Priestess of the White

Slowly, Emerahl drew magic and used it to break through the box lid just above her head. She shifted the dirt above it down to the other end of her coffin to gather around her feet. The pale sky of near-dawn appeared above her sooner than she expected.

They ought to have buried me deeper, she thought. But their ignorance has saved me some trouble.

She enlarged the hole until it was big enough to allow her body through, then squirmed and pushed upward. Peering out, she saw that she was in the small yard at the back of the burned-out house the children lived under. She paused to think.

I could bury myself again and wait until they all go out for the day. She considered. No. A few always stay behind to mind the place during the day. Better to go now while they’re asleep.

Drawing her arms up, she grabbed the lip of the hole and pulled. She had to pause to catch her breath several times, and as more of her emerged into the morning light she saw why. The change had used up a lot of her body fat.

Her arms were bony and wasted, her breasts almost nonexistent. As she brushed dirt off the dirty white shift the children had left her in, she felt the hardness of protruding hip bones beneath.

I’m weak and scrawny, she mused. A skeleton reborn from a coffin womb. I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking me some unholy, unwholesome creature today.

At last she was able to get her feet under her and stand up. To her relief she had enough strength to stand, probably to walk, too. Stepping up out of her grave, she turned and considered the evidence of her rise from death.

Better fix this mess.

Drawing magic, she shifted and smoothed the dirt until the hole was filled and all sign of her emergence was gone. She smiled sadly as she saw the shrivelled flowers scattered over the ground. She wished she could do more for the children, but she had her own survival to think of.

What next?

She looked down at herself. Her hands and arms were covered in dirt and she was wearing only a stained shift. Her hair hung down over her shoulders, still the stiff white hair of an old woman. She needed a wash, then clothes and food, and something to dye her hair with.

It was then that she realized the wallet she had strapped to her body was gone. She was not surprised; she had known there was a good chance the children would find it. After all, she could not hide everything inside her.

She briefly considered sneaking into the house to look for it, but dismissed the thought straightaway. It was too great a risk, and the children had probably spent most of it already. Turning her back on her “grave,” she quietly walked past the house and out into the poor quarter.

The thin gray light of morning slowly brightened. The streets were quiet but not deserted. She passed a pair of middle-aged washerwomen, who regarded her with distaste, then a younger man with a wooden leg stopped to leer at her. She felt self-conscious for the first time in over a hundred years.

And people ask me why I, who can be any age I please, would choose to be old? Emerahl thought wryly.

But then, there were definitely pleasures to be gained from being young again. She had always been attractive to men when in her younger form. Sometimes women, too. Some of her good looks obviously still showed despite her current wasted state. She only needed some regular healthy meals to regain her curves.

But food cost money. She frowned as she considered the near future. With her wallet and her body fat gone, she needed to find a source of income quickly. Theft was a possibility, but she was long out of practice and didn’t have the strength to run if she was seen. Being caught might bring her to priestly attention.

Priests were looking for a woman who sold cures, so she could not consider selling her knowledge and skills in that area either. She continued downhill, heading toward the sea. The direction she had chosen amused her. She had been born by the ocean, and had always been drawn to water in times of strife. When the flat, liquid horizon finally appeared, she sighed with relief and quickened her steps.

Once she reached the water’s edge she followed the road that hugged the shore, looking for a more private place to wash. Most of the small bays were occupied. When she came to a small bay with a single pier she stopped. Two fishermen were working in their boat, one young, one old, preparing their catch for market. She considered them for a moment, then walked boldly down the pier.

“Looks like a good catch,” she said as she passed.

They glanced up, then stared at her. She smiled back at them, then turned away. Reaching the end of the pier, she stepped off.

Cold water engulfed her and the shock of it drove the air from her lungs in a rush of bubbles. She felt sand beneath her feet and pushed up again. Coming to the surface, she sucked in air, then kicked away from the pier.

“Lady?”

She rolled over, then laughed as she saw the two fishermen peering at her from the end of the pier, both wearing worried expressions.

“Don’t worry,” she told them. “I just wanted to get clean.”

“You gave us a scare,” the younger man said reproachfully. “Thought you wanted to drown yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” She swam toward them, noting how their eyes shifted from her face to those parts of her that came to the surface. The shift was half-transparent now that it was wet. “Thank you for thinking to save me.” She swam under the pier.

She could hear them walking along the boards above her. There had been no mistaking their interest. She pursed her lips, considering. One way to solve her current dilemma had already occurred to her, and now an opportunity had presented itself. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done this sort of work before. In fact, she had always considered herself quite good at it.

Looking up, she noted how the beams of wood crossed to form a narrow, slimy shelf. Hidden by the water, she reached under her shift, probed inside herself.

This is one of the reasons some men call this part of a woman’s body a whore’s purse, she thought as she drew out a small bag. Among the contents was the sea bell, dembar sap pendant and some coins. The coins would not buy her much more than a few meals, and no jeweller would give her even a fraction of a fair price for such a valuable sea bell while she looked like she did now. No, she would have to work up to that. She put the bag up on the slimy shelf then swam out from under the pier.

The fishermen’s attention snapped back to her. They walked alongside as she paddled toward their boat.

“This your boat?” she asked.

“My father’s,” the young man said, glancing at his companion.

“Mind if I come aboard while I dry off?”

The pair exchanged glances, then the older man nodded. “Why not?”

She grinned at them, then swam to the vessel’s side. The younger man stepped onto the boat, reached down and took her hand, then hauled her up onto the deck. She noticed the father glancing about to see if anyone was watching, and smothered a smile. Thinking of your wife, are you?

Stepping back, she drew magic and sent heat and air through her shift. The younger man moved away and regarded her with new respect. Though she knew she probably looked more exciting wet, these two potential customers needed to know she could not be easily cheated of her fee.

When her shift was dry, she let out a sigh.

“You’d think with all my Gifts I wouldn’t have ended up a whore.” She looked up at them and blushed. “I only just started, mind. And I won’t be doing it for long, either. Only until I can find a job.”

The two men exchanged glances, then the father cleared his throat.

“How much?”

Emerahl smiled. “Well, I think such gallant men who thought to save a lady from drowning ought to receive a discount, don’t you?”

And this, she thought wryly, is the other reason men call that part of