The Drowned Woods (61)

This was what they’d been searching for.

She had imagined a well built of stones, treasures tossed deep into the ground. Perhaps even a bucket and rope, like she’d seen on countless farms. But this wasn’t a human well.

It was a wellspring.

A wellspring of magic.

She leaned over it, peering downward. The water was still and clear as glass, free of any sediment or living creatures. At the very center of the pool, she saw what lay beneath the water.

There was a sheathed sword, a mantle embroidered with golden thread, a heavy silver ring, several adder stones resting against one another, a small cooking pot, a heavy gold necklace, a drinking horn, and what looked to be a horse’s bridle.

Mer’s breath caught. She could sense the power emanating from the pool; it was like standing next to a bonfire, the warmth licking up her skin and threatening to burn her.

She circled the pool once, her footsteps quiet on the damp moss. There were no animal tracks, no broken undergrowth. If there was a boar, he had not been here in a long while. Trefor idly watched her, his tail thumping the ground. She knelt beside the water a second time, her own magic alive in her fingertips.

“The question is,” she murmured, “if the magic from the Wellspring protects the treasures—or if the treasures are the source of the magic.” She looked at the dog. “What do you think?”

Trefor sat up a little straighter. He tilted his head one way, then the other.

“Good talk,” said Mer wryly. “Some otherfolk spy you turned out to be. I suppose if one of those treasures was a magical boot, you’d already have retrieved it for me.”

Trefor sneezed, then began gnawing on an itchy spot on his foreleg.

“Come on,” she said, giving him a nudge. “Let’s go find someone who’ll be more impressed with my find.”





“This is it?” said Ifanna, utterly unimpressed. “This is the infamous Well? It’s just a pool of water.” She stood at the edge of the pond with a bemused smile. “I was expecting… more, somehow. Where’s the boar? The otherfolk guard? The bones of trespassers?”

“Don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” said Mer.

“Well, a little,” said Ifanna. She squatted down, reaching for the water.

Renfrew seized her by the shoulder. “Ah, ah. I think it’s best to leave that to Mer.”

The five of them stood in the grove. Gryf halted some ways apart, seemingly uninterested in examining the water. Fane gazed into the pool while Trefor rolled in a patch of dry grass.

It was not precisely the triumphant end to their heist that Mer had been imagining.

Renfrew skirted the edge of the pond, like a carrion bird circling a fresh kill.

“There might be traps nearby,” he murmured. “It was why I brought Emrick in the first place.”

“And he was such a help,” said Ifanna.

“No one expected the guardians in the caves,” said Renfrew evenly. “Least of all you.”

“I brought a crossbow,” said Ifanna. “I’d say I prepared for trouble a little better.”

“Both of you, hush for a moment,” Mer said. “I’ll examine the water. Let me see what I can find.” She reached out, lightly skimming her fingertips across the surface of the pool.

The magic running through the water held more power than Mer could ever dream of. Gritting her teeth, she forced a bit more of herself into the pool, sinking her hand to the wrist. That dizzying sense of magic swam up through her arm, and she caught her breath. But she didn’t pull her hand free. She needed to understand what this magic was for, what it did. If this water protected those treasures, she needed to know how.

Tell me, she thought. Show me.

The magic flared, and it felt for a moment as if the blood in her veins were boiling—and then Mer lost herself in it.

She wasn’t just Mer.

She was water. She was all of the water, both that caged within her skin and that without. She was the pool, the droplets clinging to the forest leaves, the mist in the air. She needed to be closer to it, to lose herself beneath the surface…

Someone ripped her from the water.

She could not be sure who—it was a blur of hands and human-made fabrics and she fought them, fingers clawing at the earth. She had to get back into that pool; she belonged to that magic and that magic belonged to her.

Her back slammed into the earth.

She was gasping, her gaze gone strangely gray at the edges. She blinked at sky, at the green webwork of branches and the face peering down at her. It was Ifanna’s—drawn with concern and lip bleeding sluggishly. Mer must have accidentally struck her.

“Wha—?” Mer said, and her tongue felt a little clumsy. It took a few tries to form the words in her mouth. “What happened?”

“You tried to put your head beneath the water,” said Ifanna tightly. “I think we just figured out the Well’s protection. Anyone who touches the water tries to drown themselves.”

“Then where are the bodies?” said Renfrew. “There should be bones, at the very least.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. “Maybe that’s part of the magic,” said Ifanna. “Or—maybe something ate them.” Her gaze landed on Trefor.

“And with that comforting thought, I would like to get this over with.” Mer sat up. “I’ll move the water aside and then someone go in and grab them.” Her head swam as if she’d had too much drink. She pressed a hand to her eyes until the dizziness passed. She had to do this—they needed to get the treasures, take away this wellspring’s power, and then flee before Garanhir knew what had occurred.