“Do you mean the doors were locked?” As Bertie watched him struggle to answer, she lost her grip on her patience. “Did you try the front door? The Stage Door? Breaking a window? You couldn’t have tried much of anything if your only souvenir is a handful of sorry excuses.”
The Scrimshander shook his head, radiating sadness and—worse yet—resignation. “You are blessed to be a daughter of the earth who is ever growing and ever changing, but creatures of the air are caught between freedom and our abilities to fight the headwinds. Sometimes we must bow our heads and permit the currents to take us where they will.”
As though to prove his point, a sudden breeze swept over the balcony, bringing with it the scent of the sand, of the sea, of lands distant and beckoning.
Nearly overwhelmed by the desire to fling herself onto the back of the wind, to use the stars as stepping stones, to search out Ariel, to run away, Bertie wondered if she could manage it this time or if she’d only fall again. “I might be a daughter of the earth, but I am bird enough that if I fly again, I will fly where I will.”
“What do you mean, fly again?” The Scrimshander twitched, shoulder blades immediately aquiver. As though to echo the question, the landing shuddered underfoot, accompanied by the terrible rumble of stone scraping stone. “Get back from the ledge!” He reached out and caught her by the arm, trying to pull her into the doorway as a wet wheezing noise filled the air: the death rattle of every mariner that ever drowned. “It’s an earthquake!”
Bertie shook off her father’s grip and stared at the beachfront, her arms breaking out in gooseflesh as her gaze traveled over the spot where waves should have crashed and foamed. The sand there glistened like a wet, open wound. Newly exposed rocks jutted into the sky, pointing accusing fingers at the moon. The silver suggestion of fish jerked and flopped in a danse macabre. “Where did the water go?”
Before he could croak a response, she had her answer. An immense wave was gathering just off the shallows and building to a seemingly impossible height, and a sudden gust of salt-mist brought with it a familiar noise, one that turned Bertie’s very bones to ice: the triumphant laugh of the Sea Goddess, launching her attack.
CHAPTER FIVE
So Quick Bright Things Come to Confusion
“We must fly!” The Scrimshander launched himself into the air even as he grasped Bertie’s wrist, towing her after him.
Skin once more prickling with the promise of feathers, Bertie gained a foothold upon the sky before her ability to fly was plucked from her mind like a weed from a rose garden. Her father scrabbled to hold on to her, but weighted down by all terror, she fell for the second time today, plummeting to the sand-strewn beach below. She cracked her head with such force on impact that only twinkling stars decorated the landscape. They recalled a sudden and vivid image of Bertie’s Mother, the Player who’d taken part in How Bertie Came to the Theater, with the sequin-dance of light in her eyes. Then the mental slide show shifted to Ophelia reaching for Bertie from the glow of the quick-change corner.
“Run, dear heart,” her mother whispered, no more than a ghost as the blue light faded. “You must pick yourself up and run.”
Before Bertie could obey, the tsunami overtook the beach. The ocean enveloped her in angry arms, shoving her against the Caravanserai’s outer wall with a bone-cracking thud, twisting her about, heaving her up. As salty as the Dead Sea and twice as dark, every taste of the water on Bertie’s lips was like a death kiss from Sedna.
Go back to hell, Bertie tried to command her, but the words were only bubbles as she flailed against her unseen foe. Hands outstretched, Bertie’s fingers closed around what felt like the restaurant’s balcony. Bits of kelp lashed about her ankles, a vicious undertow trying to drag her deep, but the Sea Goddess as yet had not the strength to persevere. Bertie clung to the sandstone like a limpet until the water began a reluctant retreat, trickles running off through open windows and pooling upon the beach.
Clambering over the railing and onto the verandah, Bertie landed hard upon her knees. Silver hair swirling about her shoulders, she spit water from her mouth and cleared it from her nose, coughing one moment and retching the next. As though in homage to Ophelia, she dripped as her mother usually did, with a gentle pitter-patter that mimicked rain or perhaps a leaky faucet. There was no doubting it now: Sedna was gathering her strength, and soon it wouldn’t be a single wave, but a flood … the way she had filled the Aerie, trying to kill Ophelia. The way she’d filled the theater’s auditorium to the ceiling before kidnapping Nate.
“Dad?” Bertie pulled herself up and scanned the beach for any signs of her father. A sliver of moon cut the edge of sky, but there was nothing of man or bird anywhere to be seen. With an oath, she turned and ran for the exit, noting that water had sluiced down the stairwell, extinguished torches, and broken the lanterns hanging upon the walls. The courtyard below was sloshing damp. Trays and crockery littered the ground. Dazed servitors picked themselves up off the sandstone floor. Frightened patrons huddled in groups, all of them muttering over the terrors of the last few minutes. Guilt stabbed Bertie in her vitals.
We have to leave before Sedna strikes again. I won’t have anyone else hurt because of me.
Thankfully, the rest of the Caravanserai looked none the worse for the Sea Goddess’s attack, though the news spread almost as fast as the water had. As a result, Bertie’s damp appearance drew looks of varying curiosity and concern. A few called out questions, but she only waved her hand at them in passing, keeping her eyes lowered and her head tucked down, uncertain how much time she might have before the next attack.
Bertie had one stop to make before they departed, a stop that couldn’t be skipped.
The braziers and torches set at regular intervals did wonders for the thin silk of the gown and her fantastically colored hair. Within minutes, Bertie was presentably dry, if wrinkled of dress and tousled of curls, much like a washrag wrung out and left dangling on the line. A chill wind whistled down the alleyway, tugging at the filmy overskirt of the moonlit dress. Fervently wishing Ariel’s taste in clothing had leaned toward something warmer, she tasked herself to search the luggage for a thick, woolen cloak before they drove into another freak snowstorm.
Thoughts thus occupied, Bertie negotiated the Caravanserai’s labyrinthine passages until she reached the desired stall where faded print curtains shifted to reveal the crystal facets of bottles and beakers.
“Come in,” the herb-seller commanded when Bertie was still several feet away. One plant-stained hand adjusted the draperies, and Serefina came into view. Lavender steam unfurled from the spout of the brass kettle in her hand, though she turned around to pour its contents into a teacup rather than the faceted bottles she used for her various elixirs and potions. “It’s a good thing you came directly here, my silver-haired fox, or I would have sent someone to fetch you.”
“Did you want me for my charming companionship, or have you heard about the freak tsunami that crashed into the Caravanserai’s outermost wall?”
Rather than answering, Serefina handed Bertie a cup brimming with liquid the color of amethysts. “Drink this while it’s hot.”
Bertie sniffed at it cautiously and tried to identify the curious aroma, which smelled not of flowers nor herbs nor any sort of tea she’d ever consumed. That the surface of the brew was iridescent, like an oil slick on water, also gave her a moment’s pause. “I’m afraid I haven’t time for refreshments.”
“You have time for this.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing that will harm you.” Serefina sat across from her, pouring her own cup and adding a spoonful of something Bertie knew probably wasn’t sugar. The liquid fizzled up with foam the color of ripe blackberries, then settled back a darker purple than before. Serefina drank, her gaze an unspoken challenge to do the same. “It should help clear your head and give you a bit of much-needed strength.”
“So you know about Sedna.” The brew tasted of salt and bitterness, and B
ertie couldn’t help screwing her face up with displeasure. “That wave was her doing.”
“Obviously.” When the herb-seller took another sip, the deepest wrinkles around her eyes smoothed out and the lines about her mouth were suddenly less severe.
But surely it’s a trick of the firelight?
Bertie resisted the urge to scrub at her own eyes like a tired child, instead taking another swallow. “Perhaps you also know about our summons to the Distant Castle? We have to pay our respects to Her Gracious Majesty and perform for her birthday celebration.” She sipped again, pleasantly surprised when the not-tea mellowed into tones of vanilla and buttercream frosting. With the immediate future no longer tasting of panic and salt water, Bertie remembered the wish-come-true and her resolve sharpened once more to the point of a serrated cake knife.
“Queen summoned and Goddess pursued? You’ll need to depart with all due haste.” Serefina rose from the table, moving to the shelves to collect an assortment of bottles and packets. “Though of the two, I don’t know which presents the greater threat. The use of ‘Gracious’ in Her Majesty’s title can be something of a misnomer.”
“Right now I’ll take the trouble I don’t know for the trouble I do, thanks.” Though Bertie scanned the stall’s interior shelves, she could not locate the crystal flask she’d filled with words in exchange for the return of the scrimshaw medallion. The corners of her mouth tightened at the memory of Ariel yanking it from her neck. But physical pain had scored his face when he spoke of being tethered to her. Although she might fault him for the theft, now she could empathize with his torment. “What are you looking for?”
Serefina’s fingers moved over the shelves like skittering spiders. “You’ll need a few things. Medicines for fevers, powders for headaches.” She sorted through packets, their labels written in darkest red script on the parchment. “Do those fairies of yours ever suffer from stomach gripes?”
“They’ve intestines of cast iron.” Given the perfect opening, Bertie leaned forward. “And their innards aren’t the reason I came to see you. I need to trade for a bit of protection.”
Hand hovering over a wax-paper envelope of seeds, Serefina nodded. “You’re thinking you’re too young to be a mother.”
The herb-seller’s words registered beyond their consonants and vowels, and Bertie blinked. “No! I mean, that’s not why I came. I meant protection from Sedna.”
Serefina made a noncommittal sort of noise in the back of her throat. “When a girl keeps the company of not one but two handsome lads, she ought to be prepared.”
Bertie lifted her chin, though her cheeks burned as hot as the cooking fire. “I won’t be like Ophelia, knowing motherhood before I even know myself.”
“Nevertheless.” Serefina selected an additional container from the shelves. “A spoonful of this every day will keep your belly as empty as a drunkard’s flask at the end of a night’s carousing.” She took Bertie by the hand and placed the cool glass in her palm. “It will not, I regret to say, safeguard against anything else that may ail you as a result: broken hearts, broken trust, broken dreams.”
Thinking the herb-seller might as well have handed her a bottle labeled UNTOLD IMPLICATIONS, Bertie set it on the table before her with all the careful consideration due a ticking bomb. “Understood. And what will you have for payment for the medicines?”
“I told you before I’ve no need of money.” Serefina slid into a chair and narrowed her gaze. “Not for such trifles. Protection from the Sea Goddess is an entirely different matter, though.”
“Then what would such protection cost me?”
“A mere token … something you shouldn’t mind bartering. Something I already know is unwanted, by way of your own words.”
Bertie twisted her fingers in the tablecloth’s fringe. “An unwanted thing? That sounds like a business transaction for Waschbär.”
“He is the expert in such matters, but not even his power of thievery can steal something that doesn’t yet exist.” Serefina’s gaze slid from the flask upon the table to Bertie’s midsection. “I want the child you’ll never have.”
The demand hit Bertie in precisely the place where a baby might grow. Several seconds passed before she was able to drag a ragged breath into her lungs, and only then did she manage to wheeze, “Absolutely not, and you’re a horrible creature for even suggesting such a thing.” She fell back from the table as though it was aflame, nearly knocking over the chair in her haste to escape.
The herb-seller’s next words brought Bertie to a standstill. “Protection from the Sea Goddess is a costly magic indeed. And what is it to you, a faceless, nameless child?”
“I spent seventeen years wondering who I was and where I belonged!” The temper that rolled through Bertie surprised her, sending blood coursing to her cheeks until she thought her head might explode. “What makes you think I’d wish the same upon a child of my own?”
Serefina slapped her palm on the table. “I’m not asking for a true child, you silly wretch, but the idea of a child. The life-spark of a person who will never exist.”
“How can there be such a thing?” Thinking over the proposition was like trying to gift wrap an octopus without putting it in a box first. “I am a playwright, a teller of tales whose words become reality. There’s little difference between the idea of a child and the reality of one, if I so wish.”
“This isn’t about your word-magic! Someday you will choose one of your handsome lads over the other or someone else altogether or no one at all, and all those decisions will create children-that-will-never-be. The living almost never notice their tiny shades. They mistake their laughter for water or wind or rustling leaves, their tears for errant rainfall.…” Now Serefina’s voice seemed to reach Bertie from a great distance, from a place where small, shimmering bodies moved with unhindered freedom like so many dust motes caught in a brilliant beam of light. “Too many years ago to count, I was one of those children, pulled from a place of never-was to this world of always-has-been. The time has come for me to train my replacement, and I must have another such child to take my place.”
“Then you can jolly well get ‘another such child’ from someone else—”
Distant screams interrupted Bertie’s refusal, replaced seconds later by the tidal shriek of an angry goddess. The sound of rushing water spurred Serefina into action. She leapt to her feet and slapped her hands against the stone wall.
“Oh, no, Sea Witch,” she said, her shoulders trembling with tremendous effort, “now you are pushing things too far.”
The water thundering down the alley dissipated the moment it passed the herb-seller’s stall with only a gush of foam left to spatter the cotton curtain that served as a door. Whether that was due to Serefina’s strength or Sedna’s weakness, Bertie couldn’t tell, but turning back the tide had greatly cost the herb-seller. Serefina sat down hard upon the stone hearth, the lines about her eyes and mouth back in evidence and deeper than before. Her skin was ashen and her breathing ragged.
Rushing to her side, Bertie grasped the other woman’s hand; it felt like onion skin, papery and thin, but it was slicked with a thin sheen of sweat that glistened in the firelight. “You’re feverish.” She turned to the wall of crystal vials in desperation. “Tell me which of these will help.”
“Not a one.” Serefina leaned back against the wall, her iron key ring dragging against the floor with dead weight. “My elements are out of balance. The fire inside me grows stronger, fanned by the wind. The water dries, the earth erodes. I must have the child to take my place. I can live long enough to teach her the potions and powders and draughts, to train her in the art of the healing magic. Someone must be here…” She traced the stones nearest her with golden fingertips. “To ensure the Caravanserai yet stands.”
Bertie’s earth-magic sang in response. “You’re the reason this sand castle doesn’t crumble into the sea.”
“Now you know the truth of it.” Serefina pointed at the table. “Bring me the k
ettle. Add two spoonfuls of powder this time.”
Stumbling to the tea service, Bertie poured the liquid, now tepid and pale pink. She spilled a bit on the cloth, muttered an apology to both her hostess and the linen, and reached for the herbal spoon. The odd powder caused it to bubble up twice more, this time the color of raspberries. Carrying the cup carefully to the hearth, Bertie knelt and pressed its rim to Serefina’s mouth.
The herb-seller swallowed deep and grimaced. “It works better when it’s hot.” But the moment she finished drinking, she was able to stand. “What say you now to my proposal, earth daughter?”
Even crouched next to the hearth, Bertie couldn’t get warm. “I … I cannot give up even the idea of a child. I’m sorry. It’s a turning-straw-into-gold sort of bargain, something I would surely regret later.”
“What of your other talents?” Serefina’s questions drifted down to settle on Bertie’s shoulders with the weight of falling snow. “You can breathe water into your lungs without dying and ride the winds like a bird. Would you trade me either of those?”
Bertie reflected upon the abilities she’d inherited from her parents, which had saved her on her journey through Sedna’s underworld. “To be quite honest, I’m not certain I can do either of those things when not in the clutches of the Sea Goddess, but I can’t trade them either.”
“There is little, it seems, you are willing to give for the sake of safety, then.”
Bertie heard the wheezing rattle of the wind in the woman’s chest, the slosh of water behind her eyes. “What you need most is a bit of my strength. Enough to tide you over until you get the wish-child you seek.”
Serefina made a noise so small that it was only the suggestion of a sigh. “I will take your strength and thank you for it. Clever thing you are for offering it to me, for I think such a trade will also safeguard you from Sedna.” The herb-seller drew a small hand mirror out of her pocket, its silver backing scratched and pockmarked. “We all wear masks. They start out plain, decorated with the various small artifices of childhood, an innocent lie or two. As the years pass, we add laughter born without humor, tears shed for the sake of those watching.”