Jessa stared at Elysia like she’d lost her mind, crossing her arms in annoyance. “What are you talking about? Tell her about the dreams. I’ve got to get back to the bar, so—” She motioned for Elysia to get on with it.
The meela laughed knowingly. “You don’t want to talk about death. No one ever wants to talk about death.” She chanted the words rhythmically. Poking her cane in Elysia’s direction, she continued. “Okay then, child, tell me what brings you to my store? Herbs for money? Love? Lust? I hear the prince knows how to delight, if you know what I mean.” She cackled and made a thrusting motion with her hips.
Jessa cringed, and Elysia found herself looking anywhere but at the small, gyrating grandmother in front of her.
“Fine,” she spit out, just wanting the woman to stop before she lost her breakfast. “I met priestesses from your land as a girl. They told me I’d been marked by death, and I never thought twice about it until now.” The formal rigidity she’d slipped into in her discomfort had disappeared in the face of such strange, lewd behavior.
The meela gripped her cane. “Go on.”
Elysia rubbed her dust-irritated eyes. “In my sleep, I travel to a land that I believe is where your god resides, and yes, there is a song. I need help with traveling there.”
“Pfff, you’re doing just fine if you’re managing to dream travel at all while living in this festering excuse for a kingdom.”
Elysia frowned. She looked at all the dried flowers and herbs, muted but still beautiful, wishing she was trying to go somewhere that could actually grow something for once. “Okay, I need helpstayingthere. I want to stay and explore. I need to find your god and speak with him.”
The meela made impatient noises. “So do it then. Stay, wander, talk to whomever you wish while you're there.”
Jessa butted in. “She never makes it more than a few steps and she’s waking up. Same thing happens every time.”
Her eyes became unfocused as she considered the problem. “This soil curses you all. But yes, we can fix this. You’ll be right as rain.”
Elysia felt her shoulders relax. She tossed Jessa a grin—finally,progress.
The grandmother began to sing an unfamiliar song to herself. While Kava itself was godless, Elysia wasn’t completely uncultured, and she thought it might have been a hymn. Both women watched as the meela set to work chaotically tearing, ripping, and crumbling plants into an oversized glass jar. Her short body moved to and fro within the small caravan, her cane tapping and smacking as she went. Jessa and Elysia once again became a mess of limbs and elbows, trying to dodge both the old woman, her cane, and the plants.
Jessa’s shoulder rammed into one of the plant-covered walls, and she was rewarded with a hard swat to the rear from the meela’s cane.
“Watch the merchandise, girl! Practically gold in this land.” The meela tutted and raised her cane warningly before returning to her work.
Elysia bit back a laugh, her shoulders shaking at the sight of Jessa silently fuming, nostrils flaring. “You can’t beat up a grandmother, Jessa.”
Jessa shot her a look that said otherwise.
Unlabeled liquids were grabbed from the small wooden cupboards. Measuring with the reckless precision of someone who has been practicing for damn near a century, the meela slopped what smelled like alcohol into the jar until it covered the plants. Elysia watched in fascination as the grandmother eyed the mix of herbs, flowers, and liquid. She grumbled to herself before tossing in a few more pinches of plant dust. As far as Elysia could tell, the concoction hadn’t changed, but the woman seemed satisfied now. Screwing on a tight lid over the top of a black cloth, she shoved the jar at Elysia.
“You must wait at least a month. Take no more than a thimble at one time. Have this one”—she jerked her head at Jessa—“watch over you as you travel.”
Elysia stared into the jar, the liquid already turning a murky purple-brown. She gave it a little shake, watching all the petals and leaves and twigs swirl before settling once more. She was going to be able to follow the song. That haunting, enchanting song she was half convinced was designed to lure her to her death.
“How long will a thimble give me?”
The meela shrugged, tapping a long fingernail on the jar’s lid. “Eh, hard to say. Your magic is crippled, but not lacking.”
“You have no idea how much time this will grant me?”
The woman hemmed. “Ah, well, you know how it is with these things.”
Elysia’s face flattened. “No, no, I don’t.”
“The tincture will simply smooth out all those pesky gnarled bits of your magic.” Her face brightened. “Like ripping the brakes off a carriage.”
With those words, a new fear took root within Elysia. “If the brakes are gone, then how do I come back? Idoneed to come back.” She looked down at the jar in her hands.This lady is going to get me killed.
The meela’s shrug was a little more infuriating this time. “Magic is like breathing, but how am I to say? This land has turned you all inside out.” She gave them her back, apparently done with the conversation, and began cleaning up the remnants of herbs covering the floor.
Elysia caught Jessa’s eye, who looked back at her with an equally frustrated expression. Like it wasn’t dangerous enough to seek out agod. She could practically hear Rollie squawking away at her, telling her what a blazing idiot she was for this.
Tucking what sounded an awful lot like it might just be a party drug gone wrong beneath her cloak, she turned back to the meela.
