The Boneless Mercies

by April Genevieve Tucholke

  “Thank you,” I said, and meant it.

  She stared at me for a long moment, and then gazed off in the direction of Blue Vee. “Jarl Roth’s mother was a Sea Witch, you know.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “How did a Merrow witch end up marrying a jarl?”

  Mother Hush shrugged. “That’s a story for a different time. You need to eat and then be on your way. Snow is coming—this week or the week after. You will need to hurry.”

  I looked up into the Scorch Trees. More people were beginning to rise. I saw green shapes moving across the walkways. I saw sun glinting off green hair.

  We would share a quick breakfast with the witches, and then we would leave.

  More good-byes. How I hated them.

  * * *

  I went looking for Juniper after I returned from the shore with Mother Hush. I found her and Sage standing on one of the walkways, whispering to each other.

  Sage smiled as I drew near. “I’ll go check on your provisions.” She kissed Juniper on the cheek, and then headed off toward Mother Hush’s hut.

  “Where have you been?” Juniper’s eyes scanned my wet hair and damp tunic.

  “Mother Hush made me undress and wade into the sea so I could have a vision. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  She laughed. “Fair enough. Are we leaving right away, then?”

  “Yes.” I paused. “But Juniper, I will understand if you decide to stay here in the Merrows. Just say the word. I will tell the others.”

  The Sea Witch lifted her small hand and pressed her palm to my heart. “No. I will not be left behind. We will fight this beast together.”

  And Hel, but I was relieved when she said this. My heart beat stronger when Juniper was nearby. My life burned brighter with her in it.

  Perhaps I should have insisted she stay, even fought her on it, but I let her choose her own path. This was a sign of respect in Vorseland, according to the old ways. It was a sign of love.

  Trigve once said everything had a price, and love meant letting fear into your life.

  Juniper and I went together to seek out Sasha and Aarne, who were helping prepare food in Hush’s hut. Sasha laughed when I pulled her aside and told her the Sea Witch had consented to let them stay. She laughed and embraced me. Her son would be safe, and she would be able to relinquish the death trade. They would spend a warm winter in the witch huts, eating well and sleeping soundly, their peace interrupted only by the exciting arrival of ships and Iber sailors.

  We ate our breakfast outside among the treetops, as we’d eaten our dinner the night before: barley porridge with olive oil, warm flatbread, honey-drizzled nuts, and green tea served in hand-carved wooden cups.

  A part of me envied Sasha and Aarne for staying with the witches.

  I told the Mercies about my sea vision as we ate, and about Mother Hush’s advice on slaying the giant, and about the pact I’d made.

  They listened quietly, wooden spoons lifting in and out of porridge, lips sipping from steaming cups.

  “You don’t have to follow me in this,” I said. “The promise I made with Hush was for myself alone.”

  Runa pushed back her bowl and met my gaze. “So if we seek out this queen of the reeds and kill her, Aarne can stay with the witches.”

  I swallowed a piece of warm, sweet flatbread. “Yes.”

  “And if we succeed, then Mother Hush will open up the Thiss Brambles and let the outsider girls come to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believe her?”

  Juniper tensed, slim shoulders pulling up into green curls. “Sea Witches don’t lie. We have no need. Mother Hush will keep her promises.” She turned to me. “This won’t be an easy thing, Frey. The Cut-Queen has fierce magic. It’s said to be ancient, older than the Merrows, older than the sea itself.”

  I set my knife down and looked off toward the Quell. A few moments passed.

  Ovie drained her mug of green tea and reached for a pitcher of chilled wine. “I say we find this marsh-queen and see about this so-called marsh magic. We can make our decision after we’ve assessed the situation. Then we decide for ourselves if Mother Hush is right and this girl-queen is truly evil.”

  “Sound logic,” Trigve said.

  “I agree.” I turned to Runa. “Any other thoughts?”

  Runa rubbed her cheek with her palm. “Siggy never would have made a bargain with a witch.”

  “I’m not Siggy.”

  “What is your plan, Frey, when we find the village?” Runa finished her tea in one steaming gulp and crossed her arms. “Do we simply sneak up and kill every girl we see, hoping we slay the queen?”

  “No. We will ask to join them. They are taking in young Mercies—Sasha confirmed as much. We will convert to their Fen religion and get the lay of the land. Then, when the moment is right, we strike.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Then stay here with Sasha, Aarne, and the witches. I would welcome it. It would be a relief to know you’re safe.”

  Runa paused for a moment and then smiled. “As if I’d ever let you leave me behind. Nice try.”

  I laughed. “There’s no winning with you, Runa.”

  “What about Trigve?” Juniper poured him another cup of tea, eyes lowered.

  “He’ll have to stay behind.” Ovie tossed back a mug of the Iber wine. “The Cut-Queen only converts women.”

  Runa nodded. “She will drown him on sight.”

  It was true. All the Red Willow rumors said the same.

  “I’m coming with,” Trigve replied, voice low.

  Trigve and I looked at each other. “Stay until we find the marsh village,” I said, “and then you can head on, toward Blue Vee. We will meet up later, after the deed is done. It will still be risky, but I have a feeling you won’t care.”

  He nodded. “You are right. I don’t care.”

  I poured myself a cup of the cool, rose-hued breakfast wine and got to my feet.

  “It’s decided, then. Are you with me, Mercies?” I raised my mug into the air.

  Ovie refilled her cup and stood. Then Juniper. Then Runa.

  “We are with you to the end,” Ovie said.

  “To the end,” Trigve added.

  We smashed our mugs together, hard, and wine splashed over the sides.

  “Heltar,” I cheered.

  “Heltar,” they echoed.

  * * *

  Mother Hush gave us new clothing before we left—we couldn’t march into the Cut-Queen’s territory wearing green Sea Witch tunics. We changed into undyed shifts, brown wool tunics, and gray leggings, and then pulled our Mercy-cloaks over our shoulders.

  It was a good thing Runa hadn’t burned her cloak the night we’d decided to go after the beast. We needed them now to get into the Cut-Queen’s village.

  “She will ask you about your Elsh hatchets,” Hush said when we’d finished.

  I nodded. I’d already prepared for this.

  Aarne threw his arms around Runa before we left. “Promise me you’ll come back,” he said, looking all of his twelve years, eyes round and somber.

  Runa nodded. “I promise. We will kill this beast, and then we will return to the Merrows and join the Quicks together. We will spend our lives wandering the Seven Endless Forests, free as birds.”

  Siggy used to say that Mercies should never make promises. I should have stopped Runa when she gave her word to Aarne, but I didn’t have the heart for it.

  TWELVE

  Trees rose out of blue mist, their crimson trunks twisting upward. Dark pools of water stretched on and on, dotted with white reeds that whistled in the wind with an eerie, sorrowful sound, like a mother cooing to a dead infant.

  The blue mist clung to our skin and clothing, ghostly fingers that left wet trails down our arms. The water teemed with plump black leeches, and strange green snails that glistened with an oily sheen.

  The air was cold and fetid, like the melting of muddy snow on an old battlefield.

  After the w
arm hospitality of the Sea Witches, after the balmy Scorch Trees and the delicious food and the peace and safety of the treetop huts …

  The Red Willow Marsh was desolate, and melancholy.

  The marsh stretched from the Quell Sea, north of the Merrows, to the Destin Lush Valley of Blue Vee. We’d taken another path through the Thiss Brambles to reach the bog, but our second trip into the thorns was far more pleasant—we left in broad daylight, with the gentle farewells of the Sea Witches singing in our ears, rather than the sounds of horse hooves on dirt and raised male voices.

  The brambles began to thin around midday, and the air grew colder.

  When we reached the edge of the reeds a few hours later, it was Trigve who spotted the thin, ancient footpath that wove between the worst patches of water.

  Every sound in the marsh made us jump, hands to our daggers, dark images of wild-eyed marsh-girls filling our thoughts.

  The path ran narrow, widening around the willow trees, and then narrowing again. A moment’s distraction and one wrong step meant a dunking on either side.

  We saw no game. No hares, no grouse. Ovie tried catching a few fish for our lunch, but they had an odd color and smell, and we did not eat them. The Sea Witches had given us a supply of dried fruit, hard cheese, and nuts, and this was all we would have until we reached Blue Vee.

  The water was too salty to drink, and we wouldn’t have wanted to in any case—we carried large flasks filled with the crystal-clear water from the Merrows, and it would have to last.

  We were quiet as we trudged through the bog. Especially Juniper. Parting with the Sea Witches had been difficult.

  I ducked under a drooping Red Willow Tree and swatted at one of the skeletal black-and-white marsh bugs. I reached up and plucked a gray leaf from the tree. It had a leathery feel, like the hide of a deer, and I shuddered at the touch.

  I stepped backward, and my foot slipped off the path. I sank knee-deep into the marsh. Trigve held out his hand and pulled me to my feet. The water made a thick sucking sound as I dragged my leg free.

  “Careful, Frey.” He pointed at a green viper as it slithered past.

  Trigve had been uncharacteristically jittery since we’d entered the Red Willow. He was uneasy, and that made me uneasy.

  He knelt, plucked a leech from the tip of my boot, and flicked it back into the dark water.

  I hated leeches. They lived in dark places, feeding off blood, like creatures from Hel.

  “Can you hear that?” Juniper came up beside us, putting her hand on my arm.

  I went still, listening. Trigve did the same.

  Nothing.

  Nothing but the sound of water lapping against reeds, and leaves rustling on willow branches.

  “It’s a sort of … whispering.” Juniper cocked her head and frowned. “I can hear screams sometimes, howling on the other side of the wind.” She drew a circular symbol in the air, the one used to ward off demons.

  I slid my arm around the Sea Witch’s waist and pulled her to me. Ovie stood silently in front of us, legs among the white reeds, her hand on her dagger. Next to her, Runa glared off into the distance, arms tense at her sides.

  We didn’t know how to find the Cut-Queen’s village or how far ahead it lay. I’d asked Mother Hush about it before we left, but she’d merely shrugged.

  “I can’t give you specific directions. The village seems to … move. It’s sometimes deep within the marsh and sometimes more on the outskirts, near Blue Vee land.” Mother Hush lifted her driftwood staff and tapped it on the Merrows sand, one, two, three times. She whispered something under her breath, but the sea-wind ate the words.

  “The Cut-Queen’s magic is strong,” she added, leaning in so I could hear. “But you are stronger. Rely on Juniper. She will help you. Sleep at the feet of the willows—their roots will support your weight. And don’t light a fire. You will just have to shiver through your dreams.”

  This was all the information we had received.

  Trigve reached out and touched a nearby Red Willow Tree, dragging his fingers through the slender gray leaves, down the red trunk. “I suppose we should stop here for the night.”

  I nodded, and then motioned for Runa and Ovie to join us. We sat down on the wet earth, wrapping our cloaks around us. I handed out the Sea Witch provisions, and we ate in silence.

  The first sunset in the marsh was beautiful, in its way. The deep orange racing across the sky, the water reflecting the light in bright, rippling streaks. But it failed to lift my spirits. A sharp scent was on the air—a smell of mold, and rot, and blood.

  I didn’t look forward to tossing and turning all night, fearing what was out there in the marsh.

  “I dread the coming of dark,” Juniper said, as if reading my mind.

  “So do I.” Ovie looked over her shoulder, scanning the horizon.

  Runa pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders and shivered. I moved closer to her and nestled into her side, blocking the wind. The cold often bothered Runa more than it did the rest of us.

  Trigve took another bite of the nutty Sea Witch cheese and sighed. “We need something to take our minds off this place.”

  Juniper made a quick witch sign for hope. “Yes, we need a distraction.”

  Ovie got to her feet. She brushed crumbs off her leggings, and then reached for her ax. “I could teach you all how to use your blade. Properly, like a Vorse warrior.”

  Runa raised her eyebrows. “You know the steps of the Seventh Degree?”

  The Seventh Degree was an ax-training sequence that involved a series of steps timed with deadly spins, twirls, and weapon swings. It was practiced by Vorse warriors and was not taught to women.

  Ovie swung her ax through the air with one hand. “These grave-dug Elsh hatchets are a gift from the gods. They deserve our respect. There is a subtlety to learning how to use such a blade. A poetry. The men of Blue Vee will know this. We should, too.”

  “Where in Hel did you learn the Seventh Degree?” Runa asked again.

  Ovie held her ax in her right fist and made another graceful, expert swoop through the air. “I’ve lived many lives before this one, Runa. One of those lives was as a poison taster and whipping boy in the jarldom of Snow-Deep.” She paused. “My mother died when I was nine. By the age of twelve, I was just another dirty, half-starved orphan running about the village. I was wiry and had passed as a boy for years. When the local jarl desired a companion for his only son, his men went into the village and grabbed the first boy they saw, which happened to be me.”

  If Trigve wanted a distraction, he couldn’t have asked for a better one. It was rare enough for Ovie to talk, but to also tell us about her past …

  This from the girl who protected all our secrets, as well as her own.

  It was a great honor and a show of trust. We showed our gratitude for Ovie’s story by sitting savalikk, still as if dead. Savalikk was an old Vorse word that meant “like a corpse.” It was the traditional pose listeners took when a saga was told around the fire.

  “The jarl’s son was named Rafe,” Ovie continued. “I was educated alongside him and taught how to use a sword and a hatchet and a double-bladed battle-ax. He and I wore the same tunics, kept our hair the same length, ate at the same table. If any servants in the Great Hall guessed I was a girl, they said nothing. As long as the jarl didn’t know, they figured it was best to leave the subject alone.” Ovie paused. “Rafe was headstrong, curious, and reckless. He was not made for obedience or for rules. I took his beatings for him, and there were many. Usually it was a switch across the back until I bled. But Rafe was as compassionate as he was stubborn, and the whippings made him miserable. He was ashamed to have a whipping boy, as well he should have been.

  “I lived at Jarl Frigg’s Great Hall through two winters. Looking back, I think Rafe suspected the truth about me long before I realized, but it all came to a head soon enough, regardless. Rafe and I were sparring—he was good at swordplay and knew it. We were in the stables, doors ope
n wide. It was a beautiful autumn day, with a gentle breeze. Rafe was excited about an upcoming journey to the Gothi temple, and distracted. He swung his blade toward me, as he had so many times before, but this time it hit home. He sliced my tunic open to the waist, my skin as well.

  “He dropped his sword when I fell to my knees. He tore open my tunic to see the extent of the wound … and he learned what I was. I had developed a little in the last few months and had been taking great pains to hide it, even praying to Valkree that Rafe wouldn’t get me a whipping. Stripping down to my waist was no longer an option.

  “Rafe saw the wrappings around my upper chest and was astute enough to know what they meant and what they hid. There was no going back. He helped me treat my wound in secret. Rafe and I had been as close as brothers, and after that day in the stables, we grew only closer. When Jarl Frigg found us in bed together five months later, he took my eye. It was to serve as both my own punishment for disguising myself as a boy and Rafe’s, as well, for not telling his father after he found out the truth. Jarl Frigg said I should be grateful, for losing an eye was better than losing a life. And perhaps he was right, though it didn’t make me feel better at the time.

  “Two of the jarl’s men dragged me half-naked into the Great Hall that night and dropped me in front of the huge stone hearth, so all could watch. I swore I wouldn’t scream, but they hit me until I did. Jarl Frigg took my eye himself—he bashed it in with the hilt of his sword. Rafe howled when the blood poured down my face. I think he would have killed his father if Frigg hadn’t ordered three of his warriors to hold him back.

  “I was handed over to the jarl’s healer. Fitela was a kind man, gentle and wise—he’d been trained by the Orate Healers. He cared for me over the next six days, until any threat of infection had passed. It was Fitela who told me that Frigg had threatened to hang me at the crossroads if Rafe went near me again.”

  Ovie kept her eye on the fire, hand on the hilt of her blade. “I left on a cold spring day and walked north, the wind behind me and a dagger strapped to my ribs. I didn’t look back.”

  “So that’s how you lost your eye,” I said quietly.

  “And how you got that scar,” Juniper added.