Authors: Tim Pratt
Oh, shit. I was pissing off all my sisters. “Hannah, I’m so sorry, I—”
She waved that away. “It is not your fault. You have been nothing but kind to me, apart from dashing me to the ground, and I cannot blame you for that act of caution. Truly, I am glad to have finally met you, Rebekah.”
“Call me Bekah. All my friends do. I’m glad to meet you, too. I just wish I knew why our father left me everything. I never even met him. He watched me—maybe even watched over me—but we didn’t have a relationship.”
“Perhaps that is why, then. A simple desire to make amends, arrived at in some late moment of lucidity—or a long-cherished plan, made when he was wholly in his right mind. Who can say? Or perhaps he thought you could use the magic best. I do not need his power, and would not willingly accept it anyway. My place is at my mother’s side, and, someday, to take up her duties, when and if she cannot fulfill them. The Firstborn is a sorcerer already, in her own right, and already crazed with power—more power would only make her
more
crazed, and our father might well have realized that.”
“The Firstborn said she was raised by him, and he spent at least some time with you…there are other children, probably, right?”
She nodded. “There may be many children, some of whom, like you, are ignorant of their true parentage. Or perhaps our father was careful about making children, and did so only rarely. Who can say? I know of a few other siblings for sure. The Firstborn, of course—who is almost certainly not truly the firstborn, not considering how long our father lived, but who is likely the eldest child that still lives in the world. A set of triplets who call themselves the Trips. An unpleasant fellow I’ve only heard referred to as ‘the Belly.’ If any of them have more ordinary names, they have not shared them with me.”
“Huh. Why don’t you have a weird code name?”
She gestured to her face. “Do you not find me distinctive enough, without such pretensions?”
I laughed. “Fair enough. I found this old photo album…” I went to the shelf, brought down the album, and handed it over.
She leafed through the pages slowly, nodding. “The Firstborn, yes. The Belly, here on the beach. Vile even as a boy, it seems. The Trips. They are strange.” She stopped at the lonely blank section, staring at the single photo.
“Is that you?” I said.
After a long moment, Hannah replied, “He used to come in scuba gear, sometimes, and other times in just his ordinary clothes, wrapped in a bubble of dry air, and other times in a wet suit but no mask, somehow breathing underwater. He hugged me, those times.” She tapped the photo. “I remember that day. He came to talk to Mother. She is there, the dark looming shape. You cannot make out her features—some of her features, to be truthful, cannot be captured on film, or even perceived by human eyes.”
“What did they—your parents—talk about?” Suddenly I envied her for knowing her mother, strange as that mother might be.
“I do not know. They spoke mind to mind, and I was not privy to their counsel. But…I never saw our father again. He never returned. That was the first time I ever saw a camera, I remember—it was a special type, I learned later, the sort divers use to photograph sea creatures underwater. I did not realize he used it to capture my image.” She touched the photo again, more gently this time. “So strange to think he was in this scene, just outside the camera’s vision, on the other side of the mechanical eye. He was lost to me that day. I fear my mother will be lost to me soon.”
I nodded. My life since arriving at Meat Camp hadn’t been easy, and I wasn’t ready to let my guard down just yet. But some decisions are simple. “So. Hannah. There’s this sword. I used it to heal my friend Trey. He was nearly dead, and it brought him back, better than ever. I mean, the thing has limits, I tried to bring a woman back from the dead and I just blacked out—”
Hannah sucked in a sharp breath. “Bekah! You must never try something like that again! To raise the dead—”
“Impossible, right, I figured, but—”
She reached across the coffee table and touched my hand. Even through her gloves, I could feel weird bumps on her skin, and I wondered if she had barnacles on her fingers. So strange. But still. It was nice to have a sister who wasn’t trying to rob or kill me. “No. Raising the dead is not necessarily impossible. The healing magic our father mastered…it has a transactional quality.”
“So there’s a cost. I wondered about that.”
“Yes. To heal another, the magic takes vitality from the one who cast the spell—it takes life, to give life, takes health, to give health. To heal a broken bone, it might take a minute from the span of your life. To heal a shattered body, it might take a day. To cure someone of cancer, or radiation poisoning, or something more profound, it might take months, or even years, of life. Of course, for a sorcerer, as I said, there are ways to extend life indefinitely—”
“But it makes you crazy and thins out your soul.” I nodded. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch. I get it.” So I’d given up, what, a day of life to save Trey? That seemed like a fair trade.
Hannah nodded. “To raise the dead
is
possible…but at the cost of the sorcerer’s own life. A trade, you see. All of your vitality, for all of theirs. Even then, the spell does not always work. A very old man trying to bring back a very young child might succeed, but the boy might not live long. A child giving his life for someone elderly, conversely, might restore to them some additional measure of youth.” She shuddered. “It is a magic that can be used for vile purposes, as you might imagine. When Father enchanted the sword, he must have included a fail-safe. Imagine trying to heal someone, and at the moment the blade touches them, they die—you might accidentally kill yourself, when you meant only to sacrifice a few months of life to restore them.”
“So there’s a safety on the sword. Like those power saws that can tell the difference between a piece of wood and a finger, and stop automatically when they hit flesh.”
Hannah nodded. “I am unfamiliar with such devices, but, yes, that seems apt. The sword sensed that it would drain your entire life, and stopped before it could kill you. Was it very painful?”
“I threw up and blacked out and got a bad headache.”
“Mmm. Be glad you do not live under the sea. Vomit there, and the effluvia floats all around you. It is quite unpleasant.”
I laughed again. “I like you, Hannah. You’ve got a dry sense of humor. Which, you know. Ironic.”
“Indeed.”
“So do you want me to come down to wherever you live and use the sword to heal your mom? I’m willing to shave off a few weeks of life or whatever to help you out.”
“Bekah…I am touched by your offer. Have you found magic capable of allowing you to survive without breathing, or to endure the pressures that exist at such depths?”
I blinked. “Oh. Right. Logistics. Ah. Not really.”
“It might also be unwise for you to leave the house for so long, and to travel such a distance, before you have found the vessel. The Firstborn…”
“Right. I don’t guess your mom can come to me?”
“Even if she could, she…would not fit into your bathtub. I am also unsure you could survive the process of trying to heal her. She is a god, or something we might as well call a god, and I worry that even the entirety of your human life would prove insufficient to sustain her. Also, it is possible that she has died in my absence, in which case, a life must be given to restore her. I would ask no one to make such a sacrifice, apart from myself.”
Wow. To have that kind of devotion to her mother. Would I die for my mom? She sure wouldn’t want me to—but then, she wasn’t a god. “So you need me to give you the sword.”
Hannah nodded. “If you let me use its magic to save my mother, I will return the blade to you as soon as possible.”
We both looked at the bell. It didn’t ring. Truth, then. Not an elaborate ruse to steal my magic sword.
“Hell, all right,” I said. “She’s practically my stepmom, after all. Sort of. Family’s family.”
I walked Hannah to the yard, then put the sword cane into her hands. She bowed formally—she was so weird—and then clasped me against her. Her body was cold, even under the coat, which made sense. She was part fish-god, part lightless sea, after all. I wondered why she bothered wearing the coat. They’re useless when you don’t have body heat to trap and warm you up. But the coat was big and bulky, and probably made it easier for her to travel unnoticed.
I hugged her back. “Come visit again, and let me know how your mom is doing, okay?”
“Yes. I will return the sword when I can. Be careful. I believe you are correct—while you are in your house, the Firstborn’s power to harm you directly is limited.”
“Oh, good. I’m a prisoner in my own palace.”
“Just until you find the vessel, Bekah. Once you have taken on our father’s power, you will far surpass the Firstborn.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even know if I
want
that. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be a wizard, sorcerer, whatever. I mean…I mostly just want to paint.”
She shrugged. “Then trade the vessel to the Firstborn for something you do want. That would go against Father’s wishes, I know—but he is dead. He cannot dictate how we live our lives. Not now.”
“I’m not giving the Firstborn anything, Hannah, except the back of my hand and a kick in the ass.”
“I cannot say I blame you for taking that stance. I will return as soon as I can, but I may be some time. I can reach the sea in an instant, but the journey to the deep caves where my mother lives is more arduous—it is a place not entirely in this world.”
Weirder and weirder. “Safe journeys, sister. I’ll miss you. Though I won’t miss those weird noises you made.”
“What noises do you mean?”
I gestured at the woods. “I don’t know, the weird trumpety, fluty sort of thing? I figured it was you, hanging out in the woods for days—”
Hannah shook her head slowly. “I heard those noises, but I did not make them, nor did I see what sort of creature did.”
“Oh. So much for that theory. Any idea what is making that noise? Is it some crap the Firstborn is doing?”
“I do not think so. The blue jays fly away when they hear the sound, as if frightened, after all.”
“Sure they do, anything would, but I don’t see—”
“The jays are the Eldest Daughter’s eyes,” Hannah said. “Did you not realize? They are not real birds. They are concoctions of spit and feathers and blood, given the form of birds, and sent forth to do the Firstborn’s bidding.” Hannah looked to the trees, and nodded. “Some of them are watching us, even now.”
Four birds sat on a branch, all their heads cocked at an identical angle, watching us with interest.
Just then the noise erupted, sounding closer than ever, scream and flute and trumpet, and the birds took wing and flew away. I jumped, but Hannah didn’t seem bothered.
“Our father collected all sorts of things in his travels,” Hannah said. “I’m sure whatever makes that terrible noise is just one of them.”
Was that supposed to
reassure
me?
She linked her free arm with mine. “Walk with me to the old well?”
I followed her to the grassy side yard, and helped her pry the lid off the well. There was a puddle of black water way down at the bottom, throwing up distant glimmers from the sun above. “So what now?”
“All water has been everywhere, Bekah. What flows from your faucet was once frozen inside a glacier, and squeezed by unimaginable pressures at the bottom of the deepest sea, and rippling in a lightless lake in a cavern no living thing has ever touched. Also, it has almost certainly been inside a dinosaur. All water is one water, and all water remembers the past. I may pass through this pool and reach a far sea. Such is a gift of my birth.” She touched my arm. “If I had lips, sister, I would kiss your cheek. I cannot express my gratitude adequately.”
I leaned over and kissed her scarf where her cheek would be, trying not to think about the interlocking nightmare of teeth beneath the cloth. “So why couldn’t you just do this in my bathtub?”
“It…did not occur to me. I do not have a bathtub in my own home.” She paused, then said, “It would also be rude to splash so much water around the room.”
I stepped back, smiling at her unfailing courtesy, and Hannah gave a little wave, then stepped into the well, dropping in feetfirst. I stepped to the edge and looked down just in time to see the top of her head vanish into the little puddle of water, leaving just a few ripples behind.
So. An informative day. Not
all
my long-lost mystery relatives were homicidal pieces of shit. Giving up the sword was a loss, and I’d regret its loss if I twisted my ankle or the Firstborn came at me with a knife or something, but Hannah had provided me with a lot of details about my family, so it was a decent trade. Especially if the sword was really coming back.
The thing in the woods let out another musical roar. “All right, all right,” I muttered. “I’m going inside.”
When I got back, Trey was in the kitchen, cooking something that involved sautéing onions, filling the house with good smells. He was wearing an apron and it was adorable. “Good talk with your sister?” he said.
“It was. We helped each other out. I gave her my magic sword so she could save her mother the sea god’s life, but don’t worry, she promised to give it back, and my magic bell didn’t ring, so I know she was telling the truth.”
“Makes sense.”
“You’re taking all this remarkably in stride. I know I should be used to that by now, but this stuff
weirds
me
out, and I’m living it.”
He smiled, producing dimples. “I like you, Bekah. Sure, you’ve got some family baggage, but who doesn’t? Anyway, you brought me back from the brink of death, and took me in to save me from getting murdered. I’d say I owe you a few dinners, and moral support, and some company. Plus, you know. My life.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Trey. I don’t want you to be here unless you want to be here.”
He put his spatula down, walked across the kitchen, and took me in his arms. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be. Do you know, when you called and said I had to come over here or else face probable certain death, my first thought wasn’t, ‘Oh no, I might die.’ It was, ‘Oh, hooray, I get to see Bekah.’”