Mistress of Helena

Chapter 31

Carrack sat in the dimly lit confines of Dr. Mortier’s shop, the space cluttered with stacks of disorganized books. The haunting memories of his recent ordeal lingered, each heartbeat sending tremors through his body, igniting internal alarms of panic. Clutching a blanket tightly around him, he sought warmth from the fireplace’s flickering flames, which fought in vain against the persistent chill that gripped him. Despite being dry now, the icy discomfort still clung to him like a stubborn shadow.

The steam from a cup of tea curled lazily into the air, its quiet ascent punctuated only by the fire’s crackling as it consumed the latest sacrificial books thrown regretfully by Dr. Mortier into its hungry inferno. Carrack uttered only muffled, meek words of gratitude, his mind ensnared by thoughts of the enigmatic statue and Lady Matilda.

Dr. Mortier had little to say to Carrack, perhaps sensing there was little worth discussing at the moment or preferring to let him find some calm, a state Carrack was clearly far from. The steam from the tea began to swirl more rapidly, disrupted by a change in the air, followed by the distinctive ring of the shop’s bell. Footsteps approached as the bell sounded again, altering the atmosphere of the room. Dr. Mortier’s muffled grumbles preceded his words to the visitor: “What makes you think you’re welcome in here?”

Lady Matilda’s voice, calm yet tinged with urgency, responded, “You know why I’m here. I need to talk to him.”

“He’s hardly in a state to talk,” Dr. Mortier retorted with a sneer, “especially not to you … after what that thing did to him. It nearly killed him!”

“But he is alive because of me,” Lady Matilda countered firmly.

Carrack, gathering his strength, called out shakily, “Let her in!” His voice cut through the tension, bringing a sudden silence.

Dr. Mortier’s footsteps, heavy with anger, echoed as he retreated to the other end of the shop, immersing himself in his work. In contrast, Lady Matilda’s approach was marked by careful, measured steps. Her arrival was heralded by a violet shimmering glow that rounded the corner before she did, casting a subtle yet unmistakable radiance. Under his blanket, Carrack glimpsed his own body still faintly aglow.

But the luminous aura surrounding Lady Matilda quickly faded from Carrack’s focus as he observed her face. It lacked the usual confidence and stoicism he had seen during his last visit to her chapel. Instead, her features were etched with fatigue, weariness, and a deep sense of concern.

As she drew nearer, Lady Matilda leaned in, her hesitation to speak apparent, yet her expression conveyed genuine concern for his wellbeing. It was Carrack, however, who broke the silence first. His voice, shaky at first, gained a sudden clarity as he blurted out, “What the fuck happened to me?”

“You’ve been …” Lady Matilda began, her voice faltering as she searched for the right words, “… blessed.”

Carrack’s body trembled, not with fear, cold, or discomfort, but with a surge of anger in response to her words. “Cut the shit! Just cut all that shit out!” he exploded.

“Carrack—” she attempted to soothe.

“Lord Carrack!” he snapped, demanding the formality.

Acknowledging his correction, she continued with caution. “Lord Carrack, sometimes our encounters with the divine are … terrifying. You shouldn’t have been there; none of this was supposed to happen.”

“If my pistol wasn’t waterlogged and caked with mud …” Carrack muttered through clenched teeth, his thoughts briefly wandering to the idea of shooting Lady Matilda. He knew it wouldn’t resolve anything, yet the thought brought him a grim sense of comfort, nonetheless.

“Okay, okay,” Lady Matilda sighed deeply, relenting. She found a stack of books to sit on near Carrack. As she started to reach out to him, she hesitated, abruptly pulling back. Instead, she clasped her own hands in her lap, rubbing them together—her nervousness evident. “You’ve had an experience. A harrowing, harrowing experience, I know; it happened to me too.”

Carrack remained silent, still shivering, yet his gaze was unyielding, scrutinizing every word she spoke—and those she left unsaid. Lady Matilda’s attempts at explanation were fraught with starts and stops, her words weaving through topics of God, faith, and her own experiences. Carrack gleaned a few useful tidbits amongst her words, but mostly, he found her speech to be wandering and uncertain. What struck him most was not the content of her words but the conspicuous lack of coherence and confidence she displayed.

Carrack raised his hand, noticing the faint glow surrounding his body. His eyes lingered on it for a moment before he shifted his focus back to Lady Matilda, who fell silent at his gesture.

“The statue, what is it?” Carrack said.

Lady Matilda sighed deeply, choosing her words with caution. “It’s what called to me,” she revealed. “After the shipwreck, I kept hearing its call. When that ship arrived, I sensed not just the chaos at the docks but also its … arrival. It was like feeling the resonance of a colossal bell, yet without the actual sound. I heard it without hearing it; I felt its vibration.”

“And after the fires at the docks were extinguished?” Carrack prompted, steering her to the next chapter of her tale.

“The ship … I felt an irresistible pull toward it,” she recounted. “Despite the hull still steaming from the fires, the force drawing me was overwhelming, and I braved the heat.”

“What else was inside the ship?” Carrack probed further.

“Nothing that I could discern,” she confessed. “Much of it was scorched beyond recognition, reduced to a black, ashy paste by the rain seeping into the vessel.”

“And the statue?” he inquired.

“It was hidden deep within the ship’s bowels, half-submerged in seawater due to a gaping hole in the hull. But the urge to touch it was overpowering … When I did, I didn’t just touch it; I saw something.”

“Saw what?” Carrack urged.

Lady Matilda’s gaze drifted into the distance, her eyes widening. “I just … saw.”

Carrack found himself feeling an unexpected pity for Lady Matilda. Amidst his own confusion and anger, accentuated by the relentless shivering and discomfort from his ordeal, he noticed a certain quality in her voice when she trailed off after saying she “just saw”. He recalled his own harrowing experience, the vividness still fresh in his memory. Yet, when he tried to rationalize it, to find words to describe what he had seen, a wave of discomfort washed over him. He felt a nauseating inability to articulate it, a loss for words that pushed his mind toward an unsettling abyss he was reluctant to explore. It must have been just as bad for her to explain what she saw, for all he knew she could have dealt with the same terrifying experience.

Carrack pressed her beyond the previous topic. “Where did the food come from? How did you know how to make it happen?”

“The idea simply emerged in my mind, as if it had always been there,” she replied solemnly. “So, when I lay down in front of the statue, I somehow knew what would unfold, what it would yield.” Her voice wavered slightly. “And then, seeing the food grow … It felt like a miracle, despite my anticipation.”

Carrack’s tone grew colder as he summarized, “So, you spread the word, gathered a following around this object, a symbol of divinity … your divinity, that terrifies you.”

“Of course it terrifies me,” she confessed. “I’ve always been terrified of Magia. She embodies a power beyond explanation, a force that overshadows all. She demands our attention, our listening ears. That’s what I’ve been striving for, what I’ve dedicated myself to since embracing this faith. And now, I’ve not only heard her but seen her. She is everything and more, overwhelmingly so. And it’s terrifying.”She placed her hand on Carrack’s thigh, meeting his gaze with an intensity that conveyed deep concern. “Wasn’t it?” she asked, her eyes searching his for affirmation or understanding.

Her hand was warm, the only source of warmth on his otherwise cold body. The touch was so soothing that it momentarily quelled the anxious shivers that had afflicted him since his encounter with the statue. Yet, this comfort also stirred an unsettling disquiet within him. Seeing her hand, bathed in its own glowing aura, touching him, and intertwining with his glow felt too personal, too intimate—a closeness he was not prepared to accept. Despite the initial relief her touch brought, an instinctive reaction made him jerk his leg away, leaving her hand suspended in mid-air. The fleeting comfort her touch had provided swiftly evaporated.

“I didn’t see your God, I didn’t see any God … I don’t know what I saw!” Carrack grunted in frustration. “But what I do see now is this sickening glow, a lingering infection from whatever I went through.”

“It’s a sign of our blessed nature, of being touched by her,” Lady Matilda replied, only to be met with a humorless snort from Carrack.

“Oh, so this is our ‘blessing’?” he asked. “What about the rest of your followers? I haven’t seen any other members of your congregation convulsing, half drown in mud, and starting to glow after they touched that damned statue.”

Lady Matilda sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the ground. The only sound accompanying the crackle of the fire was the nervous tapping of her finger against her lap. Her expression turned pensive, the bite on the inside of her cheek creating a noticeable indentation.

“What makes you so special?” Carrack demanded, his voice rising as he pointed a finger directly at her.

“What makes us special!” she retorted with a flash of frustration, quickly softening her voice. “What makes me ‘special’, as you say, might be because … I’ve had dealings with the arcane.”

Carrack’s mind raced, recalling the faint echoes of her shouting what now seemed like incantations. “You’re a fucking mage?” he blurted out in disbelief. The revelation was startling; he had always thought Alaina was the island’s sole mage. While he had considered the possibility of another hidden mage among them, being directly confronted with this reality was another matter entirely. A surge of anger flashed through him as he remembered their last personal encounter, particularly her denial of using magic on him. This new information cast that interaction, and her in general, in a drastically different light.

“So much for your faith not practicing magic,” Carrack grumbled, recalling her offense at his previous accusation of using magic. “I should put you in chains. How do I know you haven’t been using your abilities to manipulate others on this island? To draw them into your fold, or keep them under your influence against their will?”

“Never!” Lady Matilda stood up, incensed. “My followers, my listeners, they are there of their own free will. There’s no force or magical influence involved. They choose to be part of the faith!”

“Never!” Carrack echoed back mockingly. “And why exactly would they willingly sit in that dreary chapel of yours, straining their ears for whispers from an absent God?”

“Because they’re mages too,” she retorted impulsively, then paused, softening her tone as she noticed Carrack’s widened eyes. “Or at least, they used to be. We all were.”

The revelation left Carrack momentarily breathless, his lungs failing to draw in air as shock overtook him. His eyes remained wide, his mind racing with countless questions, yet he found himself speechless, unable to articulate a single word. In the background, the crackling of the fireplace and Dr. Mortier’s cautious footsteps approaching to check on them filled the silence. Slowly, Carrack motioned toward the pile of books Lady Matilda had vacated, silently inviting her to sit back down.

Once she was seated again, Carrack fixed his gaze on her with a newfound intensity.

“Talk,” he commanded.