Page 108

It seems as if no matter how long we walk, we never grow closer to the ocean. Several times, I almost ask Henrik to stop for the night, but I’m stubborn, and apparently, so are the members of my party.

Saurene rises, and then smaller, but full Maurette follows. The moon duet illuminates the landscape, casting it in pale light.

“Should we press on?” Henrik asks. “Clover, how are you doing? Are you all right?”

I nod, determined to reach the cliffs.

Finally, the forest makes way to grass. It’s tall enough that in the summer months, I’d be worried about snakes or even venomous skirskas, but those things are all underground right now, where it’s warm.

Out of the protective cover of the trees, the wind blows through the grass, making the dry blades hum.

Just ahead, the grass suddenly ends. The sea stretches beyond, as dark as indigo. It looks as if we’ve reached the end of the world—the land simply falls away.

“It’s so far down,” I say when I step up to the ledge, a little dizzy from the great height. The ocean is far, far below us, crashing against towering, jagged rocks at the bottom of the drop.

“Am I allowed to say we’ve made it now?” Bartholomew asks with a weary laugh, bending over to rest his hands on his thighs, breathing hard.

“Yes,” Henrik says wryly, “now is fine.”

“I walked to the edge of the continent,” I say, more to myself than my traveling companions, marveling at this thing I’ve accomplished.

For Henrik, it might not be much, but to me…

As I stare at the churning water far below, I acknowledge I’m stronger than even I’ve realized. I’ve encountered two aynauths, met the nearly mythical gnomes of the Dorian mountains, practically froze to death in an early blizzard, and trekked all the way to the sea.

And the adventure isn’t over yet.

“Henrik,” I say softly.

Picking up on my strange tone, he stands straighter. “What is it?”

I nod far down the coast, to a spot where the sea cuts into the continent in a small inlet. “Why does it look like the water is reflecting lights?”

Henrik turns sharply, as do Pranmore and Bartholomew.

A strange noise catches our attention from the direction of the lights, like the thump of something heavy falling a short distance.

“What was that?” Bartholomew asks, taking a step toward the south.

We fall silent, straining to hear. As we stand here, more peculiar noises become just discernible over the lonely wind.

There’s a low hum in the air. It’s similar to the sound made by the apparatuses that propel the ships that tour the Ryddle Sea, but it’s louder. There’s a metallic groaning noise mixed in with it, along with a steady clanking—all sounds I cannot place.

“Machinery.” Henrik’s expression becomes solemn as he heads south, following the cliff. “Whatever it is, the High Vales are undoubtedly involved.”

“But how did they get over here?” Bartholomew asks. “Do you see that cliff and those rocks?”

Henrik jerks his head, telling us to follow him. “We’re going to find out.”

30

Henrik

We followthe wagon trail until we reach a small hill that appears to overlook the inlet below. “Stay low,” I command as we begin up, hoping we’ll have a good view. We’re close enough to the source of the lights we can now hear distant voices.

When we’re near the top, I crouch low and creep forward, careful to stay out of sight.

“You’d better hang back,” Bartholomew says to Pranmore. “Even if you lay flat, your antlers will be visible.”