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His amber eyes sparkled with what she deemed as amusement. “He will not stray too far. Animals tend to like it here.”

Nodding, she nestled into his palm, dragging her knees to her chest in the foetal position, and closed her eyes. His thick fingers curled around her, shielding her from the sharp, evening winds of the north.

∞∞∞

By morning, they’d reached the northern edge of Aldercrown. Ironpine knelt near the coast, then lowered his hand to the ground.

“It is time for you to leave, little one.” He nodded to the boat at the dock.

“Thank you, Ironpine.” She hopped onto the dirt path. “I will see you again soon.”

“There’s one more thing,” he said with a smile.

“Yes?”

He raised his hand to a hole in his chest, and with his forefinger, he scooped out her luggage. They were the size of stones in his mighty palm as he placed them next to her.

“Thank you,” she said as she heaved the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

“Of course.” He bowed his head. “You have made a friend in me, Adelina Orlova, astral wielder. Little one.”

“I’ll see you again soon.” She smiled.

“And I’ll see you from afar.” He turned to leave, his footsteps booming as he retreated into Aldercrown.

Sand bars and descending slopes stretched ahead of her. Half-buried shells poked through the white sand. Caves and caverns lined the cliff edge, facing the ocean, and a singular wooden boat was fastened to a post at the beach dock.

Casting a glance over her shoulder, she wondered who it belonged to. There was no one in sight. She wasn’t about to sit around and wait for someone to pop out and question her either—there was a mission to fulfil, and she’d deal with the consequences later.

She jogged along the pier, dropping into the boat, unfastened the rope tethering, then pushed out with her oar.

The shoal bottom and sea grass were clear in the bright water, but as she rowed out to sea, darker spots formed as shafts of light filtered down.

She was lucky Uldan Island wasn’t more than half an hour’s row from the beach.

A variety of coral waved in the current, which leaked into limestone trenches. Octopi slid among the rocks and across the floor, and as the sea deepened, the life below was masked by drifting seaweed.

Lifting her gaze, she focused on the repetitious movement of rowing. Left. Right. Left. Right. Her breathing magnified as she maintained a steady rhythm. Even so, she couldn’t ignore the burning sensation in her arms and the ache in her curved spine.

Having been focused on her rowing, she hadn’t realised the gathering clouds.

They’d gathered too quick. Dark, thick heavens threatened to burst with rain.

Despite the island’s beach being a short distance away, she couldn’t afford to be caught in a storm at sea.

Swimming wasn’t one of her strengths. Being a village girl hadn’t warranted the opportunity to ever learn the skill to any great degree.

Despite the definition of her muscles, she couldn’t trust her ability to swim to shore, fighting against a possible lethal undercurrent.

She shoved the thoughts aside, and kept her sight fixed on the solid ground in the distance.

When she approached shallow water, she dropped the oar, scrambled into the thigh deep ocean, then heaved the boat onto the pebble beach. Stones churned underneath as they scratched against the wooden underbelly.

From what she could see, Uldan Island was tiny—she could walk its circumference within an hour or two. Sandy white beaches stretched along the coast, palm trees leaned against each other, and lush undergrowth clustered at the bottom of their trunks.

There were no footprints in the wet sand, an indication people did not tend to venture to the island in the north. She wondered why—it’s not like it was difficult to reach.

As she walked, she passed seashells and seaweed strewn along the sand, driftwood washed up on the shore, and stray coconuts dotted here and there.

In the centre of the island was a winding hill dense with trees, and somewhere in between, a waterfall sheeted down a rock wall.

The soothing swish of waves lulled her, removing any sense of caution she should have.

Birds cawed overhead as they nestled in the trees, and palm fronds scraped together in the slight breeze .

The sun bore heavy against her skin, and as she entered the forest, she welcomed the relief brought by the shade. Flies buzzed around her head, insects hummed and chirped in the undergrowth. Even as she walked farther away from the beach, the taste of salt water lingered on her tongue.

Her stomach rumbled. When has she last eaten?

Instantly in need of food, she scanned her surroundings.

The loose coconuts wouldn’t do—she hadn’t anything to crack through the tough exterior.

She spotted a tree up ahead, sporting bright orange fruits.

Dashing to it, she plucked one from a branch, then turned it over in her hand.

“How long it’s been since I’ve seen an apricot,” she gasped before sinking her teeth into the fruit. She moaned with delight.

Apricots didn’t thrive on the Hastehill Isles because the weather was too extreme in the south, but here on Uldan Island, the heat was warm enough for the tree to prosper, but not strong enough to kill it.

Unfastening her cloak, she plopped a bunch of apricots inside, holding her garment like a bag. It would do nicely if she were to find any other food along the way. Next on her list of things to do was to follow the sound of running water, and hope to the gods it was fresh.

Keeping her hearing attuned to the rippling water, she meandered between dense trees and foliage, across uneven ground, and to the grassy bank edging a shallow stream. Rocks created drifting along the sun-dappled surface. Kneeling, she cupped her hands, then lowered them into the stream.

Here goes .

Lifting them to her face, she drank. Cool, fresh liquid slid down her throat, relieving her of a sandpaper texture.

Damn it.

She realised she’d left her flask with her baggage, having been too distracted by Ironpine to notice or prioritise.

Rising, she headed to a bush with large, splayed leaves. Ripping one from its stem, she turned on her heel and returned to the bank.

Using the leaf as a cup, she drank until satisfied. With nothing else in her possession to use as a flask or drinking tool, she placed the leaf with the apricots inside her folded cloak.

As she followed the wounding path up the hill, she recalled the passage about Uldan Island.

“The sorcerer is required to give blood to the World Tree, and in turn, they will receive Alatyr—father to all stones. Such a stone is endowed with healing and magical properties. It must be fitted into the sword’s pommel.”

It wasn’t a lot to go by—where exactly was the World Tree in this place? She hoped she was heading in the right direction. To her, it made sense such an important tree would stand out from all the others, so surely, it would be somewhere near the top. And obvious.

A while later, she reached a break in the trees, and at the peak, the ground levelled. The dirt and grass were dry from exposed sunlight, but in front of her stood a towering tree, its roots weaving in and out of the mud like talons, journeying right to her toes .

From her position, it almost seemed like the tree glowed. A golden hue emanated from the trunk, branches, even the green mass of leaves shrouding it.

She edged closer. In front of the trunk was a stone pillar, similar to what she’d found on the highest peak of the Salken Mountains. Around the base of the tree were stones and fallen twigs.

With no blade or sharp weapon on her person, she knelt and gripped a jagged stone. With her wrist held above the pillar, she sucked in a deep breath and dragged the sharp edge across her skin, drawing blood. She winced, shaking the blood until it dripped onto the surface.

Tearing a piece of cloth from her shirt, she wrapped it around her wound and tied it in place. She waited for her blood to do something—call upon the gods, fizz and pop from magic, any sign to suggest she’d been granted the Alatyr.

A harsh wind whipped across the island, rattling the trees, and in the distance, large waves stirred in the ocean.

Clouds darkened above her, threatening to unload a storm.

A brisk chillness swept past her, sending a shiver shooting down her spine.

Her bare arms prickled with gooseflesh, and she fought the urge to abandon her picked fruit and sling the cloak back around her.

Instead, she gritted her teeth and waited for the mystical stone to appear. Her blood had already soaked into the stone pillar and disappeared—something like that wouldn’t happen to any ordinary pillar, or in front of any ordinary tree. Right?

The ancient roots of the World Tree moved, like claws pulling themselves up through the ground.

She jumped back, avoiding each tendril as they whipped into the air.

Falling, she watched as the roots spun, whipping the air into a tornado around her—she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t grow legs and walk like the Treefolk.

One root gripped her, forcing a high-pitched yelp from her throat as it lifted her high into the air.

She clung onto it for dear life as she hurtled through the sky, the root drawing her nearer to the towering trunk.

The base of the tree raised, revealing a shaft travelling deep into the ground.

Wide-eyed, she braced herself for the plummet.

The root threw her into the tunnel, and the sunlight behind her was swallowed as the tree repositioned itself. Sliding deeper underground, she whizzed past twigs, leaves, and what might’ve been bugs in her hazy vision.