by R D Martin
Reaching the top of a rise, as if it had been the plan all along, the two turned and began sprinting across the sand toward the break in the seawall they’d used to climb down. Just as they were about to make their escape from the beach, Bella felt a sharp tug in her stomach, as though someone had put an invisible arm around her and begun pulling. Her feet jerked out from beneath her and she flew through the air, landing on her back at the hag’s feet. The impact, even cushioned by the sand, was enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
Lying in the sand, gasping for breath that didn’t want to come and knowing she was going to die, Bella struggled to stand. If the crone was going to kill her, at least she would die fighting. Most of the spells she knew required runes or chanting to direct the magic. Using hand gestures alone was advanced magic, but there was one spell, a childish one that sent a spark of static electricity to shock a person. Harmless, but if that was all she could do, well, at least she fought back.
“Deal,” said a scraggly voice in front of her in such a quiet tone Bella wasn’t sure she’d heard it right.
The spell she’d been preparing died at the sound of the voice as, for the first time since landing at her feet, Bella got a look at the crone. It looked as though the old woman had shrunk in upon herself even more than Bella would have thought possible. The power and menace the hag radiated disappeared, replaced with… nothing. Standing before her was just another sad old woman, beaten and scarred by life, bent under the weight of countless years behind her.
“Deal?” Bella asked, still torn between running for her life and feeling sorry for the miserable wretch.
The hag just shook her head, dislodging a clump of seaweed-mixed hair that fell to the sand with a wet thump.
“You’ll tell us where to find the pieces and repair them?”
Another nod.
“Why?” she asked.
There was a pause as the hag drew in a breath and sighed. Bella could feel sadness emanating from the woman like an arctic breeze rushing through an open window.
“I was the goddess of ocean monsters. I gave birth to children that frightened men and were in turn worshiped themselves. I was strong and powerful and beautiful.” There was a longing in the hag’s voice so strong Bella could almost picture her ruling over the ocean as the beautiful creature she’d transformed into. “Then men grew smart. They made weapons of iron, coated their wooden boats in metal. But my children were strong and fought back. Other gods sought to make peace with humans, give blessings, and beg for their love. Not I. I battered their ships and drowned their soldiers. My children dragged them to the depths, screaming until the ocean filled their lungs and they drowned in its depths. I protected what was mine and demanded my due. Then champions arose. Mortals blessed by the other gods and given power. They fought my children and slew them. I, I was too late to save most of them, but some I saved. Even wounded, I could use my power to keep them alive. They would never be whole, and I used too much power to save them, but they were alive. That is what mothers do, isn’t it? Protect their children?”
Bella felt as though a hand were squeezing her heart as she listened to the hag. The pain and sorrow in the woman’s voice came through so clear it was as if Bella was experiencing the loss herself.
“And then they forgot about me,” the hag continued, her entire body vibrating from rehashing the memories. “They stopped worshiping me, they stopped offering sacrifice for safe passage in my oceans and seas. I, I lost my strength. My power. Everything I have now I use to keep my children alive and they will die if I stop. Please. I…”
As though she’d said more than she’d intended, the crone cut off her tale. Pulling herself together, she straightened her back and drew herself up to her full height, presenting herself as though she’d never shown a moment of weakness before.
“So we have a deal, mortal,” the hag intoned. “Bring me the pieces of the blade and I will repair them for you. In return, you shall offer a sacrifice of life and blood for this.”
Bella nodded and felt a searing pain engulf the back of her right hand. Clutching her wrist as the pain subsided, she saw a red image, something like a mix between a whale and a crab, sink into her and fade from view, leaving behind only an irritated red mark.
A sharp cackling caused her to whip her head up in time to see a jet of water fly from the edge of the beach and strike at the old hag. But instead of hitting her, it flowed around her as if caressing her. Lifting the crone from her feet, the water carried her back out to the sea, suspended above the surface. Near a hundred feet away, the crone stopped and turned toward Bella. The water covering her cascaded down, leaving her exposed to the air as she stood on the water’s surface.
“Do not waste time,” the crone shouted, making her voice heard above the din of other noises. “I already grow impatient. The first shard is near. Look for it in the home of the flies. You will be guided.” As the last words reached across the waves, the crone dropped beneath the surface of the water like a rock dropped into a pond, though there wasn’t even a ripple left in her passing.
Turning, Bella trudged across the sand to William. She felt so drained it was hard not to just fall into his arms and pass out.
“So,” he said looking down at her. “What happened?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Well, you flew across here, landed in the sand over there.” He pointed to a spot down the beach. “Then you stood up, and the hag flew out into the water. That must have been one hell of a spell you used on her. What was it?”
“What are you talking about? I was over there for, like, fifteen minutes. Where were you? Just standing over here hoping I’d get away on my own? It’s a good thing I didn’t need your help. Cat would have been more help.”
“Wait. What are you talking about? It’s been, like, two seconds. And who’s Cat?”
“Two seconds my…” Bella started, but paused. The confused look on William’s face was enough to make her believe there was a disconnect somewhere. Had she really spent all that time listening to the hag, or was William right and it had only been a few moments? What had the hag done to her and how was she going to be guided to the first piece of the blade?
Questions without answers spun in her head, making her already tired mind even more dizzy. Deciding it wasn’t worth the argument, she asked William to help her climb up through the broken sea wall. The few stars that made it through the city’s light pollution shone down through the darkened sky. What must it be like, she wondered, to have seen those stars when they were new? She felt some sympathy for the Sea Hag, but was too tired right now to do more than that.
How was she going to be guided to the blade? she kept asking herself as she rubbed her hand. And what was she going to do when it was put together? Was she expected to kill Ronnie? She wasn’t sure she could do that, at least not unless she was defending herself. So then what?
The trip back to her apartment seemed to take forever. Each stoplight seemed to shout she was doing something wrong. Had she taken the wrong path? Was she doing the right thing? She just wanted to find Samantha.
She bolted upright. Samantha. This whole thing had started with trying to find her and, she realized, neither the Pooka nor the Sea Hag had told her how to find the kid. They’d only pointed her toward the weapon. Why had she forgotten to ask? Why had she not demanded they help? She felt as though she’d been steered around by everyone and hadn’t even noticed. But why would they want her to find a broken weapon?
Yawning, close to nodding off as the streetlamps overhead flew by in an almost hypnotic pattern, she decided that these were questions best left to deal with after her head cleared. There was one thing for sure. If she didn’t get her answers soon, that old cow at the ocean would never get her sacrifice.
As the thought swept through her mind, the back of her hand tingled as though something warm were being run across it.
The observer sank farther back into the shadows and watched as the two humans
left the beach. A hundred different thoughts in a hundred different voices all shouted in its head, each one screaming to be heard over the others. The pain was almost pleasant, like a single sour note in a composed orchestra. Regardless, each voice wanted to know the same thing. Why was the witch here? Did she know about the plan? Was she trying to stop him? What had Ceto told the human? The last question was by far the most burning one. A gnarled fist, dark and leathery as if tanned by the sun for too many years, slipped from the observer’s robe. The fist unclenched and long polished black talons slid from the tips of its fingers, coming to a stop with a quiet tink that carried for some distance in the still night air. Though they were black and smooth, the moonlight didn’t reflect off them. Rather it appeared the claws were absorbing it, almost as if they were trying to steal the soul of the moon.
Almost at once, the cacophony of voices in the observer’s head stopped as they reached a consensus. It would approach Ceto and find out what the Sea Hag had told the humans. She would tell him, the observer knew. She would talk.
The observer nodded and stepped out of the deep shadows, its cloak trailing in the sand behind, wiping out its footsteps as it walked. At the water’s edge the observer cast out his vision, searching for the goddess of dangers of the deep, but she was too far gone. He could not reach her in her home, but he could summon her. Pulling his power back, he cast it out again, this time up and down the beach, looking for a suitable sacrifice. It wasn’t long before the observer spotted something, two humans walking on the beach together, and smiled. That would do.
Turning, he swept across the sands toward his victims. The voices in his head brayed and howled as the hunt began. It had been so long, so long since the observer was free to hunt and kill, free to rend and tear. But that was ending. Soon it would be his time again. None would stand up to him. No one could stop him. This would be the beginning, the observer decided.
12
Of all the places Bella expected to be standing this morning, in front of a rusty gate barring entrance to the city aqueduct was not one of them. Checking the runes on her spell one more time, she stepped back and started chanting. The runes started glowing an opalescent white as the magic gathered, molding and shaping the power as it built. The pressure of the energy moved and shifted, bringing a wind only she felt as it whipped her hair around her face.
“It’s not going to work,” Cat said in a singsong voice. She tried to ignore him as much as she could, but deep in the pit of her stomach she knew he was right. This was her third time attempting the same spell. Just as the pressure reached a crescendo, and she thought maybe the spell would work this time, there was a snap as if someone broke a twig and the energy fled, leaving her standing with her arms outstretched and feeling idiotic.
“Told you,” Cat said, looking rather smug as his tail lashed.
Bella dropped her hands and her shoulders slumped. The day had begun so well. She’d woken feeling as refreshed as if she’d been asleep for a week. Showered, dressed, and feeling like she could take on the world, she was surprised to find a rolled bit of parchment sitting on her kitchen table. Lifting it up to unroll, sand poured from an open end, leaving a little pile on the table. There was no doubt who the map came from, but how it had gotten in was a mystery. Even Cat hadn’t known how long it had been sitting there and seemed on edge, even warning her against opening it.
Unrolling the map on the table with trembling fingers, her hesitation turned to disappointment as the parchment displayed nothing but a view of the city. Inspecting it, she didn’t find any arrows, circles, or crosses to show where the blade was. In fact, except for the aged parchment, the map looked like any she could find in a dollar store.
Laying it flat on the table, held open by whatever she could find at hand, she tried to feed the map some magic with the hope something would happen, though nothing did. Feeling a little irritated, she turned away from the yellowed paper and, listening to the rumble in her stomach, threw together a breakfast for herself and Cat before returning to the mystery parchment. As she ate, crumbs dropped from her toast and littered the top of the map. Feeling a little silly for not using a plate, she wiped her hand across the map face, sweeping up the crumbs. As she did, a sharp pain erupted in her palm as if stuck with an invisible needle.
Startled, she jerked her hand back and saw a small bead of blood welled on the skin. Remembering ancient ones liked blood sacrifice, she held out her hand and tilted it to let the blood drip on the map. The moment the red liquid touched, it sank into the parchment and the map came alive. Every line and drawing burst into a golden light and the map lifted from the table, straightening itself out and sending a saltshaker falling to the floor.
A rhythmic hum filled the air as whatever magic animated the paper pulsed throughout the room. Even Cat, who’d jumped from the table and was staring at the parchment with his back arched and fur standing on end, couldn’t take his eyes from it.
The map began moving, waving as though it were sitting on the surface of choppy water. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear waves lapping in the background and feel the briny spray of sea water against her skin.
The back of her hand began to burn and the mark the Hag had put on her glowed beneath the surface of her skin. There was a slight tug on her hand, so slight she almost didn’t notice it at first. As it increased in intensity, she realized it wasn’t her being tugged, but her power. She could feel it now, cool and smooth as it flowed from her to the map. Whether it was the map or the mark she didn’t know, but what started as a trickle was quickly becoming a torrent. Bella’s heart thudded in her chest. This was wrong. The map was taking too much. Her vision narrowed and pulse quickened. She had to stop this.
Concentrating, she sliced off a rivulet of the power flowing from her hand and threw a barrier between her and the map with as much force as she could. It was like trying to push through molasses, and though she couldn’t be sure, it felt as though the magic was fighting back. Pushing, she forced her barrier to cut through the magic one thread at a time, and as each thread of magic connecting her and the map snapped, her spell appeared to gain strength. With a final assault, she slammed the shield in place, ending the outflow of her magic.
The map fluttered for a moment as its flow of power disappeared and, slow as a feather, dropped to the table. The lines on it maintained their golden glow for a moment before fading at the edges. And as though trying to conserve the stolen power, every golden line surged, racing across the map to converge at a point on the left side where it pulsed like the beating rhythm of a heart.
Chest heaving, ignoring Cat’s plaintive mewing, she sent magic delving deep into herself to check for damage. After a moment, she let out a great shuddering sigh, relieved to see there was none. Whatever happened had been on a purely magical level, leaving no traces behind, though she nevertheless felt as if she’d just finished running a marathon.
It took some time to reassure Cat she was all right, a longer chore than she’d like considering his insults about playing with things she didn’t understand. Even the mark on her hand was gone.
Keeping the barrier in place between her and the map as a precaution, she approached the parchment. The golden dot was still there, stationary but pulsing with its own life. Bending closer, she watched the dot pulse over a small section near the city’s aqueduct.
The city’s water drainage system was originally constructed to give merchants access to various parts of the city. However, soon after its completion, there had been a period of such heavy rain that every one of the new tunnels flooded. Thankfully, though not part of the builders’ plan, the tunnels made a perfect escape for all the water and averted major damage. Every few years some politician tried to have parts of it converted for use by the subway system, but there was always a heavy storm or two, forcing city hall to leave it alone.
As she concentrated on the dot the image beneath expanded, zooming in until it occupied the entire parchment. It was like looking at a
rchitects’ drawings. She could make out a large round cavern with branches leading off in every direction, a maze of back-and-forth lines that lapped, looped, and converged with no sense of purpose. One line of tunnels even appeared to corkscrew around itself until it seemed to end back where it had started.
Just as she’d started getting a headache from trying to solve the puzzle, she found what she thought would be the most direct route to the cavern. Heart beating with excitement, she called William to give him directions to the spot and, not feeling eager to touch the map again, took a picture with her phone before running out, pausing only to hold the door for Cat, who demanded to come with her.
“So, how do you propose to get in?” Bella asked, not bothering to hide the frustration in her voice. Three attempts and three failures were almost enough to have her pulling out her hair. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see William, nose stuck in a book, trying to work out the rune patterns etched into the stone around the gate’s opening. It was cute the way his face scrunched in concentration and she wondered if he knew he was tugging on his ear.
Cat twitched his whiskers. “I told you the runes you used weren’t going to work. Whatever is keeping the gate closed is strong. You’re not going to break it, so don’t even try.”
“Really, so what then? We all go home? Have a nice cup of tea? Should we pick up catnip on the way?”
Unblinking, Cat stared at her. The only sign of a reaction to her words was a slight hitch in the swishing of his tail. With her familiar as still as a statue, the silence stretched.
“Oh, all right. I’m sorry,” she said, though the words weren’t heartfelt.
Cat continued to stare for a moment before rolling his eyes at her, and, rising from his position, he sauntered to the rusted gate with his human following behind.
“Think of a mouse, small, furry and delicious,” her familiar said with a little chuckle. “If a mouse wants into your house, it doesn’t come in through the door, nor does it break down the wall. No. It looks for a small hole or weak spot, something overlooked by bigger creatures.” Cat took his time while speaking, examining the magic suffusing the gate. Sniffing at odd spots, he pranced back and forth in front of the gate. “When it finds the spot, the mouse won’t try to force it. That would take more work than such a small snack could manage. Instead it just widens the spot, little by little, until it is just large enough for its tiny body to slip in.”