Mother of Slag by Timandra Whitecastle

Author:Timandra Whitecastle [Whitecastle, Timandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction
Publisher: Timandra Whitecastle
Published: 2019-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

A single drum beat started as the ladies walked up to the sick. They took their positions on top of the waves, a triad of goddesses, the water crisping beneath their feet to sheets of thin ice. The first lady bowed down to the helpless wretch on the sick bed floating nearest to her. Touching his outstretched arm, she must have passed something to him since he shuddered and then tried to sit upright on the cot. She pushed him back down gently and shoved the cot back towards two younger men who had lowered it into the waves. The older man on the bed was crying and mumbling thanks as his sons raised him from the cot and he walked out of the water with them.

With others, it was the same. They came unto the ladies with outstretched arms, and the veiled goddesses took them in and healed them. When they returned to the stone steps out of the water, many could walk upright once again, though still weak. The crowds shuffled and parted to let those healed pass by, touching them as though belief only came through touch. And above everything, the sound carried by the water, the steady beating of the drum, like the heart of a huge animal, docile and trusting.

Without thinking, Diaz stepped forward into the water.

He strode into the waves towards the cluster of folk circling the periphery of the ladies influence, and waited his turn.

Now he was closer, he could see a soft glow emanating from the ladies skin. Their faces gleamed below their veils, and their bare arms and hands seemed to catch the silver radiance of the moonlight and reflect it. The rest of their bodies were cloaked in overlarge garb. It was impossible to tell their age, or even if they were indeed ladies. Or even human.

He peered intently at the shrouded faces, but could make out little detail.

Their eyes remained hidden in deep shadow. The features of the lady in front of him were smudged ink stains, two black holes where her eyes should be, a darker line for her nose, her mouth a thick black line across the soft paleness.

The lady touched the woman in front of Diaz just below her jawline, and some of the soft glow dusted off onto the woman’s throat but faded. He saw her swallow, her throat limned by the translucent skin of the lady. The elderly woman clasped her hands over her mouth and her shoulders shook.

“Thank you,” she muttered, reaching out to grab the lady’s hands in gratitude. “Goddess bless you.”

The black line of the lady’s mouth curved upwards briefly as she returned the elderly woman’s squeeze, then she dropped her arms and stepped back.

The elderly woman turned to leave, and Diaz took her place in front of the lady.

He tipped back his hood a little, half expecting the lady to show some shock at his wight eyes. But she did not even flinch. She glided closer on her ice sheet and pressed her cold fingertips onto his chest.

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