by K. Ferrin
But that didn’t seem to matter to any of them. None of them seemed concerned with what she wanted. They felt they had a right to her body, regardless of her own wishes. And they weren’t the only ones. Laera, her own mother, had tortured her to get Evelyn back; Fraser had raped her; Fariss had held her against her will…even Dreskin. She’d thought he wanted to help her, but it was becoming clear that it was Alyssum he’d really wanted to help.
She thought back to Rudy and Shera, the casual affection between them all, the shared jokes. None of them had expected anything from the other beyond friendship. Ling might live forever, but the thought of doing it without ever experiencing that again left her feeling dry mouthed and gut punched.
“Your purpose may be noble, but to me it all sounds the same. You want to use me, just like everyone else.”
Fern sighed deeply and settled onto the pebbles at Ling’s feet. She tossed a pebble into the water and then another. “Ling, you have a chance to save all of us. Not just the Mari, not just the warlocks, but everyone. Isn’t that worth something?”
“I’m sick of people thinking they can take, take, take, without regard for what I want.”
“What is it that you want?”
“I want to be unmade. I want Evelyn to wake up. I want everything to go back to the way it was before.”
“You want to die.” It was not a question, and Fern’s voice brimmed with sorrow as she said the words.
“You cannot die if you are not alive.”
“Is that what you think? That you’re not alive?”
Ling didn’t answer. The question felt ridiculous to her. She hadn’t been born; she’d been made. Of course she wasn’t alive. Not in the same way everyone else was. “You should have left me there. Perhaps Fariss would have found a way to unmake me.”
“You are a creature of magic, Ling. Beautiful, complex, and unique. I could no more let Fariss destroy you than I could let him destroy myself.
“We are like you, you know. We are not born, not the way humans are. We come into being, out of the aether. We, too, are born of magic, not of flesh. Would you say we don’t live?”
Ling stared down at Fern, surprised. She had thought the Mari were just like everyone else, born from parents of one kind or another.
“I was made by a warlock,” Ling couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I did not spring from the aether, like you. It is not the same.”
Fern climbed back to her feet and stood facing Ling, hands relaxed at her sides. “Our people were here long before the warlocks came and claimed this island for themselves.”
She lifted one hand and offered it to Ling. Her deep sapphire blue eyes were surrounded with lashes so thick it looked like she’d lined her eyes with kohl. Ling took Fern’s offered hand into her own and studied it. Fern’s nails were thick and sharp, more claw than proper fingernail, and were the same sapphire coloring as her scaling. The scaling continued down Fern’s body, covering her sternum, the undersides of her breasts. It slid down both sides of her torso, covered her lower belly, and continued down to cover both of her legs. It glimmered in the dim light of the cave. Ling looked up, and Fern’s deep blue eyes met her own.
“I know what it is like to be other, Ling. We both do, Alyssum and I.”
She stepped closer, wrapping her hand lightly around Ling’s. Her voice was soft as she spoke. “We are a part of this land. We are created from it and cannot survive long when far from it. Even we don’t understand the mystery of our births. But all of that is ending now. There are only two of us left.”
They stood so close that Ling could feel the soft brush of Fern’s breath on her face, the heat of her body.
“Being different does not diminish your value. Being born of magic instead of flesh does not mean you have no right to a life of your own.”
“I was made by a warlock,” Ling muttered again. “Living a stolen life. I am more one of them than I am one of you.”
“You are a being of magic, that makes you one of us. Help us, and this can be your home as much as it is mine.”
Ling felt dizzy staring into the depths of those deep pools of blue. She had nowhere to go. She had no idea how to find Grag. The appeal of having a place, of being a part of something, of having a community of people around her was strong.
Evelyn had grown up being told that magic was bad and everyone who practiced it was suspect. Her parents, everyone she knew and loved, had turned their backs on her when she’d become what she was now. Ling had spent every minute since then hating what she was and who she was. But what if Fern was right? What if her claim to this life was every bit as strong as Evelyn’s?
“Magic is draining from the world, Ling. The Mari and the warlocks struggle to control the last of it. For us it is to sustain our very existence. For the warlocks it is to sustain their power. We were allies in the beginning, but when it became apparent we couldn’t close the breach, the warlocks turned against us and joined Fariss. They’ve whittled away at us during the centuries since. Now we are at an impasse. They are too many for us to expel entirely from this land, and though we are few, our magic is still too powerful for them to fully overcome. But you…you change the rules, Ling.”
“I must free Evelyn. That’s all I want.”
“You tip the scales, Ling. I can’t claim to know the purpose behind your creation, but you bring us something we have not had for a very long time.”
Ling looked into Fern’s eyes, dreading what she would say next.
“Hope.”
Ling felt it quite ironic that here, at her darkest moment, her own hope nothing more than a memory, she was what ignited it in another.
Even if Fern were right and she had as much a claim on life as Evelyn, she could not live on knowing she stole every minute from her other self, her true self. This journey she was on wasn’t just about destroying the abomination of what she was. It was about giving Evelyn her life back.
But listening to Fern talk, Ling wasn’t sure if that mattered any more. The people of Brielle had survived for a long time without magic, but how long could the others? Brielle and Meuse couldn’t survive without trade with those nations surrounding her own. What sort of a life would Evelyn have if the entire world crumbled around her?
“Okay,” Ling said, rubbing at her eyes. “Okay, I will do what I can to help you seal the breach. But I need you to swear you will help me, once all of this is over. That you will help me unmake what I am, through whatever means necessary.”
Fern’s eyes had initially brightened at Ling’s words, but they shadowed over once more as she stated her condition. “Ling—”
“That is the deal, Fern. Take it or leave it.”
The two women studied each other for the space of several long minutes. Ling could tell Fern sought some way out of it, but in the end she relented. Ling saw it in those unbelievably blue eyes. Fern wrapped Ling in deep hug.
“I hope, by the time all of this is over, that I can change your mind,” Fern said quietly, holding on tightly.
Ling hugged her back, the warmth of Fern’s body against her own a deep comfort in the cold currents swirling around her.
“Say the words, Fern. Say you agree to the terms.”
Fern squeezed her even more tightly as she whispered, “Once this is done, I will help find a way to unmake you.”
They stood in a deep embrace for several long minutes before finally separating. Ling felt like the only warm thing in the world had stepped away from her, and it took a minute for her to gird herself for the harshness of her reality once again.
But despite the sudden chill, she felt lighter than she had all day. From the writing in the book, she suspected she felt lighter than she had since Witch had given her the grimoire. She had learned nothing from the Salt Caves, but she had found a new direction. A new way to help Evelyn and a friend to help her along the way. Temporary it might be, but it changed everything for her.
Fern brushed sand from her body as she moved a
gain into the deep shadow at the back of the cave. “Did you want any more food?” she called. “I have clothing too,” she said, emerging from the shadows with clothes draped from her arms. “Here.”
Ling accepted a pair of loose linen trousers and a lightweight top from Fern and pulled them on. She wondered what had become of Mercer and the Mincon. Three weeks had passed while she’d been locked away in Fariss’s dungeon. Had he worried about her or come looking for her?
“Do you know what became of the boat?” Ling asked. “The boat that brought me to the caves?”
“I don’t know,” Fern replied absently. She was rummaging through the stockpiled material. She handed Ling a hard leather sack and a smaller soft leather pocket. “Here, you had these on you when they took you. The grimoire was in the big one.”
“He was a good man,” Ling said, hoping he had found his way back to Malach safely. “He was married once. To a Mari.”
Fern straightened and looked at Evelyn. “To who? Do you know the Mari’s name?”
Ling shook her head, suddenly sad she hadn’t thought to ask. “I only know she was Mari. She’s lost now, wandering the Colli Terra.”
Fern frowned deeply as she turned away. “So many lost. The lucky ones simply died. The rest…” her words trailed away, and Ling felt a strong affinity toward the other woman. They both knew what it was to lose everyone you’d ever cared for, everyone you’d ever even known. They were possibly the only two people in all the world to live through that reality.
“Our route is hard,” Fern said roughly. She pulled an identical pair of trousers up over her hips. “It will take us many days.”
“I expected as much,” Ling said, pushing her thoughts aside and focusing on the task at hand. Nothing about this journey had been easy. She didn’t expect it would suddenly become so now.
“This way.”
Ling followed as they waded once again into the cool water of the cave, the biolumesce flashing as they swam through the otherwise dark liquid.
“Wait,” Fern said, smiling. “There’s one last thing I need to do. It might be the last time I’ll get to do it—I don’t know if I’ll ever see this cavern again.” She swam a short distance away from the beach to a section of wall that reclined gradually as it rose until a narrow ledge about thirty feet up jutted out over the water. Ling watched in amazement as Fern climbed, hand over foot, up the steep section of wall.
She climbed vertically until she was level with the narrow ledge, then she inched her way horizontally across the rock face until she reached it. She stood there for a moment and then leapt outward from the ledge. She curled herself into a tight ball just before splashing into the water below. An explosion of blue light shot out in every direction, and Ling laughed as she bobbed in the wake of Fern’s landing. The woman surfaced beside her, brushing stray strands of hair back from her face as she laughed.
“Give it try,” she said.
Ling hesitated. The ledge was so high, but Fern’s words were fresh in her mind. Perhaps she should take some enjoyment out of this life when she could. Fern may eventually come back to this place, but Ling never would. She swam to the spot where Fern had begun her climb. She was more or less immortal—she had nothing to fear from a fall such as that. She climbed up until she could see the ledge and then slowly shifted her weight forward, moving toward it.
Her heart pounded as she looked down. Fern’s face was a pale dot in a puddle of glowing blue light. Ling smiled, realizing that somewhere in the last few minutes, Fern had ignited a flicker of hope in her, too. It was the most precious gift she’d ever received. Perhaps it was the most precious gift she’d ever given as well.
She shuffled out to the end of the tiny ledge and took a deep breath. The water was far below her, the bright blue biolumesce from Fern’s dive shrinking to a small puddle where she swam, arms and legs kicking easily to keep her afloat. The water was so translucent that, even with only the dim light from the odd glowing plants above, Ling could see the jumble of fallen rock at its bottom as clearly as if they were just inches below the surface. She raised her arms and leapt out into the open space of the cavern, feeling weightless.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They traveled for two days through complete darkness. The mornings were the worst. Fern was always there to comfort her when she finished reading through the grimoire, something she’d never experienced before, according to the book. She’d been alone from the moment she’d fled Witch’s cabin until now. It was never easy, but having someone there who understood what she was going through was a comfort.
Fern had tied one end of a short rope around her own waist and the other end around Ling’s. When they swam, the biolumesce lit up brightly, but their disturbance only reached a foot or so in front of them and faded quickly in the wake of their passage. When they walked, the dark was so absolute that Ling might as well have been blind. Fern seemed able to see just fine, but Ling tripped and stumbled and fell over every obstacle they passed. Much like in the caves during their escape from Shadowhold, Fern never hesitated. She moved forward with absolute certainty. These tunnels and river ways seemed to be as well known to Fern as the swamps and walkways of Meuse were to Ling.
They wound through passages that varied greatly in size. Sometimes they were holes big enough for a carriage to fit through, other times they were little more than cracks in the earth and so tight she wondered if her body would fit. They would stop from time to time, Fern resting her palms and forehead against the stone, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for much longer, before continuing on.
Evelyn, and thus Ling, had long since outgrown dreams of monsters under the bed, but the relentless darkness surrounding them as they walked and swam brought to mind every nightmare Evelyn had ever had as a child. The fully submerged swimming was the worst of it. She imagined terrible monsters stalking them as they swam through pitch blackness in their tiny bubble of light.
Ling had expected the journey to be physically grueling, and it was incredibly tough, but it was her mind that made it almost impossible. She knew, logically, she was not human. But all of her memories were Evelyn’s memories, and Evelyn was human. Her lungs burned in desperation for air as they swam mile after mile submerged in deep water. Her mind shrieked at her that she would die if she did not breathe, and her muscles cramped violently and screamed for rest. The darkness below, the rough stone of the cave walls crowding in on her, the jutting spires of black stone from above, all conspired to hold her on the brink of panic, hour after hour after hour.
The constant tension took a toll on her. Fern progressed with slow, steady strokes, but in her anxiety, Ling swam in fits and struggles. She crept slowly through the jagged teeth of stalactites and stalagmites, dreading what might be around every corner, and then sped up in a burst of panic when the rope around her waist suddenly yanked tight. She was constantly terrified a jagged stone would slice that thin thread connecting the two of them, leaving her to drift endlessly in the darkness.
When they finally popped up to the surface for the final time, the relief Ling felt at the first touch of cool air on her skin shamed her. She wished she were braver, more like Fern, but no matter how hard she tried, fear was a constant companion.
She swam up beside Fern and bobbed in the dark waters. She realized she could see again. The stones here were covered with what appeared to be the same plant she’d seen before, its pale yellow glow providing plenty of light to see by. She could make out a tumble of house-sized rocks that blocked the cavern a short distance in front of them. They were piled haphazardly and precariously, balancing against one another, and they rose so high that she couldn’t see the top.
Frothy white water shot out of tight cracks in the rocks, sprayed into open air, and cascaded down into the water around her. It was the oddest sort of waterfall she had ever seen.
“Is the way blocked?” Ling asked.
Fern shook her head no as she untied the rope that had connected them during their long trek through
the caves. She coiled it up, stuffing it into her pack. “This has been here as long as I have been. We are almost there, actually. The route continues along at the top. Here, we climb.”
“We climb? Climb what?” Ling asked, leaning her head back and studying the chaotic ramble of rocks piled in front of her. She swam forward and ran a hand along the face of one of the rocks. While the rocks themselves were piled haphazardly, their individual surfaces had been worn smooth by centuries of moving water. “It’s as smooth as glass. We can’t climb that.”
“We can, and we will.” Fern swung up one hand and slammed it into the glossy face of the rock. Ling could see her talons digging into the surface of the stone face. The Mari did the same with her other hand and hauled herself upwards, wedging her toe talons into the stone the same way.
“I don’t have talons like that—I can’t climb that way,” Ling said, raising her voice over the sound of the rushing water. “Can you haul me up with the rope?”
Fern looked over her shoulder, the deep blue of her eyes almost invisible in the dim light. She pointed to a deeper shadow on the far side of the cave. “Over there,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the top.”
Ling watched for a moment before swimming to the area Fern had indicated. The water had worn a groove through the rock, a three-sided chimney, that continued all the way to the top, or at least that was how it appeared from her angle. It didn’t look much easier to scale than the impossible route Fern had taken. A thin trickle of water flowed into the pipe from somewhere up above—enough to keep everything damp, but not enough to wash a person downstream. It was clear the water must flow more heavily at certain times of the year though, because the rock face had been worn smooth here as well. There were no jutting stones or cracks she could use as hand and foot holds. The only way she could see to climb was to wedge herself between the two sides of the pipe and inch her way to the top.