Read Online The Pale Waters (#1 Reclaimed Souls) by Della Roth - Free Book Online Page B

my love.” I hug her. I steal a
glance at Roland. He’s staring at the old woman with an odd
expression. I get the sense he knows her, but that can’t be right.
If anything, he wants to know why I know a woman who lives in a
shanty village with no name. And what might Dorni sell to
me. “Don’t touch anything ,” I tell him.
    ***
    “Come’n, come’n,” my friend urges us, “‘fore
Gryan walks by. He’s been grumpy lately.” Dorni turns to Roland.
“He try ta git ye ta buy his wife fer an hour. So… wot can I git
ye? Who’s ye friend? I haven’t seen ye in months now. Da
Grandfather is in good health. Says that if I see ye ta tell ye
that he be waitin’ to hear from ye.”
    The old woman pulls us inside her tiny
shoppe. Bijou it is not, but I still marvel at her ability to
collect things; even the most innocuous items, such as fallen-off
toad warts—good for curing hiccups—never miss her smart eye. Her
small shoppe is but one wall only. The shelves are filled top to
bottom with vials, jars, and boxes of ingredients and artifacts not
found elsewhere. Some safe. Most not so safe. The three of us
barely fit, Roland can’t even stand up straight, and Goddess
forbid, if we added a fourth person, the shanty walls would fall
out.
    What I’m looking for today won’t be in one
of these vials. Dorni must make it for me.
    “That’s very kind of the Grandfather. Tell
him I’ll message him soon. This is my friend, Ron. I tried to keep
him outside, but you know how Gryan’s wife can get, money or no
money, so I felt it best to bring him inside.”
    “True, Rahda. Gryan’s third wife wicked.
Can’t tell wot yer feller be lookin’ like with hood, but she’d
want’em fer sure. Wot can I git ye? Wot ye be needin’?”
    I press the silver ten bedallion into her
hand. I notice that Roland’s eyes round as I do so.
    I lower my voice. “I sort of need you to
make a charm.”
    Dorni nods quickly. Her eyes tell me she
knew this already.
    “Fer ye or him?” she bobs her head at
Roland.
    “Him,” I tell her.
    “Wait, what’s this about a charm?” Roland
asks.
    “Hold out yer arm, feller,” Dorni croaks,
but she needn’t have said so. Her hand darts out like a striking
snake and Roland’s arm is instantly seized in a firm grip.
    I watch Roland as he watches Dorni pull out
a sharp blade. If he wants a working prototype, then the charm must
be conjured. My old friend, with fingers as skilled as a surgeon,
cuts into Roland’s forearm before he can react, and collects his
blood and a flap of skin in a small pot.
    “I be needin’ a few minutes,” Dorni says,
sprinkling black powder over Roland’s arm, then shuffling into the
corner to make the charm.
    ***
    She hands me a blue jar, but I notice she
keeps a second jar to herself.
    “Ye be knowin’ wot ta do with it, but I got
somethin’ else ta be givin’ ye,” she informs me urgently, her tone
higher, excited. She all but pushes Roland outside. “Stand outside
fer a minute, feller.”
    “I won’t be but a moment,” I tell him.
“You’ll be fine.” His eyes say You owe me one as he steps
outside.
    “Don’t be followin’ da green-tongued woman,”
Dorni shouts out playfully.
    Dorni immediately drops her ancient frame to
all fours. She rummages under her sleeping cot, pulls up a hefty
board first and then an ivory carved box, and sets it in front of
her. Her precious box of priceless things.
    As far as stories goes, many, many years
ago, Dorni, as a small girl, prolonged the old king’s life—Roland’s
grandfather—for an extra day, long enough for him to get home to
impart important information to his heir.
    As payment, he presented her with the only
valuable object in his possession at the time—a carved, ivory box.
Apparently, the old king died exactly twenty-four hours later. Only
a few individuals know of this story or the box’s existence. I
remember how, years ago, Dorni made a point of telling me this
story.
    Her frail hands