‘Don’t touch that, we need to clean it,’ my angel says. She tears a piece of cloth from her own garment, turning her back on me as she seeks the waters, soaking the cloth in the sea. Her arms are trembling but she seems strong, full figured, curvy and –oh.
‘You’re no angel,’ I rasp, and then a cough consumes me. Waves and waves of water come out of my mouth, spilling on my chest. Claret – because of course it’s Claret, what was I thinking – runs to me, turning me to my side as my body spasms. I expel fluid from my lungs.
‘That’s thrice I’ve saved your life now, Anassa,’ she scolds, her hand patting my upper back the same way she would a choking child.
Slowly, I’m able to breathe once more without dissolving into fits, although my throat is drier than ash. ‘We need to run,’ I manage, trying to sit upright. ‘That shadow …’
Claret sighs. ‘It’s taken care of.’
I stare at her, puzzled. She looks so different, it’s no wonder my shock-addled mind was confused at first; her skin, no longer caked in claret, resembles freshly toasted wheat that still holds the sun’s warmth. Her hair is golden, darker at the roots, almost ivory at the ends. And her face … No matter how proud her forehead is, how regal her gaze, how full her lips, that’s still a killer’s face. Bloody or not, it doesn’t matter. I let my gaze drift on the sea’s surface as I parse her words. ‘You mean to tell me you – what, stabbed it with your knife? You stabbed a shadow?’
A screaming, clawing, flower-scented shadow.
Claret simply shrugs. ‘I didn’t stop to think whether I could. It was a threat. I acted.’ Then, after a breath, she adds, ‘I don’t know the customs of your world, but most people would say “thank you” at this point.’ She brings the water-soaked cloth to my face and presses gently.
‘Thank y— ouch, that burns, you demon!’
‘Don’t be a baby, Anassa, we need to clean it. That thing got you well and good, and salty water is the only kind we have for now.’
‘A baby?If that’s your bedside manner then I hope you never have actual babies.’
In an instant, that cloth is no longer on my face. Claret throws it at the ebbing waves and picks up her knife instead, pointing that infernal blade back on my skin, pushing, threatening. The sky behind her seems to catch fire, as her curls are tugged and tossed every which way from a wind that wasn’t there before, rising above her head like flames. An urgent warning flutters within me, alerting me to the presence of something more than human about her, something soon bursting out. A force I must be very careful how to handle, lest it burn me to a crisp.
The tip of her blade turns hot. I try not to dwell on how or why.
Her eyes are wild, a dance of molten fury on the rugged rocks of pain, a precarious light flickering behind them. There is no hardened certainty in those eyes, not like before. Even her hand is shaking – and that is oh, so very human. I find the opening in her resolve, and strike. ‘You don’t want to do that. It’s a waste of effort, going to all that trouble to save me only to spill my blood by your own hand.’
The pressure of the blade increases, the metal sizzling hotter, about to burn my skin as well as pierce it. I’ve pushed her too far. What’s got into me? Why antagonize her? Then, the blade relents, and I exhale. My skin prickles as it cools off. The sky turns back to silver-black.
Claret walks away from me, kicking a few pebbles before sitting down on the sand.
Such a tiny pot of murderous, boiling water – come too close and she will scald you to the bone. Imagine ever thinking this woman was an angel! Still, I mustn’t push her to attack me again. She’s clearly the most skilled out of the two of us; wherever we have fallen, whatever hellish torment this realm is, her ruthlessness will keep us safe if she considers me her ally.
It would be wise to be less flippant.
‘I … I insulted you, I think. Please, do forgive me. And thank you,’ I offer.
She doesn’t speak. The moment stretches to the point of breaking.
I try to tap the soft pads of my fingers as I wait, but the once soothing gesture leaves me more unsettled: my fingertips are now leathery, cold to the touch, and blackened as if charred up to the first knuckle. I remember sinking them inside that shadow, trying to fight back, tear it apart. The apprehension at the marring of my skin comes along with a quaint satisfaction; a proof I’m the survivor of this battle. Begrudgingly, I acknowledge it is thanks toher.
I cast a sideways glance at Claret; her whole attention is on her knife, the blade of which sends silver flashes on her face, reflecting the light of the …
Moons.I look up, finally noticing the sky. What I had taken for her halo – how preposterous a thought! – seemsto be a string of moons, all of them full or waxing, positioned in an arch that almost blots out the stars. Where in the seven hells are we this time? I take a closer look at my surroundings: a barren beach, hugged by steep cliffs on all three sides. Not so unlike some Scottish shores, in that regard, but this cliffside is unlike any I’ve visited. It glistens onyx black under the moonslight, as if chiselled from Cairngorm. And Scotland only has one moon, last time I checked. It makes me dizzy, looking up and seeing otherwise. I grasp a handful of wet sand, to force myself to focus. At least its colour hides my blackened fingers.
The need to get into the good graces of the only other person in this world becomes more pressing. Could it be that my words cut deeper than I thought? Could it be that Claret has already had babes? Those hips of hers could certainly support an army; she’s built thick, like the milkmaids in my castle, or like our cook, with a full belly and a bosom that is nothing short of scandalous. Quite unbecoming for a queen, yet there’s no doubt in my mind that a queen indeed she is. Perhaps if I shared something of my life, it would bring us back on even ground.
‘I don’t have children,’ I blurt. My words pile between us like black pebbles, coating my mouth with the acrid taste of falsehood. Yet I’m not lying to her. Am I? I would have remembered, had I loved and given suck, had I held a little bundle in my arms. Could it be that the silver waters of this world washed away so much of my befores that now even my own truths ring untrue? No matter. Truth or lie, it is convenient. I push on. ‘I never understood the need for them; soft, meowling things that only get in the way of greatness and can break so easily, more fragile than fine glass. So … I didn’t know what I was saying, earlier. Ilashed out; that cloth was burning me, the salty water, and I’ve had enough of burning pain for two lifetimes.’
Another moment passes. ‘You’re lucky,’ she says eventually, staring at the sea. ‘Children are bloodshed. It starts when they are born out of you; you realize the blood you’ve spilled is not enough. Never enough. You’d die for them. Kill for them. And then, the bloodshed never really ends, even when they die. Especially when they die … Now,’ Claret gets up, giving me a scathing look, ‘let’s get going. Our best chance for shelter is those caves, closer to the feet of the cliff. Maybe we can make a fire to keep any beasts away, if there’s any dry driftwood to be found.’
My mind reels – from her recent words, from everything that’s happened, from evading death so many times it now feels like a cosmic joke – but I decide to prod no further. ‘Shelter sounds splendid,’ I agree, pushing myself up. Even the smallest bone in my body creaks and aches, but I rise and I manage to remain upright. ‘Lead the way.’
I really thought these caves were closer.
We have been walking barefoot on black pebbles, every haphazard stride a chance to slip and tumble, for what feels like forever. The moons are lower in the sky now, a pearly chain inching closer to the sea, about to be absorbed by the horizon. The stars have all but been snuffed out, the skies above swirling in pink and silver hues, the rocks around us cast in kinder shadows. Dawn must be breaking. I’m exhausted, thirsty and nauseous; my feet are almost numb, much like my blackened fingers. The left side of my face throbs, as if the winds have whipped my open wound for hours. Yet when I look behind me, the shores we left seem merely a few steps away – and when I look ahead,past Claret’s bouncy curls, the caves she said we should be headed towards are not getting nearer. As for the cliffs, their surfaces capture the light in iridescent smoky auras, at times resembling more rows of mirrors than mountains.
Something is wrong. Something about this world, its many moons, its sparkly cliffs, must be warping our perception. Stretching this beach like a mirage forevermore as we keep walking, never getting anywhere.
