Chapter 125: Aella’s Journey
It took them nearly two days to reach the so-called Sacred Caves. The days were miserable, as snow and bitter winds made visibility poor. Aella had never been so cold in all her life. Caleb made fire when he could, but the icy winds sometimes stole his breath and his fire would weaken. Aella stuck close to her wife, her eyes on the siblings. One of them was likely the betrayer that Egaz had seen in his vision. Mostly, Aella thought it would be Caleb. The bastard had already poisoned her wife once, and while Nereida had forgiven him, she had not. She did not know if she ever could. She was certain that she should not, given the specter of betrayal.
At least the snow was solid, and not slushy, as they climbed. No one spoke, no one joked. It was like the worst of being under attack on the ship, except there was not a clear end to the silence. Nereida barely looked at her, and when she did there was hurt in her stormy eyes. Aella did not push her wife to talk. They were not among friends, no matter what her wife thought, and so silence, painful as it was, was the best answer.
On the second evening, as the snow was bathed in the red light of sunset, when Mira pointed out a cave in the side of the mountain they were climbing. It was hard to see, hidden by rocks and the blinding, blood red light. Icicles hung down over the cave’s mouth like teeth. Mira stopped in front of the cavern and glared down at her brother.
“This is as far as you go, brother. Fire is not welcome.”
“I know what the sword does, Mira. It’s not a mystery. Nereida told the family.” Caleb’s words were met with crossed arms and further glaring from his sister. Slowly, the black-haired sylph woman turned her ire on Nereida.
“Those were not her mysteries to tell.”
The four of them stared uneasily at each other in the cold silence of the mountain. Aella, against her better judgement, spoke first.
“At least he should be allowed in the mouth,” she said, motioning vaguely. “In case of a storm. He’ll need the cover.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “But if harm comes to him, it is on your head.”
“A captain protects her crew.” Mira snorted but did not protest as she climbed into the mouth, careful to avoid the icicle-teeth.
The lack of wind did not make the cave any warmer than outside. There was a strange, howling noise coming from deep inside the cave.
“The endless wind,” Mira offered, as if that explained anything. Seeing their blank looks, she continued. “The wind ever blows. It sings songs that only those of Sylph heritage can understand.”
“What are the winds saying?” Nereida asked softly. She stepped toward Mira. Her body language was open and welcoming. Aella tried to control her rising frustration. Nereida knew there would be a betrayal. Why was she letting them in?
“They are speaking of challenges, for one who wants the blade,” Mira replied. She crocked her head to the side, listening. “We will have to be careful. The blade will test us.”
“A hunk of metal will test us?” Aella repeated hollowly. “Are you mad?”
“You deal with gods, and a magic sword is your line in the sand?” Mira replied with a snarky half-laugh. Aella felt her stomach clench, and a great dislike for this woman began to curl inside her. She wanted to punch her, but knew Nereida would not like that. This was an ally, at the moment.
Caleb broke the budding argument by handing a lantern to Aella. He lit it, the oil burning on the wick at once.
“Keep my sister safe, would you?” he asked her softly. “Maybe, when this is done, and she’s the one who’s saved Basi, she can actually be claimed as noble, stand to inherit instead of being forgotten.”
“I hate your culture,” Aella muttered. He laughed a little, but it was as cold and bitter as the wind outside.
“You aren’t the only one.” He moved away from their group and began to set his spare cloak on the ground, settling in for his long watch. Aella offered him back his sword, so that he would not be defenceless, but he shook the offering away. He still had his magic, weaker though it was, and she did not. Aella did not appreciate the gratitude that blossomed in her heart, so she said a crisp thanks and hurried to catch up to Nereida and Mira as they descended into the dark caves.
The air down in the caves was far more dry than Aella had expected. No moss or mushrooms grew in this cave. It felt cold and dead. A tomb. She did not much like that thought as it tumbled through her head, and she tried to focus on the two women ahead of her. Nereida and Mira were chatting merrily, talking about some shared childhood memory from before Mira was exiled from court for having no magic. Aella’s blood burned at the idea that they’d throw away a child because she had no power. When Nereida had first told her about it, it seemed like a long-cast aside thing, but Mira was her age. Caleb had betrayed them because his father had threatened his young daughter with the same fate.
The longer she was on land, any land, the more she knew she belonged on the sea.
Their footsteps echoed in the empty tunnels. The walls were worn smooth, but there was no trace of tool-marks or braces to keep the tunnels secure. The wind would occasionally howl, and Mira would stop, listening as if she understood it. Perhaps she did, since Nereida could understand the waves. Caleb’s sword, a heavier blade than she was used to, weighed on her hip. She had no enemy to draw against. She liked it when things were simple: kill the ones trying to kill you.
“We are close,” Mira said softly. In the lamp-light, her expression was hard to read. Aella tried to get a read on the woman’s body language, but she didn’t know her well enough, and she wasn’t emoting any more than any of the other nobles did when they were hiding something.
“Is that writing?” Nereida asked, lifting the lamp higher.
Carved into the floors and walls were strange sigils in a curly, curvy script. The letters seemed almost to dance as they flowed around the room. The flickering lamplight made the letters appear to be alive. The script surrounded a strange dais that was covered in a mosaic of multicoloured glass. It caught the light and reflected different colours around the room. On the dais was an altar of marble. A tattered purple cloth sat on top of the altar, dancing in the wind that had no source.
“When a Sylph comes of age,” Mira said, her voice breaking with strange emotion. “We are brought here by one of the Sylph elders. Not even our families know. We touch the sword, just once, and swear to protect its secrets.” A shiver of worry ran down Aella’s spine. They knew the sword’s secrets. Would the woman attack them? Is that was Egaz saw? “Until she is needed, Fire’s End is to sleep. And then a warrior will draw her.” She shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. “I’m no warrior.” Aella eyed her suspiciously. Mira had the shoulders and arms of someone who did drills with a weapon. Was she being modest? “I suspect you are, Admiral. Do not step on the sigils, and you should be able to reach the sword. Draw it, so that we can free the King from his suffering.”
“Maybe it should be me,” Nereida suggested, seeing Aella’s hesitation.
“You are hardly a warrior,” Mira sniffed. “I’ve seen you fight.”
“We were ten. That hardly counts.”
It felt like a trap. Aella did not need magic to feel it.
“I’m not a Sylph,” Aella said after a long moment. She didn’t want to hand the sword to Mira. She did not trust Mira. But the woman was far too eager to have her step near the carved letters, letters that were certainly filled to the brim with magic. “I think the sword is meant to be for a Sylph, isn’t that the story?”
“Any great warrior can wield it, no matter their blood. But if you are afraid, I will fetch it.” Aella could not help but sneer at the woman who was clearly trying to get a rise out of her. She was managing it too.
“Enough,” Nereida snapped. She shoved the lantern into Mira’s hands and then pushed her way past both of them. The siren headed into the room, dancing around the letters. Aella watched, her mouth dry, as Nereida moved through the room with slow, patient grace. She hiked up her skirt and cloak, so that the long fabric would not drag. When the wind picked up, she froze, holding position, until the wind died down. Sweat was pouring down Aella’s face as she watched, her stomach clenching every time it looked like Nereida was going to lose her hold or make a misstep. Mira held the lantern steadily, so that Nereida did not have to deal with shimmering shadows moving about.
Finally, Nereida managed to get atop the dais.
“There are no sigils up here,” she called to Aella. Aella breathed out a sigh of relief. Nereida reached for the purple cloth, and pulled it away. Beneath the cloth were two things: the sword, and a strange bit of stone that was curved and smooth.
“It’s the remains of a dragon egg!” Nereida called excitedly. She slipped the hand-sized bit of shell into her pocket, and then moved to take the sword. The sword was made of some black metal, and the hilt was twisted in a way that looked like a dragon’s claw. The blade itself was thin, rapier-like. Nereida placed her hand on the hilt… and she screamed.
“Nereida!” Aella started to dash forward, only stopping when she touched a sigil on the ground. The air was stolen from her lungs as pain shot up her leg, like lightening’s kiss. She cried out and fell to her knees. The sword fell from Nereida’s hand, clattering loudly. She had collapsed too. Aella started trying to move down the safe path, when Mira was suddenly behind her, moving too fast to stop. She leapt into the air, jumping higher than any non-sylph had any right to, and landed on the dais. She picked up the sword from the ground almost lazily.
“Are you alright, Princess?” she asked, though her voice was strangely flat.
“F-fine,” Nereida managed. She held her hand against her chest, shivering in pain.
“We need to leave. My brother cannot be here. And he’ll have heard you.” Nereida nodded weakly, standing up on legs that did not want to support her.
It took them a few minutes to escape the strange dais, Mira watching as Nereida half-limped away from the sigils. She called out corrections when it looked as if Nereida was about to step on one of the magical sigils. Nereida half collapsed into Aella’s arms when she arrived, shaking and tearful. Her hand was burned. Aella fussed over it, wrapping it in her scarf, and helping Nereida out as Mira followed behind them, her expression strangely blank.
They met Caleb in the halls, half way back. He’d heard the screaming and come running, abandoning his post. Aella could not blame him. She’d have done the same, HAD done the same. Kinship with Caleb sat heavy in her stomach, and Aella plodded along with their strange little company, unwilling or unable to say what, precisely, bothered her about the whole ordeal. It had felt… too easy? But one look at her wife’s exhausted face, and she chased that thought away. They spent the night in the cave, out of the snow but not out of the wind. Mira would listen to the howls as if she understood them. Nereida slept with her head on Aella’s lap, shivering in pain. Caleb and Aella shared watches, despite Mira proclaiming that nothing came to the caves except the wind-born. Aella met the man’s eyes and he shook his head ever so slightly. He didn’t want to risk it either.
Damn the man for being useful and logical. He was making it hard to hate him.