Page 16 of A Hunt Bound in Blood

The skin on the back of my neck prickled with the heat, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the galloping of my heartbeat when first the wheel and then the red maple tree with its full, thick leaves came into view.

I told myself the possibility still existed that their being here was a coincidence. That the mage had lied in his notes, or that someone else had gotten here before me. There was no space for hope in research. Either it was there or it wasn’t. Either way, I learned something important. Yet my pulse fluttered and my palms grew clammy as I approached the tree.

All thought of Cammon, all thought of the king, even of Princess Brynna and the amulet, vanished from my mind. The only thing that existed was this landmark.

With small, hesitant steps, I reached the water wheel. The notes hadn’t been clear on where the signpost was located, so I paid attention to everything—the creak of the rotting wood as the breeze drifted through the wheel’s remains, the sway of the tree, and the pattern of the leaves’ shadows where they danced across the grass. There was no road to guide me, nothing to give away what I might be looking for, but I refused to feel disheartened. I wouldn’t give up until I’d scoured every last inch of this village’s ruins.

I could discount the riverbed, since at the time Mage Tersey had written his notes, the river would have run high, making it unsafe to leave anything near it permanently. Which also ruled out the bank. I surveyed the water wheel to see if there was anywhere someone might have hidden something or left a note and spotted nothing obvious.

The tree was more interesting, but although I did everything short of climb it, I couldn’t find anything there either.

During all my searching, Cammon remained silently at a distance, watching but not participating. It was the first time since I’d met the man that I appreciated his contribution. Not even the steadiness of his crimson stare could put me off or distract me. I would not let him rush me. If I found the signpost here, the next one was only a few hours away. I felt it in my gut that we’d make it there tonight.

I drew out my notebook again and flipped to the page where I’d copied Mage Tersey’s earliest comments.

The trunk of the red maple creates fascinating shadows as the sun moves throughout the day. In the morning, the tree seems to extend into the rapidly rushing river, travelling with the fish. Come afternoon, it stretches its arms towards the village, greeting all those who come up the road. As evening arrives, it switches its attention to the woods, standing vigilant of anyone who might sneak up on the unsuspecting villagers. Opposite this third guardian, I left my first clue, believing it will protect that which matters most to me.

I tucked the notebook back into my bag and turned away from the tree trunk, facing west, per his instructions. Up ahead was the forest through which we’d come.

It would have been so easy to feel discouraged. If the signpost was there, we would have walked past it. But I dismissed the possibility that we hadn’t seen it because it wasn’t there. Clinging to my faith in my research, I raised my chin and strode forwards, moving opposite the direction the tree’s shadow might take if we’d arrived later in the afternoon.

Cammon followed behind me, staying back and saying nothing. Later, I’d thank him with a nip of the brandy I’d packed. For now, I scanned the ground, the grass, the trunks of the trees as I approached… until, finally, I found it.

At this time of day, the difference between bark and wood was next to impossible to notice, but my vampiric vision allowed me to make out the details I might otherwise have missed.

As I got closer, I spotted where the sign—no, the box—jutted from the trunk of an old ash tree. It wasn’t large, maybe a handspan and a half in width and a few fingers in height. Tersey had used his magic to merge his signpost with the tree. I made out a faint hint of a handle with a worn scribble across the front of a narrow drawer. He must have used magic on the writing as well, because even after a hundred years, it was still legible, if faint. The entire setup was brilliantly crafted. Proof of Tersey’s genius.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes at the fact that I was actually looking at the results of everything I’d studied.

I summoned enough of my magic to sense if there were any traps around the box, then tried the drawer. It was locked. My hands trembled in awe and anticipation as I ran my fingers over the script.

“It’s Old Golthic,” I said through the thickness in my throat. “I’ve never seen it anywhere but in texts before. This is amazing. ‘Te ch’uan klotha suéc.’” I frowned and repeated the unfamiliar words. “‘I am the cloth that covers the world’?” Stepping back, I scanned the scene around me: trees dripping with leaves, pine needles scattering the ground, sunlight spilling across the grass. “It could be the leaves, but that would depend on the season, and Tersey wouldn’t have made his riddle time based.”

“Why not?”

I started, having forgotten Cammon was with me. A glance over my shoulder showed him standing a few metres away, his thick arms crossed, his attention on me. The tone of his question made it seem as though he was fighting hard not to sound interested.

Good. I didn’t want him interested. But I also needed to logic out this puzzle, and I’d have an easier time doing it aloud.

“He left these clues for himself, in case he lived long enough that he forgot where he left the amulet, or in case he came into trouble and needed someone to fetch it for him. According to his journal, he designed this path to make it easy for him to follow and reclaim it, but difficult for anyone unworthy of finding it. If he needed it, he wouldn’t have wanted to wait for the correct season or phase of the moon.”

I half expected Cammon to suggest we smash the box open to get what we needed, but he surprised me by asking, “So what clothes the world year round?”

Again I scanned the scene. Air? Too abstract. Water? That didn’t feel right either. Perhaps it was foolish, but I couldn’t help but view water as a jewel more than a cloth.

So what was something that existed all year round in quantities enough to cover the entire world?

My eye fell on the green shoots springing up from between the pine needles, and I grinned. “Grass!”

I knelt down and brushed the needles away to reveal the soft green carpet beneath. At first I searched for another clue along the ground before realizing that was silly. The signpost was in the tree. The drawer was locked, and the clue to the next signpost had to be inside. Which meant what I needed was a key. On a whim, drawing from what I’d learned of Mage Tersey through my years of reading—specifically his love of using random materials as tools for his spells—I pulled out a few blades of grass, stood up, and slid one into the tiny keyhole beneath the handle.

The hum of magic tickled my fingertips, the old script lit up with a short-lived glow, and the drawer popped open.

With a laugh and a hop of joy, I reached for the box and teased the drawer open wider, being gentle with the dry, aged wood. Inside lay a thin piece of bark covered in the same style of scrawl that was etched into the exterior of the box. The writing was tiny enough that I needed to squint and tilt the scrap into the light to make it out, but eventually I recognized a handful of words.

“‘…rivers meet and the lilacs grow, deep in the earth, my secrets sow.’”

“Oh, good,” Cammon intoned. “We’re dealing in poetry, are we? This should be fun.”