I’m panting, dripping sweat, and in no mood for barbed conversation. Moreover, I cannot determine if that was an underhanded insult about my size.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Ahead, the river glitters through the trees.
“Indeed.” Zephyrus materializes between two towering oaks, a heavy green cloak warming his shoulders. Moonlight silvers the tips of his eyelashes and softens the awkward planes of his face. “Most do not brave the forest after dark.”
Apparently, I am more foolish than most. Desperate, certainly. For only desperation would send me into utter blackness, no lamp to light my way.
“I am to return before dawn,” I state, falling into step behind him as he gestures me across a shallow section of the river.
“And you will.” He leaps from stone to flattened stone. “This should not take long.” Another effortless bound and he reaches the opposite bank.
“You will not leave me?”
His eyes catch the light, the small black pupils narrowing. He studies me for a time, and if I am not mistaken, there is some semblance of understanding in his gaze, though it may be a trick of the light. “As long as you follow my instruction,” he assures me, “you will have nothing to worry about.”
We delve deeper into the innards of Carterhaugh, surging through the vein-like openings between the long-standing trees. The tangle of leaves shutters the stars, yet Zephyrus glides over every dip and knoll as if our path were marked by sunlight. My tread is not as light, nor as quick. This man denies he is one of the fair folk, but how else could he navigate so well in the dark?
We arrive at a clearing as perfectly round as a plum ripe for plucking. A spring interrupts the spread of softened grass, a deep pool of icy clarity.
Without turning around, Zephyrus whispers, “We’re here.”
“Where ishere?” My voice drops, for the night sounds have hushed. And the wind? That, too, has died.
He approaches the edge of the water, painted in white moonlight. “Under.”
My toe catches on a root, and I stumble. “What?” When I manage to regain my footing, I stare at Zephyrus’ back, the strong line of his shoulders beneath the heavy cloak. “You said you weren’t one of the fair folk,” I manage faintly. Am I truly so naïve as to have accepted his word?
He glances over his shoulder at me, expression cold. “I’m not. The fair folk and I have an understanding. I am allowed to come and go from their realm as I please.”
Only on the tithe, when the veil between realms is at its thinnest, may the Daughters of Thornbrook venture into Under, and only accompanied by Mother Mabel. Without her guiding hand, one might lose oneself.
We all understand the tithe’s importance. The contract between Thornbrook and Under is clear. The land upon which the abbey was built belongs to Under. The abbey may only continue to lease the land if we participate in the tithe. Too many towns depend on Thornbrook to risk its closure, Kilkare and Aranglen especially. Even Veraness, my hometown.
“You didn’t mention Willow would be in Under,” I say, hesitating by the edge of the pool. Then again, I never asked. “I’m forbidden to enter.”
Zephyrus hums in acknowledgment. “That is quite the predicament.”
A moment of silence passes.
“Well,” he says casually, “the way I see it, there’s a simple solution.” He pins me in place with that evergreen gaze. “Do it anyway.”
It is no jest. That concerns me. “You understand there are rules I must abide by. I am not free to go where I want.”
“So it would seem.” He laughs, and the sound is almost too pleasant to be scornful, despite the tension behind it. “You are free to choose your own path, yet you choose to live your life within the boundaries Thornbrook has set for you. But please, correct me if I am wrong.”
I’ve half a mind to shove him into the spring for dismissing my faith, but I would not disappoint the Father with my actions.
Zephyrus sighs and rocks back on his heels. “Let me explain. Beyond your abbey walls”—he sweeps an arm eastward, toward the distant realm of the Gray—“there exists an entire world you have never touched. If you are truly committed to your faith, then consider this: once you take your final vows, you will be forever bound to the church. Why not take the opportunity to explore while you still can? It may be the last thing you ever do for yourself.”
I wish I were not so easily swayed. Obedience: the first of my vows. But might breaking it be worth the guarantee of my appointment?
“Be that as it may, I am still mortal. The fair folk do not look kindly on us.” I tug the ends of my cincture with both hands, twisting the rope around and around.
“Never fear. As my guest, you will be granted amnesty.” At my hesitation, he says, “Do you want to become an acolyte or not?”
I have worked too hard and for too long to allow this opportunity to pass me by. To watch someone like Harper, of all people, obtain the honor before me. It’s hard enough believing I belong in Thornbrook most days. Forsaken, motherless, fatherless but for my god. Maybe I’m tired of being stepped on. Is there room enough for change in me?
I take the deepest breath I can manage, and when I release it, my fear ebbs with it. “I don’t know if I’m capable of completing the journey, but I will try. What must I do?”
