Page 64 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“It’s fine!” I eyed Briar, already scurrying to grab a large kettle. “She’s doing something nice for us. I should help.”
Briar frowned, but Tamsyn smiled. Had I impressed her? “Clean water well behind home. You top kettle.”
I headed back into the swamp. When I returned, Briar and Tamsyn were in mid-discussion.
“I seen no other harbingers near.” She ground fragrant herbs and seeds with a mortar and pestle upon a large stone table disarrayed with various utensils. “Just bogeybats. I hear no other words on it. Quiet out here.”
Mud caked up to my shins, I skirted Briar and the mutilated animal, squishing over to the stove. I set the kettle on its surface; it immediately simmered.
“How you route?” Tamsyn opened a drawer in her worktable and produced a small muslin bag. She dumped the crushed contents of her mortar into it. “You take King’s Road, be better. Back roads take thieves and bandits these years. Few protection.”
“Then the King’s Road would be best.” Briar bowed his head. “Thanks for the guidance.”
Tamsyn stepped toward a giant spider web in the corner of one shelf. Standing on tiptoes, she plucked the neon orange spider from its silken canvas and popped it in her mouth like a mint.
I cringed. Less so from the way she gnashed the arachnid, more so because she did it with spotted teeth.Guess good dental care is hard to come by here.
Tamsyn grabbed the web and rolled it between her hands, chanting something low and foreign. She stuffed it in the little bag with her other ingredients, tying it shut before shaking it. Less intense now, Tamsyn faced me. “You bring the boil.”
I chose the cleanest rag I could find by the stove, so I wouldn’t scald my hand, then grasped the steaming, sweating kettle and toted it to Tamsyn’s workspace.
She reached out her hand, and a tall wooden cup leapt off its shelf and into her soiled fingers. Taking the kettle from me, she poured the bubbling water into the mug and dropped in her personalized tea bag.
We stood in silent observation as her blend steeped, slowly turning blue. After a bit, the quiet stretching between us forced my tongue. “How did you know my mother?”
Tamsyn hummed a meandering tune, studying me.
I shifted, wondering how that answered anything.
Finally, Tamsyn chuckled. “I muse for her—one of them. Learned her to wield her voice.”
“Wield it? Like a weapon?”
“Unlearned of your mother’s power?”
I sneaked a glance toward Briar, who’d dozed off on a stool, his head bobbing. Clearly, I’d overestimated the pep in his step. “No, I haven’t been told much about anything. I—” I turned back to Tamsyn, shrugging off a flare of something hot, something choleric. “I only learned the truth aboutmyselfyesterday.”
“Hm.” She tilted her head. “I think further truth will uncover.”
I wished I could say I looked forward to that.
Still watching me, Tamsyn lowered smoky eyelids. “I take that father king gone to blood curse?”
Words impossible, I bit my lip.
Her shoulders slumped. “Well, we safe you, and when you take queen, you integrate my folk. Restore to haven in Timbermoor. See rights where rights due.”
Having no clue if I could do any of what she wished, I only nodded like a simpleton.
Moments later, Briar shook the rafters with a snore, waking himself and drawing our amusement. He straightened upon his stool, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “How much longer will this take, Tamsyn? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”
Her mouth slanted. “Suppose potion will be right ready. We bandy the garb for now.”
Fingers poised for conducting, Tamsyn then chanted something ancient sounding and conjured a barrage of figment hands—hands made of mammatus clouds with intermittent lightning. They enveloped me, dour as a seamstress in their prodding, cinching, and measuring, until they’d contoured my body.
After minutes, Tamsyn reeled back her storm, leaving me horripilated and encumbered by a rough-spun getup fit for the PA Renaissance Faire. Her creation consisted of layered beige linen. Its loose sleeves cuffed my arms just beyond my elbows, its long, pleated skirt swishing like a bell above the toes of my muddy snow boots. Overlaying the bodice was a form-fitting vest of scuffed black leather. Twine laced it closed in an outline of my bust. Topping off the whole ensemble was a heavy gray cloak, fastened by a single wooden toggle.
I’ll pass as a milkmaid, if nothing else.
