“Yes.”
“Without proof?”
“Harper.” A huff of exasperation escapes me. “That’s the entire point of faith. It only exists in the absence of proof.”
Her face pinches in contemplation. Then she nods, perhaps conceding to the idea that there exists such a blade despite the lack of evidence. “All right. Let’s pretend this blade is real. How are we to find it?”
Setting aside the Text, I pull a square of folded parchment from my pocket. “With this map.”
She bolts upright. “Where did you get that?”
“Mother Mabel.”
“Why would she give you the map and not me?”
If I were to guess, it’s because I’m the more responsible one.
Mother Mabel has marked an entrance into Under on the map. Relatively unknown, it requires an offering to pass through. Apparently, the nymph guarding the doorway is easily bribed.
“We’re looking for someone called the Stallion,” I say, ignoring her question and slipping the map back into my pocket. “If we find the Stallion, we find Meirlach.”
“Who is the Stallion?”
“I don’t know.” Mother Mabel told me nothing about who or what the Stallion is. She offered me only three things: a name, a command, and a warning.
You must kill the beast. It is the only way to obtain Meirlach. And whatever happens, do not climb onto its back.
The order sits queasily in my stomach. Mother Mabel has always been forthright with us. The lack of information is concerning. “All I know is that he lives in a place called the Grotto.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Harper mutters.
I refuse to feed her sour mood. “Navigating Under will present unique challenges. We must remain alert.”
Harper goes still. Her hands, planted on the edge of her cot, curl over the straw mattress. “You mean to tell me I am to travel into Under? Withyou? Into some horrible beast’s lair for a sword that may not even exist?”
It appears Mother Mabel told Harper very little about the details of this task. Not for the first time, I wonder why.
Harper shakes her head. “No. No, this is absolutely ridiculous. Sending two mortal women into Under without a guide?” Strands of black hair hang in her face, and she bats them aside with a growl.
Despite our differences, Harper and I do share a similarity. We fear the unknown. Perhaps all of us at Thornbrook do. I’m not particularly thrilled about the quest either, but I recall Mother Mabel’s expression when she informed me of this task, her eyes reduced to furrows of skin, a rare sign of distress. It is clear that this task is necessary, just as our participation in the tithe is necessary. There is little enjoyment in it, but it must be done.
“I’m not going,” Harper clips. “She can’t make me.”
Then my success is all but guaranteed. “Very well. I will inform Mother Mabel that you will be remaining behind.”
I’m nearly to the door when she calls, “Wait.”
Slowly, I turn. Harper appears torn, furious at the idea of being painted a coward, yet refusing to hand over the opportunity without a fight. It is to be expected.
“Seems like a lot of effort for something that may as well be hearsay.” Pushing off the bed, she reaches the window in four steps. Fog shrouds the vineyards in the distance, the air sweet with rain. “There is a high chance we will not return.”
I am well aware.
“Why does Mother Mabel want this sword anyway?” she demands.
“I don’t know.” The abbess has access to plenty of iron blades, enough to keep the entirety of Under at a distance, if necessary. It bears the question of whythisblade is so special. What need does she have of its powers?
Harper stares at me until I grow uncomfortable. “What?”
