The Sea Goddess murmured to Nate, starfish fingers splayed over his face. “We’ll rule the sea together, my love, you and I.” Her voice wavered, roughened. Once again filled with the low murmur of an incoming tide, it lost some of Bertie’s earthbound inflections.
The moment Sedna’s concentration faltered, a tiny hope sparked to life within Bertie’s heart. She extended the hand marked by the pirate, letting images flicker through her head like a nickelodeon movie: the knife, the vow, the blood. Suffused with memories of Nate, she tilted her head back and cried out to him, heart to heart, unable to use her voice or his name but determined he would hear her desperate summons.
Nate peered up at the Sea Goddess, blinking her dreams and promises from his eyes. “I was yer prisoner once before, an’ yer not my love.”
Sedna stiffened. “I am the voice that calls to you across the waters. I am your goddess, and you will obey me!”
“Yer no goddess o’ mine any longer.” He twisted away from her reaching grasp, boots scrabbling for purchase on the stage. “I’d rather live a lifetime on land than worship one such as yerself.”
“You can’t turn your back on the sea,” she spit at him with salt spray. “It’s in your blood; it’s seeped into your bones. You’d wither like a bit of kelp washed ashore and dry out to nothing!” Her anger caused the skin of Nate’s face to pucker about the eyes and mouth, the moisture pulled from it like sands baked under a relentless sun.
The sight of Sedna’s starfish fingers latched onto the flesh of Nate’s arms sparked a sudden and horrible inspiration. Reaching up, Bertie jerked at the scrimshaw necklace, breaking the chain with a golden snap! that could be heard all over the auditorium. Holding it aloft, she allowed it to sway to and fro, a hypnotist’s coin, a parlor trick without the parlor.
When Sedna whirled about, all the blood drained from her face. Her mouth worked, a landed fish gasping its last breath in the bottom of a rough-hewn boat. “Do you mean to give that back to me?” When Bertie nodded, the Sea Goddess tried to muster venom. “What use do I have for such a thing now? Your father’s bird scratchings have violated it. It’s less than worthless to me—”
As though he’d taken lessons from the sneak-thief, the Scrimshander suddenly had possession of the medallion and leapt upon the stage to ask, “Is that so?” He twisted his hands about until that which had been a carved circular disk was, in the flutter of an eyelid, a bit of unmolested finger bone. “What about now?”
Sedna leapt for it. “Give it to me!”
The moment the Sea Goddess removed her gaze and her starfish hands from Nate, he scrambled away, half-falling into the orchestra pit on top of Bertie.
“Ah, ah.” The finger bone disappeared, once again a medallion on a chain of oldest gold, and the Scrimshander made a tsking sort of noise against the roof of his mouth. “Not for nothing. You will pay to have this back, I think. Pay dearly for it.”
“What I shall do is curse you until your innards are scattered upon the shore.” Sedna slowly folded in the starfish that were her hands.
“And then?” Only two words, and such soft ones.
Bertie could hardly breathe for the tension between her father and her foe, but when Sedna looked at the Scrimshander, the spark in her eyes suddenly contained untold years of sadness and longing. Bertie didn’t intercept the glance so much as it grazed her soul in passing, and she heartily wished she’d not seen it. The emotions were contagious, a black plague of yearning that took root and sprouted tendrils of sympathy, and she didn’t want to sympathize with the Sea Witch. It could not be helped, though. Bertie’s hand slid into Nate’s so that his handfasting scar met furrow to furrow with hers.
Nate spoke, the words burbling like water from his mouth. “I am sorry for her pain.” He jerked in Bertie’s grip as though he’d been burned. “What did ye do?”
She stared down at her palm, pulse throbbing in her wrist just above the scar. Its twin made itself known on her other hand, and she raised it to the dim light. This time, it was Ariel who met her, palm to palm, without hesitation. Struggling to send her message through him, Bertie’s concentration slipped when she looked up into his face, into his eyes. The intensity of his gaze bore through her like a diamond drill, and for the briefest of moments, the connection flowed both ways.
His thoughts were like the air: free, flowing, elusive. Whispers filled Bertie’s head, each of them an echo of the words he spoke next. “Let me help you.”
Her fingers tightened down upon his, and she tried to show him what she thought must happen next. A moment later, he gave voice to the picture swimming through her head. “Give Sedna back the bit of bone. It’s hers. It’s always been hers.”
Startled, the Scrimshander glanced down at Bertie. “I would have something of her in return.”
Sedna scowled. “Beyond the human life I sacrificed to keep you safe?”
“I will have your assurances that you’ll quit this place, return to the sea, and stay there. That you will not try to harm my daughter or her friends again.”
“Is that all?”
The Scrimshander shook his head. “And you will return Beatrice’s voice, her word-magic to her.”
“You ask for quite a lot in return for so little.” The Sea Goddess allowed her dark gaze to roam over those present, as though assessing her ability to overwhelm and crush them all.
“It is no small thing if it frees you from your prison of anger and hatred.” The Scrimshander took a step forward, his expression importuning her. “Perhaps someday you will be able to realize I never wanted you to sacrifice your life for mine. You will understand that while I was prepared to die for you, I would never have asked for you to do the same. You will finally believe I never wanted our story to end as it did.”
He reached for her then, cupped her starfish hand in his, and lowered the bone-glimmer of the scrimshaw into her palm. The gold chain melted away, the disk wavered and disappeared. The starfish faded, and Sedna’s hands were human once more. All that was omnipotent and sea-powerful melted away. Her face lost its ghastly green pallor; her hair was no longer the fungal brown of kelp, but rich brown, plaited into elaborate braids. She wore a thick fur jacket, and the edging on her hood moved like anemones underwater.
Forehead creased, the Scrimshander touched her face just once, tracing the planes of her cheek as he would a bit of bone. “Bertie is not the only one who mourns your pain. Did you not think I would rescue you?”
“I knew you would try,” Sedna whispered. “I could feel you rushing toward me, crying out my name. My father heard it as well.”
The stage filled with the recollection of waves until Bertie felt that she, too, clung to the side of an umiak. The boat dipped and bobbed. The killing cold numbed her senses and dulled her limbs. She heard the cry of a desperate bird creature, felt his winds stirring the ocean, urging the waves to ever greater heights.
“The waters were so cold that day.” Sedna’s whisper crossed salt-frosted lips. “I could see you flinging yourself through the sky, and I knew if you got close enough, harpoons and spears would be thrown. It was too easy to imagine them piercing the delicate flesh of your wings, to picture your death spiral. So I let go. Of the umiak. Of you.”
Bertie could see the resolution in Sedna’s eyes when she gave herself over to the sea and let the dark water close over her proud head.
Though he could have reached out to her again, caught her by the wrist, pulled her back, the Scrimshander only said, “I hope that your heart will heal, that you will find peace once again. I do not think the storm in your soul shall ever abate, nor should it, but when you are angry, may it be righteous instead of vengeful, and when you raise your voice, may it be more often in joyous songs than in curses.”
Sedna closed her eyes and exhaled. All that was mortal faded into foam on the waves until only the Sea Goddess remained. She towered over them, a myriad of emotions playing over her face like the wavering sunlight upon the ocean’s floor. For a moment,
Bertie thought Sedna would damn them to the very skies and surge forward to collect her retribution. Indeed, with a twitch of her fingers, Sedna called forth the tiny currents from the world’s forgotten rivers, the dank liquid that pooled in the streets after a rainstorm. They joined to form a stream, the streams melded into a river, and upon the river floated eels of light and color.
Seconds later, the waters slapped into Bertie, as though Sedna wished to hit her one last time, and the eels wriggled up her legs, wrapped about her wrists, wormed their way under her skin. Undiluted word-magic rushed through Bertie’s veins, hotter than hellfire, colder than an arctic tempest. When Bertie swayed a bit, Nate caught her under the elbows.
“Are ye all right?”
I will be.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That Thing That Ends All Other Deeds
Bertie’s voice vibrated inside her head like a tuning fork, only louder, growing in intensity.
“I will be,” she repeated aloud. For all that the words were stilted in delivery and mundane in nature, they rang with the triumph of an opera singer holding an impossible high note.
Nodding to her, one diva to another, Sedna drew the waters about her shoulders like a cloak, melted through the floorboards, and was gone without so much as a word of farewell. Stepping free of the bookends that were Nate and Ariel, Bertie clambered out of the orchestra pit and rushed to embrace her father.
“Dad.” She hugged him as hard as she dared, thinking of a bird’s hollow bones, its delicate skeleton. His arms similarly tightened about her; reassured by his very human frame, she ceased to be afraid she’d hurt him.
But other fears weren’t as easy to banish: that he would leave, that it would take Ophelia’s presence to preserve his humanity and hold the winds at bay. Bertie forced her gaze to meet his, to remain steady as she asked, “Will you stay? There’s only one missing from this scene, and I believe you’re the right sort of bait to catch a water-maiden.”
“I will stay,” the Scrimshander hastened to reassure her. “But Ophelia will not come when she is called.”
“It’s not that she won’t … it’s that she can’t. Her memories are trapped in the water somewhere, but I haven’t been able to find them.” As she pondered aloud, the rest of the troupe joined them onstage. “Maybe the trick is to reunite the two theaters first. Then Ophelia won’t be trapped between worlds, and she can tell us where her memories are hidden.”
Waschbär had his arm wrapped about a shivering Varvara. “And how will you manage that?”
“I caused all this trouble by acting our page from The Book into the journal, yes?” Bertie stumbled over the words, her mouth unable to keep pace with the speed of her thoughts. “Then the opposite must be true!”
Trying to puzzle out her meaning, the fairies looked as though their heads might explode.
“The opposite of what?”
“Was that supposed to be logic?”
Bertie pulled out the journal and flipped through the pages. “Our story is becoming a play … Following Her Stars. It said so on the marquee.”
“Yes?” Suspicion crept into Ariel’s voice.
“We’ll act the pages from the journal into The Complete Works of the Stage. That ought to fuse the two theaters back together.”
“So that we’re trapped within the walls of the theater again?” Twitching tendrils of air gathered about Ariel’s clothes, pleading, plucking at his sleeves, begging him to fly far away.
Bertie’s lips went numb, and a faint buzzing filled her head. Hadn’t she vowed never to imprison him again? “I will free you the moment Ophelia is safe.” When he didn’t answer, she swallowed. “Please. It might be the only way to save her.” She held the journal out to the fairies, struggling to keep her voice even and her hands from shaking. “Mustardseed, the first line is yours.”
“Everyone hold on to your bums,” the fae muttered before reading the opening line from the script.
MUSTARDSEED
IT IS A TRUTH UNIVERSALLY ACKNOWLEDGED THAT A FAIRY IN POSSESSION OF A GOOD APPETITE MUST BE IN WANT OF PIE.
There followed the sound of electric bulbs sparking, popping, burning out their filaments, but Mustardseed remained.
“It’s not enough,” Bertie whispered. “Keep going.”
COBWEB
YES, INDEED, THOUGH I AWOKE ONE MORNING FROM UNEASY DREAMS, I FOUND MYSELF TRANSFORMED IN MY BED INTO A GIGANTIC PIE.
MOTH
IT WAS THE BEST OF PIE, IT WAS THE WORST OF PIE.
The auditorium wavered, two pictures rendered on glass, one sliding atop the other.
“Nearly there.” Bertie could hardly draw a breath as she turned to Nate. “It’s your line.”
Eyes widening a bit, the pirate cleared his throat. “It is?”
“She was, apparently, thinking of you from the very beginning.” Ariel’s voice was distant, though he hadn’t stirred from her side.
Bertie shook her head, trying to signal he shouldn’t speak, but the pirate reached for her, his hand cupping her face, tracing the line of her jaw.
NATE
(OFFSTAGE WHISPER)
LASS.
PEASEBLOSSOM
(FRETTING)
WE SHOULD HAVE HAD A PROLOGUE, NOT ALL THIS NATTERING ABOUT PIE.
The air about them shimmered, growing heavy with greasepaint and the memory of applause.
Peaseblossom’s wings fluttered as she clasped her tiny hands together. “We need something more, something stronger.”
“My line, maybe?” Bertie ran her finger along the page, wanting to be absolutely certain of the wording. There was Peaseblossom’s valiant attempt at an iambic pentameter introduction, yes, then her own name stamped out in heavy typeface:
BERTIE
THAT WILL BE ENOUGH OF THAT, THANK YOU KINDLY.
She cast her opening line across the stage and waited to see if the silver fish would bite; in response, feedback crackled through the speaker system, accompanied by a whirring noise. The red velvet curtains rustled. Then the magic paused, as though the theater held its breath, refusing to exhale.
“What more does it need?” Mustardseed demanded, his entire face contorted into a scowl.
“It needs me,” Ariel said.
Bertie wanted to make promises, to reassure him of her good intentions. “Ariel—”
He wouldn’t let her finish. “Give me the journal.”
Forever after she would remember that moment: the way she hesitated; the look of resignation on his face; how she handed him the journal and wondered—as all actors must—what her motivation truly was, beyond her determination to save Ophelia. Bravery, inherited from a woman fearless enough to leave the theater and her written part behind? Cowardice, born from the fear that she could not set matters to rights?
In the end, it mattered not. He spoke with the conviction she lacked.
ARIEL
THIS IS THE FIRST MOMENT WE’VE HAD ALONE SINCE I RETURNED FROM YOUR DELIVERY ERRAND.
Everything hung in the balance, golden scales evenly weighted, every member of the troupe holding their collective breath, but still nothing happened.
“Why didn’t it work?” Moth stage-whispered to the others. “Did we do something wrong?”
With a sinking feeling in her middle, Bertie flipped through the pages. “It should have worked.”
Except there were blank spaces in the journal where not even dark smudges of ink marked the absence of certain words.
SEREFINA
(HOLDING OUT A CRYSTAL FLASK)
FILL THIS.
BERTIE
WITH WHAT?
SEREFINA
WITH WORDS.
BERTIE
(REMEMBERING THE CHANGES SHE WROUGHT IN THE MARKETPLACE: RIVULETS OF RIBBON-COLOR, GOLDEN EARRINGS TRANSFORMED INTO EGGS)
JUST WORDS?
SEREFINA
(WITH A KNOWING SMILE)
IT’S NEVER JUST WORDS, IS IT?
It’s never just words.
&n
bsp; “The mistake was mine,” Bertie said in disbelief. “Reckless. Silly and reckless. I’ve done more damage here than Sedna could have accomplished in her fondest dreams.” Dizzy with the revelation, Bertie realized there was a very good chance she might faint like any one of the girls in the Ladies’ Chorus.
Nate grabbed her by the arm before she could keel over. “An’ where d’ye think yer goin’?”
“The journal’s incomplete,” she said with a stagger. “It’s missing the words I traded to Serefina.”
Moth clapped his hands. “Back we go to the Caravanserai! I call shotgun on the caravan.”
“I call dibs on the contents of the cheesecake-on-a-stick stall!”
“We’re not going all the way back,” Bertie said, recovering her balance and her purpose all at once. “Waschbär?”
He snapped to attention. “Yes?”
“I need something from your pack. That vial of sand?”
Dropping to one knee, the sneak-thief set to rummaging, locating the requested article with haste. “Here you are. You want to be careful with that.”
“I know.” Bertie pulled the drawstring and immediately scented the many years contained within the leather pouch. The sands of time, he’d called it, but she knew better. Sand itself was time incarnate, microscopic particles of stone worn down by weather and years.