Fear the Drowning Deep(74)
“I know,” she answered calmly. “But there’s no sense in getting soaked while I put the poison in a jar.” She made a sweeping motion toward the cottage interior. “Warm yourself by the fire a moment.”
A black pot sat on Morag’s hearth, full of stinking goo identical to the paste on her hands. I peered into its depths, half-expecting something to bubble up and snarl in my face.
Morag kneeled at the hearth, clutching a glass jar. “In order for the poison to take full effect, the serpent has to ingest it.” Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she added flatly, “He has to swallow it. Though I won’t complain if you use some of this to blind his good eye.”
“I know what ingest means. I’m just wondering, if the goo is so deadly, why is it all over your hands?”
Morag held her jar above the pot and smiled, showing off her remaining teeth. “This poison is only mildly irritating to the skin. I’ll have blisters by tonight, but …” Her smile widened. “Someone had to test it. I fed some to a rat that’s been stealing my bread.”
My lip curled in disgust. “Poor longtail! Couldn’t you have used a spoon?”
She scooped the green-black sludge into the jar and murmured, “That’d be taking the easy way, wouldn’t it?”
Running a hand through my damp hair, I studied the jar. “I just pour this in the serpent’s mouth?” My hands tingled as I considered how close I would have to get to the giant needle-teeth. “I couldn’t, say, dump it in the water and hope it swallows some?”
Morag arched a brow. Her silence was answer enough.
“Well, I killed the fossegrim during Mally’s wedding feast with a carving knife. I’m ready to slay bigger monsters, like King Arthur’s knights did in the old stories. You can call me Sir Gawain.”
“Not Lady Guinevere?”
I wrinkled my nose and frowned. “She never got to do anything important.”
I studied the old woman’s mangled foot, the careful way she kept her balance, the power with which she flexed her gnarled fingers. “But you can. Come with me. Help me stop the serpent, so you won’t have to live in fear anymore.”
Morag shook her head. “Killing a fossegrim took tremendous strength, Apprentice Bridey. You have more courage than any knight. More than me.” She struggled to her feet and started rummaging through a cupboard. “But taking on the serpent is another matter, given its sheer size—”
“I know.” I plucked the poison jar from the hearth and cradled it. If I lost the precious liquid within, Liss would be gone forever. She probably already was. All I had was hope. Foolish hope. “And just so you know, I missed you at the feast.”
The sound of Morag pushing aside mugs and glasses stopped. She paused, a whiskey jar in her right hand.
“But I understand why you didn’t come. Most folk here are keen to believe the worst. Why, you’re a better friend to me than nearly anyone has ever been.”
It was strange to think that when I had arrived at the cottage that first day, I’d worried Morag might chop me up for her evening stew. She was blunt, even cold at times, yet she had never questioned the things I told her. Never made me feel like I’d taken leave of my senses and conjured a world of sea monsters for my own amusement. Now, being in her presence filled me with a sense of calm and purpose.
I glanced up from the floor. It was difficult to see in the dim light, but Morag’s body shuddered with sobs. Abandoning the mess, I hurried to her side.
“You shouldn’t call me a friend.” She pushed the whiskey jar back into the cupboard’s depths, her sea-foam eyes streaming. “I’m a coward and a fool,” she declared shakily. “But I refuse to face the serpent again.”
“I understand,” I murmured, though I didn’t really. I longed to hide from the sea the way Morag hid from the beast that had left her crippled, but I couldn’t any longer. “I have to go now. Liss needs me.” I strode toward the door, Morag hobbling at my heels. “You might be able to survive up here all alone, but I can’t live without my sister.”
I darted into the gloomy afternoon. Gaps in the treetops revealed steely clouds, and cold rain dripped from the leafy canopy. Droplets smacked the top of my head as a distant rumble of thunder rocked the sky.
“Bridey! Wait!” Morag stood in the doorway, holding a crumpled, yellowing piece of paper. “I almost forgot, I found this for you!” Even from a distance, I knew what it was—the missing page of Morag’s monster book.
I hurried back, prepared to snatch the paper and run for the harbor, but Morag’s fingers closed around my wrist. The more I struggled, the tighter she held on.
“At least let me tell you what it says before you go running off. You need to know what you’re up against!”
“Fine. I’m listening.”
Her grip on my arm relaxed. “Serpents answer to no one. They have no laws, no ruler, because they consider nothing to be above themselves. Glashtyns are one of their few adversaries.”
“How will this help me fight one?”
“I’m getting there! Serpents are ancient beasts. The book claims they’re as old as Earth itself. And they’re powerful illusionists, capable of making men experience the most realistic visions.”
I gave a small shudder. That explained why Thomase swore he saw Fynn at a time when he was really with me, running from the fossegrim. And why Mrs. Kissack swore she saw Fynn beside the footprints on the cliffs.