Excerpt
Six coins—all the money I had left in the world.
I let them fall, copper and silver discs shining against a rum-colored cloth. Madame Kasa scooped them into her long-fingered hand, claiming payment before I had time to change my mind. Her eyes were blue, not with the brightness of summer skies, but dusky as storm-tossed waves. Flickering candles and smoky oil-lamp light darkened them to shadows in a rouged and powdered face.
"I can't tell you what to do, Lina. I look for signposts of what you might try, nothing else." Candlelight glinted off a dozen jet buttons on the front of her dress, painted ghost-shadows on the wallpaper behind her. She shook her head, gold earrings jangling. "And I can't promise anything you try will bring Ilya back. I don't think you can."
The chair wobbled as I sat, but was still stronger than my knees. She stared at me, measuring, and I didn't turn away. "Sailors tell stories of men returned by the sea. I have to try."
"So be it." Her lips shone red against white teeth. A smile, even one given freely, did nothing to lift my spirits. "The tea water will take a moment or two to boil."
Most of the village women thought telling fortunes a pretense for what Madame Kasa really was—a painted whore. I didn't understand why. Seers were respected on the plains and the foothills of home, consulted for the best time to plant crops and when to gather the herds for winter.
I'd not been born with the smell of seaweed on the wind, or raised with the keening gossip of gulls in my ears. There was much about living in a seaside village I didn't understand. People here whispered when I walked past, greeted me with pity in their eyes. Their pity had little to do with my grief.
The scent of jasmine and gardenia filled the room as Madame Kasa fetched cups, brewed tea, and carried the pot to the table. My head spun with perfume and fear. Fear that Ilya would never return was a sharp-edged panic that cut deeper with each passing day. Madame Kasa set a cup in front of me and took her seat again.
"Give me your hand, Lina." She touched my palm, tracing a line with one crimson nail from my wrist to my marriage ring. "How long have you known about the child?"
"Why do you—" She frowned and I took back the lie. "A week before Ilya disappeared I thought maybe I'm right, maybe this time it's true. The midwife says if all goes well the baby will be born mid-winter."
"All will be well." Madame Kasa patted my hand. "The birth won't be easy, but not too hard as these things go. A girl, healthy and strong as her mother. Drink your tea. It's hot, so take care."
A daughter, a child I'd not be afraid to hold close. I'd dreamed of having a girl, but not dared hope. All men wanted sons to work the boats and follow them to the sea, while mothers feared losing son and husband both. Ilya was no different, but he'd love a daughter too, I felt sure of it. There'd be other children, sons, once he came home.
The cup was china, shiny white and painted with tiny yellow roses. My teeth rattled against the rim as I gulped too hot tea. I worried about the cup breaking, spilling liquid and leaves across the table, and losing this chance.
"That's enough." Madame Kasa took the cup, cradling it in both hands. "Now we'll see."
Twice she swirled tea puddled in the bottom of the cup, coating the sides with sodden black leaves. Twice she twisted the cup in her hands and started again, mouth set in concentration.
She sighed, the sound almost lost in the clink of china coming to rest on a saucer. "Staring longer won't change what I see or tell me if any good will come of it. Wear your widow's weeds to petition the sea. Go at sunrise and stand where the waves rush in to foam round your ankles. Don't wade any further or Mother Ocean may decide to claim you too."
I fingered my marriage ring. "How do I petition the sea? What do I offer?"
She gathered the cups; mine thick with leaves already shriveling as they dried, hers still full of untasted tea. The bead curtain over the opening to her small kitchen swayed as she pushed through. After she rinsed the cups clean and came back to me, the curtain swayed again.
"Speak from your heart and the words will come. Whether any will hear and answer I can't say." Madame Kasa opened her front door, dismissing me. "Think carefully about what you're willing to offer, Lina. You've not been married long and you could go home, back to the plains. If you stay there are other men in the village to make a life with. Not all of them steal from the sea."
"Ilya never stole!" I put hands over my belly, trying to shield our daughter from hearing. Salt scented air rushed in the open door, ruffled my hair and made me shiver. All sailors paid the tithe to Mother Ocean, a fair exchange for the fish they pulled from the sea. Trinkets mostly, adornments for her daughters.
"I helped him buy mirrors and combs." Tears filled my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. "I was with him! And I chose the best fruits at market, near as fine as if picked from my mother's trees. He paid the tithe."
She watched me, blue eyes steady on mine. "As you say, Lina. Come see me when you've gotten your answer."
"I've no more coin to pay you." Shame burned in my cheeks, but I'd not slink away. "The six I gave are the last."
"Not everything is measured in stacks of copper and silver." Madame Kasa smiled. "Sharing a meal is a good time to share a tale. Come see me and don't fret about payment."
The door closed with a soft click. My reflection stared back at me from the curtained window, worn and too thin. I turned toward home and food and rest.
I'd need strength to face the sea.
