One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

A ripple seemed to pass through the trees around us, briefly filling the air with the sea-sweet smell of salt and something fainter, less distinct, like a woman’s perfume left open in a sealed room for a hundred years. It was gone before I could figure out exactly what it was.

The Luidaeg pulled her hand away from the tree, smiling sadly. “Thank you,” she said . . . and the tree opened where her hand had been, the bark fading into nothing and leaving a dark tunnel behind. She looked back to the rest of us. “Hurry. I don’t know how they’ve been abusing the knowe to get inside, but I can’t hold this door for long.”

I nodded. “We’re moving.” I gestured for the others to follow me, and drew my knife as I slipped past the Luidaeg, into the door in the tree.

Entering a shallowing isn’t quite like entering a proper knowe. The separation between the worlds isn’t as pronounced, and the disorientation passes faster. This passage was even more subtle than the norm, since the air in Muir Woods was already so clean, and the night was already so silent. We moved from the mortal world into the fringes of the Summerlands without missing a step. The Luidaeg’s spell of silence must have broken when she spoke, because I could hear our footsteps again, little scuffs against the hard-packed clay of the tunnel floor.

There were no sounds but our footsteps as we walked through the dark of the shallowing. The clay under our feet gave way to smooth gray stone. I shivered and sped up. We were getting closer to the children—we had to be. This was the place, and this was the type of stone I’d seen through Dean’s memories. They had to be somewhere up ahead, waiting for rescue.

And then there was light.

It was subtle at first, the faintest decrease in the darkness surrounding us. It grew brighter until I could see the walls of the tunnel without needing to be right up against them. There was a corner just ahead; whatever was casting the light had to be on the other side. I sped up, sticking close to the wall in case someone was waiting with a lantern and a crossbow. When I reached the corner, I stopped, listening. There was no sound. Gripping the hilt of my knife a little tighter, I stepped forward.

A hallway with oak-paneled walls and the same stone floor extended on the other side of the corner. That wasn’t what caught my attention. The light was coming from a lantern hanging from a hook on one wall, and it seemed to be moving. I took a step closer, and realized that it was lit, not with a candle or an oil wick, but with three live pixies. They were crammed into the tiny glass rectangle, leaving them with barely enough room to move their wings. Quentin’s breath hissed through his teeth as he saw them, and Tybalt scowled. Connor looked away.

“Well?” whispered the Luidaeg, stepping up behind me. “What do you want to do about that? We can’t have them alerting Rayseline to our presence. And we could use the light.”

“Hang on.” I stepped forward and took the lantern down from the wall, bringing it close to my face. The pixies inside looked at me with mingled hope and terror. Keeping my voice low, I said, “I need your help. We need to have light to find the people who put you in this lantern. If I let you out, will you stay and help us?”

The pixies eyed me suspiciously before turning to each other and starting to speak in their rapid, high-pitched language. Finally, the smallest of the three turned to me and nodded, folding her arms to punctuate the gesture.

“Here goes nothing,” I whispered, and opened the panel on the side of the lantern.

All three pixies immediately flew out, performing an elaborate series of aerial acrobatics in the narrow confines of the hall. Then they turned and zoomed over our heads, vanishing into the hallway up ahead.

“Oh, good call,” grumbled Connor.

“Wait.” The pixies in Goldengreen were pests, thieves, and tricksters . . . but they kept their word. I had to hope these pixies would do the same.

The seconds ticked by. I was about to admit defeat and move on into the dark when the light came racing back along the tunnel, and our three pixies flew back into view—now joined by six of their cousins. Quentin grinned.