He exhaled and said, “I’ve been summoned to help heal the isle.”
The river spirit cocked her head. “Heal us?” she asked, with a glance northward, revealing that she knew what he meant. “Does he know you’re here?”
“No.”
Silence ticked between them. In a few more breaths, Torin would discover if he was going to die here, by Bane’s own hands or by the slippery words of this river hag.
“I know who you are,” she hissed with a smile.
Torin studied her, uncertain how to respond. “Who am I then?”
“Once the Captain of the East Guard, now the Laird of the East.”
Torin shuddered; he knew this must be the damned river that flowed west to east, because this spirit seemed to know far too much.
“Not so long ago,” she continued, “you walked over my hair with a bloodied palm when you took your vows to guard the east. Since then, I have endured your watchmen trampling through me as if I am nothing when they guard the woods.”
“I’m sorry,” Torin said, sincerely. “My eyes were not open to you then. Nor are my watchmen’s now.”
She hissed, and he couldn’t tell if he had just offended her further or if she was accepting his apology.
But then he realized this spirit had been in the east. He said, “You have the ability to come and go over the clan line. You behold those in the west, as well as those in the east. Other spirits are not as powerful as you.”
Her smile widened. Her teeth seemed to multiply. “Yes, yes. I am unlike the others because the king has granted me such power.”
Torin’s stomach dropped. She must be some pet of Bane’s, and he had a terrible inkling she was about to summon the king. “You have been granted such ability, and yet you are still hungry, aren’t you? Like the others in the west, even when you flow in the east. You long to feel complete again, to no longer have to hold the curse in your rapids.”
The river spirit’s mirth faded at once. Her milky eyes darkened, and Torin saw that his words had struck true.
“You’re hungry,” he continued, reaching for a rock on the bank. A rock with a jagged edge. “But I know your secret. I know what you need, and if I feed you, you will let me pass through your rapids without detection or harm. Because I have come to restore the isle, and in the end you want to be healed and no longer broken in two, divided against your own self. That can happen only if you let me pass.”
She was quiet, considering. Her gills fluttered in her neck, and the current at her knees slowed.
Torin dared to strike his palm with the rock, the very hand that held his old enchanted scar. He felt a flicker of pain, and then his blood surged, bright as rubies in the dim, gray light. He took a step closer to the river, until his heart was pounding and his boots were submerged. The water was cold, and its grip felt like hundreds of tiny hands, tugging on him.
He stifled a shudder and held out his bleeding hand to the spirit.
A sad expression crossed her face, pulling her brow taut. But then she stepped forward to meet him and drank the blood he offered. It was a strange sensation, feeling his blood drawn away by an immortal’s mouth. He had a moment of panic—would she drain him down to the dregs?—but when he at last eased his hand away, she let him go.
Satiated and full, the river spirit sighed.
No longer seeming so old and haggard, and without another word, she melted into the water. Torin merely gaped, gathering his thoughts and letting his pulse calm. But then she surprised him even more: as if she had gathered her hair up, she halted the flow of the river, permitting him to pass through on dry ground.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and he stepped over the river rocks in her bed, the soft sand in between, to the other bank. When he stood on the moss again, he glanced behind to watch the river continue its current.
From there, his journey to find Adaira wasn’t so terrible.
Perhaps the other spirits were more welcoming because they had heard his exchange with the river. Or perhaps Torin’s own confidence had grown, and he was beginning to think he might solve the riddle faster than he once believed.
He located a road and was walking upon it when he heard the distant thunder of horses. He stood still, waiting for them to crest the hill. When they did, his breath caught.
Two horses were cantering side by side. One of the riders Torin couldn’t discern from the distance. But the other? He would know her anywhere.
“Adaira,” he said, breaking into a run.
His strides were long and powerful again, eating up the earth beneath him. He caught up to Adaira and the other rider, whom Torin swiftly realized was Jack. He followed them off the road and into a stretch of dangerous fells.