Celeste's Arc

Chapter 22 of 23

The current drew the driftwood raft deep into the cave. The lagoon opened before them, a wide pool lit turquoise from below. Nyrimia, the mermaid who had destroyed the wraith on the beach, slid ahead through the water. Her indigo hair fanned out. She guided the raft toward a smooth stone basin set into the cave floor. But Slate had woken fully now. He smelled the water, and he began to thrash. "No," the cat rasped. His claws scrabbled at the wet plank. "No water. Keep me out." His green eyes rolled white at the edges. Blood still darkened his side. Every jerk of his body reopened the wound. Nyrimia's chartreuse eyes narrowed with worry. "The healing waters cannot work while he fights them. He must lie still and calm. If he keeps struggling, he will bleed out before they take hold." Celeste pressed her hands to Slate's shoulders. "Slate, please. It's warm. It will help you." He hissed and twisted away. "You're safe. I promise." But he did not believe her, and the more she pushed, the harder he fought. Nyrimia looked at the basin. Warm water welled up inside it, fed by pale crystal stalactites overhead that dripped in a steady patter. "I will put him in the font," she said. "The water there is warm, and the crystal drips heal on their own. But he will not settle for the water. He will settle for you." She turned to Celeste. "When you came earlier I set out clothing. Old, but sound. Put it on. Bring the pearl." Celeste climbed out onto the stone. She found the folded garment where the mermaid had left it, a summer robe patterned in white and deep blue, cut with waves and falling water. She pulled it on over her wet sleeping clothes and knotted the sash. From her bundle she drew the small lilac pearl and closed it in her fist. "Now lie in the basin," Nyrimia said. "Put him on your chest." Celeste stepped into the font. The water rose warm around her legs, then her back as she lay down. It did not frighten her. It felt like the bread she used to dream of, soft and close. Nyrimia lifted the shaking cat and laid him on Celeste's chest. "I've got you," Celeste whispered. She cupped one hand over his back. The pearl glowed against his fur. "I'm here. Feel me breathing." Slate went rigid. Then, slowly, his claws drew in. His breath matched hers. The crystal drops fell, and the warm water climbed his soaked fur without a single struggle from him. His wound began to close. The torn skin knit pale and clean. After a long while he let out a low, tired sound, almost a purr. "Do not tell anyone," he murmured, eyes shut, "that a cat let the water win." Celeste laughed, and did not let him go.