Glad to be found." On impulse, Jendara gave Fambra a hug. Today it seemed very important to show the people she cared about how very much she liked them, no matter how awkward it felt. She cleared her throat. "I'm leaving soon."
Fambra frowned. "Where are you going?"
"To the Isle of Ancestors."
"To the norns? Are you crazy?"
"They'll know where Kalira's taken Kran. They might be able to do something for this arm, too. Gerda thinks it's my best chance."
"It's half a day's sail there and back," Fambra warned. "And they say there's a sea serpent that guards the entrance to the only harbor. There's no guarantee you'll make it back out of there. And even if you do..." She shook her head. "Look, not everyone who goes to the Island of Ancestors comes back right. Most of us aren't meant to see our futures or hear our ancestors. There's a fine line between wisdom and madness."
"I know all of that." Jendara shifted her knapsack to her other shoulder. "But I have to do something, don't I? He's my son."
Fambra sighed. "I'd do the same, stupid and desperate as it might seem." She slung her arm around Jendara's shoulders. "So you're lucky I'm your friend."
Jendara gave her a confused look. "Why?"
"Because I own the fastest boat still sailing around here, that's why." She grinned. "I haven't taken her to top speed for ages. This is going to be fun."
Jendara laughed. "You're amazing, Fambra. Absolutely amazing."
"I know. I'll go ready my boat. I imagine you've got one last thing to do around here before you leave."
Jendara's smile faded. "Yes. Something important."
∗ ∗ ∗
Morul and Yul had already brought sawhorses out to the front of the meeting hall, ready to work the wood that would go into its new doors. Boruc sat with his crutches propped against his chair, removing the valuable metal pieces from a broken chunk of one of the old doors. He waved at Jendara.
"Morning, Jendara. Glad you're up and about."
She waved back. "Yep. You look like you're having fun."
"That's what my mother always said just before she got out her paddle," Boruc answered. "Being with my brothers makes my backside nervous."
"Good thing you're stuck sitting on it," Morul grumbled. "I think you planned all of this just to make us wait on you."
Yul smiled at Jendara, his eyes kind. Morul cleared his throat, but settled on just clapping her on the arm as she walked by. They both knew her well enough to see her mind wasn't on banter. She gave the brothers a small, tight smile and pushed back the heavy canvas covering the meeting hall's entrance.
Gerda and Chana were still moving between the ranks of wounded. Jendara knew they'd probably been on their feet all night, but neither woman showed signs of flagging. Jendara hoped someone was bringing them food.
In the closest corner, someone had set up a sort of canvas tent, shrouding the bed beyond. A familiar sword belt and boots sat beside the tent, a basket next to them. She couldn't resist peeking beneath the basket's lid. Vorrin's clothes had been neatly folded at the bottom. A silver coin worn smooth and a clean handkerchief lay on top. She picked up the latter and was surprised by its weight. Curious, she lifted the linen's topmost fold and frowned at the soapstone crow inside. After a moment, she tucked it in her belt pouch and squared her shoulders.
She knew Vorrin lay behind those fabric walls—with his injuries, he'd be stuck inside for a few weeks, and the privacy would be a blessing. Right now, she wished he lay in an ordinary cot. She had no way of knowing if he was awake or asleep in there.
Hesitating a moment, she brushed at the wisps of hair that had escaped from her braid. Then she pinched her cheeks for quick color and pushed back the tent flap.
"I'm trying to sleep in here," Vorrin growled.
"I can go," she said.
"No! I thought you were Gerda or one of her minions, here to fluff my pillows and force me to drink something disgusting." He managed a wry smile. "I don't know if I can stomach another mug of bitter stuff."
"She dosed me up this morning." Jendara perched warily on the edge of the cot. One of Vorrin's arms and one of his legs had been raised up by a complicated scheme of pulleys and ropes. Plaster encased him like armor. "I do feel better."
"Were you hurt?"
"Not badly. Just a burn on my hand, general aches and pains. Nothing like you."
"It's my own stupidity." He bit his lip. "Any word on our boy?"
She shook her head, but his words resounded within her heart: our boy.
"I should have watched him more closely. I should have made him run for the escape hatch. I shouldn't have let that stupid bear distract me—"
She put her fingers on his lips, stifling the flow of words. "Stop it. I didn't protect him enough, either. You can't take all the blame."
"But I made a promise," he reminded her. "I told Ikran I would watch out for Kran."
She fumbled for his uninjured hand and gripped it tightly in hers. "And you have. You've done an amazing job taking care of Kran. You just haven't been doing a good job taking care of yourself."
He eyed his casted arm. "You might have a point there."
"Vorrin, when you hit that wall—" She broke off, remembering the sound his body had made when it struck the timbers. "I thought you were dead," she finished, softly.
"I'm sorry."
"Why are you apologizing? You wouldn't even have been there if it weren't for me! This attack was personal. Kalira was after me. Everyone else was just incidental." Jendara's eyebrows knit together as she realized the truth of it. The attack made little sense as a military effort—Kalira had only taken a few prisoners, and she'd lost dozens of her troops.
Vorrin twisted his fingers through Jendara's. "She loves you too much to think straight. Just like you love Kran."
"I do. I can't let her turn him into a Kalvaman." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "I'm going to seek out the norns. I'm hoping they can help me. I need to find a way to stop this brand from changing me any more than it already has, and I need to figure out just what Kalira's plan is. We need information, and we need it now."
"You can take the Milady if you need to," he said.
She sat back, awed. The faith implicit in his offer shook her to the core. "I can't take her where I'm going. Her keel is too deep. But Fambra is taking me in her little boat. It's a good craft."
He sniffed. "It's no Milady."
"No," she agreed. "But then again, even the Milady isn't herself without her captain." She suddenly could take it no longer. She pressed her cheek against his. "Vorrin, I was so scared I was g
oing to lose you!"
He stroked her shoulder. "I'm going to be fine."
She pulled back to hold his gaze. "Yes, but you almost died before I realized something important."
"And what's that?" His voice was soft.
"That we've been idiots. It doesn't matter that you're Ikran's brother or Kran's uncle, or any of that. You're not just my friend or my business partner. You're the most important person in my life besides Kran."
He blinked, hard, as if he had something in his eyes. "And you two are the most important people in mine."
She brushed back a lock of his dark hair from his cheek. "Vorrin, not everyone comes back from the place where I'm going. The Isle of Ancestors is a dangerous place. I don't want to leave without you knowing the truth." She brushed her lips against his.
"You'll come back," he said. "You damn well better come back." He pressed her to him and kissed her back with a burning fierceness.
After a long moment, she pulled away, grinning. "That's worth coming back for."
She pushed back the tent flap and hurried outside. The harbor was crowded, people trying to salvage whatever wood and gear they could from the burned boats, but Jendara picked her way through them, her eyes focused on Fambra's boat, its multicolored pennant waving in the wind. Jendara had never been so eager to head out to sea.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Twenty
The Wise
The island rose up out of the tendrils of early morning fog, and if Jendara hadn't known what to look for, she would have mistaken it for just another stack of rocks. The slopes of the island looked too sharp to promise any kind of inhabitants. But of course, no one lived on the Isle of Ancestors. No one could.
Fambra studied her. "You sure you want to do this?"
Jendara rubbed her arm. Hot tendrils of pain scribbled up her bicep. "I've got to."
"We could find another way to deal with Kalira."
"It's not just Kalira," Jendara admitted. "It's everything about me. This place?" She pointed at the rocks up ahead. "It's a symbol. It's the place our clans send their best and brightest to have them transformed into the embodiment of wisdom. It's the place our ancestors' spirits gather." Jendara sighed. "I've spent the last few years living life as a half-islander and falling short. It's time I return to my roots."
Pathfinder Tales: Skinwalkers Page 23