Chapter 8:

VIII - Where Water Turns to Stone

Water and Pestilence

The numbing silence in his mind slowly gave way to a rising roar, growing louder in steady waves, drawing near and then receding again.

Cold water washed around his feet, seeping deep into his soaked boots.

Raymund tried to breathe, but couldn’t.

His throat seized as a coughing fit took hold. Saltwater spilled from his mouth in ragged gasps.

He turned onto his side until the coughing eased, and with a rattling breath, clarity returned.

“I… I am still among the living…?” he rasped in disbelief.

His thoughts drifted back to the last thing he could remember.

At first, there had been nothing, only the deep darkness that had swallowed him.

But then something else surfaced in his memory. A reddish shimmer in the void, closing around him like a protective cocoon.

A sound tore him from his thoughts.

A soft, warm babbling, gentle, like the quiet bubbling of a spring.

Raymund froze, turning slowly.

And there she was.

Melusine.

She knelt a few paces away in the sand, shoulders slumped, head bowed. In her arms, she held something.

A small body, faintly kicking.

Raymund’s breath caught.

“B-but that… that is…”

He pushed himself to his feet, took a few unsteady steps, then stopped.

Only now did he see it.

Her body had changed. No longer fluid. No longer water-like. Solid. Brittle.

From her feet to her chest, her skin had turned a dull grey, like weathered limestone, fine cracks spreading across its surface. Only her arms and head still shimmered faintly in the sunlight.

“Melusine…” Raymund gasped as he stepped closer.

Milky tears ran down her cheeks as she lifted her head toward him, a wide smile spreading across her lips.

“My beloved… look. It is your son. Is he not beautiful?”

Raymund’s gaze dropped to the newborn, who stared around with wide, curious eyes.

Black hair, faintly tinged blue at the tips, clung damply to the small head. Pale arms and legs wriggled in Melusine’s grasp, as though eager to explore the world.

“My... son?”

He swallowed, his eyes scanning the tiny body, as if expecting something monstrous.

But there was nothing.

Only a small child, seemingly human, yet with azure-shimmering eyes that hinted he was not entirely of this world.

Raymund looked back at her as the grey crept higher, inching toward her throat.

“What… what has befallen you?”

For a brief moment, her smile faltered, her lips trembling ever so slightly, before it returned.

“I did tell you… too much salt does not suit me well…”

“Too much salt…?” Raymund repeated.

He looked at her more closely as realization finally hit him, confusion giving way to rising panic.

“No,” he said at once, shaking his head.

He turned sharply, his gaze darting along the coast, over jagged rocks, over the sparse dunes beyond. “No, we shall take you to fresh water, a spring, a stream, there must be something near...”

He seized her arm.

“Come. Up. We must move.”

But she did not rise. Her body did not yield.

His grip tightened.

“Up,” he insisted, more forcefully now, pulling at her as though she merely refused him.

The stone did not bend.

“Damn you, Melusine, move!”

The words came harsh, almost angry, but his voice broke at the end.

A faint crack spread beneath his fingers, and Raymund froze.

Slowly, his other hand came up, touching her shoulder, her neck, feeling the cold, the stiffness creeping through her.

“No…” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, this is not… you are not...”

He pressed his palm flat against her chest, as though he might force warmth back into her.

“Change back,” he muttered. “Do you hear me? Enough of this jest. Change back!”

But there was no answering movement. No yielding of her form.

Only the slow, merciless advance of grey.

Melusine shifted slightly, her stiffening arms tightening around the child.

“He needs milk. I… cannot give it to him.” Her voice wavered. “Please… see to it…”

Raymund stared at her, his breath coming fast and uneven.

“Milk…?” he repeated, hollowly, as though the word itself made no sense.

Her expression changed as the grey reached her throat, her breath growing shallower, her voice strained.

Fear. Grief. A quiet, desperate resolve.

“Please, my beloved… take care of him. Raise him well, and do not let it take our son. I beg you.”

Raymund flinched.

It.

Sulfurous eyes. That shrill, broken laughter.

The memory cut through him like a blade.

“No…” he muttered, shaking his head again, more violently now. “No, we can still...”

But even as he spoke, his hands had slowed and his grip loosened.

His gaze drifted from her face to the child and back again.

“I… I know nothing of… of…”

His voice faltered.

I cannot do this...

Suddenly, something wrapped around his thumb.

Warm. Damp. Firm.

The tiny hand tugged at him gently, as though claiming him.

Raymund looked down.

The child’s expression was calm, almost content.

“Renaud is special…” Melusine whispered, her hands already stiffening as they held the child.

“Renaud…” Raymund repeated, barely above a breath.

His gaze lingered there.

Then slowly, something inside him shifted.

He drew in a breath, ragged and unsteady.

“So be it...”

The words came slowly, dragged from somewhere deeper than thought.

His eyes met hers.

“I... will take care of him. Fear not.”

A sob escaped Melusine, and for the last time tears ran down her cheeks as a soft, contented smile spread across her lips.

“Thank you… my beloved…”

The gentle bubbling ceased. The last shimmer faded from her form.

Only a statue remained.

Raymund did not move. His hand still rested against her, fingers splayed across cold stone.

“Melusine…?” he said quietly.

No answer.

His hand trembled, then slid upward, tracing the fine cracks along her cheek, her brow. It lingered there, as though waiting, for warmth, for movement, for anything.

But nothing came.

“You foolish thing…” he murmured, the words barely a whisper. “You stubborn, wretched… woman…”

For a moment, his shoulders trembled, but no sound escaped him. His head bowed.

Tears blurred his vision before he could stop them.

Then, at last, he drew in a sharp breath and straightened, brushing them away.

His gaze fell on his son as he carefully freed him from her rigid grasp.

The soft babbling turned into a whine, and then into loud crying.

“Hush… be still…” Raymund muttered, uncertain, drawing the child closer.

To his surprise, the crying faltered, as Renaud looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.

Raymund exhaled sharply, then looked once more at Melusine, her expression still frozen in that serene smile.

“So I fulfilled your wish after all...”

A pause.