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hree anxious sleepless days and nights had taken their toll on Armand. Despite his natural reticence toward strangers, he collapsed almost immediately into a long dreamless sleep the moment Brigit assured him she would keep watch. He lost track of time, forgot for a while that he was clinging to life by the merest thread of sanity.
Threnody sang to him, her soft tolling music pulsing through his being in time to the surge of the tide. He was lying upon smooth stone as the sea poured in around him, cold and comfortless. For the first time he gazed upon her. She was beneath him, bathed in an eldritch green light.
Strange and beautiful, her face was faintly human, sleek and fine as porcelain. Her long graceful neck and torso were those of a woman but tapered to a long serpentine tail as if she were half-dragon. She drifted in the jade depths, suspended in water, her silver hair like sea foam cast out in a spray of waves. Delicate iridescent scales shimmered along the length of her graceful serpentine tail with fins soft and translucent as finest damask. Her wan flesh took on the glassy green cast of the water.
But it was not water. Her animal dark eyes gazed up at him frozen in time, fixed in an expression of absolute horror. A victim of the Jade Wind, her fragile figure was fixed in stone forever. Yet she was conscious, her existence one of agony and despair. Armand recoiled at her raw grief and misery.
“I am the stone that weeps.
Ah Melandru, my Mother,
Set me free.
“I will don a frail coat of flesh.
Give me breath.
I will forge you anew.
Give me eyes to see,
Let me laugh and sing
And dance beneath the stars.
Beloved son of Lyssa
You would rather die free
Than live in chains.
I will wield you,
A sword of purest love
To slay our foe.”
Armand drifted above her, the water sluicing around his crouched form trapped within the bubble of empty air, jade glistening all around him.
“I don’t understand, Threnody. Please, tell me what you need me to do?”
For the first time he noticed a man hunched beside him. His rawboned features were ghostly pale and his gaze mirrored Threnody’s, sad and horrified. He was naked, his body gruesomely scarred and racked with pain as he sat in the frigid sea water.
“Find his true face,” the man moaned softly, “Destroy it.”
The keening cry of Threnody shuddered through his body, a mixture of grief and anger. Armand drifted away, his aches and needs returning to him. He was being shaken. Heart hammering, he surged blindly to his feet, his balled fists sweeping the air where unwelcome hands had grasped him. A hex snarled from his lips, finding the bright pinpoint of complex energy that could only be a human mind. A gasp of pain told him he had struck true.
“Armand, it’s me,” a woman said calmly as if soothing a cornered animal, “Brigit. I am your friend. Please don’t hurt me.”
Brigit’s frightened and bewildered features emerged from the shadows of the little cave, the faint flickering of firelight revealing her now familiar visage. Armand swallowed, horrified.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, shaking as fear left him to be replaced by shame.
“You’re feverish,” she replied softly, her voice almost a whisper, “You were having a nightmare and making a bit of noise. I’m sorry I had to wake you, but I thought I heard something.”
Armand focused for a moment and drew the hex away, much to her relief. She rubbed her temples and blinked tears of pain from her pale eyes. He felt terrible. How could she stay so calm after what he had just done? Yet she looked upon him now full of compassion, as if she expected strange men to wake up insanely paranoid and attack her.
“What did you hear?” he whispered, deciding his best course was to simply pretend he was still mildly out of his mind. Perhaps he was, after all. There really was not much he could say or do to convince her otherwise at this point.
“Hard to explain,” she replied, and he noted she was now keeping her distance, for as he stepped closer, she backed away. Gods, he was a fool, “I thought at first it was water. You know how sometimes flowing water sounds like whispering or faint chiming? But then I started feeling sleepy and I thought I could hear a woman speaking or maybe singing… only I am not sure if it was in my head or not.”
Threnody must be close.
“Did you understand anything she said?” he asked, backing toward the fire and gratified when Brigit moved closer yet still kept five paces of empty air between them.
“No… Did you hear it when you were having the nightmare?”
“Yes, I’ve heard her before. I saw her this time.”
Brigit bit her lip, then sank to her hams to rub her face. She was weary and frightened and the hex had no doubt finished off what little stamina remained to her. The constant press of the stone wore as heavily upon her psyche as it did his. To ease her concern, he turned to the fire and refreshed it with another lump of crusty guano. He heard her gasp and instantly rose to his feet.
“You’re bleeding again,” she explained, “That wound does not want to heal.”
And what she did not say he heard clearly in his mind.
It is making you crazy and it is scaring me.
Her uncomplicated mind was easy to comprehend. There was no deception, no complex motivations, just simple fear and concern. She liked him. That was a bit unexpected, especially in light of what he had just done.
“Do you…” she hesitated, then looked away, embarrassed, “Being a mezzie and all… I mean that is what you are?”
“I expect the hex gave it away, yes,” he laughed bitterly and to his shock she joined him, giggling foolishly.
“I don’t mean to presume… but uh, do you have any healing spells? Like that one that lets you steal energies from your foes. Pen was always using it.”
“Yes, I do have that one. I think it counterproductive to attack…”
“No need to attack,” Brigit said quietly, “You hexed me. You can use that spell on me, too.”
Armand swallowed, the very notion extremely disturbing and repugnant. Brigit shrugged.
“First off, I’m a warrior,” Brigit said to his startled silence, “I’m trained to withstand punishment. Second, I have a healing signet. I’ll be fine. Third, I’m tired and I’m not sleeping while you’re in that state.”
“I see.”
“So hit me with it and let’s get it over with.”
Without a moment’s further hesitation, he uttered the spell and looked away as Brigit’s eyes widened and a low whimper of pain slipped past her pursed lips. She panted, her wan features marred with unnatural weariness. But his own body warmed as her lost life energy healed him, melting away the constant burn of the jagged wound until he could once more straighten his back without pain.
“Again,” Brigit whispered, “Quickly.”
“No, I’m fine now…”
“Do it. You’ve met your match for stubbornness, so don’t even bother arguing with me.”
Armand suppressed a grin. Very well, he would indulge her. Although secretly, he knew which of them would win the stubborn championship. She was not even a contender. Once more he cast the spell, his body warm and supple once more after long days and weeks of suffering. She did not use her signet. They both knew only rest would restore what he had done. Instead, Brigit helped him to remove the makeshift bandages and she nudged him until he turned to let her gaze upon his back.
“Hardly a scar,” she said wearily, yawning.
“Thank you.”
She shrugged.
“Not only were you no good to anyone injured, you were a ruddy lunatic. I’m going to sleep now. I trust you to watch over me.”
Such fire and resourcefulness. Now that his mind was clear, he recognized something stirring in the shadows where he warded his heart. He admired her. He might even go so far as to say that he liked her.
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