Grimmek waved his hand at one of the wards, who were again burbling in a crooked line behind him. The small one at the end slithered towards the fire, began thinning and stretching, became a dark red bubbling sheet that slapped itself onto the flames. Steam and smoke, reeking of dust and meat, hissed in great gusts around the three. When it had cleared, the ward had reformed, darker, gritty rather than smooth, exhausted on an empty patch of sand. No trace of the fire remained. Despite herself, Bait bent down and poked a finger at the ward, which whined a little but lay still. Grimmek repressed a laugh at seeing the little girl there, blue eyes wide, astonished at her first touch of mixing magic.
“It’s time to go,” Grimmek said, “beasts will be coming with the light gone.”
The ward rippled drunkenly towards its mates, Bait taking careful steps behind it. Switch, stretching, jumped and caught at a dark sleeve hanging from a tree. He pulled down a slim jacket and a much smaller cloak, draped the cloak around Bait’s shoulders. She ignored him, concentrating on the subtle play and touches of the wards with each other. The boy took a cursory lap around the former campground, making sure nothing was left behind, before hurrying to join Grimmek and Bait as they slid away into the dark through the trees. Dusty starlight filtered through the white leaves, an eery desaturated glow hovering above the trio.
“You studied the southern stars?” asked Grimmek, low voice scarcely louder than the shuffling of their steps.
“Enough, I hope,” replied Switch, eyes blinking rapidly in the ghostly haze, “but I don’t really need to. Bait knows where we’re going.”
Bait stiffened, little hands grasping at the cloak edges, glaring sharply at her brother.
“I can feel where her heart goes,” she said.
“And the eyes?” Grimmek added.
She gazed up at him curiously, as if she’d forgotten about him.
“I don’t pay attention to them.” How imperious she was. “There isn’t much power in eyes compared to the heart, and he’s very far away.”
“You can see where he is?”
“Not see, feel,” Bait corrected him, “it’s a….a blinking hole. It annoys me.”
“A hole?”
“Everything pours into it. It’s like…I don’t know.” She trailed off, and Grimmek noticed Switch’s slender hand gripping his sister’s shoulder.
Grimmek nodded to the boy. “She needs to keep her Making secrets secret.”
Whatever good feeling had developed between Bait and the Weed Man evaporated into the silent dark at this chastisement. Jaw hard, the girl shoved her chin into her chest and didn’t speak for the rest of the trip.
“I’m sorry,” said Switch, “we’re not used to someone who understands. When the, murder happened, the staff didn’t even know Fandral could steal Making power that way.”
Grimmek frowned. “More places I go, less I know I know about even the sand or the trees here. But you hear rumours about that stuff, eating hearts or wearing skin. I know it always, always turns on them. The blood power only sticks around till the old blood kills it.”
He paused thoughtfully.
“Or kin get to the thief first.”
The sand passed beneath them, footfalls only the smoothest of dents, until the trees thinned, grew shorter, stopped growing altogether several yards from the waterline. A curvaceous, playful coast spread in either direction, glistening in the starlight. Warm foam tumbled against their shoes and Grimmek’s feet, rolling shells, small stones, seaweed, fish bones up the shore and back into the water. Ribbons of waves vanished into the horizon, a few nightbirds swirling through the sky.
“A man’s desire comes from the sea, but also his loneliness,” whispered Switch, eyes damp with tears or seaspray, “the Abbott of Henley. He wrote a lot about the ocean before he died from a fever.” He looked at Grimmek. “Can you believe we’ve never seen this before?”
Grimmek Makch nodded. “Every night, I’ve never seen it before.”
“But this is…” The boy rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, sounding irritated. “I can look at it tomorrow. Bait needs to sleep.”
“Home is right there,” said Grimmek, waving towards the nearby cliff face.
Along the southern lip of the lagoon, a few scattered boulders, heavy with cormorant droppings, were scant introduction to the bluffs that towered above them, every rock pale in what little light there was, the shadows deepest black. It threw off every sense of scale or depth perception and the siblings felt fear stumbling along behind them, making their heads spin, their feet heavy.
Grimmek walked over to a larg slab of stone that was leaning against the cliff. His hand moved and a square of reddish firelight poured onto the sand from behind the slab. Beckoning to the siblings, he disappeared under the curtain and the beach descended into hazy darkness again. Switch hurried toward the entrance, Bait dragging reluctantly behind him.
The air inside was warm and dry, scented with the sweet bite of cinnamon and the faint presence of ash and smoke. The foyer, elaborate wall carvings barely visible, smooth floor sloping downwards, led into a high-ceilinged, vaguely oval room, sleek, hand-painted curtains covering doors to other parts of the house. The few tables were low blocks of polished black wood and a few stretched hammocks of fur stood against the wall. Grimmek dragged these around the firepit in the far end of the room, throwing fuzzy shadows on the ceiling. Switch collapsed gratefully into one, and Bait settled into another, both accepting thick, nubby blankets from Grimmek. He seated himself on a pillow, long legs scarcely fatigued, and watched the children fade into dreams. Other than the occasional spit and pop of the fire and the slow breathing of the occupants, there was no sound in the room. Grimmek Makch felt the delicious shiver of coming sleep but ignored it. There was one thing yet to do.
Crouching over Bait’s hammock, her face flushed, lips parted [breath not so sweet as her appearance], the Weed Man whispered words of power that seemed to slither around his head.
‘Your body sleeps, your heart sleeps,
Your eyes closed, your hands resting
Your tongue, full and knowing, answers me
No harm to you, no hurt from my hand
Teeth and lips and throat that speak,
Truth is all you know. Now wake.’
When he was done, he leaned closer to the girl.
“Where is Fandral right now?” he asked.
Bait did not wake, but murmured, “He is in his tower. He is going mad, and is very scared.”
“What does he do?”
Again the hushed voice beyond consciousness. “He saves his power and doesn’t know why. Terrible things are around him and plans slip away.”
“Plans?”
She paused before replying.
“Mother knew.”
Grimmek waited for further explanation, but no amount of questioning made it come. Eventually, he stood, every moment gliding, and settled carefully into a third cot. There was too much to think about and much to do tomorrow.
Waking up was easy. Getting up, Switch was discovering, was too difficult to manage.
Grimmek crouched over the firepit, a small wooden shovel in one mammoth hand. He turned when Switch groaned and smiled with too many teeth.
The front door curtain was open and the fresh, salty breeze of the lagoon poured in, rustling bundles of seaweed paper that were piled on the tables, sending shivers up Bait’s cheeks and tousling her curls. The tang of the sea mingled with the smell of pork belly buns grilling over the firepit and Switch found himself much less sore with the prospect of breakfast. Grimmek scooped the sizzling buns onto thin plates and passed one wordlessly to Switch, who tore into the bun and promptly burnt his mouth and fingers. He set it down gingerly and stood up, taking a second plate from Grimmek and walking over to Bait’s hammock.
“Bait.” Her eyelashes fluttered, but nothing.
He tapped on her shoulder.
“Wake up. Breakfast.”
Nothing.
“You’re awake, monkey. I’m going to eat your bun myself.”
Two little hands shot out from under the blanket and snatched the plate from his grasp. She whimpered when she bit into the too-hot bun and Switch grinned.
“You could’ve told me it was hot!” She sat up, one sleeve slipping down a shoulder, exposing cream-pale skin, thin neck and fragile collarbone. Her hair was a willy-nilly rat’s nest, curls almost falling into her food.
“I don’t waste breath on asleep people,” her brother said, settling back into his cot and carefully testing the temperature of the crispy pork belly. It was delicious and, mouth full, cheeks lopsided, he nodded his thanks to Grimmek, who was slowly eating over a dozen of the fist-sized buns on his own while looking over a sheet of dark green paper marked with pinkish squiggles.
“I thought you said you didn’t read,” Switch managed after swallowing.
“My sort don’t, but I’ve gotten the habit of it,” said Grimmek, “and I found a bit of a trick with writing.”
He held the sheet out for Switch to look at; it was about seasonal phases of the lava plains and quickly degenerated into mystical babble that the boy was lucky to recognize a word or two of.
“What the trick is, I mix blood with chalk and find the right words, you see your writing and I see mine. I copy things I find and it’s all here. There’s a whole room further back that’s writing.”
Switch’s red and brown eyes lit up and dimmed as he realized there’d be no time for perusing Grimmek’s collection.
“You have a couple days to look,” Grimmek said, standing up and clearing plates from the room.
“We need to go after Fandral!” snapped Bait, finally addressing him. The smile he returned was soft and friendly.
“All that story talk of long adventures getting going in no time is smegma. Some days spent here will have us ready and we might live through the desert and wastes.”
She was having none of it.
“Switch, tell him we have to go.”
Switch, barechested, was surveying the state of his shirt and pondering how to repair it.
“If he’s our guide, then we do what he says,” he replied, aware sense was only going to piss her off but too full and worn out to coddle, “we left the palace with no preparation and we’re going to run out of food and water shortly. Not to mention, we don’t really have spare clothes or anything.” He looked up at Grimmek, who had ducked in and out of the kitchen with ridiculous speed. “We have silver and stones to pay you with for things, if you’ll accept them.”
Grimmek held out a cupped hand.
“Give it all here.”
The boy looked up at him, detecting no signs of comedy or play in the wide mouth or high brow.
“You want me to guide you, yeh?” insisted Grimmek.
“Go on, Switch, he’s our guide, we have to do what he says,” Bait added, spitting his own words nastily back.
Switch’s hand hovered in the bag, moved from one side to a small pocket. He pulled out strings of amethysts and garnets, sapphires and citrines, beads of tarnished silver on braided silver wire and laid them in Grimmek’s hand, which closed and reopened, now minus the jewels.
“You want me to think that’s all?” he asked.
Switch frowned.
“Yes, that was all I brought with us. It’s a fortune I gave you.”
Grimmek waved his hand at the boy.
“If you want to learn to lie, words and actions have to agree. Your voice was good, but your body betrayed you.” The pearly grin was back. “Your moving told me you had a hidden bit in the bag, otherwise you might have fooled most.” Grimmek turned and folded his long self onto a well-used pillow. “You have Sight, and should follow Sight. You too,” he added to Bait, “you know where we go, but both of you will get us all killed. Your Sight will keep you safe when your years are lacking.”
“Lacking?” snorted Bait, “how old could you possibly be?”
Grimmek rested his chin on a worn, falcate palm.
“I’m remembering the split of Yesoo from the mainland. The whole land there, a volcano, and it melted itself away from the rest of the country. There was such a war, and we had ash rain even here.”
Switch did the calculation in his head.
“You’re almost a hundred!”
Grimmek nodded.
“And still pretty young, for all the generations of daughters I’ve had.”
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