When Pierce’s eyes flickered open, he saw the spare, freckled face
again. He felt water misting over him instead of the dry dust of centuries. He
made a sound, and Leith shifted into view, crouched beside him, Pierce
realized, under sky and trees, not earth and rotting boards. The empty chain
that had held the pitcher swung aimlessly above his head.
“I’ll give you a drink, but you’ll have to take it from my hands,” the
girl said dourly. “You broke my pitcher.”
That, Pierce thought, would explain her disgruntled expression. He tried to
speak, then nodded. Leith held up his head; the girl cupped her hands in the
bright rill, and he opened his mouth.
He drank the pure, cold water falling from her fingertips three times before
he could finally speak.
“Sorry,” he croaked. “I needed a weapon.” He paused a moment, remembering.
“Did you shoot everyone?”
“No. But they didn’t wait around for the ceiling to make up its mind.” The
frown on her face was easing; she added, “I thought you were one of them when
I saw the broken pitcher. They were taking things—small, sacred things we
keep in there—looking at them with their unholy lights, then just tossing
them on the ground. Searching for gold, I think, though they kept yammering
about something sacred belonging to Severen.”
“Can you sit up?” Leith asked, and helped him. The world whirled, then
slowed and steadied. He felt at the back of his aching head, wondering if one
of the mineshaft timbers had swung down and smacked him. Sitting, he saw the
old man finally, with his white hair and his beard down to his belt. There was
not much room for expression on his hairy face, but his eyes were rueful.
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were one of them, too. You’re all dressed
alike but for the emblems. Sir Leith here explained who you are.”
“What hit me?” Pierce asked bewilderedly.
“My garden shovel.”
“Oh.” He sighed, his eyes going to Leith. “So much for knightly prowess.
Armed with a pitcher and felled with a garden tool.”
“You should have— You should never have—” Leith began, then gave up,
shaking his head.
“It was very brave of you to try,” the girl said staunchly. “My grandfather
tried to stop them. They just threw his crutch over the wall and let him fall.
He has a bad knee.”
“Where— What is this place?”
“It’s Tanne’s shrine.”
“Tanne.”
She gestured at the crescent of enormous, hoary trees around the ruins, so
tall their lofty tips seemed to lean together as their great boughs stretched
toward the sky. A rosy wave swept up her face, making her red hair, glowing in
the sunlight, even more fiery. “This is his forest. My grandfather has been
the shrine guardian here all of his life since he was twelve. This old shrine
was built thousands of years before anybody discovered the gold behind it. The
miners ran that guardian out and let the shrine fall down while they took out
all the gold. Now travelers come to see the ruins and fill their bottles with
water fresh out of the earth. But nobody remembers the forest god. People born
here pass the tales along. When my grandfather can’t climb up here any
longer, then one of our family will take his place.”
“You?”
She shrugged, almost smiling at the thought. “Maybe. Tanne chooses. Sometimes
with a dream. Sometimes, if the wind is just right, the one who is chosen
hears him call.”
“He called me,” the old man said. “I heard him clear as an owl’s cry, and
I came. Up every morning, down the hill at sunset by myself for decades until
my knee gave out and Sara here came along to help me.” He looked at her
fondly, added, “I had no idea you could shoot that thing.”
“Neither did I. We found it in the cave,” she explained. “I think some
miner left it there a hundred years ago.” Her smile deepened with
satisfaction. “Now we know it works.”
“Forgive the knights if you can,” Leith said grimly. “Nothing they did here
was sanctioned by King Arden, who has deep respect for all the gods and
goddesses of Wyvernhold. Those young men are arrogant louts on an idiotic
quest; their behavior here was despicable and cowardly, and I’m sorry not to
have come in time to make that clear to them.” He paused, gazing at Pierce,
his expression still dark. “I am enormously grateful you did not shoot my
impulsive son. My other impulsive son.”
“Oh,” she sighed, “me, too.”
“You have another?” the old man said, surprised. “He didn’t come running
to help?”
“He went off in a car full of young women to look for a garage. No telling
when we’ll see him again.”
“A garage.”
“Our car is stalled on the road below. It shut itself down for its own
reasons; our driver can’t get it started again, and none of our phones work
either.”
The old man raised a shaggy brow, musing a bit. “Everything just went dead?”
“Everything.”
“For no reason.”
“None.”