From Whence You Came (12 page)

  He was not ready, would never be ready, but there was no reason to delay further. Bradhai placed the two vials on the platform in front of him, and broke the wax seal on the first one, letting the contents touch his tongue. For a moment he relished the fullness of the
vin magica
, letting it remind him of who he was, and what he did. And then he used the earlier spellwine to call the serpents to him.

This time, he did not have the heart to enjoy the magic as it arched from him into the water. He waited anxiously until the water's surface broke, and a blunt-ended muzzle surfaced, whiskers first. Bradhai clenched the railing, but could not otherwise move as more of the long, thick neck emerged, and the great head – the length of a wagon – rose to eye-level, and turned to look at him. Somehow he knew it was the same serpent that had approached them before: the leader. He could have reached out and touched the nearest whiskers, thick as cable and stinking of salt and dead fish, if he had a mind to.

He most emphatically did
not
.

“Kill it!” the captain, behind him a safe distance, if such a thing existed, was shouting madly. “Someone kill it!”

If it were that easy, they wouldn't have needed him.

What he was about to do was madness. Sin Washer had not issued a Command against it, because no sane man would try. But what other choice did he have? Bradhai had been too long from his vines, and if madness was the only way to return, then he would take that risk.

“The deep sea will protect us,” he said, as much a prayer as a certainty, and uncorked the vial of the new, untested spellwine.

So few drops, to do so much. He placed them on his tongue, and felt the deep, sweet fruit rise almost immediately. Thick and full, all the flavors fighting each other for dominance. It was not a blend but a jumble, an argument.

The decantation was as simple as the incantation had been complicated.

“From flesh, rise. From blood, pour. From whence you came, return. Go.”

The spell swirled around him, hesitant, and then exploded so violently that he was pushed back as though someone had hit him square in the chest, nearly knocking him down. The air around him shimmered, the same deep clear red he had seen just prior to the attack, and he caught his breath, bracing for another blow.

The great whiskered head turned to him, leaning in, the great mouth opening as though to engulf him, and Bradhai was almost knocked down again by the smell that filled the air – less of fish than expected, and more of something sweeter, no less salty but clean and healthy; the smell of blood and bone and living things.

The smell of sea-magic, unknown and unmistakable, a new thing, created out of so much being sent out, gathered and blended in the depths…..

And then it was gone.

o0o

When Bradhai came back to himself, all he could hear was roaring. Slowly, he realized that it was cheering, ringing down from every corner of the ship. He opened his eyes to find himself still at the railing. His fingers were clenched so tightly that he had shattered the vial, and the last drops of the spellwine mixed with blood from the cuts on his hand.

“It worked!” The solitaire nearly knocked into him, then embraced him in her excitement. Numb, Bradhai barely noticed. The sea in front of him was empty, the small waves undisturbed.

“Worked.”

“The greater beast, it pulled away and went below, and then they all…disappeared. Like magic.” She laughed, the high giddy noise of relief.

Bradhai nodded, but he felt uneasy, off-balance.

“All gone.” Harini was at his other side, but she was not laughing. Her gaze searched the waters, looking for even the slightest flicker of life, some whisker or tail.

A slight flurry at the side of the railing drew her attention, but it was only a school of spinners, leaping and diving as they swam past in search of fish.

“Gone.” He seemed to only be able to echo what others said to him, the inner silence overwhelming anything else. Yes, they were gone. His spell had worked… too well.

He understood now, too late. A vine's fruit had skin and flesh, juice embedded, needing to be crushed and pressed. Once you removed the
mustus
, the flesh and skin were nothing, fit only for compost.

‘What have you done,” Harini whispered. “Vineart, what have you
done
?”

He had taken the magic back, drawn this sea-magic out of the serpents… and they were gone.

He raised one hand to his chest, pressing his fist against his chest, feeling his heart thump, tight and sore.

What he had done here… another might do to him. Remove the magic… and the Vinearts were gone.

“Never speak of it, Harini,” he said, a harsh reminder. “None of us must
ever
speak of it.”

She turned to him, but there was no protest in her eyes, only horror.

“They're gone. You did this.” 

“Never speak of it.” 

He did not threaten, he did not raise his voice, but her gaze fell, and her lip trembled, and he knew she never would.

Neither of them would ever forget, or forgive.

o0o

And if, decades later, either of them woke in the stillness of the night, in their own beds far distances from the ocean and the memory of faint, sweet singing….

They never spoke of it.

The Vineart War Trilogy

Flesh and Fire

Weight of Stone

The Shattered Vine

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