The Secret of the Emerald Sea

by Heather Matthews

  It was foolhardy, the opposite of wisdom. She could not understand why it suddenly meant so much to her, and yet, it did.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the end, the crone had found another way, a spell so dark and evil that she had not the courage to try it before. She decided to make a deal that no one should ever make, but rather than spend her life in a cave, ugly and alone, casting spells that only benefited others, she had chosen to gamble everything she had left. Pushing her onward was the thought of Minerva’s retribution. Truly, she had gone too far and threatened the goddess, and she had to find a way to avoid the punishment that would surely come.

  The crone, whose name was Liesel, knew of the dark gods and the place where the boundary between the Earth and the Underworld was found. She cast a spell that led her to the River, and there she met with Hecate, the Goddess of the Crossroads, who told her she could have what she sought if only she would give herself over to the Underworld when the spell faded.

  The dark River circled the netherworld of Pluto’s domain, and it was deepest crimson, as though it was filled with blood. If she made this deal with Hecate, she would be doomed to wander the dismal shores of the River forever, never crossing over to the other side.

  Hecate would have her guard the River for all of eternity, and make her watch as those who were buried—with coins under their tongues— would float across the waters. She would watch them fade into the mists...but she, herself, would never know salvation.

  This terrified Liesel, but what choice did she have? Liesel stood in the mists, staring deep into Hecate’s eyes, which were like dark pools...so like the River itself. She felt her heart pound wildly against her skin. She must decide, and yet, she longed to run screaming from this place. The hot steam that rose up from the red water made her clammy under her threadbare cloak. Hecate said nothing, merely taking her measure of the crone, watching quietly as the she wrestled with her choice.

  “I...will make this pact with you...” Liesel said, her voice soft and timid against the goddess’ grave stare.

  “Are you certain, Liesel?” Hecate asked, her lips forming into a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

  “You will give me youth and beauty?” Liesel begged. “For how long?” She tried not to look out at the River. She tried not to hear the moans of Sisyphus, who pushed a huge boulder up a hill just off the shoreline, his face streaked in dirt and sweat. He has been here forever. Liesel shuddered. He will be here forever, for he angered the gods, and I, too, will rot here forevermore if I choose this way.

  Liesel watched as Hecate glanced back at the man who pushed the impossibly heavy stone up the hill, inch by inch, clad only in a loincloth. Hecate smiled at him as he worked. Liesel felt the Goddess of the Crossroads could read her mind, but even if she couldn’t, it would not be hard to figure out just what fears raced through her and terrified her.

  “I will give you what you ask and cloak you in the guise of a young woman so that you may carry out your ambitions,” Hecate answered. “I cannot say that you will succeed or fail.”

  “For how long?” Liesel asked again. “For how long shall I have this gift?” She thought of her ragged face as it appeared to her in her looking glass of her cave. Her hair was thin and scraggly, iron gray, and her face was brown and lined from exposure to the elements.

  I am ugly, she thought angrily. I have always been, but now, I am old and ugly, and I shall only get more so until I die.

  “That will be for me to decide, and I will not say right now how long my spell will last,” Hecate answered. “There will come a time when you are called to me, and before you come, you will find yourself as you were before, in face and form, and you will know it is time.”

  “But...” She was stammering now, not knowing if the spell should last a day, a month, or a year. How could she be expected to decide?

  “Make your choice, Liesel,” Hecate said, her features pale and regal against her raven black robes. Not a drop of sweat marred her ivory brow. “These are my terms, and you know that magic is never perfect. You must choose.”

  She stared at her feet, thinking of the beautiful young man she had also seen in the crystal ball before she had shaken it to clear the vision so that Minerva should not see. She smiled a little, her eyes growing soft, and it was as though she was no longer on these terrible shores. Instead, she was warm and safe in the arms of someone who loved her. However, she could not restrain a shudder as Hecate grinned, showing small, sharp, white teeth.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Liesel came out of her reverie as she pictured Minerva’s face, so perfect, so wise, judging her, denying her. Minerva could have saved her from this, but she would not. If it lay in her power, she would revenge herself upon the goddess, even if it meant an eternity pushing a heavy boulder up a blood-soaked slope. She would find the girl Minerva wanted so much, and she would kill her with an iron dagger she has fashioned for just that purpose.

  Hate was surging through her now, running along her nerves and giving her courage, which was more like foolishness. “I shall do it!” she whispered, looking up at Hecate.

  “Then you shall serve me for all eternity. As the River circles the Underworld and always will...you shall be mine, always guarding the River, always watching others pass, but never moving on yourself. You shall be like me, caught between the Earth and the Underworld forever.”

  “I will,” Liesel answered, her words barely audible. In her heart she was doomed, doomed. Hecate’s words were a spell, a binding spell, and she was lost.

  The mists shrouded them and the River seemed to churn with spilled blood...with sin and vengeance and desperation.

  “Say after me,” Hecate whispered, “I shall wait on the banks of the River...”

  “I shall wait on the banks of the River...” Liesel repeated, her blood rushing in terror.

  “I shall live on the boundary of now and then, past and present, Earth and Underworld,” Hecate continued.

  “I shall live on the boundary of now and then, past...and present, Earth...and Underworld...” Liesel stammered. The spell was working now. She could feel it take hold. There was no way to stop it, no way to stem the tide of what had been released.

  “I shall serve the Goddess Hecate forevermore,” Hecate finished, and her cheeks glowed as the magic began to swell and build. Liesel could sense her elation as she gained another servant, another prisoner.

  “I...shall serve the Goddess Hecate forevermore!” Liesel cried, and she squeezed her eyes tight against the pain in her skull and the fear that sent chills up her spine even as the sweat trickled down her ribcage under her cloak.

  “It is done,” Hecate said simply, and then she turned and walked away. Liesel could hear a quiet laugh from the goddess as she began the circle the shoreline, never looking back.

  She’s laughing, Liesel thought angrily. She’s laughing at me... She turned away, her cheeks wet with tears, anxiety gripping her soul. Pain ripped through her body as she started to run, as best an old woman could run, away from this awful place.

  Sisyphus groaned as he pushed the stone ever higher, his muscles burning. “Fool,” he gasped, glancing back at her, but Liesel did not stop moving as she heard his insult. She was still running away from the Underworld, frantically repeating the incantation that would bring her back to her cold, ill-lit cave, which now seemed like paradise.

  And so the dark spell was cast, and her soul was in the hands of another. For this, she had the physical changes she wanted, although they did not work as they might. Instead of the beauty she craved, there was youth, although she was not so young as she might have been. Instead of the perfect beauty of Minerva or the princess of Neptune, they were adequate, if average, looks.

  Her face and body were a crushing disappointment, but perhaps combined with her charms and spells, it would be enough.

  She knew not how long the spell would last, so she needed to act right away. Her eyes in the looking glass were pale blue, a little
narrow; her hair was dark brown, almost black, with a heavy fringe of bangs above her eyebrows—she had so wanted golden hair, or russet! Her skin was milky pale, lovely and clear and lineless, but somehow, without real life or luminosity. Her teeth were straight and white, but her smile was cunning and a little gummy, and her chin was a little weak. Somehow, the arrangement of features did not add up to beauty.

  She was plain and her body was a little heavy. It was the body of a peasant who worked hard and ate a lot. She despaired at her chunky thighs and hips and her broad bottom, but she supposed a good gown would work wonders, if only she had one.

  She was average height, average looks, nothing to turn any young man’s head. It was devastating that she had gambled so much and had not gotten the radiance she required for her task. But try, she would, and if she could, she would avenge herself upon Minerva at the same time.

  “Minerva could have given me true beauty,” she raged silently, “and saved me from the deal I have made, which cannot be undone.” She let hatred flow through her like liquor, intoxicating her with wrath and vengeance. “I am Liesel,” she whispered into the cave’s only mirror. “I am new to the village, and I bid you all hello.” She smiled into the mirror, trying to erase the predatory look from her face, trying to clear her features into goodness, and to erase any traces of the crone that lay beneath the white skin.

  “It will be hard to win him looking like this,” she mused. “But perhaps there will be a way, and the pretty princess may rue the day she meets me, for I suspect we hunt for the same prey.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jane found the village of Lynnshire calm and serene as the holidays ended and the townspeople settled back into their daily routines. The tinsel and glitter were gone, but the good feeling of Christmas remained like a sweet aftertaste in one’s mouth. Jane walked about one day, as she often tended to do when she had the time. Exercise cleared her head and made her feel free.

  She walked the perimeter of the town, smiling and nodding to those she came across, but, in an introspective mood as she was, she said nothing to them and simply carried on, trudging through new snow and feeling the satisfying crunch under her new, comfortable boots. The Cupid had gotten them for her as a present.

  “So you will be warm and dry on your walks about town, Jane.” He had smiled at her. She had kissed him warmly and with gratitude. The boots were black leather and shone like glass.

  She walked for ages. She left the town, where the Cupid was currently play-acting with the local children, saying she would see him in an hour and a half. She headed out onto the dirt road with its mixture of hard stones, dirt and flattened snow. She was drawn to a house on a hill, which she had often noticed, and which she now knew—for the gossip on this topic was never-ending—was the estate of Lord and Lady Stirling where young Blake lived.

  She headed up the hill in determination. She had to be back in town in just a little while. Her cheeks burned with the exertion of climbing, and her legs were sore from struggling against the snow that was thick upon the hill. She saw some footprints, but not enough to form a path and make her journey easier. Still, she had no thought of turning away and going back. She was desperate to see the house where he lived.

  The house was lit up in many places. Its vast acreage surrounded it in smooth white snow so that it seemed like a fairy castle. Its small turrets were built of rough gray stone, and its backdrop was gentle and rolling hills. So different from our ramshackle farmhouse, or my old cottage in Royalton, she thought in wonder. It looks like a frosted wedding cake!

  Carriages with horses waited along the drive, which was lined in trees. There was a doorman! A real servant who stood in the cold! There were footmen who tended the horses and drove the carriage! They, too, waited outside, rubbing their gloved hands in the dusk. Jane was glad it was growing dark, for she had no real wish to be noticed. Not by these people, in any case.

  She examined the windows of the house, looking for any sign of him. She saw no people moving around inside, but she knew he must be there. She felt helpless in her longing for him, for there was no way to be with him, and no ruse or excuse to knock on the imposing front door and say hello.

  At that moment, just when her despair grew overwhelming—for she could not forget his sonnets and his beautiful face as he smiled, and she felt she never would—the front door opened and he emerged dressed in the same simple garb as on Twelfth Night, but with a coat and hat. She smiled as butterflies danced inside her stomach. He headed toward the carriage, turning back to say goodnight to the doorman.

  Jane scurried backward into the darkness, afraid of being seen. For a moment, he seemed to glance in her direction. Perhaps he had heard the crunching of snow, or caught a glimpse of the golden hair that escaped from her hat. But he soon looked away and got into the carriage. The carriage doors closed gently as Jane moved quickly down the slope toward the main road, pausing to look back several times.

  Her heart was light again. At least she had seen him! She made her way back to the main road, her thoughts a jumble. She must collect the Cupid, who would be weary of pretending to be a normal child. She would tell no one of her trip to the estate, although the Cupid always seemed to read her mind. She hoped no one would find out where she had been, for she was embarrassed at her own forwardness, which was not ladylike. To put herself so blatantly in his path, hoping for something, seemed somehow dishonorable, and she was ashamed.

  At the same time, she was elated to even have a glimpse of this special person who owned her heart. With a confusion of guilty pleasure and love spinning her head, she walked toward town, and tried to ignore the loneliness that soon enveloped her on the dark and deserted path she traveled.

  Chapter Twenty

  Inside the carriage, Blake Stirling rubbed his hands to warm them, though he already wore the softest leather gloves lined in rabbit fur. It was getting cold this night. He stared out into the blackness, marveling at the utter silence of the country. So different than the City!

  Tonight, he had decided, quite on a whim, to the visit the Crown of Thorns and to try to make some friends there. He was lonely in the big estate where he lived, having no brothers or sisters to help pass the time. Blake felt nervous, for he knew someone had shot him with an arrow, resenting his wealth or title perhaps, and he had no idea how he would be received in the village.

  His parents were adamant that he should not go to such a common place, although his mother seemed less negative than his father. The sun was still dropping in the sky, and the forests along either side of the main road seemed so magical and unspoiled.

  He hoped it would be a good night, and as he wished, he felt a familiar tingle along his side where the arrow had struck him. It was not unpleasant, but it worried him, and he supposed he should see a doctor, but he had seen his share of doctors, and he was weary of them all.

  The carriage sped down the road toward town, which he could already see in the distance, and he closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, for he was a little nervous of the townspeople, and sometimes quite unsure of himself. Wanting only to be liked, he had no guile. His mother had told him this quality was the sweetest thing about him, as it indicated a truly gentle heart, but he knew it made him vulnerable as well.

  * * * *

  Jane was worried. She had dallied too long at the estate, and it was growing dark. Though she no longer fretted about the Cupid’s transformations at night, she always felt apprehensive that something bad could happen. She needed to get to him right away, and felt guilty for leaving him unattended, though he truly had no need of supervision. She told herself, a little angrily, that he never transformed anymore anyway. There was nothing to be afraid of. He could wait a little while longer, though he might be irritated. She would make it up to him when she saw him.

  As she cast around for some white lie to explain her tardiness, she heard the clatter of wheels and the whinnying of horses. She moved to the side of the road so that she was safe,
and she began to walk even faster.

  She spotted the driver in the darkness. He slowed the carriage until he was alongside her.

  “Do you need a ride into town?” he asked gruffly. Jane smiled at him. She had seen him at the Crown of Thorns, although she had never told his fortune.

  “Yes, I do,” Jane replied instantly without the faintest thought of refusing. She knew well who was inside the wooden carriage.

  “Let me ask young Lord Stirling if it is all right with him.” He stepped off his perch and knocked on the carriage door. Jane moved back a little, staring into the carriage window, and her heart pounded when their eyes met.

  The driver got his permission, and hastily, Lord Stirling stepped out of the carriage, smoothing his clothes down and preparing to help her up into the brougham. He seemed uncomfortable, and Jane watched as he winced and touched his side. Perhaps he was ill again?

  Jane settled into the carriage, which was quite warm, and they stared for a moment at each other. Jane smiled into his light brown eyes. She smiled the truest smile of her life.

  * * * *

  Blake gasped in the half-light of the carriage, for she seemed to be made of gold and emeralds and mother-of-pearl, and the poetry he had read had little prepared him for this moment. He was looking at a young woman and feeling his heart pound in joy and realization.

  At fifteen, he was not blind to the charms of girls, but none had made him feel this way before. He felt that he was in the presence of something magical. It was like sharing a carriage with a unicorn or a minotaur. She was not like any girl he had ever seen, and her smile made him warm, so warm, on this frigid night. At the same time, he cursed the pain in his side, which seemed more intense than it had ever been.

  “I am Blake,” he said simply, gazing on and on in wonder, staring into her cool green eyes, which glittered against her pale skin. He had no wish to be a lord at this moment, for too many girls were dazzled by a title, he was sure. He wished to be only a normal boy, and to be liked as himself.