Magon carried Charlon from the Seffynaw. Together they flew like birds. Through the twilight sky. Over the blackish Northsea. Skimmed raucous waves. The splashing heights of water drenched Charlon. Fully herself again. Her small feet had lost Lady Zeroah’s silk shoes over the ocean. The black gown was too tight and too long. Now hung wet and heavy.
Charlon did not care. She marveled at Magon’s power. Wondered what would become of her. But she did not ask. The goddess did not seem in a mood to talk.
Charlon felt her ahvenrood stores draining. She had taken a full dose this morning. Magon must have used it. To save them. To fly. And all Charlon’s ahvenrood had been left behind in Lady Zeroah’s sideboard. She had only her flask left.
They approached the nearest ship. It could not be the Vespara. Mreegan kept it far from the fleet. Magon soared toward the stern deck, and the ship’s name became visible.
Rafayah.
Magon set Charlon on the wood planks of the stern deck. Lady Zeroah’s gown pooled at her feet. Charlon felt weak. People were scattered about, but none seemed to notice them. Magon had made them invisible. It would not last long. Charlon needed to purge.
She fell to her knees. Lady Zeroah’s soppy black gown bunched underneath her. “I have failed you,” she said aloud. “Failed the task you set before me.”
“Yes,” Magon said. “You disappoint me.”
Fear of losing Magon welled within. Make her stay, her heart said. Charlon wanted to. Desperately. “Do not abandon me,” she said.
“Why should I remain? You have lost your power over Armania.”
“I could be with child,” Charlon said, hopeful that her time with Prince Janek had not been for nothing.
“You are not,” Magon said.
Despair fell heavy. Charlon wept. “Will you heal me, at least? Of the ahvenrood?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I love you. Take me back to the Chieftess and I will serve you loyally forever.”
“You don’t have enough strength in you to power such a spell.”
“I have more!” Charlon sat down. Pulled up her skirt to her leg sheath. Removed the flask. It was full. Enough root juice for a week of major spells.
Magon narrowed her eyes. “Your ways are not my ways. And my ways are not yet complete.”
Hope surged within. Charlon dared not speak. For fear the goddess would abandon her.
“I will not cast you out,” Magon said. “Not yet. But you must be punished.”
Dread pinched her heart. Charlon had been punished many times. Run, her heart said. But Charlon must stay. If she was to please Magon.
“You will remain here. Do not try to use your ahvenrood, for I will not answer to heal you until your exile is complete.”
“How long will it last?”
“Until I say it is over. Find the women’s tent. Volunteer to serve as a midwife. There you will be safe from harm.”
“But I know nothing of midwifery,” Charlon said.
“You may cast one last spell to give yourself this knowledge,” Magon said. “Purge afterwards, and I will heal you before I go.”
Charlon fell to her knees on the stern deck. “Your mercy is great, goddess. I am forever in your debt.”
“Indeed you are. But I believe you are worthy of it.”
Charlon cast her spell. Depleted every bit of ahvenrood within. Then she purged the poison to the Great Goddess. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She did not know. Would Magon come back for her? She had no choice but to obey.
“Trust me, and prove your allegiance by remaining faithful,” Magon said as Charlon came back from the haze. “If you do this, I will return for you when the time is right.”
Magon vanished.
Charlon became visible then and nearly upset a sailor carrying a length of rope looped over one arm.
“Get out the way, woman!” he spat. “What you doing on the deck? You hurt?”
Charlon stood, gathered up her long skirt, and set off in search of the midwives.