Again, that voice, now sharp with alarm, right against his ear. “What…”
“Mage…” He forced the word out. It came out as a scarcely coherent croak. “Find the mage.”
Darkness dropped over him, the sickly yellow of his world fading to utter black.
Chapter 4
Kerina knew immediately when Anja returned that something was wrong.
She’d been worried what Anja would say when she saw the mess, when she heard of what had happened in her absence. But Anja didn’t return until later, which had given Kerina time to clean. And when she did arrive, she was so unwell that Kerina didn’t even have the chance to tell her about their deadly visitor.
Anja barely made it across the threshold to where Kerina was waiting in the front room before the old mage stumbled to the ground, catching herself on her hands and knees and gasping for air.
Kerina ran to her side, tipping up Anja’s chin to see her face. Had she looked this old when she’d left? Kerina didn’t remember her skin looking so weathered, the folds of her wrinkles so deep, her skin so pale and translucent.
“What happened?” Kerina asked, trying to keep her expression neutral.
Anja shook her head. “All things come to an end,” she said. “And this is mine. Your servitude to me is over. Return to your people.”
A tightness pinched Kerina’s throat. Return to her people? Yes, she’d been Anja’s servant all these years—perhaps something that would make another person bitter—but to Kerina, Anja was her people now.
“Don’t be silly, old woman. You just need some rest,” Kerina lied, trying to keeping the woman at peace. Or maybe trying to convince herself that the woman would be okay. “And the right herbs. What can I put in your tea?”
“Go,” Anja rasped. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Kerina half-expected the African grey to chime in with a poorly timed exclamation, but instead, the room was quiet, as if punctuating the silencing of the old woman’s life.
Kerina smoothed the woman’s hair from her face. “You look fine to me,” she said, hooking her arms under Anja’s shoulders to lift her. “Let’s get you to the bed.”
Kerina laid Anja on a cot in one of the small rooms, tucked a pillow beneath her head, and brewed her a quick cup of healing tea. Then she pulled up a chair and watched the woman’s shallow breathing while the hot liquid sat untouched on the bedside table.
“Anja… If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you. Did someone do something to you? Is there an injury I can’t see? Tell me what you need.”
Even as she asked, careful to keep her voice steady, her fear rocked in her gut. Anja couldn’t really be dying, could she?
Anja reached out as if to take Kerina’s hand, but missed, and seemingly abandoned the idea, letting her arm fall back down to her side. “I am not hurt, Kerina. I am just…old. This has been coming for a long time.”
She chuckled quietly, giving Kerina hope, but then her eyelids closed, and the rise and fall of her chest ceased. Kerina trembled as she placed her finger beneath Anja’s nostrils to check for an unseen breath, but the effort was without reward. Anja’s breathing had stopped.
Kerina shook her head. Moisture sprang to her eyes as she swept up to her feet. After a moment, she sat down again as the tears slid to her cheeks. She took a deep breath, staring at the woman’s lifeless form, as if at any moment, the magical woman might rise again. But that moment never came. Again, Kerina stood, then paced across the room, came back, kneeled at the woman’s side, and sobbed into the mattress.
The grief came in rolling waves. Denial. Heart-wrenching realization. Denial again. Anger. Pain. Fear. More denial. Until finally, her insides died, too. Anja’s death of soul became Kerina’s death of hope.
There was nothing left for her in this world now. And soon, there would be no world left, either. The great mage Anja’s magic had been the only thing left keeping this world alive. With her death would come the death of the land.
Anja had given her life to the world, and Kerina would honor her by giving her death to the world as well. With a certain numbness coursing through her veins, she gathered the old woman in her arms and carried her outside. There was a stream not far off where Anja often collected water from the springs, and Kerina took her there.
The place must have meant something to Anja. After all, a task such as collecting water was more fit for a servant such as Kerina. But Anja always insisted on going herself. Kerina had only ever gone on her own when Anja was away.
A fresh wave of hurt crested in Kerina’s chest as she realized Anja would be away forever now. That she would never again call through the apothecary, “Kerina, I’ll be out to collect water. Watch over things while I’m gone.” She would never do anything or say anything ever again.
Kerina closed her eyes and waited for the numbness to return before she continued down the path to the clearing beside the stream.
She would not look for signs of Anja here. She would not look for memories. She would bury the woman as she deserved and then she would go back to the apothecary, clean up, and head back to “her people.” People who would not recognize her or care for her.
The stream was narrow, and the water scraped along the clay riverbed. Kerina imagined that perhaps, once, grass grew on the embankments here and water rushed in splashing abundance. Now, however, it was a few days travel to get to anything green. A travel Anja always made to collect their herbs.
Yet another thing Anja would never do again.
Kerina laid the woman’s body in front of an old decaying tree and began to dig at the earth with her hands. The dirt moved more like sand, or dust, crumbling in her fingertips, dryer than bones. When she was nearly done scraping a hole in the ground, she closed her eyes and wept.
Her tears splashed to dirt, moistening the earth, but even that was not enough to quench the land. She could cry a river, and it wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t save the earth. It wouldn’t bring back Anja.
She dug the rest of the way, then moved Anja’s body into the pit.
“Goodbye, old friend,” she said, tossing a handful of dirt over the old woman’s body. “Only friend,” she whispered.
When the woman was buried, Kerina returned to the apothecary and began stowing things away. Part of her wanted to leave this place as it was, but looters would steal it all. At least if she brought what herbs and supplies were left back to her people, they might be glad to see her again.
She packed all the plants and herbs and potions first, deciding carefully which she should bring on her first trip and which she would return for in hopes they would still be there.
It wasn’t that her family—if any of them were left—would be upset to see her again. It was just that they wouldn’t care. They had never cared. And when the supplies Kerina brought them ran out, they would sell her again to the next person.
And it wasn’t likely the next person would be as kind as Anja had been.
Nor was it like Kerina could marry—not with that birthmark covering her left eye and the top half of her left cheek. That’s why her family had sold her in the first place.
Kerina’s life would always be as a servant.
Unless she stayed here.
Immediately, she shook her head, clearing her mind of such a traitorous thought. That would never last. Eventually, one of their more regular patrons would realize that Anja wasn’t here anymore, that Kerina was without a master, that she wasn’t a mage with the magic necessary to run such an establishment. And then, they would take Kerina for their own.
And given some of the type that came in from time to time, that was a fate worse than letting her family sell her again.
It was a shame she couldn’t just fight them all, but that close call the other day served to remind her who she was. She best not act too brazen. The encounter had come too close to ending in her own death.
The silence of the apothecary was so hollow, Kerina felt her heart being
pulled down into her stomach, as if trying to fill some void. She glanced over at the African grey, for once wishing the stupid bird had something to say. Instead, it looked at her with empty eyes, as if it, too, knew of the loss. Knew Anja was gone.
She stared at the bird, increasingly unnerved by its stillness, its silence.
“Well?” she asked it.
The bird did not so much as blink.
Kerina rocked to her feet and lunged toward it. “Now you’re quiet, you stupid bird?”
A heaviness pressed down on every inch of Kerina’s skin as the bird held steadfast in its silence. She grabbed the cage and shook. “Say something!”
The bird blinked, then turned away from Kerina. At least the creature was not dead, too.
She never would have acted out in such a way before. Kerina was falling apart from her grief. She needed to get herself together. Stop feeling bad for herself and do something. But what could she do? She was merely mortal.
With a sigh, Kerina sank into a chair by the window and stared out. Was there even any point to her worries? The earth was dying. Each day was worse than the last.
In the meager tree line in the distance, a figure stumbled, and Kerina’s breath caught in her throat. That part of the land faced the ocean. Who would be arriving from that direction? It was unheard of.
Another stumbling step.
Another sign of life.
Kerina jumped up and rushed out of the house. She headed down the path toward the sea but was careful to keep herself out of view until she got a better look. She hurdled over what trees had fallen and ducked behind what trees still stood, working her way closer to the figure.
It was a man, soaking wet from head to toe and nearly naked aside from a loincloth that appeared to be made of some kind of slick leather. Unlike most humans she interacted with, he did not appear to be emaciated. Instead, he seemed strong. Made of muscle, cut from stone. And most notably, well fed.
Well fed, but injured, she noted, as he limped closer, looking toward the unforgiving sun as he stumbled in a slow circle before continuing forward. He looked…delirious. But then again, Kerina was the one seeing a man seemingly emerge from the ocean.
No one from her own division ever came here—not when they would have to face the riptides. What if he was from one of the other divisions?
Kerina had only heard they existed, leftovers of the world from after global warming melted the ice caps and flooded most of the earth. The lands here survived, and it was rumored others had, too, but it was mere speculation. There was no evidence. No one had ever been able to reach or communicate with any other division before.
Kerina knew more about this than most because she’d spent the last two decades of her life working for the woman who was there when it all happened.
Anja had been the mage who saved them.
When the world ended, leaving too little land for the number of people remaining, Anja offered her magic. Humans were given a choice: stay, or accept her magic and become a Siren—and reside in one of the underwater cities freshly created by the mage for the situation at hand.
But shortly after that, something went wrong. The sirens became monstrous creatures, and the humans hunted them until there were none left. No one saw the sirens after that, and no one else volunteered to give themselves to the sea. They would rather die of diminishing resources than become a hunted monster.
That was the story of how Anja had become an outsider. But if Anja’s lands survived, then perhaps other lands had, too. And if other lands had survived, perhaps those lands had fared better. Maybe even well enough to help her own people.
Kerina had to find out.
That meant confronting the man currently hobbling in her direction. Since she didn’t see any ship, she imagined he must have gotten shipwrecked on his travels, and for once, she thought maybe karma was working in her favor.
She waited until he crossed from the graveled grounds between the tree line onto the rocky floor of the sparsely populated forest.
When he stumbled back and caught himself on a tree, Kerina stepped out to where he’d be able to see her.
“Hello?” she called.
He staggered away from the tree, toward her, looking in her direction but not seeming to really see her. He was too close to miss her now, and as he stumbled forward, he crashed into her.
She fell back with his body on top of her. “What—”
“Mage…” he rasped. “Find the mage.”
And with that, the man fell unconscious, his body trapping hers to the ground.
She would have to drag him back to the apothecary. Just the other day, she’d dragged an unconscious man away from there.
The tides were changing.
There was still a problem for this man, though.
He was looking for the mage.
And the mage was dead.
Chapter 5
Gabriel awoke to cool darkness. He stared up dazedly as his surroundings shifted into focus. A ceiling. Walls. The orange glow of the sun filtered in through thin layers of cloth hanging over circular windows. His environment hummed with simple domesticity. In the corner, chairs and a table covered with a red cloth, clean but frayed. Shelves lined the wall, neatly stacked with jars of all shapes and sizes. Their colors were muted in the fading light, but no longer painted in nauseating shades of yellow and brown.
Only then did he realize his heart was not pounding, that each breath did not hurt.
Only then was he aware of the slight weight over his nose and mouth.
His fingers trembling, he touched the wet cloth loosely placed over the lower half of his face.
“You seemed to breathe easier with it.”
The quiet, female voice behind him jerked him upright. He twisted around on the mattress and stared at the slender human woman standing just a few feet behind him, most of her features shadowed by the darkness in the corner of the room.
He was so attuned to movement, so accustomed to his extra-sensory awareness of his surroundings—how had he not sensed her presence?
She was not tall, and her loose-fitting garment, which reached to her knees, left her shoulders bare. Her black hair, wound in tight ringlets, brushed against her upper back. Her hands cupped a large bowl filled with liquid. A towel floated on the surface.
“You were overheated. I’ve managed to bring down your temperature, but I don’t recommend moving too quickly.” She shrugged as she set the bowl aside. “Your ankle wouldn’t allow it anyway.”
His ankle. The dull throb was so subdued, he hadn’t even noticed it.
He moved aside the cotton blankets to assess his injury. The bandages wrapped around his ankle limited its rotation, but also stabilized it. He flexed his calf muscles and wriggled his toes. Nothing broken, he realized. The mild ache was nothing compared to the excruciating anguish he recalled from his sun-baked memories.
What miracles had this woman wrought?
He turned to face her as she stepped forward into the circle of light cast by the setting sun. She seemed younger than he by a year or two, although he could not tell for certain. The creamy darkness of her skin was broken only by a lighter patch that extended from her right cheekbone to cover her eye.
She had been touched by the gods.
The flutter of wings snapped his attention to a large grey bird as it flew in through one of the open windows to land on her shoulder. Its small black eyes fixed on him.
The bird tilted its head and cawed. “Sleeping Beauty’s awake. Kissy kissy.”
Gabriel’s jaw dropped. The bird talked? What kind of ancient, powerful magic restored a dying man and made animals speak?
The woman rolled her eyes and flicked a gentle finger at the bird’s beak. “Be polite.”
The bird ruffled its feathers and tilted its head to the other side. “And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.”
Gabriel inhaled sharply. He had expected magic—after all, he had traveled four thousand miles across the ocean to
find the mage—but not even he had imagined he would find that kind of power so casually on display. He removed the piece of cloth from over his nose and mouth. His next breath of air, however, abraded his lungs and he immediately hunched against the rasp of a cough.
“Give it to me.” She took the cloth from him, dipped it in the bowl, then handed it, dripping wet, back to him. “Cover your nose and mouth.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I know it doesn’t seem polite, but breathing’s more important than courtesy here.” She glanced out the window. “We’re all running out of time and space for the trappings of civility.”
Her last sentence seemed to be directed more at herself than to him. He studied her profile. She seemed ordinary enough, until she turned back to him with a flashing smile that dug dimples into her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle.
She fixed her gaze on him. “Who are you?”
“I’m Gabriel, Mrs. Robinson.”
She burst into laughter, the sound pealing through the air. He listened, transfixed. Laughter sounded nothing like that in the water. He had not expected that vibrant ring, nor the matching smile it so effortlessly summoned to his face.
“Pay no attention to anything the parrot says,” she told him. “My name’s Kerina. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I’m from the ocean.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. He could almost see her turning over the possibilities in her head. “North Africa? South Africa? Or the continent on the other side of the ocean?”
“The ocean.”
Kerina pressed out the inside of her cheek with her tongue. He recalled suddenly that Sofia sometimes did the same when she was thinking hard.
“You’re a siren,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. Her gaze passed slowly over him, from head to foot, as if looking for something. “You’re…not a monster.”
“Should I be?” he asked. When she made no reply, he followed up with, “What exactly are you looking for? Gills? Fins? A tail?”
Mage’s Legacy: Cursed Seas Page 4