#ellea

That evening Ellea was back down in the cenote, willing her voice to come back with gentle humming exercises while drinking some hot drink with honey Nicco had insisted would help. Trying to loosen her vocal cords in a last ditch effort. The traveling bards were set to return tomorrow, and her voice had not improved one bit. 

She absently strummed on her banjo, her sour mood emanating from the minor chords and harsh string picking. Her eyes wandered around the cavern, the sheer limestone walls towered over nearly a story tall, the water glistened in her lantern light. The vines and lush flora that clung to the walls usually garnered her admiration, but today their presence felt encroaching. She continued strumming, focusing on the water.

No. It's a stupid idea. I can't, not after what it did to Nicco.

But if it works like a battery, like Nicco said, nothing should happen if just one person uses it.

I breathed in an entire pint of the stuff and nothing happened, surely I can drink it and be fine, right? I've drank way nastier stuff on a dare.

Her thoughts began to spin back and fourth between rationales. So many times that she forgot what she really wanted out of this decision.

In a flurry of frustration and impulse, El dropped her banjo and rushed to the waters edge with her mug still half full of Nicco’s concoction, spilling it on the ground. She dipped the vessel into the dark milky waters and chugged. She breathed hard as water spilled down her chin, she stared at the water in shock. Her mouth parted into an exasperated gasp and she rushed back up the wooden steps.

-

El blinked awake the next morning. Today would be the test, but she’d rest her voice until the last possible moment for warmups. The bards didn’t say what time they’d roll through to see her audition but she’d be ready. She worked her whole morning shift in her nicest outfit, a pair of wide embroidered pants with a matching silk shawl, with an apron on top just in case. She gave Arturo many dirty looks when he jokingly threatened to spill breakfast on her. 

Then the Bards arrived. Their bright colors a dead giveaway.

Arturo was wiping down the counter when the frontman entered the saloon, the tabbards that hung from her belt floated on a wind that wasn’t there. 

“Is the halfling around?”

Arturo gave a confused glance before going back to his chore. “You’ll need to be more specific”

“The one who works here, we met last week.”

“Gnome.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ellea is a gnome, not a halfling.”

“Tomato, Tamahto. You haven’t answered my question.” 

Arturo didn’t ingratiate her with an answer and flung his rag down with an audible plop before turning to the kitchen.

“They’re here.” He called through the door:

“I know.” El gripped the counter near the oven, working up the guts to exit the kitchen. Her voice was back, and sounded completely normal.

“You’re going to do great, El. Don’t worry. Let’s go! I’ll be right near you.”

El’s eyes widened and didn’t leave the threshold as she straightened and walked stiffly toward the dining area, clutching the necks of her banjo and fiddle with a seriousness as if she were taking fowl to the slaughter.

She stood on her usual stool and settled into the arrangement she’d made just for the occasion. Her voice wasn’t just good, it rang clear as a bell, it filled the room as never before. Even Esper, who looked as if she’d never worn a smile in her entire long elfish life, wore the whisper of a smirk on her lips. 

El pulled together her ballad with the final chorus, belting out the final line which ended abruptly with her strumming. Then she picked up her fiddle to hum out one final reverent outro measure. She looked out at the crowd uncertainly, fear still evident in her expression despite the flawless performance. 

A beat of silence fluttered by, followed by an applause that betrayed the small amount of people in the room. 

Ellea proceeded to drink hot tea with lemon and honey the entire next day, to the point that her tongue felt fuzzy from the number of times she’d accidentally burnt it on the liquid. All the while resting her voice, which only came out as a weak squeaking croak any time she tried it out. Then it was time to retreat to the cellar for a final test.

Inside the cenote it was very cold. The only light came from a lantern and a few oil torches bordering the wooden deck that suspended over the edge of the waters against the mossy limestone wall. Ellea moved a stool to the corner, where the acoustics were the best. She carefully tuned her banjo and tried humming some notes as a hesitant warm up. So far so good, her voice sounded normal at this pitch.

She plucked out a tune; an intro to an old familiar song that resonated around the room. She skipped the starting verse and went right to the chorus. 

“Cross the sea sleep in the trees…” her voice rang out, slightly hoarse, but not too bad. Her heart skipped, it had worked! “…feel the earth move under my feet…” the last word came out as a croak, oh no. “I will walk, I wi…” the verse lost steam like a tea kettle removed from the stove. She had no more voice left.

Ellea stood up with an angry huff, squeezing the neck of her banjo in an effort to not throw it across the room. The strings quietly squeaked against the frets.

El’s eyes prickled and her vision blurred. She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. 

The gnome let out a sigh that ended in a snarl. She paced as she cleared her throat and willed her voice to work again. As she paced her gaze fell on the still cenote waters. Still cloudy and menacing with their uncertain powers.

She waited until everyone was asleep, including the guests who stayed up till nearly 2am playing backgammon in the parlor. 

She snatched the flask from her banjo case and snuck down the hall to the kitchen, avoiding every creaky floorboard on the way.

Once she got a small fire going on the stove she deposited the contents of the the flask into a saucepan. The water from the cenote, the ones that used to heal, but now could not be used without cost. So it seemed. The sample size was still too small to be sure, Ellea reasoned.

Once the water began to boil El carefully climbed on a stool, leaned over the pot, and draped a towel over the back of her head and most of the area around the pot where it wouldn’t catch fire. As the healing water boiled she carefully inhaled the steam.