8. Conversation

8

Conversation

Safira Chastain

I n a funny twist of fate, it rained the next day—and then every three or four days thereafter, like clockwork. I had no need for the gift of water, since Perrhen was so keen on providing his rain... but I kept thinking about Celyn, nevertheless, catching myself looking down at the gleaming waters of the lake as I did my tasks in the garden. He'd broken my pump, pestered me, and eaten my weeds, all so that I would come have a conversation with him. Now, though, I had no need of water, and no horse appeared on the island for me to invite to eat weeds as I pulled them.

I felt... not guilty, but almost itchy about the knowledge that he was surely hoping for a drought. It had been more than a century since anyone had spoken to him, and never without being afraid of him. Even in Barixeor Spire, with Bash and Marin to talk to, I was slowly going mad from the solitude already.

Not even two weeks into plentiful rain, I found myself picking at my food while sitting on the stoop of the Spire, staring moodily out towards the lake. I didn't hear it as Marin came and settled down on a stool behind me, her steps light and my thoughts focused on the light glinting off the placid lake.

"What's wrong?" Marin asked, her voice kind. "If you'd like to talk about it."

I jumped at the words, splashing my glass of tea, then made a rueful expression and brushed the liquid off my skirt before too much could soak in. I scooted around to face her, looking up into her face where she sat with her eyes closed, the sun brightening her skin.

"It's... Celyn," I said after a moment, feeling embarrassed at having been caught out. "The, um, water-horse."

Her eyes blinked open, an expression of disbelief lifting her brows as she looked down at me. "He has a name?" Then she shook her head, a flicker of a smile crossing her face. "Of course he does. But... he told you his name?"

I shrugged one shoulder, my cheeks warming. "We, um, made a deal?" I said, my voice going up at the end into a question. "He was watering my garden for me. Until it started... raining," I finished, looking back out at the damp earth and verdant growth.

Marin didn't say anything for a long while, as I grew more and more self-conscious. Had I done something wrong? She was the quartermaster and steward; she could dismiss me if she liked. If she dismissed me... if I couldn't stay at Barixeor... I didn't know where I'd go. How I'd stay safe. Yawning panic started opening inside of me, those well-known wolves snapping at my heels, but before I could start babbling out promises not to do anything like that again, if only she'd let me stay, Marin sighed.

"He's dangerous, but he's never hurt us," she said, sounding troubled. She looked back at me, concern on her face. "I can't help you if you anger him, Safira." Her voice was low and cautious, the way one might talk to an unpredictable animal. "No one but a sorcerer could. Bash is a power null, and Tsirisma Lake couldn't hurt him any more than any other lake or horse, but if you're drowned at the bottom of a lake, there's nothing even he can do for you." Marin's mouth curved into a sad smile. "I can't even leave the Spire to come for you."

My brows drew together with concern of my own. "What do you mean, you can't leave the Spire? You're not... you're not..." I stopped talking, my throat working. I didn't know all the things that could bind someone to a place, but the fact that she was bound meant that I could be bound, and that meant—

"Whatever you're thinking, no, I'm not," she said in a gentle voice. Marin held out her hand to me, just inside the doorway, smiling her sadness away.

I reached out and put my hand in hers. Her skin was cool, the same temperature as the air. It felt like holding the hand of a mannequin, lifeless despite the shape and color.

She squeezed my hand once, then let me go and lifted her hand to her throat. "Have you heard of the Marevic Experiments?"

"Only the name," I said with a wince, wrapping my arms around my knees and tucking them to my chest. "I know it was bad."

Marin breathed out a small laugh, one corner of her mouth lifting. "You know what a chimeral infection is, though, right?"

"Well, yeah," I said, a little confused. "When you get injured, it damages the flow of ley-energy in your body, and if you're in an area with enough ambient power, you can get magic crystallizing inside of you. You'll die if it gets all the way to making chimera."

The corner of her mouth twitched again. It wasn't a smile, or, at least, not a happy one. "The Marevic Experiments were conducted nearly fifty years ago, on people with terminal chimeral infections. The goal was to successfully halt the progression of chimeric infections, then to extract the chimera without killing the patient." She fell silent again, turning and staring out across the island.

I didn't think she was looking at the lake. I didn't think she was looking at anything. I knew the expression she wore. Your worst days are always looking for you, and if you're not prepared to handle them when they find you, they'll drag you back down to hell with them.

At last, she shook her head again and looked back at me. "You can't even halt the growth of a chimeral infection by taking people to the Barrens. We make enough energy on our own to feed such little creatures." Marin paused, then took a deep breath, putting her shoulders back. "They... observed it. Watched people go mad from the things growing slowly inside of them, and watched them die as chimera burrowed through them or as they killed themselves trying to carve them out." Her jaw worked. "They invented a way to stop it. It's a variant on something called the 'deathless curse.' A collar that puts a person outside of time, and outside the reach of power."

I stared at her, horrified.

She touched her throat again, right over the hollow at the base. She didn't have a pulse, I realized, looking at her neck with eyes that finally cared to see. Her skin was cold. I'd never seen her eat.

Dead man walking.

"It takes a great deal of power," she said in a calm voice, her eyes tired. "Only a sorcerer can cast it, and often they must work in teams to maintain it until the subject is in place on a confluence of enough power, and the curse is allowed to feed that power. If I step outside the confluence, it won't take long for the collar to break, and with this much power around, it won't be much longer before the chimera in my veins claw their way free." Her mouth turned up into a smile as she regarded me. "I'm the only one of the Marevic subjects that's still alive, but I'm not ready to die like that. Better to live as I am than be gutted from within."

"And I thought I'd seen the worst of what mages can do," I said in a small voice, huddling a little further down behind my legs.

"Don't be frightened," Marin said, her voice kind. "I told you we all had different reasons for being here, and that's mine. I'm only telling you this now so that you understand why I'm going to tell you this next thing." She settled her hands in her lap, looking straight at me with her level green gaze. "I've lived here for half a century, and in all that time, Tsirisma Lake has only ever kept his distance."

"Celyn," I said, interrupting her. "He wants to be called Celyn." I didn't know quite why I did it, but though I flinched backwards in automatic expectation of a reprimand, Marin didn't respond with anger.

Instead, she relaxed, and started laughing, a bright sound. "Very well!" she said, good humor dancing in her eyes. " Celyn has only ever kept his distance. That means that, out of all of us, you know him the best, and so I won't tell you how to deal with him. Just..." She paused, then flashed me a smile, standing and picking up her stool again. "Remember what he is. The horrors mankind has done are our own, whether done by mages or monsters. His nature is different than ours, but he's still a mortal creature. We're all capable of evil, even if we've lain quietly for a century."

"I won't forget," I said, looking up at her from my position on the stoop. "Thank you for telling me."

Marin smiled, the expression carrying the softness of her kind heart. "I've had a long time to get used to my pain," she said in a gentle voice. "Time blunts the sharp edges of every wound, and mine grew dull a long time ago. It helps to let others help carry it." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "There's nothing wrong with talking to a friend." Marin flashed me another smile, then turned away. "Bring in some squash blossoms for dinner, please. I have a recipe I'd like to try."

"Yes, ma'am," I said automatically, earning myself a laugh and a wave over her shoulder as she disappeared back into Barixeor.

I scooted back around to look out at the lake again, so blue and lovely. Celyn and I weren't friends, but we were friendly acquaintances. He'd given me a name to call him, and he'd watered my garden. He'd also broken my pump, but with the blisters healed I felt a great deal more forgiving of that little foible. After all, I never would have thought to go have a conversation with the lake, and a bargain felt a lot less dangerous than the open-endedness of striking up a friendship.

I'd enjoyed our two conversations. His curiosity and aloof security in himself made for far livelier interactions than I generally had with Bash and Marin, and he'd offered me neither harm nor threat. Celyn simply was what he was: a big damn lake in the middle of nowhere, self-contained and implacable, beautiful and crystal clear. He was only interested in me because I'd spoken to him first, and because I wasn't consumed by my wariness of him. If that was what he wanted, I didn't think he'd try to frighten or harm me.

I realized I was once again trying to convince myself that what I'd already decided to do was a good idea, and shook my head with a laugh. Being in danger with no one to come to my rescue was nothing new for me, and this time I got to choose the danger. That hint of control, however mild it was, made everything feel a great deal safer. Celyn had kept his word, and not troubled me since the day he'd watered the garden. As long as he held up his end of our bargains, I'd give him the conversation he wanted so badly.

Decision made and justified, I picked up my lunch and strolled down one of the trails to the lakeside. I didn't pick the open water where Bashen had pulled in the rowboat; there wasn't any good place for me to sit and eat. But some long-ago gardener had planted a weeping cherry alongside a bench that sat next to the shore, and it had grown into a handsome tree with long branches draping down to skim the surface of the water. The wooden bench itself was in good repair, no doubt kept that way by Bash's careful hand, and even if Celyn didn't answer, I thought it would make a nice place to sit.

I set my food onto the bench, then ducked back through the curtain of branches and pulled the skipping-stone I'd first used to call Celyn out of my pocket. It wasn't anything special, so far as stones went, a flat piece of water-worn basalt the size of my palm, but I liked the weight of it, and any time I picked it up I remembered the way his hand had looked, holding it out to me with lake water dripping from his fingertips. I hefted it, then skipped it out over the lake.

Three hops. I was out of form.

Celyn didn't immediately materialize, so I took a seat on the bench and resumed my lunch. He'd come, or he wouldn't. But I'd asked, and unlike him, I wouldn't pester. I was a guest here, after all, and I didn't want to be rude.