The Siren and the Deep Blue Sea - Kerrelyn Sparks Page 0,11
straightened slowly and glanced at him with a yellow-toothed smile. “I knew you were coming. That’s why I’m making a big pot of soup.” He reached a trembling hand for the basket and stumbled.
“I’ll get it.” Brody grabbed the basket with one hand and steadied the Seer with the other. “Soup sounds wonderful. I’m starving!”
The Seer chuckled as Brody led him into the cottage. “You’re always starving.”
Brody set the basket on the table next to a knife and wooden chopping board. One glance around and he could tell the cottage hadn’t changed at all since he’d first arrived fifteen years ago. A big stone fireplace dominated one wall with the table and chairs close by. The wall to the right held shelves of books, while the wall to the left had shelves for cooking utensils and food. The front door was there, close to a large sink with a water pump. The fourth wall had two small beds, one in each corner. One for the Seer, and one for Brody.
“I’ve been cleaning—can you tell?” The Seer removed his hooded cloak and hung it on a peg by the door, while the cat took a swipe at it. “I knew you were coming.”
“How?” Brody noticed an inch of dust on the bookshelves, but didn’t mention it. After all, the old man could hardly see.
“I had a vision!” The Seer smiled proudly. “In fact, I had three of them.”
Three visions? “When did this happen? I thought you stopped seeing the future years ago.”
The Seer’s smile faded. “That’s right. I did.” He shuffled slowly over to the table to retrieve a carrot and onion from the basket, then washed them off at the sink.
Brody frowned. Was the Seer’s mind fading? Was he living in the past? Now that he had removed the voluminous cloak, Brody could see how terribly thin the old man was. His skin had a grayish tint and his long silver hair was lank and dull.
“I believe the visions were a parting gift,” the Seer mumbled as he dropped the vegetables on the table and collapsed into a wooden chair. The orange tabby curled up around his feet.
“A parting gift for whom?” Brody winced as he saw the Seer use one trembling hand to place the onion on the chopping board, then reach for the knife with his other trembling hand. “I’ll do that.” He grabbed the knife and began slicing.
“Thank you.” The Seer sat back with a long, weary breath. “Plucking the chicken and digging in the garden wore me out.”
“Maybe you should lie down. I can finish the soup.” Brody scraped the chopped onion into the big pot that hung over the fire. A whole chicken was inside, boiling in a broth spiced with garlic and herbs. His stomach growled.
“Can’t sleep,” the Seer grumbled. “Don’t want to miss seeing my daughter.”
“What?” Brody brought the chopping board back to the table.
“My daughter is coming. That was my second vision.”
“What daughter? I didn’t know you ever married.”
“I didn’t.” The Seer sighed. “Before you came here, I used to see her in visions. But then, my visions stopped. Punishment for my crime.” Tears filled his cloudy eyes. “I was told that she’d died. I was afraid it was true.”
“Who is she?” Brody sliced a carrot.
“So beautiful,” the Seer whispered, closing his eyes. “Even more beautiful than her mother.”
Brody frowned at the old man, who seemed to have drifted off. In the fifteen years that he had known the Seer, the man had never once mentioned a woman or daughter. Maybe he was remembering something from long ago? If he’d fathered a child when he was a young man, then that daughter could be fifty or sixty years old now. “When is she arriving?”
The Seer opened his eyes and a tear ran down his face. “I’m not sure. I hope she makes it here before I die.”
The knife tumbled from Brody’s hand. “Don’t say that! You’re not going to die.”
“I am. It was the third vision. I saw my burial.”
“Enough!” Brody slapped a hand on the table. “You didn’t see anything. You don’t have visions anymore, remember?”
“It was a parting gift. My parting. I saw you digging my grave up on my favorite bluff overlooking the ocean—”
“Stop.” Brody hated how weak his protest sounded.
The Seer reached across the table and touched Brody’s hand. It was meant to be a squeeze, Brody realized with an aching heart, but the old man didn’t have enough strength in his fingers to accomplish it.