Mist on Water (15 page)

“Tactful logic.”

I cast a glance at the people. They were half drunk, and getting drunker by the second. Slurred murmurings came from half of them, light snores from others and an enhanced cheeriness tickled the rest. They were here to drink their worries away, not to hear about my ‘fanciful ideas’ as some had called them.

I didn’t hold out much hope, but I went to the least glassy-eyed man and appealed to any remaining compassion lurking within his soul. “What if it were you? Would you not wish for salvation?”

He snorted and muttered into his cup, “My father never fished on that lake.”

“Mine either,” piped up the man next to him. “Everyone knows it’s cursed. Course I’d begun to have my doubts, but no longer.”

A chorus of agreement rose.

I shot a glance at Gordie. He shook his head, and then nodded toward a back table where Douglas and Cyril huddled over their ales. I pushed my way to them, and saw them shrink when I did. I would not be put off. “What of you, Douglas? He is your friend.”

“Was my friend,” he corrected.

Douglas had always been selfish and mean-spirited. I turned my attention to Cyril. He had a sweeter nature. “Think of the good times we had. How Ryne befriended you. Does that not mean something?”

Cyril cast a watery gaze up at me, silent and afraid, but one searing whisper from Douglas turned his gaze away.

I stepped back, horrified by their rejection and glanced around the room. These were people who had known Ryne all his life. Knew his family. Had been their friends. Disgust coloring my words. “So this is how it is to be? You sit here in comfort while Ryne is held captive?”

They all muttered to one another until one finally spoke up. “His fate was sealed the day he were born. He’s gone. Drowned by the nix. We’ve nothing to do now but wait for the body to float up.”

A collective nod followed, and as the publican gathered a crop of empty mugs, he shot a quick glance my way. “It’s been a bad day for us all. You’d do well to follow their lead. Forget about him. Sit down and have a drink. No one will blame you.”

I reared back as if I’d been bitten by a rabid dog. “Never. I will not rest until he is found.” My breathing grew harsh. “I pity you all, for to be so cowardly is a bitter legacy.” I ran out the door, angry tears spilling down my cheeks. I dashed them away, determined not to let their callous behavior affect me.

Cowardly, indifferent scoundrels, every last one of them.

“Nari,” Gordie called after me. “Wait.”

I tripped over my own feet and would have fallen if it weren’t for old man Tiller. He appeared out of nowhere and clamped his hand over my mouth, then yanked me into the alley. I struggled against him as Gordie ran by. And after a moment, he pulled his hand from my mouth.

“Mr. Tiller,” I gasped, shocked at his manhandling and the hidden strength in his wiry old arms.

He quickly let go. “Sorry I am about that, but I couldn’t help overhearing.” He nodded toward the pub. “Was just about to go in and I thought to meself, ‘Self, you needs to help that girl.’”

As old as dirt, with one lame leg and a mind gone numb long ago by too much ale, I hadn’t the foggiest idea what he could do. Mayhap he was working on a plan to get even with me for all the pranks Ryne and I had played on him when we were children. I truly regretted spitting on him. Should I say so? His mind was so riddled with holes, did he even remember?

I took a step back, eyeing my retreat. “Thank you. You’re too kind, but…”

He snaked his hand out and clasped my arm, keeping me from darting away. “Always fidgeting, you are. Come here.” He waved his gnarled hand and a challenge glittered from his eyes. “I’ve got the answer to your problem, if you’ve a mind and the courage to hear it.”

That stopped me in my tracks. I looked at old man Tiller with a newfound appreciation. He wasn’t just old, he was positively ancient, and the crazy stories he told…well maybe they weren’t so crazy. Surely he knew more about the nix than anyone.

“Courage? I have plenty of that.”

He threw me a lopsided smile. “Good. To fight a nix, you’ll need magic, and I know where to get some.”

17

M
agic? I hoped old man Tiller wasn’t playing me for a dimwit. Certainly, I deserved a healthy dose of retaliation, but must it be now? A cruel trick indeed. But with his hand waving frantically at me and his old rheumy eyes swollen and blinking like an owl’s, I was desperate enough to listen to him–I had no one left to turn to. I stepped closer.

His sour breath reached my nose as his words reached my ear. “Go to the sage.”

I leaned back and coughed lightly, rubbing my nose for good measure. “I’ve never heard mention of a sage or magic.”

He barked out a laugh. “For good reason.” He leaned even closer, and it took all my willpower not to pull away. “People don’t trust her. But it’s said she’s a wise, powerful woman, and I fear she’s your only hope now.”

Of course, there had to be a wise woman. All tales had one of those. He was deep in his drink, and I was wasting time standing here listening to his rambling. I wriggled my arm free. “Well then. I thank you for the tip.”

“Where do you go?” He sounded angry, and the last thing I needed was an old, lame, angry drunk chasing me down the street.

“To find the sage.”

“Phisha,” he spat and grabbed hold of my arm, again. “Don’t be daft. You don’t know where to look. No one listens to me. I told him to stay away from the lake. That evil lived there…but he don’t listen. I could’ve told him about the way her skin changed colors and the way her hair whips around her…but nay. He wouldn’t hear none of that. Nobody listens to me.”

This old man had seen the nix? Suddenly he was far from crazy. I quickly changed my attitude. “You’re right. I’m a silly girl.”

“That be the truth.”

He needn’t be so ready to agree. I bit my tongue and smiled encouragingly. “How do I find the sage?”

An arthritic finger, bent and swollen, pointed to the East. “Go to the far hills, and make your way to the one covered in stones and briars.”

I turned to stare at the eastern hills, easily spotting the one he mentioned squatting inhospitably amidst its forest-covered sisters. He had to be joking. No one traveled to that hill. It was a nasty lump. A wart on an otherwise perfect landscape. I cast him a quick glance, but he didn’t look like he was joking. I pointed toward the hill, just to make sure. “That hill? Are you sure it’s that one?”

“The very one. She lives at its top.”

Worry fell over me. “But it’s over a day’s journey.”

“Sounds about right.”

“How does anyone reach her?”

He glanced at the hill and scratched his head. “Well, you walk for some distance, and then you climb.”

“Through briars and over jagged rocks?” Why did all the wise people of lore live in such terrible conditions? If they were so wise, wouldn’t they find a gentler place to live?

“If she don’t like you, that’s the least of your problems. Well,” he said, letting go and nudging me out of the alley, “you best get to it if you have a mind to save poor Ryne.”

I watched him step and drag his way to the pub door. Before he went in, I called out a soft, “Thank you.”

He peered back at me and put his bent finger to his lips. “Remember, I didn’t tell you nothing.”

Even he recognized the craziness of his advice. I stared at the closed door, not knowing what to do. Everyone had given up. Even Ryne’s parents. Since the moment their son was taken, they had gone into mourning, not even trying to save him.

Crazy old man Tiller. Could I trust him?

My gaze rose to the hills beyond and to the one covered in briars and rocks. It was too ridiculous to believe. A magic sage. But hadn’t the nix seemed just as unreal?

What if it were true?

I couldn’t take the chance it wasn’t. I would do anything to save Ryne. The sage was my last hope.

A day later, I stood at the base of the most hazardous hill and looked up. No path. Rocks and briars tangled against each other in a wall of terrible proportions. How was I to climb through all this? Frustration nearly made me want to weep. To come all this way and find an impenetrable mess was too much. A hummingbird darted forward, hovered in front of me, and then zipped into the brambles as if to encourage me forward.

It was a good omen. I followed, climbing over a series of jagged rocks whose rough surface scratched my legs. Once over, I was met by a clump of twisted branches covered in thorns. The bird lit high in the brambles and looked down at me.

“Do I go through here?” I asked.

The bird fluttered its shimmering blue feathers, but I couldn’t tell if that was a yes or a no. I pushed against the thorny outcrop and snapped off a clump at its base. Before I could take a step forward, the briar quickly grew back.

Unable to trust what I was seeing, I snapped off the newly grown section. Again it grew back.

I tore at the brambles, but as fast as I snapped off a branch, new growth appeared. I tried pushing my way through, but the thorns lashed out at me, ripping into my dress and puncturing the skin of my hands. With a cry of pain, I yanked back.

As I rubbed my stinging flesh, I watched the briar leisurely repair itself as if declaring its triumph. Finally, I collapsed on the rocks, my clothes torn to pieces and my skin raw. I picked up a small stone and threw it into the bushes. “Why won’t you let me in?”

I shot a frustrated glance at the bird. “So tell me, how am I to proceed?”

The bird only fluttered its wings and turned its back on me.

It looked insulted, as if were being rude trying to force my way up the hill. Of course. Standing, I gazed far up toward the top of the hill. “I need your help,” I shouted. “Please.”

I glanced down one side of the bramble wall and then the other, praying a section would magically open. Nothing happened. No sign of help or that anyone but the hummingbird could hear me.

Tears hovered at the edge of my lashes. “I would never disturb you, except love has made me bold. I will stop at nothing to bring him back to me. No evil will stop me. I swear to that. But I cannot do it alone. You are my only hope. Please, help me.”

The air hung heavy with silence and then a sudden, stiff wind shook the brambles and suddenly the briars pulled away like a door swinging open, and the rocks flattened into a smooth pathway. The hummingbird cheerfully darted through and I followed, hefting the torn pieces of my clothes out of the way as I ran up the path. It wound around rocks and bushes, the bird urging me higher and higher, until finally I reached the top of the hill where a house made of brambles and rock had been built. In front, an old woman sat in a chair crushing a cluster of pungent leaves with pestle and mortar.

With gray hair piled on her head and a shawl hanging from her thin shoulders, the sage looked like a gentle grandmother waiting for her grandchildren. She bent, revealing a swallow nesting near her braided bun, and accepted a clump of mint leaves from a mouse as if it were the most natural thing to do. Straightening, she stared over at me, her silvery eyes fathomless. The coarse wool shawl slipped off her shoulders and the swallow flew down and pulled it up before settling back in the woman’s hair.

I didn’t know what I’d expected, but this frail, little woman with her tiny helpers wasn’t it. I hesitated, not knowing the rules that governed visiting those that held wisdom.

“You nearly drowned,” the sage finally said, lifting her gray gaze toward me.

“Excuse me?” What was she talking about?

“When you saw he was no longer in the pool. You thought to end your life.”

I furrowed my brow, remembering how easily it would have been to die. “How do you know?”

“I know a lot of things. More of some things that I shouldn’t, and less of other things that I should. But this. I have been waiting for this moment for a long time. As soon as she took him, I knew.”

A strange little smile tipped her lips. “The nix would have been pleased if you had died. I am glad you listened to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you he was alive. You doubted for a moment. Thought you were crazy. But now you know. He is alive. And
you
must find him.”

“That was you?” She was the voice that had penetrated my misery? If that were so... “Then you knew I was coming?”

She nodded.

I looked down at my torn clothes and scraped flesh. “Then why…”

“Love is never easy.”

“If you know all about me, then you know why I’ve come.”

Again, she nodded. “What do you wish of me?”

“Help me save Ryne from the nix. No one believes he’s alive but me. I am the only one who is willing to save him before it’s too late.”

She sat working the pestle against the mortar. Pound and twist. Pound and twist. The vein of her thought was covered by the rhythmic action. I had come for help, but she could easily turn me away. What if the deed were impossible? What if I was not strong enough? What if my journey here had been a useless cause and Ryne were already dead?

The last thought spiked fear through me. I fell on my knees before her. “Please. Tell me I’m not too late. Tell me he is still alive.”

Her hand stilled and her eyes bore into mine. “Do you want me to tell you what you wish to hear, or do you wish to know the truth?

My body tensed. I couldn’t live another moment in ignorance. “The truth.”

“So be it.” The old woman closed her eyes and began to hum.

A crisp wind whipped through the hilltop, causing the small swallow to duck its head within the gray tresses. The mouse squeaked and ran away, and I hunkered down, my breath suddenly puncturing the air with puffy white clouds as I shivered at her feet. When the woman opened her eyes they were as white as a snow-capped mountain.

The nix is bound deep within the lake,

though soon her binds will loosen.

Woe is that day, the day of her freedom,

For death will quickly follow.

Her eyelids fluttered down against her suddenly pale skin. The wind settled, and the mouse slowly came out of its hiding place. A shiver raced down the sage’s back, and when she again opened her eyes, their unnatural whiteness was gone, replaced by sadness. “He is in more danger than ever.”

“How can I help him?”

“Let’s have some tea.”

“Tea? Are you going to read the leaves?” I had heard how some wise women did that.

“Not at all, dear,” she said slowly rising from her chair. “I always get a chill after a vision. Come along.”

She hobbled into the house, and I rose to my feet and followed her.

The kettle was already on and the water hot. She emptied the crushed tea leaves mixed with mint into two mugs that were waiting on the table. “Do you mind pouring?” she asked. “I have something for you.”

I stood in the doorway, my gaze wandering to encompass the whole room and finding it a homey mesh of nature and needs. And just like outside, tiny creatures were making themselves busy. A collection of mice darted in and out of an overturned boot, reattaching a new sole to the leather. I jumped to the side as a squirrel skittered past with a bunch of herbs in its mouth and watched it climb the wall and hang the bunch from the rafters to dry. On the far side of the room a goose nudged a ball of yarn into a basket while a fox pumped the pedal of a spinning wheel as a raccoon fed the wool.