Page 60 of Wind and Water
With a slow, sad smile, Birdie looks me in the eyes. “Martin women only fall in love once, and as long as Wren’s father lives, I’ll never shake him.”
This is stunning and disturbing. Even Wren looks appalled at the idea that Birdie won’t let love into her heart because of a man who left her so long ago. “Do you know that he’s alive?”
Taking the braided grass from Wren’s hand, Birdie admires the pattern. “His name is Joe Cotton. He lives on the Atchafalaya Basin in Louisiana. He never remarried, but he lives with a woman named Jane. He still spends most of his time on a rig in the Gulf of Mexico, and he is not any more faithful to Jane than he was to me.”
“How do you know all of that?” Wren takes the bracelet and ties it around her mother’s wrist.
“I’ve shamelessly kept tabs over the years, and social media makes that pretty easy now. Maybe I should have given you his name, but I was so angry back then.” She smiles at the rustic jewelry as if it were precious jewels.
Shaking her head, Wren takes her mother’s hand. “No. I’m a Martin. Cotton doesn’t suit. Besides, if he wanted to be part of my life, he’s had twenty-six years to find me right where he left us.”
“These men in your world are mad.” I’ll never understand any man giving up either of these women.
“Are all elves faithful?” Birdie asks with her usual openness.
“No. Not all relationships are based on trust and loyalty,” I admit. “It’s only my belief that you are worth staying for, my friend.”
She kisses my cheek. “You are biased, son. I’ll not scold you for it, though.”
The chanting gets softer, and the centaurs begin walking in a circle around the pyre.
Sensing the end of the long ceremony, we three stand.
Taking Wren’s hand, I feel her sorrow renewed. My ability to push death to the back of my mind is curtailed by seeing it through her eyes.
Wasting no time, we ride on in silence for the remainder of the day. It’s only when the centaurs admit to growing weary that we finally stop.
I thank Pallon for transporting me. His long blond hair hangs around his face as he looks at the ground. He’s thinking of Belloc, as am I. “It was my honor, Son of Riordan.”
Not sure what else needs to be said, I remove the thick blanket from his back and lay it with the ones for Birdie and Wren. I wish I had words like my mother in these situations. If I've learned nothing else, I know there is nothing that will mend the pain of loss. Only time heals such wounds.
As we sit around heated rocks and eat, Wren asks, “Why is the witch queen able to use her magic so extensively without killing herself?”
“No one knows. We surmise that she needs rest and must restore her power; otherwise, she would keep attacking, but it took her three days to gain enough power after calling the demon from Coire before she could direct her shadow demons.”
“I would think it would take a great deal of magic to manipulate so many for so long.” Wren finishes her food andtosses her leaf into the heat of the stones. It sizzles and burns up in a moment.
Corell says, “There are those who say she pulls dark magic from Coire. After seeing that fire demon, I don’t doubt that is true.”
Wellon adds deer meat to the rocks, and it sizzles, its scent filling the air. “I have heard she steals magic from those she turns to shadow, and if she cannot turn them, she kills them.”
“Some say it is her lovers who supply her with extra magic and life force,” Jadar adds.
“Magic can be stolen?” Birdie asks. “I thought it was part of you, like blood or flesh.”
Maybe it would be wiser to change the subject. Scaring Wren and her mother even more than the horrors of what they’ve already endured is not my intention. Still, truth always sits better with me. “Magic is an integral part of most beings who live in Domhan. It is part of our life, and to lose one’s magic would be similar to going blind, maybe worse.”
“Do you think she can steal my magic?” Wren holds a small stick and draws in the dirt. I think it’s a design for a pendant, but it’s hard to tell with the lack of light.
I wish I knew the answer. “She will try if she can, but human magic and the human world are foreign to her. She hasn’t quite figured you out yet. If she knew all she needed to, she wouldn’t have kept Birdie alive. She wanted to learn something.”
“Maybe she did.” Birdie rubs her arms as if she caught a chill on the warm night.
“What do you mean?” I pull a blanket out of my pack and wrap it around her shoulders.
Staring at Wren’s drawing, Birdie won’t meet my gaze. “She cast spells and did rituals while she had me. She seemed more frustrated than satisfied, but what do I know? I don’t even have magic.”
Wren wraps her arm about her mother. “I’m sorry I didn’t insist you stay home, Momma. You’d be safe there.”
