Chapter 169: Aella’s Journey
Several hours later, as the light was fading from the sky, the Tooth limped into port. The wreckage was terrible to behold; four ships sunk in the shallows, all sylph vessels that had met a premature end. Aella gripped the railing tightly as she looked out over the devastation. Nereida’s hand was on her shoulder, anchoring her. A handful of sylphs, mostly adolescents younger than Epelda, flew over the wreckage, searching for survivors. But the attack had happened hours ago. Survivors were unlikely at this point.
“Is Jules recovered enough to swim?” Aella asked Nereida. She kept her eyes on the devastation. She couldn’t bring herself to look away. Someone in the distance blew a whistle, warning of their approach. The young ones scattered back to land.
“Yes. He and I will go look for survivors.”
“Just him,” Aella replied, reaching back to touch Nereida’s hand. “I need you at my side when we talk to the leaders. I can’t do the dance without my partner.” Nereida just squeezed her shoulder once in acknowledgement before she trotted off to speak to the other siren.
The Grand Admiral had not expected that they would be met on the docks by a contingent of armed guards. She went down with Nereida and Epelda, though both of them wore heavy wool cloaks to hide their features from the frightened-looking guards. Most of the soldiers held spears, but there were more with bows and crossbows one dock over, their arrows readied.
“Peace,” Aella signed. “We are friends.” The soldiers looked surprised.
“We don’t see many non-sylph who learn our language,” he signed.
“I have reason,” Aella replied. “After all, mothers should be able to speak to their daughters.” Epelda dropped her cloak dramatically, fluttering her wings with relief. She clearly did not like them having such weight on them. The guard laughed, a full-bellied sound, and he rested the butt of his spear on the dock.
“Welcome,” he signed, leaning the spear back against his shoulder. “I will bring you to the magistrate. He will be pleased to see you. You sank demon ships?”
“Only one,” Aella admitted with a little shrug. “Story for the magistrate.”
“Of course,” he replied, though he looked out to sea. The earlier mirth melted from his face, replaced with a deep sadness that seemed to add a decade to the man’s face. “Will your ship defend us if they return?”
“To the best of her ability,” Aella replied. “Cannons are still at the ready.” She felt a burbling pressure behind her eyes as her magic swelled. The moon was rising on the horizon. “Shadow’s tormentors hide from the Moon’s revealing light.” The words were spoken, not signed, and the gathered sylph went from relaxed postures to raising their spears anew.
“Wait!” Epelda signed, bursting in front of Aella. “She’s Moon-Touched. Not a threat!”
There was a long moment where Aella was unsure if the sylphs would attack her. Her usual intuition was confounded by the power that was rising inside her. The Moon felt like she had more to say, but Aella forced herself to contain the power. She reached for Nereida’s hand, and the pressure lifted. Her movements were tracked by the sharp eyes of their wispy-haired attendants.
“Who is this?” he signed, his movements slow and more relaxed as he kept looking between Nereida, Aella and Epelda. He motioned for the spears to be lowered.
“My wife, Princess Nerieda D’Igna,” Aella signed, spelling out the name and then announcing it outloud. Nereida pulled back her hood. Several of the sylph pulled back in shock and fear, and hands began signing, all making the same motion. Siren. The leader, however, just narrowed his eyes, before he looked over at Epelda. He signed something complex that Aella could not quite make out. But Epelda shook her head.
“Sirens not mad,” she signed. She signed something else, the reply to his question, but not something Aella knew. “Mothers in love for real.”
“I’ve seen ships drowned by sirens, seen men and women leap into the ocean,” his words were slow, likely for Aella’s benefit. She did not much like being treated like an idiot child. Nereida smiled sweetly, then locked eyes with the leader.
“My magic doesn’t work to enchant folks. That’s not one of my talents.” She spoke, but signed as well, the word “enchant” matching one of the more complex signs. The man flushed as Nereida kept talking. “Mothers speak to daughters, soldier. And sirens are not the enemy. The demons are.”
“Yes ma’am,” the man signed, still looking wary. He motioned for them to follow him.
They were escorted through town, to the largest house in the village. Families closed their shutters as they marched through the street. Candles were burning in the windows, white and warm looking. Epelda looked pained as she counted the candles.
“Forty seven,” she signed to Aella. “They have lost forty seven people today. Mourning candles.” Aella winced, and wondered if the forty seven included the nine she had seen in the demon ship. Nine she had killed herself, because they begged. At least, those with mouths had begged…. She shook her head, trying to escape the horrors she had seen. She would tell the magistrate they were dead. But she could not bear to paint the full picture. Bad enough she’d be seeing those images in her dreams.
An older man with white hair and a neatly trimmed white beard met them at the door. He was stooped with age, his wings fragile-looking. He back-peddled when he saw them, shock on his face, before he welcomed them in with a shaking voice. He took their cloaks, hanging them on hooks, before asking their names. He declared them loudly, his voice echoing with the power of his magic, as they entered a dining hall. The table was bare, and the chairs empty save for two. A man in his thirties sat at the head of the table, a slightly younger woman at his side. Both were winged, and wearing matching tunics in a soft blue. He stood when they entered, welcoming them in. The woman locked eyes with Epelda, and she pushed herself back.
“It is you!” she signed excitedly. Epelda cocked her head to the side, confusion blooming on her face. The young woman stood, her chair scraping noisily. She bound over with the energy of a golden retriever puppy. The man looked as flabbergasted as Aella felt, watching the strange scene. The young woman pulled Epelda into a tight embrace. She was laughing, crying and signing too quickly for Aella to catch more than a third of what was being communicated. But one word happened over and over, one that she knew well. Sister. Not the formal usage, but more akin to “sissy”. The boys used it when they spoke to Epelda. This woman used it, to talk to Epelda.
Aella took a step back, watching the strange scene, until something like realization had bubbled into Epelda’s bright blue eyes.
“Nadya?” She spelled out the name, her fingers slow, as if she did not dare believe what she saw. The woman squealed like an excited child.
“You remember me! I thought you were dead, but the woman on the beach said you were fine, and that I would see you on the darkest day I would know.” She kept signing, her fingers lightning fast, as if she was babbling in excitement.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Epelda signed, each “wait” more exaggerated than the last. “Can we start slower? For my mothers?” she motioned to Aella and Nerieda. The woman’s face fell.
“Mothers?”
And so the first bit of their night was spent explaining who they were to each other. That Aella had rescued the other children, but that Epelda had thought her family was dead. She’d stayed with Aella to start again.
“Mom died,” the woman, Nadya, signed. “But dad and I were safe. We thought you’d died when the children were returned and you weren’t with them.”
“This isn’t home.” Epelda’s signs were strong, definitive. “This isn’t what I remember.”
“We moved. Our island was razed. Dad died two years ago.” Nadya sank into a chair. The man came up behind her, held her shoulder with one hand. Aella searched for signs of marriage or betrothal, but saw neither rings nor bracelets. Did the sylph do something else? Epelda had never mentioned it.
Once the long story was done, and their hosts had their elderly servant bring out tea, Aella told them about the ship.
“We stopped the smaller ship,” she said, her voice quiet. She did not have the signs to explain what she had seen, and their hosts waved her on, encouraging her to speak. “They had nine of your people in cages not fit for a dog.” She swallowed, and found a spot on the table to stare at. A little divot in the wood, probably caused by a heavy dish being set down too hard. The little details in the wood were easier to look at than their hosts' faces as she spoke. The wood couldn’t judge her. The wood just was. “They had been tortured by a foul potion made of poison and dragon’s blood.” The man, Kevlin, snorted his disbelief, but Nadya hushed him. “It was horrific. Keel-hauling them would have been more merciful.”
Silence met her words. No one breathed, no hands moved. Nereida shifted slightly, her presence soothing. Aella placed her trembling hands on the table.
“Please don’t ask me to explain what I saw.” She did not like the tremble in her own, treacherous voice. But she had a duty to those she had killed. A duty to the truth of their deaths. Even if it made her want to be sick. “They are at peace now,” she finished. The words sat in the air. The fire in the hearth crackled, making Epelda jump at the sound. “I am sorry for your community’s loss.”
No one spoke for a long while. Nayda took Kevlin’s hand, her face full of pain.
“Thank you,” Kevlin spoke, his voice trembling as well. “If it is all the same to you, perhaps we tell the families that the demons killed their loved ones? It’s a kinder lie.”
“Of course,” Aella replied, finding some comfort in the familiar. Cover up the truth of a death with a more noble lie. She’d done it for crewmembers long since lost. For a young man who’d died after swallowing a sewing needle he’d put in his mouth, she’d told his grieving mother that he’d died protecting another in a demon skirmish. There had been others over the years, stupid deaths to preventable accidents, that she had spun into stories of bravery. The dead did not care about truth any longer.
Aella sipped at her lukewarm tea, watching Epelda try and recover the night. Both young sylph were happy to see each other again, even under such terrible circumstances.
“I’ll have to bring Jules to see you,” Epelda signed. “My husband.” She was grinning.
“May I interrupt?” Nereida asked, signing and speaking. Nayda nodded. “Who was the woman? The one who said you would see Epelda again?”
“I’m not sure,” Nayda admitted. “She was beautiful. She could sign better than either of you, and her wings sparkled like diamonds. But I’ve not seen her before or since.” She smiled and shrugged. “She was odd though. Mentioned that I’d need to pass my thanks on to the moonbeam and the droplet. She asked to bless me, as if she was a holy woman, and then left after she did.”
Aella felt her stomach churn. That thrice damned Wind Dragon! There was no chance it was any other. She closed her eyes trying to calm her raging thoughts. But Nereida, bless her, seemed to not care one whit about her calm.
“What kind of blessing?” she pressed. Aella let out a slow breath and opened her eyes.
“Oh! Silly me, in the excitement, I never thought to tell you.” Nayda was grinning now, and she pressed Epelda’s hand to her stomach. “You’re going to be an auntie!”