“How far away?”
“The opening is beneath the great tree—the Tree of Life.” Caerwen’s voice lowered. “We’ll have to jump across the Well of Urd. Fate. If you believe with a pure heart, the magic will grant permission to enter the wrinkle. If not, you fail and fall.”
It took ten more minutes before we reached the shadows cast by the tree. The trunk was thick, woody, and brooded like a gnarled dragon—an image in my head after Caerwen described the old legends. How the tree was taller than the clouds in the sky, with roots that sank into the underworld. A dragon guarded the base, along with snakes, but nothing like that lurked around the tree. Only the flickering sunlight through the leaves, falling in a disorienting pattern. Like Caerwen, when she lost substance because she didn’t want to connect with the earth—where the memories were.
At the base of the tree, a few feet from the largest roots bulging through the ground, the required well gaped with a fish’s mouth, waiting to be fed. Nothing like a wishing well, with a cute bucket and safe stone walls. No, this mouth was stone-edged and ground level. A gaping crevice, like the vent beneath the Gemini seers on their golden thrones.
For an endless moment, I stared at the mossy stones. The maw was about three feet in width. Three weathered boards crossed the opening; they were incapable of holding any weight more significant than birds or the small, scurrying animals.
Beside the well, leaning against the tree trunk, was an iron spear. But what drew my attention was the whitened skeleton, probably male, since a suit of tarnished Spanish armor lay collapsed in the grass.
Caerwen noticed, and said, “The Conquistadors followed the rumors. The talk of a Well that bestowed long life. This was not the Well they wanted.”
“What happened to him?”
“If you drink from the Well of Urd without permission… some things are not meant to be known.”
And if I wanted to enter Aine’s wrinkle. If I ran toward that well and jumped, failed, I would fall into the Well of Fate. Break the boards. Gasp and swallow the water. Even if I crawled out…
I fingered the bow slung over my shoulder. Drew comfort from the weight of the quiver filled with Fee’s special silver-tipped arrows. Neither nymph carried a weapon.
“Aine couldn’t make this easy.”
“It’s a prison, No-ee.”
And the Well of Fate was the perfect guardian. I sighed, shifting my weight as I glanced around. The meadow was peaceful in the glistening sunlight. The branches of the ash tree whispered. Small lights glittered and bobbed between the leaves. I hoped they were faeries, the things everyone knew about but never saw.
It might be nice to see faeries before I died.
“I’ll go first,” Caerwen said, squaring her shoulders. “I’ll catch you when you come through.”
She took a running start, leapt into the air and… vanished. Pure heart, I reminded myself. Rubbed at the black rune, Grayson’s sigil, longing for the little twitch I didn’t feel. Not here, in one of Fee’s hidden valleys. So far away.
I followed Caerwen’s path, running and refusing to think beyond leaping in the air. Feeling the whoosh of dark, moist air from the chasm beneath my feet, the Well of Urd deciding my fate, perhaps.
Then I was through the brush of magic, teetering on an edge before Caerwen gripped my arm and tugged. As I stumbled forward, a weight crashed against my back.
“Oof!” Effa barreled through the magic and tumbled to the ground on top of me. We were a knot of arms and legs until I struggled free.
She bounced upright, got to her feet. But during her entrance and our collision, I’d dropped the Bone Woman effigy. It was now a shattered toy.
“Oh, No-ee…” Effa whispered. “So many pieces…”
“We’ll put it back together,” I reassured her, and bent to do just that when, insanely, the pieces moved on their own. The splinters of wood reassembled back into the woman’s shape. I held my palms up as the bundle of tiny twigs wiggled like worms, captured by the red thread rewinding itself back into place.
Caerwen dragged Effa to the side, and when she was sure she’d dragged her far enough away, she whispered, “Fate believes in you, lady.”
I kept my attention on the animated effigy. “What are the odds it’s seidr magic and not fate?”
“That too,” the grotto nymph whispered. “It recognizes the runes carved into the wood. Reacts the way the Bone Woman would, putting the bones back together.”
I shook off the shiver racing between my shoulder blades and picked up the effigy, slid it into a pocket where it bulged. We were still in a meadow, but on the back side of the ash tree, a looming sentinel, blocking out the bright sun. The sky was a crystal blue, with puffy white clouds scuttling along, pushed by the air currents. An eagle floated with wings outstretched, his white head vivid against the dark brown body. A black crow circled above before arrowing down, talons aimed at the eagle’s head. The two birds twisted, floating in the air while engaging in a mortal combat.
The crow dove, zigged, and dove again, grasping the base of the eagle’s neck while the larger bird of prey soared higher and higher, mighty wings pounding the air. Eagles could breathe at the higher altitudes when the crow could not—I’d learned that fact during my internship with the wildlife photographer. But instead of my mentor’s wisdom, what ran through my head were the many stories from divergent cultures, all centering on the folly in flying toward the sun… reaching for more than you deserved.
When the crow fell from the eagle and plummeted toward the ground, I saw it as Fate, revealing a future.
Which I intended to change.
