Silver Eve

by Sandra Waugh

  “What do you mean you?”

  “I will help you from out here.”

  “How?” I waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. I said, “You will not come with me, then, into the cave?”

  He shook his head. Strange as it was, I was disappointed. I pushed away the twinge and asked, “What can I help with?”

  “Nothing. Just work fast. Was there anything in your vision that showed an obstacle?”

  I shook my head. The shell had simply sat on a little ledge of rock.

  “Then I will count three hundred paces for you, in and out, that should be enough time. Here…” He was moving brusquely—dropping my satchel over my head and drawing one of the ropes, looping it at my waist, and knotting it tight. “You will slip, so keep a hand on it.”

  “Enough time?” I looked at him, ignoring his directions. “What are you going to do?”

  “Just go, Evie. Be quick, will you? And—” He took my hands, pulling me closer, our gazes locking so that my breath caught. It was nearly as powerful as the first time, when through the smoke and haze and terror I looked into those eyes….

  “Evie.” Laurent shook my hands to bring me back to the present. I blinked at him, started to pull my hands away. But he held them firmly and kept his gaze fixed, making me focus on what was here and now. “You will come back safe.”

  “Safe,” I echoed. I was thinking suddenly, what if this were the last time I would see this young man, this Rider? I opened my mouth, not knowing what I would say, or if I even could say—

  Lill was suddenly back. Laurent squeezed my hands and abruptly stepped away, nodding for me to go. So formal, then. My Complement. Remember what you told Lill: a bond made is not always for love. I looked at them, smiled as if I were fine. My fingers curled to hold the warmth from his touch.

  “She can’t come back,” I heard Lill yell to Laurent. Then the roar of the waterfall took away the rest of her words. Laurent wrapped the other end of my rope around his waist, worked his way to a thin fissure where he could dig his foot in to brace, and nodded at me.

  I scooted down to the half saucer, straightened, and tried to edge closer without stepping into the rush that tore away from the fall and over the cliff. But Laurent was right about slipping. One foot skidded into the wash. ’Twas so fast-moving and cold, I stumbled at the shock of it. The water rushed between my sandal and the rock, tipping and dragging me away, over. Then the rope went taut and I grabbed for it, gasping, felt it drag me sideways and up to a drier spot where I could find some purchase.

  “Evie!”

  I looked up at the two figures: Laurent pulling hard on the rope, Lill holding hard to him. I managed a wave, and turned back to Hooded Falls on my knees. With some mix of crawling and wriggling, I worked along the bottom edge of the slope, this time reaching the side of the fall. I stayed crouched, as if that somehow made me more solid, and reached out to test its strength. The water pounded straight down—the sheer force smacking my hand back the instant my fingertips touched it.

  I took a deep breath, readying. Hesitation was death; so was slow motion. There was only one way to enter—meet force with force.

  I ducked my head and, with a great spring off the slab, dove through the falls.

  I LANDED BELLY down in the backwash, slid backward toward the torrent, then thrashed my way forward until there was no drag left to fight against. Choking, coughing, I worked my way to my knees and held there. My head hurt. Every muscle hurt. Slowly, gingerly, I felt along my limbs. Bruised, but not broken. I sucked in deep breaths, waiting to steady. Then I struggled up, hip-deep in tepid water, and looked around.

  Low ceiling, dank air, murky light…and a strange sort of quiet. The waterfall’s roar was muted, absorbed by the rock rather than echoing off it. There, against the left wall, bobbed the muck and bones of a body long stranded—one who’d preferred starvation to other unfortunate endings over the cliff. Only one body, for which I was grateful. I lurched to the opposite side, felt for the wall, for support, and waded into the darkness. One. Two. Three…

  Three hundred paces. Laurent would be counting—slowly, I hoped. It suddenly didn’t seem like much time. How deep the cave, where the shell might be…things I’d wondered, unable to plan for. ’Twas a blind venture into a foreign realm. Already there was the urge to retreat: the Healer needing to orient toward survival.

  I fought instinct and sloshed on. Thirty. Thirty-one. The water was much colder away from the entrance. My hand slipped a little on the wall. Algae—what I’d seen in my vision. I pulled away, squinted at my palm. The stone, the slime—something was not quite right. I wiped my hand over it again. ’Twas not blood-colored as in my vision, though imagination could have distorted truth. Honestly, what did I know for certain? I peered into the dark. Ahead to the right I thought the wall dimpled, forming a natural shelf just above the water. I struggled toward it, remembering the ledge—

  A dagger stabbed deep into my chest. I sank to my neck, yelping, clutching, grabbing for the blade. But there was no weapon, only the cold—thin and sharp. It pierced straight through, began to throb. I gasped, lunging for the wall, the shelf, and dragged myself up to sit, to huddle, to chafe my legs and arms back to warmth. A moment later, though, I forced myself back into the water. No time to waste; I had to embrace the cold—however far I had to go. I touched the sodden rope at my waist. Laurent was counting.

  I shuffled forward, hugging the side, the chill intensifying with every inch in bitter, agonizing stabs, until I could hardly bear it. I hunched over, willing myself to accept the pain. I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and let the cold burn through….

  And then the burning became heat, and the blade a line—a thread of energy, giving the gentlest tug. I straightened up, gasping, remembering.

  ’Twas a signal, not temperature. The thread gathered me, pulled me from the shelf, the wall, and drew me through the water. I waded toward the opposite side of the cave, following that lifeline of heat, feeling the water warm with each step. Sixty, sixty-one, was it? And then I could see that the cave was split into two tunnels. I’d been going in the wrong direction and was being corrected. The amulet was reaching for me.

  I lurched forward. The heat grew, drawing me into what should have been utter darkness, except it was not dark, but more like moonlight—as if day had changed to night and I was open to the sky. I moved faster. ’Twas the shell that lit the space; I knew it. Heat, light, growing with every step. I squinted, trying to see. Seventy-eight, seventy-nine? Cursing that I’d forgotten the count—

  And there it was, suddenly, the little whelk from spell and vision. Unassuming, unique, and…just there. I drew abreast, laughing with relief, with delight. “Oh, look!” I cried, sharing the moment with no one. “I found it!”

  Death’s amulet, abandoned on a narrow ledge. How simple it was! How bereft in isolation, in its displacement. It gleamed faintly—light emanating from the pearly insides. Strange that so little a thing was what held Death in balance, charged against the other primal forces. It looked so fragile.

  A little tug, a little hitch of breath. The shell wanted to be held, not studied. I reached out my hand, then waited, but no rush of darkness, no hideous roar followed. Gently I took up the little thing and cradled it. It stayed cool in my palm, serene—if a shell could resonate such a feeling. Open, secret, succor, bone…

  It shook me then: an emotion I could hardly identify, didn’t understand. A knot in my throat was growing, tightening. That something so seemingly insignificant could be so extraordinary, could inspire tears that belonged in no Healer. Could inspire such tenderness.

  “Little thing,” I whispered to the shell, “I will bring you home.”

  I lifted my head, listening. The cave echoed my voice, soft as it was, repeating back as music. “Home,” I whispered to the shell again, to see. The word hummed—the prettiest, sustained note. And so I leaned and whispered the word into the curved opening, wondering if the shell would sing something back….


  It did not. But I smiled anyway, proud to have accomplished this goal. I opened my satchel and put the shell inside, fastened the cord tightly.

  And then I paused. Tensed.

  Something was in the water.

  Sweetness dissolved, spell and vision crumbling together—I’d been forewarned; it should be no surprise. Undulating water, stench, consuming darkness…Even if I’d retrieved the amulet, it did not mean I’d succeeded. Laurent had said it: this was too easy.

  The backwash rippled. I dropped my gaze. Circles expanded around me. Whatever it was, ’twas rising up from beneath, near enough to touch. My hand tightened on my satchel. Kelpie? Scum sleagh? Or some Breeder creature I’d never heard of? What would be my defense? And what did any of that matter? It was already too late.

  A head broke through the water, then the rest. Human in form, but so scrawny—more a pile of stick-thin bones and joints. Sunken eyes were dark holes in the gaunt face. Dripping rags served for clothing, wrapped around like bandages. What hair remained was wet string.

  And then I knew what it was: a Bog Hag. But this was no bog.

  She drew up nearly as tall as I, silent and peering. Her teeth were bared, if they could be called teeth. She smelled of rot.

  “You are not afraid.” Her voice was a whiny hiss.

  I stayed where I was, kept my gaze steady. I knew enough not to show fear to these sorts of creatures, to keep my eye on them and speak firmly. And I wasn’t afraid anyway. A weedy Bog Hag could hardly be a Breeder’s conjuring. She was out of her territory, same as I, and I already had the shell.

  “Not afraid,” the Bog Hag accused, and leaned forward—I thought she wanted to study me. But she suddenly flicked her fingers in my face, shrieking, “PAH!” to see if I might cower. Water splashed in my eyes, but I refused to even blink.

  She frowned and pulled her hand back. “Not afraid.”

  This was testing—she knew something. I folded my arms. “What do you want here?”

  “Want?” She cackled at the word. “I want nothing here. Though this…I like.”

  The Hag reached out to touch my hair with those fingers, but almost as soon as she did, she jerked back, shrieking, as if I’d burned her. She tried to run in circles, flinging her arms in every direction, hands fisted tight, but the water was unyielding. She wallowed and splashed, shrieking, “It is you! It is you! Ow, ow!”

  “Stop it!” I had to shout over her dramatics. “Why are you here?”

  “You—” Now she cringed, elbows and wrists all curled up against her chest. “I am here for you, Guardian. She forced me, cruel thing. The other one.” The Hag straightened a little, squinted at me. “You are like her.”

  I gasped. “Lark!”

  “Queen,” she spit back. “But you are not her. She glowed. You…you are deep. Darker.”

  Darker. Heat prickled over my arms, soured my stomach. “Why have you come?”

  “She called me to a task. She has that right.” And the Bog Hag growled at that, but still she leaned forward and sniffed me, then sniffed again, liking what she smelled.

  “Of Water, not of Earth.” She cringed a little. “Not of the growing, but the transience. You…” The Hag hung there, holding me hostage with the want of knowing. “You are the passage to decay. I like this. We are of the same.”

  “What same?” I managed.

  The Bog Hag grinned horribly. “You are the correct one. I give this to you, then. Hold out your hand.”

  I shook my head, holding my satchel tight against me. The Hag unfolded her arms slowly, reached out one hand toward me, one she’d kept fisted tight. She turned her palm up and slowly opened her stick fingers. There, crumpled in her hand, were sprigs of green with purple blossoms. Minion.

  “You take this.” She pushed it at me. “You will need it, the queen says.”

  “Lark sent you with this? Why?”

  “She bound me to give it to you. Take it!”

  I gathered the minion from her cold hand, and she whimpered at my touch. “Now this.” The Bog Hag reached under her skimp of rags and drew out a small knife. “For you.”

  I took the blade, and the Hag screamed, “There!” She whipped her hand away and spun in a circle, sloshing waves, gleeful. “I did my task; I am unbound!” She turned back to me, stuck her face close, no longer wary, and said, “You have your help. You might be sorry.” And her face split into another garish grin and she cackled as if misfortune brought pleasure.

  “You still have not told me why,” I said sharply. And then more desperate: “Take a message back for me. Please!” But she was already sinking back into the water, back the way she came, with no interest in my wants. Bog Hags had no hearts. And she owed me nothing.

  I watched the ripples recede. I put the minion and blade into my satchel, unnerved. ’Twas Lark who’d done this summons, but why? The Sight had never before revealed me to her—we were too close—so what prompted this? It should be enough that I’d had a sign from my cousin in the middle of this dank and lonely space, a whispering that we shared a task in retrieving these amulets, that she understood. And yet this wasn’t a sign or a connection, nor were minion and a knife any promise of good things.

  I turned and slogged my way back toward the entrance, finding only moments later that I was trying to run, fighting my sopping skirts, needing suddenly to get back to the light. I’d used all my paces, I was certain. But more, I was sickened by this place.

  Ahead was the entrance, water relentlessly pummeling rock. I approached—lopsided in my rush—hands out, thinking I’d dive out as I’d dived in and the rope would catch me. But the force spit me back so violently that I fell and went under. I rolled, struggled upright, hands and head raw from the beating, and found myself face to face with those bone remains. I thrust away, grabbing for the rope, trying to yank it taut as a signal. I only fell over again when its shredded end came up abruptly in my hands.

  Of course. Fragile against such pounding. Yet I sat stunned, staring at the chewed piece, as if only now I’d learned this place was deadly.

  How far, Laurent, had you counted?

  I stood up slowly, facing the wall of water. A million thoughts raced through to fix, to help, until I wrenched my hair in frustration at these stupid Healer efforts. I cried out in shock. Despair. I shouted, “Laurent!” Useless reactions too, but I had nothing, no other offer. Why had Lark sent me little trinkets that had no power to open the falls?

  “Hag!” I begged. There was no point.

  And then, shivering there at the boundary of dark and light, I saw the waterfall begin to change. The pounding curtain was thinning, spewing sideways, leaving a drizzling gap to squeeze through. Laurent had managed to block the flow. I had a moment’s opportunity; the surge would quickly expel whatever obstacle he’d placed. I shouted, exhilarated, then eased one step and another out from under the shadow of rock onto the smooth lip where the water now pooled harmlessly, and then jumped for the dry slab. I crashed flat and lay for a moment, panting, feeling the glorious late-day sun warm on my back.

  “Don’t! Don’t!” came Lill’s awful cry over the sputter. “You can’t!” I pushed to my hands and knees, then looked up, but I could not see her, and she was not screaming at me. My eyes raked the promontory, then the warped flow of water, and I thought suddenly, sickeningly: How did this work? What boulder? And in a moment that seemed an eternity, I understood it was not with a rock that Laurent blocked the waterfall.

  It was with his body.

  I scrambled to my feet. Above, near the hood of rocks, Lill was screaming, the hem of her skirt twitching as she hopped up and down.

  “Lill!” I hauled myself up the slope, yelling for her. “Lill!”

  She turned, her face in terror. “I couldn’t stop him!”

  I reached the top, horrified. My stupid comment about applying a tourniquet had given the Rider the idea—he’d tied himself with the leftover ropes, lashed them to either side of the hood of boulders, and thrown himsel
f as the block, the obstacle against which the water pounded and changed course. Laurent was being battered against the force of it, bounced like a puppet at the mercy of this rage. His own sword sliced at his leggings, flashing and spraying the silver droplets of water and the red of blood—a throw of confetti in celebration of death. For it would be death. He’d taken his sword with him so that the rope could not be cut and he could not be stopped until his body burst and broke…all so I could escape Hooded Falls with the amulet.

  Lill was shrieking. “There’s nothing—we can’t stop this! I don’t know how to stop this!”

  Laurent would break. The ropes would break. And then he would go over the edge. Death first or death last, either way. There was nothing to be done. Horror, dread, then absolute terror all searing through, until a plea exploded from my lips: “Help! Help me! Please!” I screamed louder than Lill, begging that someone be near to save him, my own uselessness ripping me apart.

  And it came back in those sudden, terrible moments, the Bog Hag opening her hideous fingers. She bound me to give it….

  “Quick!” I tore the satchel in my haste, pulling out the little blade and yelling to Lill: “Hold this side of the rope with all your might! Do not let it go! I will cut through on the other—”

  “No!” she shrieked. “I am not strong enough.”

  It was true. She was too small to support Laurent’s weight if he was thrown free. So was I, but I was the better chance. I tossed her the knife. “Run!”

  She was up, scrambling over the hood of boulders, feet flying, to the other side of where the water exploded from the rocks. I wrested my end of rope, braced it against my back, hands gripped on either side, digging my feet into a crack, like Laurent had done before. “You must race back when you’ve cut the rope!” I screamed over the torrent. “It will take both of us to hold him!”

  I hoped she heard me. I watched her bending to the rope, the knife drawn. I held my breath. And like a slingshot, her rope released, the falls burst into life, and Laurent came flying. He struck me full force, then went skidding down the slab. I was flat, breath knocked out, being dragged down harder than I was able to pull up. My feet fought for another hold. I pressed my back against the hard rock—anything to stop us from sliding. The rope behind me was yanked taut, straining to break, to release the load into the falls. I screamed for Lill.