Thomas — still wanting to argue his case, it seemed — immediately tried to step onto the island the moment they were all alone again.
The moment his boot touched the sand of Santana, he was hit by an invisible, crushing force that returned him violently to the Actæon’s deck. Flat on his back.
An upside-down Sailorboy stared down at Thomas, worried he might try again.
“I hate this place,” Thomas murmured. “And it hates me.”
The Dreamers prepared to set out, led by Holder and Maeve, leaving Thomas aboard the Actæon with Sailorboy.
“Don’t stray too far,” Holder strongly suggested, and the variously cursed Boys agreed.
“Back in the morning.”
Once Maeve’s powers were returned to her, Holder told them, none of this would matter. No amount of curses could stop Her from giving them their memories, once she was Herself back.
“You heard the lady,” Sailorboy said easily. He didn’t seem too worried about leaving the scene, perhaps was even eager to get out of there — but then, he couldn’t step on land if he wanted to. “Thomas, let’s go sailing. See what we can see.”
The Bard agreed, and his face told Maeve he was already pronouncing these particular grapes sour. Much better places to be than a shriveled desert island that wouldn’t have him anyhow.
“Bring us back our memories, please. I’ll agree to anything.”
Sailorboy nodded vigorously in agreement.
Most Virtuous gestured to the hollow wolf again.
“The boy is unwell. He needs control. Burning Springs.”
Holder nodded, a little dismayed by her first real Dry Witch.
“Meet us at the Bonfire Circle at dusk. We will see if you — and your family — are worthy of our aid.”
They all nodded like chastened schoolchildren, except for Holder. She didn’t seem to like that last bit.
“Burning Springs,” Maeve sighed once Most Virtuous and her retinue were gone. “Sounds delightful.”
“He’s not doing great,” said Thomas quietly. “They can help.”
Holder had been thinking about something.
“This test. It’s not really a test to see if we’re worthy — it’s a test to see what we can take. They want something huge, I can tell. Something only we can do, maybe. Watch them carefully. Let’s get Benjamin to these Burning Springs.”
The Burning Springs were steamy, carved from black rock by hundreds of years. A network of wooden pickets and platforms connected groups of them, with long tables set back against a mountainside — a short cliff, about waist high, rose and ran away into the desert.
The Sisters here showed a different side, more comfortable among their own than in the busy Ports. The Dreamers were welcomed with arms wide open, the women singing their witchy songs and bathing in the hot steam.
When they caught sight of Benjamin of the Beasts they shifted into high gear, surrounding him in a way One might not think he’d like much. But whatever helps him, Maeve thought. Surely that was the plan.
A Coven laid their hands upon Benjamin and continued singing, now in five-part harmony. Benjamin seemed a bit rattled, but he settled quickly. A rare sight. The torches burned low, then leapt as they sang. Everything started getting a little hazy.
Benjamin actually seemed happy to let them work. Maybe it feels nice, thought Our Lady. She could imagine it felt nice.
When the Witches separated, revealing him a little dramatically, Benjamin was gone. There was a new creature in his place: a long, blinding white, scaly dragon with thin stripes and dots of near-black, deep blue along his face and flank. A white mane circled his leonine face, which burst into a smile bright as his whirling cobalt eyes. Coiled up, he was about the size of a common black bear, no larger.
“Sun Dragon,” one of the Witches explained. “You’ll breathe easier now. You can live off the Sun and the moisture in the air in this form.”
The lithe lion-dragon undulated his muscled body and shook his legs one at a time, trying on the shape. Powerful wings unfurled and the group was hit with their cooling breeze. He was fantastic.
“You’re beautiful, Benjamin!” Our Lady exclaimed. “I like this one very much!”
The bright white Benjamin dragon shrugged a half-bow and twirled high up above the Springs: a white flash lighting up the sky. Soon enough he was back again, slamming dramatically into the sand. The wild boy reappeared, already looking much healthier.
“I like it here,” he said with a grin, and they couldn’t help but smile too.
Out in the harbor, the Boys were lounging on the deck and making up stories when they saw the dragon dancing — like a white rainbow in the sky. A lovely omen.
They traded some of their cargo for more wine and spent that evening laughing.
On the way to the Witches, Maeve found her hand swinging in Holder’s, easily.
“I wanted to thank you. I know babysitting us isn’t the best use of your time. Maybe demeaning…”
Holder shook her head.
“Sometimes I do see Her in You, Lady Maeve. She shines through. It’s happening more and more. I don’t resent You for not being Her, because You are Her. How could I call getting You back wasted time? The only wasted time is whatever stands between us and Your memories.”
Maeve squeezed her hand in gratitude.
“Well, thank you. No wonder She loves you so much.”
A young, blindfolded Soothsayer accosted them then, taking Maeve’s holy hand without asking.
The Witch’s blindfold was intricately knotted over her eyes and veil, and she was accompanied by an exceptionally large Flame Warden, in his great boots and solid red uniform. He stepped easily between his charge and Queene Death, making sure no one interrupted. She was the first Sister they’d seen with red leaves woven in her crown.
“Our Lady Maeve,” the Soothsayer said brightly. As though they were old bloody friends, reacquainting. “Welcome to our island. May the shade find You.”
Maeve retrieved Her holy hand from this mortal one and nodded, acknowledging both greeting and gaffe. She wondered whether touch were vital to the Soothsayer’s powers of vision.
Assuming it’s not a grift, of course, she thought. I presume I’ll know immediately if it is.
“…Greetings, Sister,” Maeve finally offered. Things got awkward.
She wondered whether the woman were planning to share any sooths, or just making them feel welcome by grabbing and snatching at Her.
Our Lady Maeve noticed the Sister hadn’t acknowledged anyone else in the party. She cleared Her holy throat.
“Well. Thank you. What can you tell Us of Our future, dear seer?”
The Witch’s eyes, behind the veil, went blank. The Flame Warden in his leathers stepped forward to support her.
“Our Lady Maeve, Goddess of Ællaë. Three-in-One. You have as many names as the Moon, my Lady. But You’ll have one more before the long night is through. They’ll call You Death — and worship You all the more.”
Our Lady wrinkled Her holy freckled nose. Watching carefully, Holder squeezed Her holy shoulder.
“I don’t love that. Try again, sweet one.”
“You’ll revisit the worst day of Your long life, and the best. You’ll find despair in hope, joy in sadness, love in fear. You will not be unchanged by this journey, Lady. The way will not be easy.”
“One more try,” Maeve intoned, “And then you may leave Us.”
“Your true name is long forgotten. You will find it in the Misty Isle. Your Land will welcome You home in chains, but do not fear. You have allies in the highest palaces.”
Satisfied with this last, Maeve offered her hand. But the woman hesitated.
“…Out with it,” said Our Lady, in what She hoped was a somewhat lively tone. It hung in the air instead, portentous.
“Lady, the visions confuse me. I confess it.”
Maeve smiled upon her, in sympathy and radiant grace.
“Certainly I can understand that.”
“I hear only a buzzing voice, saying To be reborn, you have to die. Take from that what You will.”
Maeve’s blood went cold, Her holy face ashen, but She blessed the woman again.
“As usual, properly vague. Probably until it’s too late. But We thank you, nonetheless. And what of My companions?”
“Holder Stone. Our creations are mirrors. We must be wise about what they say.”
Holder nodded, almost glumly, as the Seer turned to young Benjamin.
“You have a great destiny, young Benjamin. You’ll lose everything — not once but twice more — and gain the World.”
The tired-looking boy grinned, bowing from his waist — happy to be included, and apparently none too worried by her words. He assumed a wolf’s shape, tongue lolling as he panted in the dry desert heat.
The soothsayer turned to the Diamond Dogs, voice dropping hollow, secret as the Night. She raised her hands as if she were about to speak their gesture language.
“You. You think you are the lock, but you are the key turning. Behind the mask is another mask — and behind that, the truth. Start listening to the silence before it’s too late.”
The fox-faces cocked their heads at this, eerily in tandem, but did not protest. They gestured fitfully at each other, in their way — both public and private at once.
“Queene Death,” she said finally. “Your choices will reshape and redefine the Chain. Be ever mindful of your power, and the strength of your spirit. Do not get lost in the shade of another Sun.”
Queene Death considered this, horse skull face bent to the ground. Maeve watched them think about it, both presuming She was the Sun in question.
“Tell Sailorboy he finds what he seeks on the Wind. Tell the Bard he becomes whole in Mission. He may even survive the experience. This voyage will demand everything, from every one of you.”
Seer and Warden nodded crisply and turned to go. They left a scent of strong black tea behind them — the sunset musk and the jingle of her headdress, as the Sisters parted for them and swallowed them up again.