Wayfinder

For an instant, Aerin was illuminated, her form a shadow within a greater writhing mass that struggled for survival and domination. Her intellect was desirable, Lara thought, but her too-human shape was impractical for a sea-based predator. At least the thing struggling to envelope Aerin hadn’t thought that it could evolve beyond the sea: a twisted magic from a dead land could spell ruin for all the Barrow-lands, should it reach shore. The next lyric was strengthened by Lara’s horror, voice more confident as she used music as a weapon: “Oh Christ! Whose voice the waters heard, and hushed their raging at Thy word.”

Aerin’s shape became the predominant one again, but her skin was reddening like she’d stood in the sun too long. There was hope, Lara thought. The only question was whether the hymnal would burn Aerin away before the deviltry was purged from her body. So easy to think in those terms, though the “devil” was no more than another creature fighting to survive in waters tainted by magic gone wrong. Witchcraft: that was probably how her church would see everything in and about the Barrow-lands. Lara had never thought of witches or their magics as beautiful, though, and even under the strain of Lara’s own power, Aerin was beautiful.

Selfish, shallow, childish thought; it was good to save something beautiful. It was good to save any life; that was the idea she should hold on to. Her voice strengthened again, though the contortions beneath Aerin’s skin, the heat of her body, said there was almost no time left. Dafydd had flinched at the name of the Holy Trinity, and Aerin was being exposed to so much more.

A clawed hand suddenly came up and caught Lara’s throat. Song squeaked into nothing, but for an instant all the black, all the discolored yellow, fled from Aerin’s eyes. She rasped “Keep. Singing!” before collapsing again, and clarity rang in Lara’s mind.

The Seelie woman would rather be immolated by God’s word than live the half-life of black magic. A shaking note of laughter went through Lara’s voice, and between lines she took enough breath to whisper, “Not if I can help it.”

It should have made no sense to Aerin, but gratitude flashed through still-yellow eyes and she nodded once, sharply. Her hair was burning, shriveling from the ends toward her scalp, but the heat within her was purifying her as well. The shifting scales were gone now, only flushed red skin visible where they’d been. Sharp teeth still erupted through her gums, pushing away the old ones and giving her the look of an evolving gargoyle. Lara, aware it wasn’t wise, shoved her fingers into Aerin’s mouth and grabbed her jaw from the inside, using the feel of ivory and flesh to remind herself of what was true and meant to be.

The last words of the third verse broke free, pleading that God hear her call, and vertiginous power roared from Lara, truth as she envisioned it: Aerin whole and uncorrupted again before her. For an astonishing few seconds the black light of the city retreated under a burst of starlight.

Heat exploded from Aerin. She screamed and bucked, scrambling backward to escape Lara’s grip. Her skin blistered and her hair, once hip-length, was now burned so short the upswept tips of her ears were exposed. But her eyes were her own, green with fear and fury and gratitude, and she sat where she was, gasping and fumbling at her own body, making sure it was still hers.

Lara whispered, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, thank you,” smiled weakly, and tipped over sideways, unconscious before she hit the seabed floor.

She woke again because of the pain. Her shoulder sent flashes of white heat through her vision, worse than a migraine. A gurgle caught at the back of her throat, injury too offensive to even give it full voice as a shriek.

Aerin, grimly, said, “Good. Try not to scream, if you can help it. The sound will attract predators. This will hurt.”

Lara wanted to ask It will hurt? Like it doesn’t already?, but Aerin pulled something tight around her shoulder, and Lara’s entire right side cramped and spasmed with agony. Another gagging sound caught in her throat and she clutched sand with her free hand, trying to squeeze the pain away. It in no way helped, but Aerin sat back, glowering with satisfaction. “That should hold until we return to the Barrow-lands. I’m sorry, but I have almost no talent for healing others, and even if I did, working enchantments here …” She shook her head.

Lara blinked, trying to focus. Trying to think, while her shoulder settled into a dull throb. Her doublet was gone, or rather, torn to pieces, with its padding drifting around them on eddies of wind or current. Its fabric had been bound around her shoulder and upper arm, with a bulky lump over the deep cut. Staunching blood, Lara imagined, though browning stains already discolored half her shirt.

“You should have lost more blood,” Aerin said. “As it is, the muscle won’t heal properly without magic. It’s too badly damaged.”

Lara suggested, “Stitches,” light-headedly, and had a vision of stitching up her shoulder herself, a tailor’s needle bright in her fingertips. Anatomy was no doubt more difficult to sew than fabric; it was warm and bled, for one thing, never mind the near impossibility of sewing herself together almost under her own chin.

Aerin frowned, uncomprehending, and the idea that the elfin peoples never needed stitches or surgery the way mortals did fluttered through Lara’s mind. “Nothing. Thank you for tying me up.” She winced, knowing she’d phrased that badly but unable to gather drifting thoughts enough to change it. She’d never been badly hurt before, or lost more than a knife cut’s worth of blood. Aside from the thudding ache that came with each heartbeat, it made her feel uncomfortably detached, as if nothing was of particular importance.

Humor twitched Aerin’s mouth before turning grim again. “You’re welcome. And my thanks to you as well. I would have been lost, worse than dead, had you not done what you did. Binding your shoulder was the least I could do in recompense, especially when the fault of the damage was mine.”

Lara leaned forward until her forehead almost touched Aerin’s, as if proximity would help her communicate. “The doors were a test. A trial. It’s an old riddle in my world. One brother always tells the truth. One brother always lies. If you had waited …!” Scolding delivered, she sat back again, then turned her head carefully to study the blue-lit walls of the drowned city.

They had changed, though she couldn’t place how; her thoughts weren’t yet clear enough. They were taller, perhaps, more like the rooms within the towers: less damage had come to them, though they were by no means whole. Still, the lichen that grew over them looked healthier, taking some of the black-light glow and turning it to growing green. That was probably more how Llyr had intended she see the city. Maybe his spell had grown in strength while she was unconscious. “Llyr said we’ll find Dafydd and Hafgan in the memorial gardens. I just don’t know how we’re going to get there without being eaten.”

Aerin’s face tensed and gentled all at once. “We are already there, Truthseeker. I carried you while you … slept.” She spread a hand in half-defensive response to Lara’s goggle-eyed stare. “The shifting magic lingered in me, perhaps. I saw innumerable monsters, but they chose not to come near me. Perhaps they recognized that I had been one of them.” The tension slipped through her eyes again. “Or perhaps it was the taint of your world’s god that kept them away. Either way, we were allowed to move unscathed, and I thought these gardens might be welcoming. The Caerwyn citadel has a similar place, and it is often comforting.”

“Lucky choice. It could have been haunted, too.” Lara bit her tongue, ashamed at belittling Aerin’s decision. “Sorry.”

Aerin shrugged one shoulder. “It might have been, but then, so is the rest of this city. I searched the grounds, Truthseeker. I saw nowhere for a bier.”

“Did you look underground?” The question came unbidden and Lara bit her tongue a second time, this time in surprise. Aerin looked askance at her, and Lara got cautiously to her feet. The change in elevation made her head swim again, and renewed blood flow hammered pulses of dizzying agony through her shoulder. She took a few deep breaths, trying to steady herself, then focused on speaking. “You came up at me from under the street. There must be some kind of underground structure in the city. We bury our dead. You must, too, right? Why else would they be the Barrow-lands?”

“Because it was the hills of the dead that most often lent us access to your world, and so to come from yours to ours was to enter the Barrow-lands.”

“Oh.”

Aerin laughed, bright and unexpected as she, too, climbed to her feet. “But we do bury our dead. Forgive me, Truthseeker. I suppose I shouldn’t tease you.”

Lara wrinkled her nose and smiled. “It’s all right. Most people can’t. It’s hard to tell the absolute truth and still be teasing.”

“Perhaps some of your magic lingers in me still.” Aerin brushed fingertips over her short, burnt hair and