House of Salt and Sorrows (Sisters of Salt #1)

I heard the crashing waves before I even knew we’d left Salten.

Unused to the speed at which Cassius could travel, I clung to him for a moment, regaining my sense of equilibrium. Opening my eyes, I spotted Old Maude, her cheerful white-and-black spiral muted with a sheet of ice and jagged with hundreds of icicles hanging from her rails. In the dark starlight, they were like frozen teeth.

She looked so strange without her beacon to light up the night sky, a silent husk staring down over Salann with unseeing, dead eyes. I’d never seen the island so dark before. The moon hung low overhead, but dark wisps of clouds raced by. A storm was coming.

We’d landed at the east end of the island, far from Old Maude and Silas’s little house. I took off down the narrow path, keeping a watchful eye out for Silas. He would never have let the light go out. Something was terribly wrong.

Far below us was the shoreline, black sand crusted with white swirls of snow. Having spent so many hours here as a child, I knew this island like the back of my hand. Despite the anxieties and exhaustion weighing upon my chest, my heart rose at seeing the familiar rocks and crags.

We rounded a bend, coming out near the lighthouse’s cliff.

“Oh my,” Cassius murmured, seeing the vast ocean before us.

I smiled, pleased it impressed him. Waves pounded the base of Maude’s cliff, and the air was alive with crashes and a salty tang. Whitecaps dotted the water as far as we could see, and out at sea, a thick wall of clouds was building. Lightning danced through them—this promised to be a monster of a storm. We’d have more snow on Salten before the night was out.

Cassius spun in a slow circle, taking in the layout of the island and looking up at the enormous structure before us. “What’s that?”

I followed his gaze to the top of the lighthouse. “It’s a lightning rod. It draws bolts to it to protect the rest of the structure.”

“I’m sure it’ll get plenty of use tonight. It’s strange to see so much lightning with a snowstorm, isn’t it?” He squinted against the howling winds.

Down the hill from us stood Silas’s house. All the windows, narrow and thickly paned to withstand the winds off the Kaleic, were dark.

“The key should be inside,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away from the windows. It felt as if something stared back at us. I burrowed deeper into my scarf. “Silas keeps it on a hook in the kitchen.”

We entered the cottage through the side door and stood in the mudroom. Tall waders hung upside down off long pegs above a drip mat, and a heavy ulster, once black but now stained with salt, rested on the top hook of a coatrack.

“He wouldn’t have left the house without this,” I murmured, fingering the heavy overcoat’s worn wool. “Silas?” I called out, raising my voice. “It’s Annaleigh Thaumas. Are you here?”

We paused but heard only the wind building outside. It raced past the house, growing into a low howl.

“You said the key is in the kitchen?” Cassius asked, prompting me to step deeper into the house.

On the table in the center of the small parlor was a hurricane lamp, and I fumbled to find a box of matches. I tried picturing Fisher and Silas in the threadbare armchairs, huddled around the fireplace as they took turns checking on the beacon’s light. Did they play cards to pass the time? Sing songs or tell outlandish tales? The wick flickered to life, its warm glow casting off some of the night’s eeriness.

Armed with the light, we quickly found the ring of iron keys hanging by the back door. As I picked it off the hook, there was a creak above us, as if someone had stepped on an uneven floorboard.

“Silas?” I called out. “Is that you?” I turned to Cassius. “We should go up and check. What if he’s sick?”

“I’ll go,” he volunteered, his eyes finding the rickety stairs leading to the second floor. “You stay here.”

I shook my head as another squeak sounded. “Silas knows me. I should go too.”

Cassius handed me the lantern and picked up a poker from near the fireplace. He swung it low to the ground, testing its weight. “Stay behind me, at least. Just in case.”

“In case of what?” I asked as we crept up the stairs.

“In case it’s not Silas,” he hissed under his breath.

I swallowed a surge of fear as we climbed the last steps.

There were three rooms on the top level. All the doors were closed. Cassius nudged open the one nearest to us. It was Fisher’s empty bedroom.

The next was Silas’s office, crammed full of books and ledgers. An old globe rested beneath a partially open window. As a gust of wind rushed by, the sphere spun around, creaking as it turned on its rusty axis. I prayed that was the noise we’d heard downstairs.

The final room was Silas’s bedchamber. It was almost spartanly bare, except for the stacks of books lining the floor. The plain cotton curtains were pushed back, giving a spectacular view of Old Maude. Directly across from the window was a wide brass bed.

“Oh, Silas,” I whispered, seeing the still form beneath the navy-and-white quilt.

He lay propped up on a pillow, a book open across his chest. His lined and weathered face looked so peaceful, he could have been dozing. But he didn’t move, and there was a sour scent in the air, wrinkling our noses. He probably crawled into bed a day or so ago, after a long night tending the flame, and never woke up.

I looked out the window at Old Maude. She seemed to be anxiously peering in, unable to help her old friend. I hoped his beloved lighthouse had been the last thing he saw before shutting his eyes. Tears welled in my own as I remembered his crooked smile and gruff bark of laughter.

Cassius felt for Silas’s pulse, a cursory gesture, before raising the quilt up over his face. We tiptoed out of the bedroom and carefully shut the door behind us, as though we might wake him.

“We’ll have to send the High Mariner out at first light,” I said once we were downstairs. My voice quavered, thick and sad. “And Fisher too, of course.”

“I’m sorry he’s gone, Annaleigh,” Cassius said, squeezing my shoulder gently. “But it looked as though he lived a good, long life.”

“You don’t think he suffered, do you?”

He wiped the tears from my cheek, pulling me into a hug. “I’m sure he didn’t.”

“Old Maude must have run out of kerosene, and the beacon went out.” I reached into my pocket, feeling for the keys.

“You know how to refill it?”

I nodded. “Silas always had me carry the bucket of oil up the steps. He said young knees could do it in half the time with half the exertion.”

“We ought to hurry, then. Once the storm hits, I won’t be able to get us back to Highmoor.”

I drew my scarf up over my head once more, securing the ends so it wouldn’t blow away. “You can’t travel in storms?”

“Not in lightning. It’s too unpredictable.”

“Then let’s not waste any time.” I palmed the doorknob, poised to run to the supply shed. Silas kept large drums full of kerosene oil there. “Are you ready?”

We stepped out into the wind. The air was even colder now, whistling across the island and whipping snowflakes in our eyes. I unlocked the door, found an old tin bucket, and filled it three-quarters of the way up. The sharp aroma of kerosene burned my nostrils.

“Won’t you need more? I’ll carry it up. Don’t worry about the weight,” Cassius said.

“The tank won’t hold more than this,” I said, shutting off the kerosene spigot. “This will keep the flame going for a handful of days, at least until Fisher can return. Come on.”

We made our way out toward Old Maude, careful to avoid patches of ice on the cliff’s steps. I paused at the threshold, brushing a bit of flying grit from my eye. A gust of wind raced past the lighthouse and slammed the door shut with a loud crash. Startled, I dropped the lantern. The globe shattered, flames greedily flickering across the fuel. There was a burst of light, and we were left in utter darkness.

“I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, reaching out to feel for Cassius. “The door hit me and—”

“It’s all right,” he said, finding my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure there’s another one back at the cottage?”

“We don’t have time. The storm is almost here. There’s a lantern midway up the stairs. I’ll go up and light it. Stay here so we don’t spill any of the fuel.”

Faint starlight filtered through the lighthouse from the gallery windows above. The spiral staircase’s railing was barely visible. I grabbed it and felt around with my foot for the first step, then the next, and the next after that.

Keeping one hand on the railing to secure myself in the dark void and the other on the rough stone wall, I felt around for the lantern.

I was about twenty steps up when something grazed my hair, a phantom caress that jerked me to a stop.

“Dance with me,” whispered a soft voice just behind my ear.

“Cassius?” I called out. Had he decided to come up too, rather than wait on the light?

“Yes?” His voice came from below me, in the center of the shaft.

Gripping the railing, I waved my other hand around in the dark, certain I would hit another person’s—another thing’s—body and scream. But there was nothing, only the cold, moist air.

“Dance with me,” the voice repeated beseechingly.

“Do…do you hear that?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice level.

“I can’t hear anything over that wind,” he answered. “Should I come up?”

When my fingers brushed against the small globe of glass, I wanted to cry with relief. I fumbled open the lantern door and found the wick. Just before I struck a match against the wall, I had an awful premonition when I did, the Weeping Woman would be there in front of me. I pictured myself, startled, falling down the metal stairs and ending in a jagged pile of broken and bloody limbs.

But it was just me, and as the wick flared to life, a soft glow of light warmed the stairwell. Cassius was looking up at me, bucket in hand.

“Are you all right?” he asked, stepping around the glass shards from the broken lantern.

I nodded. “My imagination just got the better of me for a moment.”

He headed up the spiral steps, hauling the kerosene. “I shouldn’t wonder after everything that’s happened tonight. Where are we taking this?”

I pointed up the shaft of the lighthouse, where the stairs curved around and around, narrowing in on themselves at the top like the tightly curled body of a seashell. “All the way up to the watch room. The beacon’s base is in there.”

He put the heavy bucket down for a moment and wiped his brow. “Lead the way.”

I set my lantern on the watch room’s table and checked the beacon’s tank. It was empty.

“We have to crank the piston back up, then put the kerosene oil in,” I explained, spinning the handle. Once the weight was raised, I had Cassius pour the oil in, then reset the weight. “The piston presses the oil up through the pipe here,” I said, showing him the copper tube running up to the burner in the gallery room. “As the wick burns the oil, it’s replenished by the tank.”

“Until it runs out,” Cassius said, setting down the bucket.

“Exactly. Now we just need to light the burner, and the beacon will be back.”

Cassius peered out one of the windows, eyeing the storm. “We should have just enough time.”

“Stay here in case I need the piston lowered again to get the kerosene flowing,” I instructed, leaving the lantern with Cassius as I scurried up the stairs.

The gallery was a mess of dark shadows, but I found my way to the beacon and the lamp. Wrapping my skirt around my fingers—oils from my skin would cause the glass to heat unevenly and shatter—I slid the plate aside and lit the wick. It sputtered to a start, flickering as the kerosene pushed up from below. Once the flame was full and unwavering, I put the glass back in place and studied the rotating mirrors. They ran on a pendulum system, much like a grandfather clock.

“How does it look?” Cassius called. The beacon’s flame offered me just enough light to see him through the opening in the floor.

I knelt down, pointing through the hole. “See those chains near you? Hoist the weights all the way up and then flip the catch. That will start up the mirrors, sending out the flash of light.”

Squinting into the dark, I watched him work, checking the wick every few seconds to make sure it was still going strong. I tilted one of the glasses, instantly blinding myself as the room burst into light, amplified by the series of mirrors.

“It’s working!” I exclaimed, rubbing my eyes. Dozens of brightly colored dots flashed across my vision, making it impossible to see. I heard Cassius on the stairs, coming up to see our work. “Watch out for the flash,” I warned. If Silas were here, he would have fallen over laughing at so amateur a mistake.

“Annaleigh?”

I caught the note of concern in Cassius’s voice. Squinting, I could just barely make out his form on the stairs. Stars danced around him.

“Annaleigh, come to me.”

“What? Why?”

He was staring past me, looking at something huddled at my ankles. I turned, and a shriek ripped from my chest, splitting the world in two.

There, on the floor, twisted with rigor mortis and darkened with decay, was Fisher.