Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [56]
The last time Ailis had gone through a magically appearing doorway, it had taken her to and from the Isle of Apples, Morgain’s home in the otherworld. So it was with relief that she realized that they had merely stepped outside the confines of the fortress and were now standing on the external walls, overlooking the village Ailis had only seen through windows. Beyond that, the ocean foamed gray-blue across to the mainland, where the waters crashed against the rocky shore.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Personally, Ailis thought it was barren and depressing and cold.
“Look into the water, witch-child. Look deep.”
Ailis didn’t bother to protest that the water was too far away. Morgain would not ask something Ailis could not do. It was up to Ailis to discover how to do it.
Letting her mind float like the thick gray clouds overhead, Ailis focused on a cliff off in the distance, one that seemed to echo with a magical residue, resting her eyes on it until everything blurred, the same way she had looked at the map days ago. Then she let her gaze drift down into the deep, cold waters, down past the great schools of baitfish flickering like a single hungry beast, down farther to where the currents swirled and shoved against each other.
“Do you feel it, witch-child?”
Ailis nodded, her face a blank mask, the rest of her was out there in the swirling waters. It was like being back in the water-room, only more real. More intense.
“Take it. Take what you feel. Shape it. Fold it between your hands. Feel the power that resides within the water. Take it.”
The wind stirred the feather braided into her hair, but did not so much as ruffle her clothing.
“It’s too much,” Ailis protested.
“Too much for a mortal frame, yes. It’s not meant to run in your blood-filled body. But you can move it. Manipulate it.”
“Move things with it?”
“Exactly!” Morgain’s voice was pleased. Ailis could feel her chest swell with pride at having impressed her teacher so. “There’s a ship out there coming from the mainland. Good sailors, all of them. My sailors. Shall we test them? Push their ship. Push it to their limits.”
Ailis found the ship without difficulty—it was the only solid object on the damp seascape—and shoved the gathered force of the ocean against its wooden sides.
The wood shivered and rocked low in the waters. Ailis was amazed at how easy it was.
“Again,” Morgain’s voice encouraged her. “Again.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just a little…now I know why Sir Caedor didn’t like boats.” Newt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and took the waterskin from Gerard. He rinsed his mouth and spat the water out onto the floor of the hold. It was disgusting. He hadn’t made a mess like that since he was ill as a child, but he did feel better.
“Come on, then.” The sounds and feel of the boat had begun to change, from the near-panic of the sudden storm to a more measured flurry of feet and voices, indicating that they were hopefully approaching Morgain’s island stronghold.
The plan was to try and blend in with the workers unloading materials, the same way they had gotten themselves on board. The problem was that Morgain was bound to have her own people meeting the boat. “It’s what I would do,” Gerard had said.
“Not a huge presence,” Newt had agreed. “Just one, maybe two people, to make sure the faces are all familiar and that nobody goes anywhere they’re not supposed to be.”
“Are we sure this is the right place?” Newt asked, just before he stuck his head up out of the hold.
“A little late to be worrying about that now, isn’t it?” Gerard retorted, waiting at the base of the ladder.
“Check the lodestone.”
“Against what?” But even as he protested, Gerard was reaching for the stone around his neck, drawing it up and out into the open. “All right,” he said to it. “Are we in the right place?”
The stone seemed to shimmer slightly, and then burst into a handful of fine gray powder.
“Right.” Gerard wiped powder off his nose and shook out his hair, spitting at the dry taste in his mouth. “Any other brilliant