Морган Райс - A Dirge for Princes

“Look,” Emeline said, pointing to one of the riverbanks. All Cora could see at first were reeds rising beside it, disturbed here and there by the movement of small animals. Then she saw the coracle upturned on the bank like the shell of some armored creature.

“Oh no,” Cora said, guessing what Emeline intended.

Emeline reached out to put a hand on her arm. “It’s all right. I’m good with boats. Come on, you’ll enjoy it.”

She led the way to the coracle, and all Cora could do was follow, silently hoping that there would be no oars. There was a paddle, though, and it seemed to be all Emeline needed. Soon, she was in the coracle, and Cora had to jump in beside her or be left walking along the bank.

It was faster than walking, Cora had to admit. They skimmed down the river like a pebble thrown from some giant hand. It was as relaxing as it had been sitting on the cart. More relaxing, since they’d spent half the time on the cart jumping off to help push it up hills and out of mud. Emeline seemed to be enjoying piloting it too, navigating the changes in the river as it went from rough to smooth water and back again.

Cora saw the moment when the water shifted, and she saw Emeline’s expression shift in the same instant.

“There’s… something there,” Emeline said. “Something powerful.”

What have we here? a voice asked, sounding in Cora’s mind. Two fresh young things. Come closer, my darlings. Come closer.

Ahead, Cora saw… well, she wasn’t quite sure what she saw. At first, it seemed like a woman made from water, but a flicker of light later, it seemed like a horse. The urge to go toward it was overwhelming. It felt as though there was safety ahead.

No, it was more than that; it felt as if it was home waiting for her there. The home that she’d always wanted, with warmth, a family, safety…

That’s it. Come to me. I can give you everything you want. You will never be alone again.

Cora wanted to urge the coracle forward. She wanted to dive from it, to be with the creature that promised so much. She half stood, ready to do just that.

“Wait!” Emeline called out. “It’s a trick, Cora!”

Cora felt something settle around her mind, a wall rising up between her and the promises of safety. She could see Emeline straining, and knew that the other girl had to be the one doing it, blocking the power pushing at them with her own talents.

No, come to me , the thing urged, but it was a distant echo of what it had been.

Cora looked at it, really looked at it, now. She saw the swirling water there; saw the currents around it that would drown anyone foolish enough to pass through them. She remembered old stories of river spirits, kelpies, the kind of dangerous magic that had turned the world against all of it.

She saw the water start to shift beneath the coracle, and only realized what was happening as the current started to drag it forward.

“Emeline!” she yelled. “It’s pulling us in!”

Emeline remained still, shaking with obvious effort as she fought to keep the creature from overwhelming them both. That meant that it was up to Cora. She grabbed for the coracle’s paddle, aiming for the shore and paddling with all the strength she had.

At first, it seemed that nothing was happening. The current was too strong, the kelpie’s pull too total. Cora recognized those thoughts for what they were and pushed them aside. She didn’t have to paddle against the current, just to its side. She pulled at the water with it, forcing the coracle to move through sheer strength of will.

Slowly, it began to shift off course, moving closer to the bank as Cora paddled.

“Hurry,” Emeline said beside her. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

Cora kept going, and the coracle moved by what felt like inches, but it did move. It grew closer, and closer, until finally Cora thought that the reeds might be in reach. She grabbed for them, managing to get hold of a handful of them and using them to pull their tiny vessel close to the shore. She dragged the coracle to the riverbank, then leapt out, grabbing for Emeline’s arm.

She pulled her friend up onto the riverbank, seeing the coracle pulled in by the current. Cora saw the kelpie rear up in apparent anger, smashing down on the small vessel and reducing it to splinters.

As soon as they were on dry land, Cora felt the pressure on her mind easing, while Emeline gave a gasp and rose to her feet under her own power. It seemed that, off the water, the kelpie couldn’t touch them. It reared up again, then plunged down, disappearing out of sight.

“I think we’re safe,” Cora said.

She saw Emeline nod. “I think… maybe we’ll stay off the water for a while, though.”

She sounded exhausted, so Cora helped her away from the riverbank. It took a while to find a path, but once they did so, it seemed natural to follow it.

They kept going along the road, and now there were more people than there had been in the north. Cora saw fisher-folk coming in from the riverbanks, farmers with carts full of goods. She saw more people coming in from all around now, with loads of cloth or herds of animals. One man was even herding a flock of ducks that ran ahead of him as sheep might have for someone else.

“There must be a traveling market,” Emeline said.

“We should go,” Cora said. “They might put us back on the road for Stonehome.”

“Or they might kill us as witches the moment that we ask,” Emeline pointed out.

Even so, they went, making their way along the paths with the others until they saw the market ahead. It was on a small island amidst the rivers, the route fordable at any one of a dozen points. On that island, Cora saw stalls and auction spaces for everything from goods to livestock. She was just grateful that no one was trying to sell any of the indentured today.

She and Emeline made their way down to the island, wading across one of the fords to reach it. They kept their heads low, blending into the crowds as much as possible, especially when Cora saw the masked figure of a priestess wandering through the crowd, dispensing her goddess’s blessings.

Cora found herself drawn to a space where players were performing The Dance of St. Cuthbert , although it wasn’t the serious version that had sometimes been put on in the palace. This version featured a lot more bawdy humor and excuses for sword fights, the company obviously knowing its audience. When they were done, they took a bow, and people started to call out the names of plays and skits, hoping to see their favorite performed.

“I still don’t see how we can find someone who knows the way to Stonehome,” Emeline said. “At least, not without as good as declaring ourselves to the priests.”

Cora had been thinking about that too. She had an idea.

“You will see if people start thinking about it, won’t you?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Emeline said.

“So we get them thinking about it,” Cora said. She turned to the players. “What about The Stone Keeper’s Daughters ?” she called out, hoping that the crowd would block any sight of her.

To her surprise, it worked. Perhaps it was because it was a daring, even dangerous, play to call for: the story of how a stonemason’s daughters proved to be witches and found a home far from those who would hunt them. It was the kind of play that could get someone arrested for performing it in the wrong place.

They performed it here, though, in all its glory, masked figures representing priests chasing after the young men playing the women’s parts for fear of bad luck. All the while, Cora looked at Emeline expectantly.

“Well, is it getting them thinking about Stonehome?” she asked.