All too soon, she came upon the end of the marked path. She decided to continue walking to the southwest, following threads of gold in the air and in the grass. They brought her to a copse of birch trees. Sidra paused, confused when the golden essence flared violet on one of the trunks. She could sense the maiden in the birch tree; Sidra faintly heard her voice as she lamented. The spirit had been wounded.
Sidra reached out her fingers to trace the bark.
“Don’t touch her,” a voice thundered in the ground. The words raced up Sidra’s legs, and she snatched her hand away before she could comfort the birch maiden.
She took a step away, but she could feel the sorrow in this place. The trees were in anguish, and she didn’t know why.
Sidra pressed onward.
“Can you take me to my daughter?” she asked, but her voice fell unanswered, even as she sensed the spirits’ wary attention. “Can you show me where she is?”
Her thirst suddenly became intense. She could hardly think of anything else, and she closed her eyes, seeking the closest water spirit. She sensed the cold, quiet presence of a loch, just over the next hill. Sidra hurried to find it—a narrow but deep body of water, nearly hidden in a secluded valley.
She hadn’t been here before, and she heard her grandmother’s voice, echoing in her memory.
Never drink from strange lochs.
But Sidra was so thirsty. Her mouth and her soul were both parched, and she knelt at the bank and filled her hands with clear, icy water. She took her first sip—it was sweet, as if spun with honey. She took another draw before she paused, noticing the swirl of gold within the water. Like threads of flaxen hair. Disquieted, she lowered her hands. Her eyes drifted to the deeper side of the pool, where something was bubbling.
It was Maisie.
Maisie was in the water, held just beneath the surface.
Sidra cried out and lunged into the loch. She tore Graeme’s cloak away from her collar and dived, pulling her body through the water in frantic strokes.
She was almost to Maisie, but then Sidra saw that her daughter was farther below the surface than she had realized. Sidra cursed, returning to the surface to gasp fresh air. She plunged again, following those golden tendrils down, deep into the dark waters of the pond.
But every time Sidra stretched out her hand to grasp Maisie, she discovered the lass was just beyond her reach.
Maisie drifted farther and farther below, as if she were tethered to something in the heart of the loch. Sidra continued to chase her. Her open eyes burned as she reached for her daughter again and again, to no avail.
She could feel her lungs begin to smolder. She was almost out of air.
Sidra glanced upward; the surface was far away. She hesitated, her black hair tangling like silk across her face.
From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. She wasn’t alone in the water, and Sidra glanced sideways to see the water spirit approach. A woman with translucent skin, dark blue fins, and oversized, cat slit eyes. Sharp, pointed teeth and long, blond hair, its tendrils illumined in the dark water.
Sidra’s fear and indignation morphed into a blazing fire.
This is a trick. She’s fooling me.
She closed her eyes and began to kick to the surface. Sidra could feel the threads of the spirit pull against her, inviting her to stay. To sink into a place where the world shed its old skin. To be reborn in the weight of the loch.
Sidra desperately swam upwards, where she could feel the waters grow warm again. Her legs and hands felt heavy, but she opened her eyes and followed a bold wisp of gold now, as if another spirit was urging her to rise. Bubbles slipped from her lips as she struggled to keep her mouth shut. To resist taking a breath of water.
I’m not going to make it …
She thought of Torin. His face appeared to her, stark and broken at a graveside, as if she had shattered the last of him.
Sidra found the surface with a gasp.
She trembled as she swam to the bank. She crawled upon the mossy rocks, spluttering and coughing. She lay down for a moment, until her heart was steady again. A spirit had tricked her, played her for a fool. Sidra covered her face and sobbed. She had been holding the tears in for hours, and she let them flow.
When her tears had dried, she noticed the time of day.
She had dived into the loch when the sun was at its zenith in the sky. It had now set behind the hills, leaving only a vestige of light on the horizon. The stars were winking overhead, and Sidra pushed herself to stand on shaky legs.
How much time had she lost? How many days had passed?
The panic coursed through her as she began to hurry home. She noticed that the effect of the Orenna flower had faded, zapping her energy. She could no longer see the spirit realm, and her head began to viciously ache.
The earth spirits must have felt compassion for her, although Sidra was reluctant to trust them. But five hills became one. The kilometers compressed, and the rocks receded, granting her a swift path to the croft.
She decided she should go directly to Graeme’s. She knew her father-in-law would be worried over her lengthy absence, but then she noticed the firelight illuminating her house from within.
Sidra paused, wondering who was home. Following the light, she entered through the back door.
Torin sat at the table, waiting for Sidra to come home.
He had been waiting for a full hour now. Weary and heartsick from a long day of searching, he had gone to Graeme’s at dusk, his arms aching to hold Sidra.
She wasn’t there.
His father rambled anxiously, claiming she had gone home to fetch her herbs at noontide and had never returned. Adaira had even called that afternoon to visit with her, but Sidra had been absent and Graeme could only surmise that she had been summoned to help a patient.
Torin had swallowed his panic and rushed down the hill, only to find a cold, dark cottage full of untouched food.
He didn’t know where she had gone, but he imagined she was searching for Maisie. He had seen the determination in her eyes when they had parted ways earlier, how his sharp orders had upset her. Torin was so exhausted now that he decided he should simply wait on her to return. Surely, the night would drive her back home. And he was so tired of searching.
He lit a candle.
He stared at her herbs, scattered on the table, an utter mystery to him.
He stared at Maisie’s toys, tucked away in a basket by the hearth. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of them.
The kittens were crying at the back door. Torin ground his teeth and poured a dish of milk, setting it on the stoop for the cats.
He paced the chamber but eventually sat again. He hadn’t slept in two days. He could hardly see straight, and he knew he had run himself ragged that afternoon.
My daughter is missing.
It still didn’t feel true. This happened to others, not to him.
You thought the same when Donella died, didn’t you?
Torin felt numb, and he wondered when it would truly hit him. He wondered what more he could do. He had searched house after house, croft after croft, all the castle chambers. He had glanced over more backs than he’d have liked to, searching for a wounded man, and yet he had failed to find the answer he sought.
He thought of Jack. The secret Adaira had shared with him earlier.
The bard was Torin’s last hope.
He was thinking of how long it had been since he had heard music when the back door creaked open. Torin stiffened, his eyes flickering to the threshold.