Sapphire by the Sea

Chapter 3 | TALULLAH

Chapter 3 TALULLAH

The next Hidden Market Day couldn’t come fast enough. Talullah’s library search ended as they always did—fruitless. It seemed every time she returned home empty-handed, the voices grew stronger, more relentless. Mocking her failure. Asking why she tried.

You chose this, they said.

You had to be the hero.

You shouldn’t be surprised.

Magic has consequences.

Talullah counted the tree stumps, trying to hold the soft rumble she’d created in her ears. It never drowned them out, not completely. But, it gave her something else to focus on, and sometimes that was enough. The bustle on the other side of the cloaking spell remained the same as she remembered. Six months of her absence hadn’t changed that. People shouted about their wares and prices from carts on the cobbled path and from behind tables in stalls underneath billowing colored fabrics. A deep breath loosened itself from her chest, taking with it a piece of the invisible stone lodged in between her ribs. The whole walk to the barrier, she’d thought about what the market might be like now, if everything would have changed. If she had Altered this place she loved so much. But the smells of baked bread and smoked meats and spiced juices floated around her, a warm blanket of memories. If the smells of wood antiques and parchment were her favorite, this mélange was a close second.

The market was held only four times a year and lasted just two weeks each time. She’d been too tired to go when she’d returned from her quest to find the amethyst. Her father had gone instead, leaning on his cane with the fish-shaped handle. The fish’s one red eye glinted at Talullah as she watched her father limp away, a satchel slung over his shoulder. He’d been pleased to go. But the guilt had given her a week-long stomachache.

Now, she worked her way down the road at a quick pace, her boots crunching on a layer of fresh snow, eager to get to Baako’s stall. When she peeled back the flowing yellow curtain, his rich black face split into a wide grin beneath his furred hat. “Well, if it isn’t trouble come to see me.”

Relief washed over her. He was here. He knew her. “Hi, Baako.” She let the curtain fall behind her and enveloped him in a tight hug. He was easily three inches taller than she was and strong, not just for his age.

He leaned back and studied her face, suddenly serious. “Has something gone wrong I don’t know about?”

Yes and no, she thought. Out loud she said, “I just missed you.”

“You need some cinnamon today?” He turned to his table, crouched, and shuffled through a box underneath it, then stood up and held out a glass vial of red powder between his thumb and forefinger. “I saved some for you.” The glint in his eye made Talullah laugh.

She smiled but shook her head. “Not today.”

He put the vial back in the box. “Well then, I can get a great price from someone else!”

Talullah sat on an unopened wooden crate and folded her legs under her. “Will you tell me a story, Baako? Like you used to?” Baako’s storytelling had always captivated her. He had a way of forming words like music that carried her to the faraway places her child-mind had always dreamed of. Back when she’d wanted to escape the monotony of her life. Now that she’d traveled further than she’d ever imagined, she was glad to travel only in Baako’s stories. Adventure without the danger. Companionship without fear.

“You make an old man feel needed, my girl. And for that, I will reward you with a story.”

He settled on another crate and arranged himself in what Talullah always thought of as his orator’s pose. One foot rested on his opposite knee, his back straight. His hands moved in time with his words.

“A time long ago, a persecuted people fled to a new land. Their pasts chased them everywhere, haunted them.”

Sounds familiar, Talullah thought.

“After many years of running and searching, they discovered a special place. There, the negative thoughts and events that plagued them simply disappeared, like magic. What fortune, they thought, to find a place of our own. They built homes and community in harmony and peace. What they could no longer get from the other world, they created for themselves. Walls and water separated their haven from the outsiders. Finally, they were safe.

“They thrived. Until they discovered only poisonous species in the water, bare trees and bushes that refused to bloom or bear fruit, and silence where wild game once roamed. They had taken too much.”

The yellow curtain of Baako’s stall parted and a short woman with russet brown skin peeked in, bringing a cold breeze with her.

Talullah hugged her cloak tighter around her body, though only her face felt the chill.

“Pardon. Do you have any coriander? There’s a shortage, and I’m desperate.”

“Ah. One moment, Mariana.” Baako stood and rifled through his crates.

“You are a magician,” she said, when he held out the jar to her, her kind eyes wide with gratitude. She dropped a pewter into his free hand and turned to Talullah. “Your grandfather is a special sort.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Talullah replied, not bothering to correct her. As far as Talullah was concerned, Baako was more a grandfather to her than she’d ever known.

“Where was I?” Baako asked, flashing his pearly teeth and resuming his position.

“The people had used all their resources.”

“Ah, yes.” His storytelling tenor returned as strong as ever. “Pride and fear kept them from returning to the world they’d left behind. It had failed them before. It would again. But, if they didn’t do something, they would all starve.

“Then, one day, as dark rain clouds hung over them and poured sheets of rain, the sea whispered of a magic that could save them. If they were willing to pay the price.”

Talullah’s chest tightened. She focused on Baako’s words instead of the ones climbing up from the depths of her mind.

“It was a god, their leader said. They must heed the message.”

Yes, heed the message, the Unforgiven said. When magic speaks, you must listen.

“The people brought offerings and prayed to the ocean god. They left flowers from their gardens. Some pierced their fingertips and dropped lifeblood on the beach.

“For a time, maybe a few minutes or a year or a generation, the land flourished.

“Many more times, the people offered bits of themselves to the ocean god, appealing for safety and prosperity. But their home grew restless again. It wanted more. Always more.

“But they had no more to give.

“Devotion in exchange for protection had given way to something darker and harder to name. Something masquerading as sunshine.

“They’d wrapped themselves tighter and tighter, shutting out the rest of the world thinking the insulation would protect them. They’d created shiny, sparkling prison walls. And there was no easy escape.”

Talullah realized she was leaning forward like an insect drawn to light. Was that what she was doing with the Unforgiven, making the situation worse by not telling anyone else about the voices? “What happened? Did they leave?”

“Some tried,” Baako said. “But their own defenses were too strong.”

“Did their pasts—their enemies—catch up to them, or did they find peace?” Please let them have found peace.

“Ah. Are those the only two possibilities?” Baako raised his thin gray eyebrows. “Not every story has a happy ending, Talullah. And not every story has an ending at all.”

Talullah sighed.

“Not the answer you were hoping for?”

“Not exactly. But I’d be a fool to expect anything less.” Talullah stood and hugged Baako again. She thanked him for the story.

“Any time, dear. It’s nice for an old man to feel his talents are appreciated.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’m not the only one who appreciates your storytelling. I bet your wife and kids love listening to you talk.”

A dull grayness misted over Baako’s eyes, and he bowed his head, a bit solemn, his hands busying themselves with unpacking new wares from the open crates at his feet. “Talullah, dear, it means the world to me that no matter the reality, you keep wishing for me what I want most.”

“What do you mean?”

“My wife and I always wanted children, but it just wasn’t in the cards for us. Or the globes or the stars. Heavens know we looked to them all. I hope you know I have felt much fuller in the years since you first wandered into my stall looking for cinnamon and a story. My life has been richer, even without children of my own.”

Talullah’s words caught in her throat. Her heart shattered. The Baako she had known almost all her life had two children. He talked about them constantly. Talullah had seen letters they sent to him. In her quest to save her family, she had erased his. This man standing in front of her, who’d been a comfort to her throughout her whole life, especially when her mother had disappeared, no longer had the one thing in life he’d cherished more than anything else. She had taken it from him. And he didn’t even know it.

The guilt settled like a serpent in her stomach.

What else had she done to the people she loved? Or those she didn’t even know? How selfish was it to change their lives without a spare thought to the consequences? Given the chance to do it all again, she knew deep in her soul she would make the same choice. Because this was the only path that guaranteed her sisters’ safety. All others were a gamble. And she couldn’t risk losing.

She’s a hero, the ghosts in Praeteriti had said.

An opportunist, sang the Unforgiven in her mind. Selfish. Insecure. Thief.

The gravity of her Gift weighed so much heavier now. Its cost was not only hers to pay.

“Thank you, Baako. You’ve given more to me than I can ever tell you.” She hugged him again, breathing in the spiced scent that clung to his skin. When she exited his stall into the bustling crowd, the noise of the street now cranked up to full volume, and she knew he couldn’t hear her, she added, “I’m so sorry.”