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H er magic surged, and she moved faster, wanting to be in the midst of the trees. Murmured questions from the group carried on a gust of wind, but she ignored them. She had to get into the wood and see what her earth magic had in store.

The snow-weighted branches creaked and sifted snow onto her head as she crossed the slick ground.

Flakes gathered against her boots and in her hair as she passed a half-circle of stones that reminded her of the Blackwater spring in Illumahrah.

In shadows that clung to her like wet cloth, she shook out her cloak’s hood and tugged it on.

A trickle of freezing water snaked down the back of her neck.

Movement in the trees stopped her. Something shifted the branches behind her. She risked a glance over her shoulder to find Arc at the line of trees. She turned back around, and one of the tallest of the slim evergreens stepped forward.

Her heart shivered like the cold had broken through her very body.

The tree’s broken top—devoid of green needles—seemed to scratch the snow cloud that billowed above the small forest. Two knots blinked like eyes, and a hollow worked like a mouth.

Though she’d controlled much of the earth, she’d never seen anything like this.

The tree had a few needled boughs, two of which seemed to serve as arms.

“Earth Queen.” The creature’s voice held the sounds of bending branches and wind-tossed leaves.

When she’d met the Spirit of the River, Arc had advised her to kneel. She did so now, in front of this, what had to be another spirit.

“I’m sorry if we disturbed you,” she said, lifting her voice to carry to its faraway head, “but I believe my magic led me to you.” The wind whistled in her ears, and she fisted her freezing hands.

“I am the Mountain Spirit, and I have a gift for you.” The spirit bent low, then reached out a hand of twigs and pine needles. The woody hand uncurled to show a sprig of pine, a piece of its own body. A clutch of fresh needles sprouted from the very end.

Vahly accepted it with gentle fingers, the same fingers she’d used to steal from Lapis who taunted her as a child, to roll bones and dice for hours at the ciderhouse, to touch the Blackwater at the Source’s spring, to raise the earth to protect her friends.

“Thank you. The Spirit of the River also gave me a gift.” She felt for the river stone that Arc and Nix both had cared for now and again throughout their quest. The rock’s smooth surface was warm inside the deep pocket of her trousers. She showed it to the Mountain Spirit.

“Ah,” the tree said. “Very good.”

“What am I to do with these gifts?”

The Mountain Spirit blinked and glanced beyond Vahly, perhaps at Arc. “I know not. But you will discover your fate.”

Vahly swallowed. “Can you tell if that fate will be good or bad?”

“No one can. Except perhaps the Watcher.”

“Who is the Watcher?”

“Under the sea, she bides and works.” The spirit turned to depart, his back looking like nothing more than a dying pine, but his presence heavy in a way that echoed the feel of Arc’s ancient power.

Standing, Vahly tucked the pine twig into her pocket beside the river rock. “Thank you.”

She expected the spirit to turn back toward her and say something, but the tree had gone wholly still, and her magic no longer pulled in the spirit’s direction.

Stepping over a fallen branch, she walked to the front of the tree.

Its knot eyes had faded into the grain of the trunk, and the hollow that had served as its mouth was dark and empty.

Wind pushed at her back, and her magic hummed inside her, insistent. She had to leave now for the Sacred Oak.

Wasting no time, she ran to Arc and showed him what the spirit had given her.

Arc touched the twig with just one finger, careful not to disturb the needles, like they were younglings sleeping. “Amazing. You are the first to call up the Mountain Spirit since the time before written history.” His smile warmed her. “This is a very good sign, Vahly.”

She pocketed the pine sprig and strode toward Kyril, Nix, Aitor, and Amona.

“From your lips to the Source’s waters, elf,” she said quietly, just for him, receiving a good-natured chuckle from him.

“It’s time, everyone,” she said to the group.

“I have two gifts from spirits now, and my magic is telling me we need to leave now for Illumahrah, and may the Blackwater bless our journey.”

As Vahly filled them in on what had happened in the wood, the group rose into the wintry sky, heading for the blue expanse that mirrored the flooded land.

Vahly kept her focus on the sea and every uneven swell that might mean an attack.

Arc pressed a hand to Kyril’s side, near Vahly’s leg, urging the gryphon to fly quickly.

“Soon,” Vahly whispered to her unseen enemy. “Soon, I will have the power to crush you, Astraea. Don’t think I’ll be merciful.”