Jessa and the Lost Goddess Read online

  “Can I borrow your pistol and short swords?”

  My brother gaped at me, the wine forgotten. “Whatever for?”

  “A quest.”

  “A quest...?”

  “Rowan Eckersley is leading a group of volunteers to hunt the Lost Goddess.” I spoke quickly at the look of confusion on my brother’s face. “He believes she’s cursed us with the Pink Plague and killing her is the only way to cure our people.”

  Francis floundered for several moments. “And you want to go because...?”

  I leaned forward. “I’ll be Mrs. Beaumont Lamberton in six month’s time. I’ll never be able to work or travel or go to school—”

  “You don’t want to go to school,” my brother said dismissively. “You’d be bored to tears.”

  “I’d like the option! I know Beau won’t give it to me.” I paced from one end of the small kitchen to the other. “He’s a good man but he’s so stubborn. He’s already said he expects me to give him five children and run his house for him.”

  Francis gasped, although, I could tell he was mocking me. “You mean he expects you to be a wife once the two of you are married?”

  I sent him a disgruntled look. “I’d like to learn more about myself and the world before I’m confined to a single role. Is that so wrong?”

  My brother placed the wine bottle on the counter with a soft clap. “Have you...tried talking to Mother and Father? Perhaps they can call off the wedding?” From the way he squinted his eyes and cocked his head as he spoke, I knew that he knew how ridiculous the suggestion was even as he said it.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  He slumped against the counter. “I had to ask.”

  “Father has disowned you. That makes me the firstborn.” I screwed up my face as I tried to remember the exact wording. “Our law states: a firstborn eighteen years of age or older has a right to answer any call-to-arms from any noble family.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “That quest, once completed, will mark that individual as an independent adult, able to own land, move out of their parents’ home, seek higher education or employment, marry or not,” I continued, paraphrasing.

  “You’re a woman. The Right of the Firstborn doesn’t apply to you. I’m sorry,” he added when I scowled, “but it’s the truth.”

  “Will you lend me the swords and the pistol, or not?”

  “I can’t,” Francis said, his brow drawn stubbornly. “I’d be sending you to your death.”

  “Brother, please, I have to try!” I licked my parched lips and tried a different tactic. “What was the point in teaching me how to fence and shoot if you never intended me to use any of it?”

  My brother evaluated me for a long time. I waited, heart in my throat. At last, Francis gave a deep sigh and walked out of the kitchen. I twisted the fan in my hands, straining my ears to listen to his movements. He ambled up the stairs. A door creaked open on the second story. Drawers were pulled open and shut. Slow footsteps made their way across the ceiling. Then he came back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  He wearily held out a bundle of rolled up clothing. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  I was so grateful; I could hardly get the words out. “Thank you.” When I accepted the fabrics, I felt the coarse leather scabbards and the heavy metal of the five shot pocket pistol hidden within the folds. “Could you empty out the basket so I can put these in there?”

  He nodded. Once the rest of the food was stored in the ice box, I slipped the bundle of clothing through the picnic basket flaps. It occurred to me that this may be the last time I saw my brother, at least for however long it took to complete this quest.

  Swallowing hard, I said, “I’ll make you proud.”

  “Goddess of Travelers watch over you,” Francis said, pulling me in for a hug. “Try not to die, sister. I’m awfully fond of you.”

  Chapter Three

  I finished wrapping the cloth bandages around my chest. They weren’t as restricting as a corset but they would keep my breasts flat enough. Taking quick breaths, I reached for the clothes I’d “borrowed” from the stable boy. The cotton shirt, trousers, and coat were big on me, baggy even. Perfect for hiding my curves. I donned my father’s riding cap next, tucking all of my blond hair up into it.

  My reflection changed in the mirror, lit only by the light of the moon coming in through the window. No longer did I look like a minor noblewoman. Now, I looked like a very young, fair-skinned man swimming in his father’s clothes. I smiled in triumph. I almost wished my parents would walk in on me now. Would Mother finally see me as I truly was? Would Father see this as a cry for help and actually start to listen to me every once in a while?

  No. They’d send me to a doctor to have my head examined. Then they would expect me to go back to being the docile girl who obeyed the rules of society and did everything her parents told her to. They wouldn’t take me seriously unless I completed this quest, unless I proved myself worthy of The Right of the Firstborn.

  Upon closer inspection, I frowned at my reflection. There was an obviously feminine shape to my face and nose...Perhaps I could disguise this with some soot?

  I meandered around my bed and knelt by the fireplace. The embers from the night’s fire still glowed. I braced myself and scraped the stone hearth with the tips of my fingers. Biting my lips to keep from cursing, I quickly wiped the grainy black soot over my face. Then I blew over my stinging fingers.

  I returned to the mirror. No one who knew me would recognize me in this disguise. I smiled, pleased.

  The clock tower tolled in the distance, signaling the hour. It was three in the morning. According to my father’s abandoned newspaper, Lord Eckersley would be waiting for quest volunteers at the Great Docks at four. I belted on the pistol and the short swords before scooping up my father’s leather satchel. I took bread, cheese, an apple, a canteen of water, a bed roll, a map of the city, a spare shirt, a cloak, and an extra pair of pantalets. Wrapped up in the spare shirt was a sack of extra bullets.

  I could think of nothing else I might need.

  Despite my still-tingling fingers, I took a moment to scribble a note to my parents. The wet ink shimmered over the parchment on my writing desk, winking at me as I climbed out of the window.

  THE CITY OF SORSEN was the largest in the icy country of Loram, spanning seven hundred thousand acres along the coast and three hundred thousand acres inland. Its population was nearly two million. To keep the land orderly, it was divided into sectors and managed by lords hand selected by the prime minister. I had grown up in the Eastern Sector, maintained by Lord Halston Eckersley, hearing only tales of the Great Docks and the magnificent ships they held. I wasn’t intimidated by the thought of finding my own way to the docks, however, because I was confident in my ability to read a map.

  I’d taken a carriage to the border between the Northern and the Eastern Sectors, and had elected to walk from there, map in hand. Perhaps it was the fact that it was dark outside or that I was alone and attempting something I’d never done before, but the world seemed to change. It was like stepping into an entirely different city with elongated shadows, quiet streets, sleepy constables, and the occasional carriage and driver. Music and drunken laughter drifted out of open pub doors. Street lamps flickered in the icy breeze. Beggars searched for abandoned coins in the crevasses of the sidewalks. Dogs sniffed the streets for scraps of food.

  I pretended I wasn’t concerned by any of it. I walked under lamp posts and studied my map intently, only glancing up to check the street signs.

  I don’t need to fear a mugging, I thought firmly. I don’t look like a defenseless woman.

  That was true. Not only was I dressed differently, but I imitated my brother’s shuffling walk and hunched my shoulders. No one bothered me.

  Gods, it’s cold.

  I shivered and pressed on. My feet ached in my boots. My face was numb. My hands, gripping either side of the map, were stiff. At long last, I rounded a corner and was met with a beautiful sight: the moon reflecting on the water. Enormous ships with billowing white sails were lined up along wooden planks, waiting to take travelers across the sea. With a grin, I stuffed the map back into my leather satchel. Then I raced down the hill.

  Compared to the rest of the Northern Sector, the Great Docks were lively. Fishermen, tradesmen, seamen, vendors, constables, and men looking for work of any kind bustled along, called out to one another, loaded or unloaded their goods. Torches gave everything a warm, inviting glow. The noise made me feel safe again, but now there was a new challenge.

  Oh, what was the name of Lord Eckersley’s ship?

  I walked along the vessels, thinking hard as I squinted up at the names written along the hulls. Two men carrying a long crate between them came marching toward me. I skittered out of their way, head bowed.

  “Yes, but then Eckersley said...”

  The name jumped out at me from within the cacophony of voices. I spun around, looking for the source of the voice. A cluster of men walked away from me. Three of them conversed, their voices rising in excitement, their hands gesturing to the ships around them. I could faintly see their profiles. They were young, about my age.

  Perhaps they’re some hot blooded firstborns? I thought, remembering my father’s words.

  As casually as I could muster, I veered toward them. I followed from a distance so as not to hover and alert them of my presence. They led me to a single masted ship called The Rogue, where a line had formed up the gangplank. I stood on my tiptoes in an attempt to see what was going on at the front. Unfortunately, everyone was taller than me; I couldn’t see past their heads. Settling back down on my heels, I determined to be patient. It wasn’t easy. Excitement made me fidget. Nerves made me rethink my attire. Doubt, using
my mother’s voice, whispered at the back of my mind.

  The line progressed slowly. It wasn’t until I was four people away from the front that I realized why.

  Two men stood on the main deck beside a large barrel, stopping everyone who passed. One man was older, perhaps in his early forties. He had a short beard and was dressed in trousers, a long sleeved shirt, and a fur cap. He spoke with the person at the front of the line and then consulted a stack of parchment sitting atop the barrel. After a moment, he gave a nod and allowed the person to pass. The second man was younger, perhaps in his early twenties. His dark hair had a windblown quality to it but his clothes were much too fine to belong to a sailor. He had coal black eyes and a serious frown.

  Every woman in my sector gossiped about this man. Some mocked his pride like my mother had this morning, calling him a pompous prince. Others spoke of his good looks, his quiet manner, and his riches in hushed, adoring tones. But everyone knew him. This was Rowan Eckersley, son of Lord Halston Eckersley, the overseer of the Eastern Sector. Lord Halston had recently been taken by the Pink Plague. It was rumored that Rowan’s mother, Lady Sarafima, was showing symptoms now.

  Of course, he’d want to find a cure as quickly as possible, I thought with a stab of sympathy. But what made him think this was the work of a scorned goddess?

  It was said that Anwyl had fallen out of grace with the other gods and goddesses, and had been cast out of heaven. Her Ascension into Godhood story wasn’t taught in churches anymore, her priestesses had been exiled, and her name was hardly spoken among the masses. But this happened hundreds of years ago. If she truly was to blame, why would she wait until now to strike? And why would she curse Sorsen, of all places?

  The clearing of a throat brought me out of my thoughts. I looked up with a start to see that I was now at the front of the line.

  “My name is Captain Opis,” the other gentleman said. “State your full name and sector.”

  “Fr-Francis Copeland,” I said, deepening my voice in an effort to sound masculine. “Eastern.”

  The captain leafed through his parchment. “Eastern Sector. Yes, here it is.” He separated three pages from the rest. “Let’s see here. Copeland...” Flipping to the second page, he nodded. “Francis. Firstborn of Fedor Copeland. I see. Very well.” He lowered the parchment with a bow of his head. “Welcome aboard The Rogue. Gather over there with the others and wait, if you please. Lord Eckersley would like to give a speech before we cast off.”

  “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Copeland,” Eckersley said, stretching out a hand.

  I took it. “I’m sorry about your father, sir. He was a great man.”

  Eckersley nodded curtly.

  I released his hand and joined the crowd of men loitering by the mast. My very insides seemed to be quivering.

  I made it. I’m here. This is happening. Biting back a squeal of excitement, I paced along the ratlines.

  “Excuse me.”

  I turned and almost leapt out of my skin. Beaumont Lamberton stood beside me in all of his round glory. Round face, round button nose, round hazel eyes, soft, round body. His curly brown hair bounced as he did; with too much confidence.

  “Beau! I mean...” I cleared my throat. “Mr. Lamberton. Hello.”

  My fiancé stepped back, his smile faltering just a bit. “How do you know who I am?”

  Chapter Four

  “My sister speaks of you often,” I quickly lied. “She described you perfectly, sir.”

  “So you are Francis Copeland! I heard you give your name to the captain but I had to be sure.” Beau held out his hand for me to shake. “It’s good to finally meet you. I didn’t expect to see you here. My mother said you were something of a recluse.”

  I shook his hand once before dropping it and retreating, bringing my chin close to my chest. “Yes, well, I’ve been working hard on discovering a cure for the Pink Plague.”

  “Oh? How has that been going?” Beau asked with a condescending edge to his voice.

  I forced myself to be polite despite my burning cheeks. “Disappointing. That’s why I’m here. Perhaps there’s another way to save lives.”

  “Indeed.” Beau took a step closer, prompting me to step back. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I expected you to look older.”

  I choked on a laugh. “Yes, I hear that all too often. I believe it’s the combination of little sun, little sleep, and too much reading that gives me such an ageless quality.”

  “It’s customary for a man to hold another’s gaze when engaging him in conversation,” Beau said abruptly.

  “I beg your pardon,” I said, keeping my head bowed. “I s-suffer from anxiety brought on by social in-interaction. It’s one of the reasons why I enjoy experimentation and research so much. They are usually solitary acts. Please, forgive me.”

  “I see...” He clapped me on the back.

  My knees buckled and threatened to give way. I slapped a hand over the top of my head to keep the riding cap from toppling over.

  “You’re trying something different, something that makes you uncomfortable. Good for you!” Beau tapped the side of his nose. “I’m doing the same. This might come as a surprise to you, but I’m not much for fighting and adventuring.”

  No, I thought sarcastically. I bit my tongue and simply widened my eyes.

  Beau nodded. “It’s true. I’m a simple man. I enjoy dinner parties, brandy, and betting on horses. And the occasional cigar.”

  “Is that so?” I murmured. I’d heard plenty about his hobbies in the past. Glancing around the main deck, I hoped to see Lord Eckersley preparing to give his speech so that I’d have an excuse to shush my fiancé. Unfortunately, the man in question was conversing with the last of the men waiting to be allowed onboard.

  “Yes, enjoying a meal created by someone else’s cook or having a jolly time at the race tracks; those are my ideal ways to pass the time.” Beau sighed, his thumbs hooked under his suspenders. “I’m afraid your sister doesn’t share my enthusiasm for either so I’m hoping to impress her with a valiant story of how I helped vanquish a goddess.”

  I swiveled around to face him. What?

  “I’m not sure I believe that Anwyl is the cause of the Pink Plague or that killing her will cure anyone,” he went on, “but an adventure on the high seas? A trek through an abandoned island? A battle between mortals and an immortal? What young lady wouldn’t find that impressive?”

  I ran a hand over my face. Oh, Beau, you fool...

  “My good man,” I said as delicately as I could muster, “this could be very dangerous. Are you certain my sister’s admiration is worth risking your life over? Couldn’t you...pretend to take an interest in her hobbies?”

  He threw his head back to laugh. “Me? Take an interest in embroidering cushions and drawing?”

  Those aren’t my only hobbies, I thought, heat rising around my throat.

  “No, this is the better way.” Beau nodded. “This will guarantee Jessa’s respect.”

  “It seems you know her better,” I muttered.

  “Now, don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, patting me on the head. “You’ve been working toward a noble cause. I’m sure she understands why you haven’t had much time for her lately. Perhaps when this is all over, we can have tea together sometime.”

  “That would be nice.” I smiled with relief at the sight of Lord Eckersley climbing the steps to the forecastle deck. “Look there. It seems our leader is about to make his speech.”

  “Splendid.” Beau clapped me on the back again and turned to give Lord Eckersley his full attention.

  I straightened my riding cap and shot my fiancé an exasperated look he didn’t catch.

  “Good morning, gentlemen, and thank you again for coming,” Eckersley raised his voice to say. “As I stated in my newspaper ad, we go to the Forgotten Isle to seek out the Goddess of Love, end the Pink Plague, and rid our city of this dreaded curse once and for all.”

  Cheers rose up into the frigid morning air. Beau clapped half-heartedly, smirking at the men around him as if amused by their enthusiasm.

  “I can’t promise you an easy journey,” Eckersley went on. “I can’t promise that all of us will return. But, at the end of this quest, you will have proven yourselves to be honorable men and worthy of independence.”