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“Tides will turn and tears will flow. As above, so it is below.” She frowned, feeling vaguely unsettled by the words. “What does that mean?”
Jarin put his hand on the back of Riella’s neck, looking over her shoulder at the poem. “That change is constant. And whatever happens on a cosmic scale happens on the earthly plane, too.”
She looked at him in puzzlement. “How’d you come to that conclusion?”
He smiled slightly while gazing at the rhyme. “My mother was obsessed with understanding the forces that govern our worlds.”
“Oh. Well, I wish I understood.”
“Don’t worry. No one really does.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Riella’s head. “Come. I’ll get us some weapons at the market up ahead. Then we’ll go to the surface.”
Music drifted through the tunnel, mingling with the hum of many human voices.
Riella and Jarin followed the sound and arrived at a large gallery, held up by floor-to-ceiling stone columns.
The gallery was home to a crowded array of stalls, each selling peculiar wares and food. Beyond the gallery were countless alcoves, which appeared to be residences. Jarin had not lied when he’d called it a city. There was a whole other world down here, and she would’ve never known it existed if he hadn’t shown her.
No one paid them any attention, except for the odd cursory glance. Holding Riella’s hand, Jarin wove through the crowd toward a stall with an impressive weapons display. Daggers, swords, and crossbows lay on tables and hung from a backboard.
“Jarin, old friend,” said the stall holder with a grin. He was a skinny older man with dark skin and blue eyes. “Been a while since I clapped eyes on you.”
“Aye, that’s the truth,” replied Jarin.
The men launched into a conversation, catching up on each other’s lives. Soon bored, Riella began to wander, the other stalls drawing her curiosity. There was a man selling lithe black snakes, a herbalist whose stall emanated pungent aromas, and a woman selling bottles of what she claimed was the breath of elves.
“The breath of life,” called the woman to passersby. “To revive your body and mind.”
Annoyance rippled through Riella, thinking inevitably of Seraphine. She hoped the woman was merely a charlatan who sold empty bottles to guileless shoppers, and not some kind of trafficker.
The human preoccupation with harvesting life and power from other creatures—and even each other—was bizarre. They already possessed great magic and might. Why were they never satisfied?
Polinth expressed the desire to conquer the laws of Nature. Sirens were raised to nurture and protect the ocean and all its mystical forces. Aside from anything else, the ocean was too powerful to conquer. It would always humble any adversary, in the end. Perhaps humans were taught differently about the earth.
One stall caught Riella’s attention, despite being tucked into a shadowy gap between alcoves. Patterned bolts of fabric were decked above a woman, who sat cross-legged on a cushion behind a tiny stand. On the stand was a candle, glowing tall and bright and still, and a cloudy crystal ball.
She seemed to notice Riella, too, because she followed the siren with her vivid yellow eyes, and then beckoned.
Riella hesitated, glancing back at Jarin, who was still deep in conversation with the weapons merchant. Figuring she had time to pass, she went to the woman, dodging children playing games and elderly folk in chattering groups.
“Hello,” said the woman, smiling up at Riella. “You found me.”
Her age was impossible to determine—her hair silvery-gray, but her skin smooth and tanned. Riella didn’t recognize her accent.
“Are you a Seer?” asked the siren. She patted the pockets of her trews. “I’m sorry, but I have no coin.”
The woman shook her head. “You don’t need coin. Please, sit.”
Riella did not particularly wish to hear any more predictions, after what Ferrante told her, but this woman was clearly telling fortunes for entertainment only. So, the siren kneeled before the stand, sitting back on her ankles and inspecting the crystal ball.
The woman held out both hands, palms facing upward, indicating for Riella to take them. Feeling a little bit foolish, she did. Immediately, the flame of the candle turned blue and flickered.
The woman’s eyelids fell closed, her wide mouth slightly ajar. The crystal ball remained unchanged, and Riella wondered how it was supposed to work, or if it even did.
At first, the siren felt nothing except the smooth, cool flesh of the woman’s palms. Just as she’d started to relax, her mind wandering, a distinct surge of heat traveled from the woman’s hands into Riella’s. In the same instant, the crystal ball turned perfectly clear.
Disconcerted, Riella wrenched her hands away. The woman kept her palms facing up and her eyes closed. Riella frowned in confusion. Should she simply get up and leave? This was nothing like her experience with Ferrante. The fortune teller was clearly a time waster.
“You shan’t find it,” said the woman, her eyelids beginning to flutter violently. “You shan’t find it, because another already has. You will lose all you hold dear. You will lose more than you ever imagined you could possess. You will lose your life. You will lose your love. And when?—”
