The King's Traitor (Kingfountain #3)(39)
They took the road, and the sky began to brighten more rapidly. Owen’s heart began pounding as they drew closer to their destination. He could feel the presence of the Fountain magic coming from the woods on the right. The cluster of trees was especially dense there, which would make riding difficult.
Leave the horses here.
The whisper was unmistakable and startling. Owen jerked on the reins, stopping. It had been some time since the Fountain had spoken to him directly.
“What is it?” Etayne asked, her voice full of dread.
He dismounted and she followed him. Owen led his horse to the edge of the road and secured the reins on a tree branch. She did the same.
“We go the rest of the way on foot,” he said. “It’s not far. The Fountain told me to leave the horses.”
“It spoke to you?” she queried.
“It did.”
They started into the woods together, the ground suddenly uneven and full of treacherous footing. Instinctively, he sought her hand to prevent them from getting separated in the shadows. A few birds trilled to welcome the imminent dawn. Etayne let herself be guided, and he felt how cold her hand was from the long night ride. She gave him surreptitious looks that he pretended not to notice.
Ahead, Owen could hear the lapping noises of a fountain or small waterfall. His sense of curiosity grew with each step, as did the worry and fear welling in his gut. Branches clawed at his face, and he used one arm to ward them back and clear a gap for the two of them to pass. He was trying to be quiet, but it sounded like they were marching with an army for all the noise they made.
The woods encircled a small clearing centered around a huge mound of massive boulders that towered as big as houses. The trees were ancient and huge, and some younger ones grew from cracks and seams in the rocks. Moss and lichen riddled the stones, barely discernible from the fading gloom. Water was coming from the rocks, little rippling waterfalls that pattered in endless drips. Looking more closely, Owen saw a shaggy oak tree growing amidst the stones, pregnant with leaves and acorns and mistletoe. The trickling water seemed to be coming from the tangled roots of the tree. The ground had gotten relatively steeper as they crossed the woods, and a small trickling stream tumbled from the boulders and oak tree and disappeared back into the woods.
“Look,” Etayne said, squeezing his hand and pointing with her finger.
At the base of the rocky terrain there was a marble plinth—a flat altar-like sheet of rock that was definitely human-carved. It was set away from the mass of boulders and strewn with detritus from the trees. On the flat marble sheet was a silver bowl. An iron chain fastened the bowl to a ring driven into the side of the marble. The chain was loosely coiled.
It was the source of the magic. Owen sensed power coming from the bowl—it thrummed inside his skull and filled his reservoirs of magic to the brim. Despite his lack of sleep and anxiety, he felt alive, quickened, and alert.
“What is this place?” Etayne whispered in awe, staring at the boulders, the trees, the naked sky. A single star seemed to burn in the sky above them, a pinprick of torchlight.
Fill the bowl with water from the fountain.
Owen blinked in astonishment, his mouth suddenly dry. Releasing Etayne’s hand, he approached the marble slab. She followed at his heels, casting her gaze around for a sign of danger. The caw of birds clawed the air, and Owen saw several ravens come and land on the branches. They were different from the birds he’d heard earlier, their tones darker and more ominous. That they were ravens—the standard of the Montforts—made him deeply suspicious and gave him the sense he was being watched.
“I don’t know,” Owen said, but he knew what he needed to do. He marched up to the silver bowl while his courage lasted. It was not heavy when he hefted it. The chain rattled slightly.
“What are you doing?” Etayne whispered.
Owen looked at the waters tumbling from the roots and down over the rocks. It was a curious sight, and he found himself breathing hard. Then, carefully, he crossed several larger broken stones with the bowl until he reached the small waterfall and held the bowl under the stream. It filled quickly, and he pulled it back carefully, worried the weight of it would cause a spill. The sky had turned a faint blue overhead. He could see Etayne’s worried eyes on him, but he couldn’t explain what he didn’t understand.
Pour it onto the plinth.
Cautiously, Owen carried the bowl to the plinth, letting the chain drag beneath it. He caught himself from tripping, breathing in deep gasps as the magic tingled against his skin. The waters in the bowl rippled, reflecting his image back at him. He looked terrible. When he reached the marble slab, he stood by it, cradling the bowl. He’d trusted the whispers of the Fountain so far. There was no turning back. He upturned the bowl and splashed the water onto the plinth.
As soon as he’d done so, a crack of thunder boomed from the cloudless sky overhead, so loud and deafening that Owen dropped the bowl to shield his ears. Though he had been in thunderstorms before, he’d never heard a boom so loud that it felt like the sky itself was shattering. The sound frightened him out of his wits and he looked at Etayne, who was holding her ears as well, staring up at the sky.
It started to rain. Heavy fat droplets began to gush from overhead. Wind kicked up and sent the desiccated leaves whirling into his face, little pricks of pain that made him shield his eyes.
The rain turned into hail.