“You are but a small witch,” another soft voice says, as whispering as water against rock. Evander’s eyes go wide andI follow his stare over my shoulder, back to the water and the source of the voice. “But you are more than enough.”
Tiny bubbles float from between the rocks of the riverbed, foaming on the surface and rising to form a mound of water. The spirit emerges as the loose shape of the torso of a man. It’s constantly shifting and changing as the water rises and falls, foam creating a strange sort of outline in the moonlight.
“Hello, spirit.” I halfway bow. I should go deeper but I don’t seem to be quite in control of my body. It refuses to move. I’m stuck between shock and awe of what’s before me.
“Hello, Faelyn.” When he speaks, water falls away from the face of the visage. It’s the sound of it hitting against the surface of the river combining with the babbling current that forms cohesive words.
“You know my name?” I blink.
“Gruvun told me.” Spirit of the tides. I recognize the name from when I first arrived in Midscape.
“Is Gruvun well?” I haven’t seen him since the ferry ride after crossing the Fade.
“He is. Ever moving. Ever changing. He is the busy one, and I am more the still. Constant.” The spirit speaks with forced, almost stilted words. Each seems difficult to make and I worry that I am unnecessarily taxing him with this conversation.
“You are the spirit of water,” I whisper. As soon as I say it a feeling of rightness floods through me.
The water collapses, the spirit falling with a splash. I worry somehow I’ve harmed him with the outright identification, until he takes his shape once more before me.
“Yes, witch, I am Volst, the spirit of water eternal.” Those two shadowy eyes bore into me. Yet, I do not feel afraid. Something about this spirit is just as familiar as Brundil. Without being aware, I’ve known him all my life. “You may call upon me in your cause.”
With a final splash he returns to the river. The magic darts away like fish, carried on the current. I imagine him and Gruvun dancing endlessly across the world, carving mountains, circling islands, exploring the far corners of the earth.
“What did he say?” Evander asks, reminding me of his presence, and that he can’t understand the spirits—save for Aurora, given her human form. Even though he has some affinity for the spirits thanks to the witch he once knew.
“His name is Volst. And he’ll help us,” I announce, standing. My trousers are soaked up to the knee. I didn’t realize, but the water must have risen when Volst drew near. I turn to face Evander and halt. His expression has me stopping in my tracks.
Evander leans against a tree. A slight smile curls the corners of his lips. He looks at me with pride and admiration.
“I hope you know, I never doubted you for an instant.”
CHAPTER 30
The trees are thinning.We did not return the same way we came. Instead, we’ve turned farther north. Heading directly to Den.
We’ve walked most of this final day, dragging our feet toward the inevitable. But now that I can see those seemingly unending plains through the trees, I’ve slowed almost to a stop. Evander halts beside me, his hand slipping into mine.
“How much farther is it?” I ask, my voice soft and small. The vastness of the plains feels like it could swallow me whole. The only things that mar the emerald surface are two towers on the horizon. Even though Evander said most of them were abandoned, I feel like there is someone there, watching me right now, relaying to Conri and the rest of the wolf packs that I am not far.
“Two days? If that. I can set a fast pace.” Evander’s thumb gently caresses my hand like a reminder of his promise to stay by my side. I won’t be going alone. And Aurora is waiting for me, too. “We have time. We can spend one more night out here, if you’d like.”
I nod with a slight smile. “Reading my mind now, are you?”
“Lucky guesses.”
“Indeed.” I start walking again through the trees, running my hands along them as I pass.
The magic I’ve been stringing along still pulls out of me. It’s thinner now, like a spider’s strand clinging stubbornly despite the breeze. Stopping at a tree near the edge of the woods, I take a longer strand of yellow thread and tie it around a particularly bulbous knot in a way that leaves a majority of the length in one end of the knot. I cut the remainder with my small knife, feeling my power thread against the strands of wool.
“Evander, will you help me?”
“Me?” He sounds surprised. I suppose I haven’t asked him for help so far.
I nod and he approaches. I hold out my hand, the thread draped over my palm. Even though the wind picks up more readily through the trees, it doesn’t move. It’s perfectly still. Weighted by magic.
“Take the ends, and loop it around one of my fingers. Tie it off,” I instruct.
Evander reaches out and hesitates, fingers hovering around the ends of the strands. It’s impossible to read him but, after a moment, he takes both ends, lifting the threads. His movements are deliberate with intention. He slips the thread between my fingers, choosing one to wrap it several times around. It’s only on the third loop that I realize what hand I’ve given him—and what finger he chose.
