Isle of Blood and Stone

by Makiia Lucier

  “When I can find it. It grows everywhere on Caffa. They use it with their beacons to send messages from the king.”

  Ulises had been keeping watch ahead. He retraced his steps at the mention of Caffa. “I’ve heard of their color fire. Do you know how it works?”

  “I’ve never actually seen it done, but I think”—Elias crushed another leaf—“you throw the whole bush into the flames. It turns the smoke blue, bright enough to be seen at the next watchtower.” He dusted the leaves from his hand. “The larger cities are assigned a specific color, and when it appears in a beacon, the soldiers know where the message came from.”

  Ulises plucked a leaf of his own but did not crush it. “The king’s color is blue?”

  “Yes.” Elias inspected the immediate area to see what other plants were to be had. With growing enthusiasm, he said, “The saffron plant is used to burn yellow. And hematite is crushed into a powder for their reds. You can also burn green by stirring copper and vinegar, but the mixture is tricky. It must be precise. . . .” He trailed off at their glazed expressions and laughed. He had lost them so quickly. Too bad Luca wasn’t here. Or even Reyna. He gave the bushes one last regretful look. He was not here to gather rare shrubbery. “Another time, maybe.”

  Once again, Ulises led the way. They had not gone far when he stopped dead in his tracks. Something about the line of his body gave them warning. He stepped aside so they could see what lay at his feet.

  A worn leather glove. Its pair, and owner, nowhere to be found. Or at least not all of its owner. A hand remained in the glove, severed at the wrist. The stump was covered with sand and worms. Elias felt his stomach take one slow, sickening turn.

  They drew their swords.

  Mercedes, ever practical, spoke first. “Where is the rest of him?”

  They searched, careful to stay within sight of one another. From nowhere, Elias remembered something Lord Silva had told him when they had ventured into the jungles of the Inner Jangas, known for its cannibals. If you feel that you’re in danger, Elias, it’s likely because you are. Humans are the only animals that stop to think about their situation, to weigh the possibilities. Am I in danger? Am I not? The other animals? They just run.

  There was no sign of a body. No bootprints in the sand or even a break in the shrubbery to suggest the glove’s owner had been carried off by a wild animal. Or something else. Finally, Elias dug a hole beside a palm. He laid the glove inside and covered it with rocks. After a brief prayer spoken by Ulises, they walked on in utter silence.

  They might have missed the orphanage had they not been searching for it. It crept up on their left: three crumbling walls nearly hidden by palm cover. The clearing it had been built upon had long since been taken over by the forest.

  “No one has been here in years,” Ulises said, misgiving clouding his voice.

  “It’s smaller than I imagined,” Mercedes said.

  And sadder. They had not felt real to Elias, the girls and the nuns who had lived and died here. Until now, they had simply been the tragic figures in an old del Marian ghost story. He said quietly, “This was the main house.” The remnants of a fireplace jutted from the center. “There would have been a chapel nearby and stables. Maybe a separate building to teach the girls their trade. The carvings would have been too large to keep here.” He peered into the shadows and saw more crumbling stone in the distance. “You see there?”

  “Yes,” Ulises said. “I wish we knew what we were looking for.”

  Elias said, “If there’s anything to find, I think we’ll recognize it.”

  Mercedes was already pushing aside the tall grass and stomping through. “I’ll start over there,” she said, indicating one of the outbuildings.

  Ulises chose to search the main house. By default, Elias found himself in the ruins of an old warehouse. The smell of smoke was stronger here. The original structure had been long and narrow, with arched windows, like a church without the altar and pews. The glass from the windows was gone, as well as any furniture and tools, but he was astonished to see that one of the ship figureheads had survived. It lay toppled on its side. Part of the wood had rotted through, though enough remained that he could see what it had once been. A seahorse, partially complete, carved by someone with great skill.

  He spent some time among the rubble, trying to find anything that would bring clarity to the riddle. Look not to what is there but to what is not. He inspected what was left of the walls, inside and out. Perhaps a message had been carved there or left in a crevice. He knelt, tried to turn over the seahorse, and earned a nasty sliver in his finger for his trouble. He was attempting to remove it with his pincers when Ulises appeared.

  “Anything?” Ulises asked.

  “No” was his curt response. He pulled the sliver free and inhaled sharply. It had always been a mystery to him how such a small injury could smart so badly.

  “I feel like a fool, Elias. This has been for nothing.”

  The embarrassment in Ulises’s voice was enough to distract Elias momentarily from his own personal anguish. “What has it cost us?” he reasoned. “A day? A finger?” He held up his pained finger to show his friend, who gave it a disinterested glance.

  Ulises said, “I don’t know what I thought we’d find here. Stupid.”

  “It wasn’t.” Elias stood. “The maps together are hard to ignore. Reyna came to you with the riddle, and you have always been willing to listen. It’s simply in your nature.”

  Ulises heard his own words tossed back at him; a small smile emerged. Elias could hear Mercedes on the other side of the half-crumbled wall, speaking to herself and trying to commit the oratio to memory. “No weapons, no steel, no iron cut me. No fire burn me—”

  “Flame,” Elias called absently. He returned the pincers to his pouch and sucked on his finger.

  Mercedes appeared over the wall like a springing toy. Only her head was visible. “What flame?”

  “No flame burn me,” Elias corrected. “Not fire.”

  Her brows drew together. She vanished, reappearing a moment later by squeezing through an impossibly narrow gap in the stone. “That is not what you said.”

  “It is.” Elias glanced from Mercedes to Ulises and back again. An odd prickling sensation crawled along his neck. “Of course it is.”

  “You said fire.” Ulises had knelt to give the seahorse a closer look. “Does it matter? One word?”

  “It matters very much.”

  Everything around Elias became small and still. The voice had come from above their heads. A girl sat high in the cradle of a broken window, her bare feet dangling. She wore Reyna’s yellow dress. In her hands was the compass he’d left at the edge of the forest.

  Slowly, Elias bowed at the waist. “Forgive—”

  The girl did not look at him. She spoke to Mercedes in a soft voice that echoed over the stone and through the windows and between the palms: “We do not like them. They are not safe.”

  We?

  If Mercedes were rattled, she did not show it. “They mean you no harm.” She spoke quietly, calmly. “I promise you. But we will go now, if you do not wish us here.” She took a step back. Elias and Ulises followed, taking one cautious step and then another. The girl did not move, only watched them with wide, unblinking eyes.

  They did not get far. A low rumble, like thunder, emerged from nowhere, followed by a whistling among the trees. In the distance, palms fell to the side, a pathway cleared by some invisible force. Clumps of sand flew up. As something drew closer and closer.

  And closer.

  From Ulises, low and urgent: “Run.”

  Elias grabbed Mercedes’s hand. They ran, jumping over the seahorse and tripping over stones. The side walls were too high to climb in a hurry. The only opening beckoned from the far end of the warehouse. Elias’s heart beat faster than the drumming in his ears. Fire. Flame. A stupid mistake. It was his last thought before they were surrounded.

  By eight spirits who had once been little girls. Se
veral of them looked as solid as the one in the yellow dress. Others shimmered and faded, so that he could see the palms behind them and the moss-covered stones. The youngest looked to be around six, with curly brown hair and dimples. Elias had time enough to think, Why, they are not so scary, before the curly-haired spirit stepped forward, snatched him by the front of his vest, and threw him straight up in the air.

  She was stronger than any living being. His world spun upside down; it turned sideways. Ulises flew right past him. Elias tumbled into another child’s arms, recoiled at the toothy grin inches from his face, and was once again tossed high. The spirits laughed.

  Where was Mercedes? His senses were muddled, but he thought he saw her standing beneath the girl in yellow. Mercedes, with her arms gesturing wildly, arguing with a ghost. A thought flitted by: You should not argue with a ghost. Ulises was on his hands and knees in the sand, heaving. Elias lost sight of them both.

  It dawned on him. They were playing catch, only they weren’t very good at it. Both he and Ulises were dropped. Elias landed on his arms, his face, his back. His mouth was full of sand and twigs. He tasted the sharp tang of blood. The spirits giggled hysterically, their laughter growing higher and higher in pitch, so that he thought his ears would burst. And that is how it continued, for how long, he had no notion. Until he landed on the ground beside Ulises, and Mercedes was there.

  She flung herself on top of them both, her green skirt swirling about like a protective cape. Elias grunted as her knee dug sharply into his gut. “Please!” she cried. “Stop! These are my friends.”

  Surprisingly, the spirits stopped. They retreated into a half circle, watching as Mercedes pulled Elias and Ulises to their knees. Ulises spat out a mouthful of dirt. The circle opened, and the girl in Reyna’s dress stood looking down at them. Even with his pounding head, Elias could see the difference. The other spirits looked happy, bouncing on their toes and eager to continue what they thought was a game. This one . . . she did not smile at all, but watched them with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. Brown eyes. Was she the only one who remembered what had befallen them?

  The sad spirit said, “We do not like them. They are not safe.”

  “Get behind me, Mer—” Ulises began.

  “Be quiet!” Mercedes hissed. Then, louder, “This is not the man who harmed you. This is Ulises. He is your king.” When they looked at Ulises uncertainly, she added firmly, “You are del Marians, are you not? Loyal citizens. You would not hurt your king.”

  The spirits turned to the girl in yellow. Clearly, she was their leader. Her gaze shifted reluctantly to Ulises, who did not look so kingly, covered in dirt and scratches. She studied him for the longest time, saying nothing, then turned to Elias. “He is not our king.”

  Mercedes’s gaze shot to his, long enough for him to see the panic in her eyes. For him. She turned back to the spirit. “No,” she acknowledged. “However—”

  “We do not like him. He is not safe.”

  Elias remembered the hand covered in sand and worms. He held himself perfectly still.

  “Please,” Mercedes said gently. “I am sorry you were hurt, but he is not like the man who hurt you. His name is Elias, and he has two little sisters. Just like you. He is kind to them. He brings them gifts, like the compass you have there. It is a good compass, is it not? He made it himself.” Mercedes’s words were like a melody, soft and soothing.

  The girl looked down at the compass. She cradled it closer.

  Mercedes said, “He is safe.”

  The spirits looked at one another, engaging in some sort of wordless communication. The girl in yellow said, “Words matter very much.”

  Everyone, living and dead, turned to Elias. He understood. She was giving him a chance to fix his mistake. Flame, not fire. He would never again forget this particular prayer. He bowed his head, steepled his hands, and recited with some difficulty:

  “From Saint Matthias, honored son of del Mar, I beg protection in daytime, and at night, that:

  No tree fall upon me,

  No flood rise against me,

  No weapons, no steel, no iron cut me,

  No flame burn me,

  No enemy hinder me,

  No witchcraft, spell, or enchantment curse me.”

  They were gone. Leaving no trace. Mercedes collapsed onto the sand beside Ulises, who slung an arm around her shoulders and gave her a smacking kiss on the head. “Well done!” To Elias, he added a less friendly, “Fire. Flame. Fool.”

  Well, he deserved it. Elias rubbed a sore arm and groaned, “Apologies.”

  “Is anything broken?” Mercedes asked them.

  Gingerly, Ulises inspected his ribs. “No.”

  Elias felt around his teeth with his tongue. Nothing loose or chipped; good. “Just bruised. I’ll live. Peace, Mercedes. You can say it.”

  “What can I say?”

  “That you were right to be here, and I was wrong. I know you want to say it.”

  She rose, dusted the sand from her green dress, and looked down her nose at him. “That would be petty. And childish. I would never say something like that.” She offered her hand. “But know that I am thinking it.”

  He laughed and kissed her hand, which she snatched away from him. He got to his feet without her help. His sword and carrier lay undamaged by the seahorse. He gathered them up and said, “There’s nothing to find in this godforsaken forest. We’ve made a mistake, Ulises.”

  Ulises grimaced. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

  “Sound advice,” said a voice above them.

  They spun. If there had been a warbler speaking to them, Elias could not have been more astounded.

  Before them was a crumbling wall, eight feet high. Standing on it was a woman. She looked wild. Silver and black hair unbound and flowing down her back. Dressed as a man in dark trousers and a vest cinched tight over a shirt. One trouser leg rolled up to reveal a wooden stump in place of a leg. And a crossbow aimed directly at them. “Your swords,” she said. “On the ground, if you please.”

  Mercedes stood to Elias’s right. Ulises to his left. Nobody moved. Elias’s thoughts were churning, and not just because of her crossbow. Her voice. It was not the rasp of a crone, some madwoman in the forest. It was not even that of a common peasant, but smooth and learned. A voice of privilege. The strange woman shifted her bow so that it pointed directly at Elias’s heart.

  Ulises began, “Who are—”

  “My arms grow weary, young masters. I would not like to kill you by accident.”

  Elias and Ulises held on to their swords. Somehow, Mercedes’s sword had ended up on the sand against the opposite wall.

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “No? You prefer an arrow in your gullet?”

  “A crossbow is a fine weapon, Madame,” Elias answered, his voice cold. “But you’ll only have time to shoot one of us.”

  She considered his words. “That is true,” she admitted, before slowly aiming at Mercedes. Fear sliced through him, sharper than anything he’d ever felt. He was afraid to move, did not want to provoke her in any way that meant Mercedes would be hurt. “But you can be very sure that your charming companion will feel the first shot. And then won’t your conscience sting?”

  With a curse, Elias flung his sword onto the sand. Ulises did the same.

  The woman was studying Ulises, head cocked, a look of puzzlement on her face.

  “You.” She pointed with her arrow. “Come closer.”

  “Do not,” Mercedes breathed.

  Ulises walked forward until he stood in a square of light.

  There was a gasp. The woman lowered her crossbow an inch. And her voice, when it came, was no longer assured, but shaken.

  “Bartolome?”

  Ulises stiffened. He glanced wide-eyed over his shoulder at them, then turned back and said, cautiously, “My brother’s name was Bartolome. I am Ulises.”

  “Ulises.” The crossbow lowered, its end touching the wall. All color had leached from her face. “One day an in
fant, the next a grown man. Have the years gone by so quickly, then?”

  A strange feeling settled over Elias. He thought of the maps, and of the woman with a cross surrounded by children. Not an abbess. A cross symbolized many things, and many people. A nun, a healer.

  Or a royal nurse who had accompanied two princes on a picnic. One day, long ago, never to be seen again.

  “My lady Esma?” Elias asked, and felt Mercedes start beside him. The strange woman flinched, and he knew with a terrible certainty that he had spoken true.

  Eleven

  ADY ESMA LED them deep into the forest, responding to their uneasy looks with a “Be at ease. They won’t harm you now.” True to her word, the spirits stayed hidden, but Elias knew they were there. Their presence was palpable—in the shifting shadows of the trees, in the screeching silence of the birds.

  The sea air came upon them. They broke through the palms to find an old cottage balanced precariously near the cliff’s edge. The ramshackle structure looked as though it were held up by nothing more than crumbling stone and daily prayer. Off to one side was a pen where a pig the size of a small horse watched their approach. The surf could be heard far below, crashing against the rocks.

  They ducked into the cottage: a single chamber, surprisingly comfortable, with a bed against a far wall, a fireplace, and clean rushes on the floor. The chamber smelled pleasantly of the red oleander drying above a window. Lady Esma set her crossbow against the wall and indicated a scarred wooden table with four chairs. “You may be yourselves here.”

  Elias caught Ulises’s eye. They did not sit in her chairs, nor did they set their weapons aside. Instead, Elias swung the door shut, the thud causing Lady Esma’s head to whip around. Her three visitors stood with their backs braced against the wall, tense and watchful. As the princes’ trusted nurse, Esma of Cortes had once been an important member of the royal household. Who knew what she was now? Her body had not been among those discovered in the meadow on that long-ago fateful night. She was assumed to have been kidnapped along with the boys and Lord Antoni. She was thought to have drowned when their ship was lost at sea. Elias could not think of a single satisfactory reason for her presence here, and until he did, he would not let down his guard.