Spirit Song

by M C Dwyer

  His eyes widening, Aidan said, “The water spirit? An undine?” He paused. “I feel like I should tell King Edmun.”

  “Please don’t,” Nepenthe said, putting his hands on his arm. “I don’t know if it will work, and I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

  Aidan gave him a look.

  Nepenthe shrank slightly. “He’ll tell me it’s too risky.”

  He sighed. “Well, is it?”

  “Not nearly as risky as me trying to heal everyone, which was my first idea.”

  With a sigh, Aidan visibly wavered, and Nepenthe bit his lip.

  He gave in. “As long as you’re not the one doing the work, I suppose. What do we need to do?”

  “I need a water source. Not a piped one, but a fresh one.”

  Aidan nodded. “The fountain in the courtyard is built on a freshwater spring.”

  Nepenthe knew which fountain he meant; it was a nondescript white basin with a single fountain in the center. They mostly used it for watering the horses. He shrugged. “That should work.”

  Chapter 29

  The courtyard was deserted, almost eerily so. Nepenthe might have imagined the sighing breeze that swept through, but then again, he might not. Aidan followed him to the fountain and watched as he knelt next to the basin. Nepenthe pulled his belt knife and made a small cut on his palm. As before, what welled up was not blood, but water. He eradicated every trace of fire from it, then squeezed his fist over the fountain and let it drip into the water.

  “Mother,” he whispered.

  For a very long moment, nothing happened, and Nepenthe pushed himself to his feet with a sigh. Just then, the water began to churn and bubble, and a head broke through the surface. The hair was dark and slick and seemed to sway to the ocean’s currents even in the dry air. Her eyes were all the shifting colors of a storm at sea, and her long gown rippled and moved as if it was stitched together from fish scales. She stood in the water, or on the water, or possibly hovered somewhere in between.

  She glared around the courtyard, then focused on Aidan and Nepenthe. “Children of fire,” she spat, “why did you call me?”

  Aidan flinched back, but Nepenthe held up his cut hand, palm facing the undine. “Know me, Mother.”

  The undine took the hand in her own cool, damp ones and stared at it critically, then placed her hand palm-to-palm with Nepenthe’s. Her eyes widened. “Oh, my child,” she sighed, and pulled Nepenthe into a slightly damp embrace. “What have they done to you on shore, my little starfish? Come home with me to the sea.”

  “I can’t, Mother,” he said, pushing back so he could look into her eyes.

  The undine cocked her head, studying him, and then lifted the hem of her skirt to step nimbly out of the fountain. Nepenthe held her arm, and then they both sat on the edge of the basin. The undine kept Nepenthe’s hand firmly in her own and stared hungrily into his face.

  “What keeps you here, child?”

  “My friends are in danger. Pyrdred has sent a fever, and people are starting to die.”

  “Pyrdred grows fat on power not his own,” the undine hissed. She caressed Nepenthe’s face. “But you, child, have the power to stop him.”

  Nepenthe drew back. “I can’t! Not yet! And I don’t have the power to heal all the people who are sick with his fever.”

  “They are of little consequence,” she shrugged.

  “Not to me,” Nepenthe said fiercely. “They took me in when I had no one. You left me,” he added, and knew it to be true. “You left me to Pyrdred. You owe me this much.”

  The undine studied him thoughtfully but with no outward sign of guilt. “You speak the truth. I will give you the power to heal these people who you claim are important to you.”

  She took Nepenthe’s face in her hands and placed a long, lingering kiss on his brow, then stepped gracefully back into the fountain. “Take care of my child, Fire-brat, or I’ll hunt you down.”

  Aidan bowed stiffly.

  To Nepenthe, she said, “Dearest, when you tire of playing with these mortals, come home to the sea. We’ll be waiting for you.” She stroked his cheek once more, sank under the water, and was gone.

  “Aidan?” Nepenthe said tremulously, reaching out a hand.

  “Here, Penthe,” he said, not moving.

  Waving his hands, Nepenthe managed one step forward before Aidan looked into his eyes and realized he was blind. The oceans swam in their greenish depths, and Aidan shuddered and pulled himself free.

  “Here, Penthe,” he repeated, placing his arm under Nepenthe’s hand. “What now?”

  “I think,” he said, hesitating, “I think we go that way.” He pointed toward the stables.

  Aidan led the way, correcting his course whenever Nepenthe tugged on his arm. In the stables, they found Eli collapsed in the aisle, too sick or too devoted to duty to have made it to the infirmary. Nepenthe knelt next to him and kissed his brow, then moved on.

  For him, the world had become a vast ocean punctuated with small fires. The ones in the stable were easy, for they were all on the same level. Most of the sick stablehands had been gathered in one area, so Nepenthe simply had to move from cot to cot, kissing foreheads and leaving extinguished fires in his wake. There were sounds of movement and recovery behind him, and he moved on.

  Thus ensued the longest and most frustrating afternoon of his life. He could see the fires of illness, but he couldn’t see more mundane things like stairs or walls. Aidan could see the walls and stairs—and kept Nepenthe from tumbling down at least two—but he couldn’t see the fires. Nepenthe, afraid to miss even a single patient, tried to track down every flame as they encroached on his vision.

  “Penthe,” Aidan said at last, “this is too slow. Let’s at least go to the great hall and take care of everyone in there, and then we’ll have some help sweeping the palace.”

  This logic won him over, and he allowed Aidan to lead him to the great hall. The fires there nearly overwhelmed him, but one by one, he addressed them all.

  “You need to eat something,” Aidan said sometime later. They were searching the halls again, though they’d collected an entourage of healthy nobles and staff along with some of the spirit-touched who combed through the rooms and brought out any stray patients for Nepenthe to kiss and heal.

  “Not now,” he answered, waving him away. He paused. “Are we near the library?” he asked. The halls felt familiar, and there was a scent in the air of old paper.

  “Yes. It’s just down the hall.”

  Nepenthe turned his head, scanning, and almost missed the very faint flicker, barely a candle flame on the vast ocean. “Orin,” he breathed, and hurried down the hall. He shook off Aidan’s arm, trailing his hand against the wall until he found the door. He knew this room, but the ocean was blinding and the flame was going out.

  “Salamander spit!” he swore, and dove into the room, depending on his memory to guide him among the shelves. He misjudged one, slamming his knee into the corner of a shelf and tumbling to the floor. This put him in line with the flame, and he could hear Orin’s labored breathing. He crawled toward him and found his hand. Kissing the old, papery skin, he knew he was too late.

  “Be brave, child,” Orin breathed, then what might have been, “Be happy.” And then the flame was gone.

  “No, no, Orin,” he cried, “Orin, come back! Please come back!” He patted the old man’s face. “Don’t go!”

  “Come on, Penthe,” Aidan said, pulling him away.

  Nepenthe kicked out and broke free. “I couldn’t save him. He was kind to me, but I couldn’t save him.” He reached out for his hand, but Aidan pulled him away once more. “Let me be,” he sobbed, and for once the tears fell freely, for he was full of the ocean, and the ocean held no dangers for him.

  “Penthe,” Aidan tried again, not touching him this time, “I’m sorry you couldn’t save him, but there are still others who need your help. Please?”

  Nepenthe swiped an arm across his face, smearing tears and
snot together. He nodded.

  “Clean your face, first,” Aidan said, pressing a handkerchief in his hand.

  Wiping his face, he blew his nose and cleared his throat. “I don’t think I can stand up,” he said in a small voice with a faint hiccupping sob behind it.” He ran a hand over his knee and could feel where it was already beginning to swell up.

  “Penthe, you’re a trial,” Aidan said, then pulled him upright. “Here, get on my back.”

  They met their entourage on the way out of the library, and Aidan sent someone in to take care of Orin. Then they continued down the hall, pausing to put out fires and occasionally to let Nepenthe switch to someone else’s back.

  “I think—I think the palace is clear,” someone said, slightly out of breath from her run through the palace.

  “What about the city?” Aidan asked. “Are you planning on repeating this there?”

  Nepenthe looked up, tracing the sound of his voice. “No. I’m going to transfer the power. Have someone fill a couple of barrels from the fountain. And then help me back down there. Please.”

  “Up you get,” a voice said. Nepenthe recognized it as one of his previous steeds, a Lord Uthar. “But you can call me Ivan,” he’d confided. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony at this point.”

  “Thank you, Ivan,” he murmured as they went back down the stairs.

  “No trouble. You saved my life today, too. It’s the least I can do.”

  In the courtyard, Nepenthe could hear the sounds of water being poured, and Ivan helped him down next to the barrels.

  “Knife,” Nepenthe said.

  “Here,” Aidan replied. “Let me do it. Same as before?”

  Nepenthe nodded, and turned his gaze upward. Even as he felt the water pouring out of his hand and heard it splashing into the barrel, he thought he saw a far away flicker somewhere up, way up, where he hadn’t thought to look.

  As the water poured from him and the ocean vanished, the flame disappeared as well. Someone gently pushed his hand over so the water fell into the second barrel as well. Sight restored, he looked down at the two barrels. “Distribute this to all the people in town who are sick. Dilute it again if you have to.” He continued giving instructions even as his heart started thumping. “It won’t work as quickly, but it should still work.” He looked at Aidan, his heart in his throat. “Where’s Edmun?”

  Aidan’s face drained of color.

  “You haven’t seen him, either?” He turned, nearly falling as his knee refused to hold him. “Who here has seen the king?”

  With looks of growing alarm, everyone in the courtyard denied having seen him recently.

  “Quickly,” Nepenthe said to Aidan. “Oh, quickly!”

  Ivan on one side and Aidan on the other, they ran with Nepenthe back into the palace and up to the king’s quarters. There were no servants in sight, which would have been reassuring if it hadn’t been for that flickering flame Nepenthe had seen. They burst into the king’s bedroom and found Edmun slumped against the bed, flushed and ill.

  “Salamander spit,” Nepenthe cried, swearing for perhaps the second time in his life and the second time that day. “Get him on the bed.”

  They set Nepenthe down where he could hang on the bedpost for support, then carefully lifted the king into bed. Nepenthe sat down next to him, putting his hand on Edmun’s. The fever retreated immediately, and Nepenthe breathed a little easier. They weren’t too late. But Nepenthe wasn’t willing to wait for the diluted water from the barrels, either. He bit his lip. If his healing of Lira was a beacon, what he planned was going to light him up like the noonday sun. There would be no doubt whatsoever about his location. But when he looked at Edmun’s drawn face, he no longer hesitated.

  “Knife,” he said, hitching himself onto the bed and kneeling next to the king.

  “Are you sure?” Aidan said. By this time, a fair number of people had gathered, as the rest of the palace had recovered.

  Nepenthe glanced at the crowd and banished the last of his misgivings. “Yes.”

  Drawing the knife across his palm, he let the water well up. And now, he hesitated. With Lira, there’d been an open wound. For his mother’s vast power, a mere kiss had been enough. Would that suffice here? Better safe than sorry.

  Nepenthe tipped the water into his mouth, leaned across the king’s prone body, and kissed him full on the lips.

  Chapter 30

  From Nepenthe’s perspective, a spring welled up within him, pouring out and over Edmun, banishing the fire and the fever from his body. It did the same to Nepenthe, pushing the fire out and back into the earring.

  This, of course, caused the distressed walls in his mind to tremble and fall, allowing a wash of memories to spill over him.

  From the outside, it appeared to the onlookers that the slim form of Nepenthe had briefly been replaced by that of the undine, all seaweed hair and green, scaly dress. She kissed their king, banishing the flush of fever, then collapsed on top of him and was merely Nepenthe again.

  A silent, unwakeable Nepenthe.

  Edmun’s eyes opened immediately, and he took in the situation rapidly. Even as Aidan stepped forward to shift Nepenthe, Edmun’s arm went around him protectively and held him close as he sat up.

  He looked around the room at all the interested and wide-eyed spectators. “Sir Aidan,” he said quietly, his voice still a bit weak, “could you clear these people out? Nepenthe needs some space.”

  Aidan nodded. “He needs the doctor to look at that knee, too.” He turned to the crowd and started ushering them out of the room. “The king needs space and time to heal,” he said. “Oh, and have someone send up the physician.”

  They dispersed, whispering and exclaiming about the undine and the king’s miraculous healing.

  When he turned back, Edmun was running his hand across Nepenthe’s face, down his cheekbones and then across his forehead.

  “There’s no fever,” he said. “Help me lay him down.”

  With Aidan to help shift Nepenthe’s injured knee, they got him laid down on the bed.

  “Let’s get him changed into a nightshirt,” Edmun said, retrieving one from a drawer. “It will make it easier for the doctor.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need to rest, your majesty?” Aidan said. “You’re just recovering, yourself.”

  “Once we get Nepenthe settled,” Edmun insisted. Slipping an arm under his shoulders, he carefully and gently removed Nepenthe’s tunic and shirt, then slid the nightshirt over his head. Aidan helped guide his arms through the sleeves, and then they eased the trousers off the swollen knee.

  “That’s pretty nasty,” Aidan said, giving a sympathetic hiss of pain as he looked at the black and blue bruise.

  “What happened?”

  Aidan paused. “How much of today’s events do you know about?”

  “Not much,” Edmun said ruefully. “I came up here to grab some extra blankets when I felt the fever hit. I tried to make it to the bed and failed.”

  “Ah. Well, it’s been a busy day.”

  “What did Nepenthe do?” Edmun said, glancing down at the still form and putting his hand on Nepenthe’s. “Obviously, sh—he’s been very busy,” he added, flicking a look at Aidan.

  Aidan scowled at the floor. “It’s not all good news,” he said, and described the encounter with the undine and the subsequent journey through the palace. “I’m sorry to say that Orin didn’t make it,” he said, bowing.

  “Crazy old fool,” Edmun said, his voice going a little husky. “I told him he wasn’t recovered enough to work.”

  “Nepenthe was there. He went a little wild for a while.”

  “Understandable,” he said, squeezing Nepenthe’s hand. “He looked up to him almost like a father, I think. What happened after? Judging from the crowd, you were successful in reviving the palace. What about the city?”

  “Nepenthe poured the power into several barrels of fresh water. They’re distributing it through the town now, and it should
work, though it probably won’t be as quick as it was here. Anyway, it was only after that we realized no one had seen you for a while. We carried Nepenthe here, and he sliced his palm open, poured the water into his mouth, and kissed you.” Aidan shifted uncomfortably. “Full on the lips, I should add, as no doubt the rumors will report.”

  Edmun’s lips twitched, ever so faintly, and he put a hand to his mouth. “Hmm. Thank you for the report.”

  There was a knock at the door, and the doctor entered.

  “The boy again?” he sighed. “I just get someone healed and he drops. Why is that?”

  Edmun’s lips twitched again, and he said, “Probably because he’s the one responsible for the healing.”

  The physician sniffed. “Then he should look after himself better.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree with you there.”

  After giving Nepenthe a quick examination, he said, “Apart from the knee, there’s nothing wrong with him. Ice today and alternate ice and heat tomorrow. Willow bark if you can get it down his throat.” He picked up his bag and, leaving a couple packets of powder behind, stalked from the room.

  “Old grump,” Edmun said, turning back to Nepenthe. “There’s obviously more wrong than he can see, but I don’t know what we can do about it except wait.”

  “I’ll send someone to carry him to his rooms,” Aidan said, turning to go.

  “No, leave him be. I’ll sleep elsewhere for now.”

  Hesitantly, Aidan said, “Is that wise? I mean, with the rumors—”

  “Spirits take the rumors!” Edmun said, throwing his hands in the air. “Nepenthe just saved the lives of almost everyone in my palace and no doubt a goodly portion of Lainen. If anyone questions it, tell them being cared for by the king’s servants is the least that can be done for someone who sacrificed himself for the good of Alain.”

  Surprised and chastened, Aidan bowed and left.

  Edmun dropped his head into his hands. “Wake up quickly, Shadow. How can I scold you for this crazy stunt if you’re not here to listen?”