The Secret of the Emerald Sea (7 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Jane could not sleep well that night. Her mind raced with images of the beautiful young man, and she kept waking up to see the little Cupid sleeping peacefully beside her, curled up in a ball like a newborn kitten.

She got up and paced about the room, her heart beating fast. Her memories of her childhood with her mother were few because she had been so young, but the poetry had released them in a torrent, and she felt both despondent for what she had lost and grateful that she could now remember more, and so clearly.

She walked back to the soft bed and watched the Cupid in slumber. It was when he slept that she always thought of the night on the raft. She felt her whole life was embroidered with magic now, and that
nothing
was real.

Like a tapestry in rich colors, she saw the scenes of her life depicted in her mind’s eye: scenes of sea creatures and razor sharp arrows, flight through autumn skies in the arms of a winged creature, the village covered in light snowfall, her grandmother, the tiny crown that once sat high on a shelf, and next was found upon the figurehead of her mother, far under the sea.

It was all quite miraculous, but too much for such a young girl. Her head ached with the desire to go home and live a simple life, but would that really satisfy her now? She knew it could not the way it once had, and she mourned for the girl who was now someone else. On this long and sleepless night, she even missed the island, where she did not need to play any part, but could simply be the strange girl that she really was, alone with the Cupid and the sand and the rocky cliffs.

She tried to go back to sleep, but she tossed fitfully like a ship caught in the wrath of King Neptune’s darkest moods. She wondered,
How will it all end? And who will I be
? And she dreamed of the honey breath of soft summer while the skies outside were icy and unforgiving, painting the windows with ghostly frost.

Chapter Sixteen

Meanwhile, the Goddess Minerva was hard at work to discover the whereabouts of Neptune’s princess. She cloaked herself in rags and went to see the oracles that lurked in their dark caves and stirred great cauldrons that steamed with ill-smelling broths. She found these crones little help, for they told her strange tales and bid her beware of the Little One, which made no sense, as they assured her it was not a little girl, but a boy she should fear.

“The boy is not what he seems,” one ancient old woman whispered as she cackled harshly to herself. “He will bring the girl to ruin.”

“But where is the girl?” Minerva would plead. “Where is the girl, and who is this Little One?” She had stared into the rheumy eyes of the old witches who had long been consulted by the gods when their lauded powers failed them. She had never thought
she
would press gold coins into the gnarled hands of those she had always so distrusted, but pay them, she did, all the while trying to extract a name or a detail that might lead her to the girl.

For the sake of discretion, she veiled her amber eyes as best she could under a heavy hood of coarse fabric, and hid her smooth hands under her gloves. She had no wish for them to know that the Goddess of Wisdom was at their mercy. She wasn’t sure she believed in witches, for wouldn’t they know she was Minerva as soon as they saw her? But none of the crones called her so, or seemed to pay her much mind at all. She was simply another woman who could pay for their services. She liked it not when they peered under her hood, and tried to look deep into her eyes, for
what did they see
?

The last oracle seemed even older and more disheveled than the rest. Her face was a hatching of wrinkles and sagging skin. Indeed, she was haggard, and quite fearsome to behold. She bent forward to stare at the pure beauty of Minerva, barely concealed beneath her hood, and her eyes lit with envy. The crone backed away a little then, and reached for a crystal ball hidden in the folds of a dirty brown cloak. The witch held it cupped in her hands so that it was almost hidden from Minerva’s view. The Goddess of Wisdom watched silently as the crone shook the ball, waited a moment, and moved closer. The sphere was small, like a large apple, but it gave off a translucent glow in the dank and ill lit cave. The crone beckoned Minerva closer, and bid in her stare into the ball.

“This will lead you to your pretty princess,” she murmured. “Look into the ball and see the golden-haired child you seek.” The ball clouded and cleared, and Minerva drew in her breath as the image of a young girl appeared, as clear and bright as though she were standing there with them. All the while the old witch had started whispering incantations that Minerva, who had thought she knew every language, could not comprehend.

A dark energy filled the cave, and Minerva felt cold and soiled as she stared at the young girl who paced in a small bedroom, fretfully pulling at her hair. There were tears in her green eyes. Her whole body shook with sobs, and Minerva watched her stare out a window. It was snowing there, just as it did, lightly, outside of the cave. Suddenly, the incantations ceased, and the ball clouded up again.

“Wait!” Minerva cried. “Wait, I still do not know where she is!” Angrily, she turned to the crone, whose eyes were closed, a smile stretched upon her skeletal features.

“I will pay!” Minerva told her loudly, for she was angry that the images were cut off so suddenly. Minerva rummaged in her purse for more gold. “I will pay richly for more information,” she told her, watching the old witch open her eyes.

“It’s not money I desire,” the old crone said. “But youth and beauty, if only for a time.” The witch stared coldly at the goddess. “I know who you are,” she taunted. “But still you have need of me.” She laughed a harsh and mocking laugh that made Minerva feel a cold sort of rage. “Give me my youth and some beauty, and I will take you to the girl. I will show you the Little One who will threaten everything you seek to protect. I would do it for myself, and make myself a vision of loveliness,” she witch said angrily, “but I cannot seem to make it work, and I have tried and tried.” She looked hateful as she stared back at her cauldron. “My spells have failed, but you...
you
could achieve this for me, if you tried.” She smiled slightly. “Think of the girl, so innocent and sad.”

Minerva was appalled at the very idea. “I cannot grant you beauty, for you are terribly old, and I am not that powerful.” Minerva knew that such magic was wrong, that it could be done, but should not be done. To grant such power to an evil woman was clearly sinful and dangerous. Who knew what the end result would be? She had been told the oracles were safe, but this crone was not like the others who only thought of gold coins and what they could buy.

“You can give me what I seek,” the crone whispered, pointing a finger at Minerva. “Go find a way, or begone from here and let the pretty princess fend for herself.”

Minerva stood up to leave. She had injured her dignity by coming here, and there were some things she would not do for anyone since they were wrong. She thought of Neptune’s desolation, but she still felt she could find a better way.

“I will not give you youth and beauty, for you will abuse them heartily and cause terrible damage to the human race.”

“Then you shall not find your girl, for you have not the spells for that, or you would not be here!” the old witch hissed. She shoved Minerva roughly toward the edge of the cave. “Go forth, and think on what I can give you, and what you have denied me! And beware, for now I know who you seek, and perhaps I shall find her before you do!” She laughed softly, and shivers went down Minerva’s spine. The goddess gathered her robes around her and turned to leave, unwilling to engage in more spiteful dialogue with the witch.

As Minerva left, she applied her considerable logic to this latest problem, and she knew she must hurry away from this place and summon the gods for advice and protection.

“Surely one witch could not foil all my plans?” Minerva murmured. But she was wary. She had felt the evil gathering in the room as the ball revealed the daughter of Neptune. So beautiful she was, too, and so sad.

The witch screamed out at her as she stole away into the night.

“You think the Little One is a problem, you’ve no idea what I can do!” the crone yelled from the edge of the cave. “Bring me beauty, or the girl will surely die!”

Minerva knew she must tell Neptune of the oracle. If this old woman truly knew who Minerva was and
still
threatened her, she must be powerful indeed, for those who trifled with the gods and made such wild threats were either brave or crazy.

“Perhaps I must bring Jupiter into this after all,” she sighed. She had wished to protect Neptune’s privacy, but things were now out of hand. Confident that she could control the situation, but mindful of the witch’s dark magic, she rushed to find Neptune and let him know that, for the moment, at least, his daughter was alive, if not necessarily well. She wondered why she was so invested in helping the King of The Emerald Sea that she would risk the wrath of her father.

It was
foolhardy
, the opposite of wisdom. She could not understand why it suddenly meant so much to her, and yet, it did.

Chapter Seventeen

In the end, the crone had found another way, a spell so dark and evil that she had not the courage to try it before. She decided to make a deal that no one should ever make, but rather than spend her life in a cave, ugly and alone, casting spells that only benefited others, she had chosen to gamble everything she had left. Pushing her onward was the thought of Minerva’s retribution. Truly, she had gone too far and threatened the goddess, and she had to find a way to avoid the punishment that would surely come.

The crone, whose name was Liesel, knew of the dark gods and the place where the boundary between the Earth and the Underworld was found. She cast a spell that led her to the River, and there she met with Hecate, the Goddess of the Crossroads, who told her she could have what she sought if only she would give herself over to the Underworld when the spell faded.

The dark River circled the netherworld of Pluto’s domain, and it was deepest crimson, as though it was filled with blood. If she made this deal with Hecate, she would be doomed to wander the dismal shores of the River forever, never crossing over to the other side.

Hecate would have her guard the River for all of eternity, and make her watch as those who were buried—with coins under their tongues— would float across the waters. She would watch them fade into the mists...but she, herself, would
never
know salvation.

This terrified Liesel, but what choice did she have? Liesel stood in the mists, staring deep into Hecate’s eyes, which were like dark pools...so like the River itself. She felt her heart pound wildly against her skin. She must decide, and yet, she longed to run screaming from this place. The hot steam that rose up from the red water made her clammy under her threadbare cloak. Hecate said nothing, merely taking her measure of the crone, watching quietly as the she wrestled with her choice.

“I...will make this pact with you...” Liesel said, her voice soft and timid against the goddess’ grave stare.

“Are you certain, Liesel?” Hecate asked, her lips forming into a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

“You will give me youth and beauty?” Liesel begged. “For how long?” She tried not to look out at the River. She tried not to hear the moans of Sisyphus, who pushed a huge boulder up a hill just off the shoreline, his face streaked in dirt and sweat.
He has been here forever
. Liesel shuddered.
He will be here forever, for he angered the gods, and I, too, will rot here forevermore if I choose this way.

Liesel watched as Hecate glanced back at the man who pushed the impossibly heavy stone up the hill, inch by inch, clad only in a loincloth. Hecate smiled at him as he worked. Liesel felt the Goddess of the Crossroads could read her mind, but even if she couldn’t, it would not be hard to figure out just what fears raced through her and terrified her.

“I will give you what you ask and cloak you in the guise of a young woman so that you may carry out your ambitions,” Hecate answered. “I cannot say that you will succeed or fail.”

“For how long?” Liesel asked again. “For how long shall I have this gift?” She thought of her ragged face as it appeared to her in her looking glass of her cave. Her hair was thin and scraggly, iron gray, and her face was brown and lined from exposure to the elements.

I am ugly
, she thought angrily.
I have always been, but now, I am old and ugly, and I shall only get more so until I die.

“That will be for me to decide, and I will not say right now how long my spell will last,” Hecate answered. “There will come a time when you are called to me, and before you come, you will find yourself as you were before, in face and form, and you will know it is time.”

“But...” She was stammering now, not knowing if the spell should last a day, a month, or a year. How could she be expected to decide?

“Make your choice, Liesel,” Hecate said, her features pale and regal against her raven black robes. Not a drop of sweat marred her ivory brow. “These are my terms, and you know that magic is never perfect. You must choose.”

She stared at her feet, thinking of the beautiful young man she had also seen in the crystal ball before she had shaken it to clear the vision so that Minerva should not see. She smiled a little, her eyes growing soft, and it was as though she was no longer on these terrible shores. Instead, she was warm and safe in the arms of someone who loved her. However, she could not restrain a shudder as Hecate grinned, showing small, sharp, white teeth.

Chapter Eighteen

Liesel came out of her reverie as she pictured Minerva’s face, so perfect, so wise, judging her,
denying her
. Minerva could have saved her from this, but she would not. If it lay in her power, she would revenge herself upon the goddess, even if it meant an eternity pushing a heavy boulder up a blood-soaked slope. She would find the girl Minerva wanted so much, and she would kill her with an iron dagger she has fashioned for just that purpose.

Hate was surging through her now, running along her nerves and giving her courage, which was more like foolishness. “I shall do it!” she whispered, looking up at Hecate.

“Then you shall serve me for all eternity. As the River circles the Underworld and always will...you shall be mine, always guarding the River, always watching others pass, but never moving on yourself. You shall be like me, caught between the Earth and the Underworld forever.”

“I will,” Liesel answered, her words barely audible. In her heart she was doomed, doomed. Hecate’s words were a spell, a binding spell, and she was lost.

The mists shrouded them and the River seemed to churn with spilled blood...with sin and vengeance and desperation.

“Say after me,” Hecate whispered, “I shall wait on the banks of the River...”

“I shall wait on the banks of the River...” Liesel repeated, her blood rushing in terror.

“I shall live on the boundary of now and then, past and present, Earth and Underworld,” Hecate continued.

“I shall live on the boundary of now and then, past...and present, Earth...and Underworld...” Liesel stammered. The spell was working now. She could feel it take hold. There was no way to stop it, no way to stem the tide of what had been released.

“I shall serve the Goddess Hecate forevermore,” Hecate finished, and her cheeks glowed as the magic began to swell and build. Liesel could sense her elation as she gained another servant, another prisoner.

“I...shall serve the Goddess Hecate forevermore!” Liesel cried, and she squeezed her eyes tight against the pain in her skull and the fear that sent chills up her spine even as the sweat trickled down her ribcage under her cloak.

“It is done,” Hecate said simply, and then she turned and walked away. Liesel could hear a quiet laugh from the goddess as she began the circle the shoreline, never looking back.

She’s laughing,
Liesel thought angrily.
She’s laughing at me...
She turned away, her cheeks wet with tears, anxiety gripping her soul. Pain ripped through her body as she started to run, as best an old woman could run, away from this awful place.

Sisyphus groaned as he pushed the stone ever higher, his muscles burning. “Fool,” he gasped, glancing back at her, but Liesel did not stop moving as she heard his insult. She was still running away from the Underworld, frantically repeating the incantation that would bring her back to her cold, ill-lit cave, which now seemed like paradise.

And so the dark spell was cast, and her soul was in the hands of another. For this, she had the physical changes she wanted, although they did not work as they might. Instead of the beauty she craved, there was youth, although she was not so young as she might have been. Instead of the perfect beauty of Minerva or the princess of Neptune, they were adequate, if average, looks.

Her face and body were a crushing disappointment, but perhaps combined with her charms and spells, it would be enough.

She knew not how long the spell would last, so she needed to act right away. Her eyes in the looking glass were pale blue, a little narrow; her hair was dark brown, almost black, with a heavy fringe of bangs above her eyebrows—she had so wanted golden hair, or russet! Her skin was milky pale, lovely and clear and lineless, but somehow, without real life or luminosity. Her teeth were straight and white, but her smile was cunning and a little gummy, and her chin was a little weak. Somehow, the arrangement of features did not add up to beauty.

She was plain and her body was a little heavy. It was the body of a peasant who worked hard and ate a lot. She despaired at her chunky thighs and hips and her broad bottom, but she supposed a good gown would work wonders, if only she had one.

She was average height, average looks, nothing to turn any young man’s head. It was devastating that she had gambled so much and had not gotten the radiance she required for her task. But try, she would, and if she could, she would avenge herself upon Minerva at the same time.

“Minerva could have given me true beauty,” she raged silently, “and saved me from the deal I have made, which cannot be undone.” She let hatred flow through her like liquor, intoxicating her with wrath and vengeance. “I am Liesel,” she whispered into the cave’s only mirror. “I am new to the village, and I bid you all hello.” She smiled into the mirror, trying to erase the predatory look from her face, trying to clear her features into goodness, and to erase any traces of the crone that lay beneath the white skin.

“It will be hard to win him looking like this,” she mused. “But perhaps there will be a way, and the pretty princess may rue the day she meets me, for I suspect we hunt for the same prey.”