I laughed. “The record of how much we annoyed her will outlast the Earth.” It was weirdly reassuring. “And the saltcakes.”
She sighed. “This is helping. I’m still cold, but I’m not as angry. I feel like I should … do something. Should I talk to Archpriest Ngalthr? You’re supposed to talk to priests when you might be dying. I never liked talking to the Christian ones, though. Is he going to try to baptize me or anything?”
“There are rituals that involve immersing yourself in sea water, but this isn’t one of them. Yes, you should talk with Ngalthr.”
She went to kneel before him. I wanted to hover, to hear what wisdom he might have to impart, but I recognized an odd sort of territoriality. I had, after a fashion, been priest to the confluence. Whether or not I had any predilection for such a role, I had no training, a contrast more apparent in the presence of real clergy. Seeking a distraction from my mind’s petty grumbling, I went to check on the others.
Spector and Charlie spoke quietly with Grandfather and Trumbull, though Spector looked up long enough to say, “Yom Kippur involves less weather magic.”
“I’m certain you have your own miracles,” said Grandfather, and they returned to their discussion.
Caleb was talking with Neko and Dawson, who waved me over to join them.
“How’s she doing?” asked Neko.
“Better,” I said. “In mind, if nothing else.”
“That’s something. This would be nice—ridiculously cold, but nice—if I wasn’t so worried about her. I wish she’d stayed out of it.”
“She doesn’t,” I said.
“I’ve been trying to think of a solution,” said Caleb. “It feels like we ought to be able to find a way around this, if we could only come at it from the right direction.”
Dawson touched his arm. “You can’t, always.”
We’d worn that circle bare already. “I never asked you,” I said to her, “why you wanted to study magic. It’s a traditional question.”
“Caleb said. It seems a bit nosy.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t ask you earlier.”
She looked down. Caleb reached for her, but dropped his hand when she didn’t welcome the proffered touch. She said: “I want something that can’t be taken away, if someone gets displeased with me.”
I thought of several things to say, but instead simply bowed my head.
“It’s a good reason,” said Caleb. He hesitated. “Not that it’s up to me to say so. I want to give you things, but I don’t want you to have to worry about me taking them back.”
Her eyes crinkled, corners folding out into lines etched by past amusement and bitterness. “You’re a sweet boy.”
The cold, which had ebbed with the ritual and the fire’s heat, stabbed through me then. A line of ice from brain to heart, stiffening spine and lungs. I saw a book grasped between aching hands, a flash of silent, worried faces—and then all sensation from Sally cut off save for that line of cold, and threads of desperation reaching in search of heat and air and light.
I must have gasped, for Grandfather jumped up, grabbed me, and swung me so close to the fire that it nearly singed my skirt. I faltered against him but managed to regain my feet, and found that he’d startled me out of my paralysis. He pushed up my sleeve, touched the fading scar of the sigil, and scowled.
“Enough of this,” he said. I realized what he was doing and for a moment I gave in to my fear—of the cold, of the desert heat that seemed its kin, of dying alone in their grip—and I simply leaned into my grandfather’s touch. He dragged his claw across my forearm, and the threads started to snap.
“No!” I forced back the fear and shoved him away, almost stumbling into the fire. But I managed to push him off balance; he fell and rolled as Caleb scrambled out of the way. Both stared at me in shock.
I wanted to prostrate myself, beg forgiveness, but that would imply surrendering to his judgment. It was unthinkable, by my childhood standards, to do otherwise for an elder. The guards, who’d turned at my shout, lowered their spears cautiously.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “She’ll die without me holding her up. She’ll die now.” I could feel her, something still human clinging to the remaining threads, drinking the heat that trickled through. “I can give them a few more hours.”
Ngalthr rose swiftly and grasped my arm, though I tried to pull away. He was faster than Grandfather, and I had no chance to surprise him. Once he had me I wasn’t foolish enough to struggle. “Child, we need you,” he said. “Have you never learned to tell when a drowning man is beyond saving?”
“You said you could save a man of the water,” I said. “I can take the risk, and the pain, to give her a chance.”
“No!” Grandfather was back on his feet, and with Ngalthr on my left arm I couldn’t keep him from grasping my right. I pulled my left a little closer to my body, protecting the sigil as best I could. He went on. “I won’t see you hurt that way. You’re being foolish, and there’s nothing to be gained by it. Her family has more children than all our people together—your life is not your own to gamble frivolously.”
“I’m not being frivolous,” I said. I tried to articulate my stubbornness, things I hadn’t known until they were tested. I didn’t even like the girl. “I am a Marsh. I will do things worthy of that name, not huddle in safety for the sake of bearing offspring. And if someone falls under my power—however little that power might be—I’ll use it to protect them. Some things matter more than whether Caleb and I become the last children of Innsmouth. For the sake of all the generations under the water, not just you who know and care for me, I’ll preserve the family’s name over our numbers.”
Obed Marsh stared at me a long moment, and I tried not to flinch under his unblinking glare. Then he dropped my arm and stepped back. “I think you’re making the wrong choice. But I’ll grant you three hours. If your enemies can work miracles in that time, they’d best show you the gratitude you’ll be due.”
I felt cautiously along the link and decided that in three hours—if Sally were still there to hold on to—I could have the argument again. “Done.” Archpriest Ngalthr nodded approval and released me. I rubbed my arm. Now that the rush of emotion was past I could feel the ice once more, strong and spreading.
The others swarmed me: Neko and Audrey and Charlie all anxious to see whether I was well. Caleb and Dawson hung back—Caleb glancing nervously at Grandfather. I closed my eyes and tried to recenter myself.
“Aphra,” said Audrey, “let’s try something.”
I opened my eyes. “What should we try?”