Whin looked at her hill spirit, who stood beside her, watching Torin with inscrutable eyes. “Ah, but that is why we have invited you here, Torin Tamerlaine,” Whin said. “Because we need your help.”
“Mine? What can I do?”
“You are the one who can solve the riddle of the blight,” she explained. “We are powerless against it, but you . . . you are capable of healing us.”
Torin gaped. He felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach knot. “Forgive me, Lady, but I have no knowledge, no insight. I have no idea how to help you.”
“You will have to pay close attention then,” the hill spirit said. “The king left a riddle, and should you solve it, the blight will end.”
Spirits below, Torin thought, I must be having a nightmare.
He brushed his hand over his beard, shifted his weight from foot to foot. He didn’t have the time, the energy to do this. But then an idea sparked, and he said, “Let me return to the mortal world. I will bring you a bard who can solve this riddle for you.”
Whispers spun among the spirits. His mention of Jack had visibly stirred their emotions; some sounded hopeful, others doubtful.
Whin’s pleasant face hardened. “Your bard must not come here.”
“But he is very shrewd, very capable with riddles,” Torin said, even though he knew Jack was in the west by now.
“No, mortal laird. We almost welcomed him into our domain when he sang to ensnare us,” Whin said, but then she paused, unable to further explain. A tremor moved through her as she remembered.
“We should have claimed him then,” said one of the ancient, burl-nosed men.
The hill spirit gave him a sharp glance. “But the bard would not have entered our hold willingly. He must come on his own volition. We would have paid a steep price if we had claimed him without his agreement.”
“And we cannot claim him now. Ash,” Whin said, with a curled lip as she uttered his name, “has seen to that.”
“If Ash could move faster,” someone muttered, “then it would end.”
“Ash has been all but extinguished. How can we trust him?”
“We must not trust fire,” one of the vine women said. “Never, never trust fire!”
“I don’t understand,” Torin said, beseeching Whin. “Why not invite the bard? Why not bring one more capable than me to help?”
The spirits merely stared at him.
“Please,” Torin murmured, holding his palms up. “Please, my people are not well. They need me. I cannot be away from them any longer. You will need to choose someone else to help you in this realm, and I will do my best from mine.”
More silence. And long, piercing stares.
Torin flushed. He felt oddly vulnerable for a reason he couldn’t understand. One of the alder maidens said, “Tell him, Lady Whin. He will strive to help us if he knows. Tell him about his—”
“Quiet,” Whin ordered, and the maiden wilted.
Torin studied the alder girl, seeing that her eyes were like dew. He looked back at Whin and said, “What does she speak of?”
Whin could no longer hold his gaze. She glanced away, and Torin felt stung with dread.
“Tell me what?”
“It is not our place to say. You can find the riddle in the orchard,” she said. “The sooner you can solve it, the sooner we are healed and the sooner you can return to your realm. But not before then, mortal laird.”
Astounded, he watched as the spirits began to depart. They were leaving him here, standing on the sacred hill.
Torin spun and dared to take the arm of the hill spirit. “Please,” he begged. “I need to return home. You said that I could see Sidra after the assembly.”
The hill spirit sighed. He suddenly appeared old and weary, as if he were withering. “Yes. Go and see her, mortal laird.”
Torin waited, but nothing happened. The hill spirit unhinged himself and began to leave with Whin, flowers drifting in their wake.
Very well then. Torin would find his own portal home.
He knew where he was now, and he strode over the fells, trampling hissing clumps of ferlies and kicking frowning stones out of his path. Soon the road rose to meet him, and Torin ran along its winding path, the light and darkness still suspended in equal measure. It was not day or night, but he had a terrible sensation that time had been flowing quickly in the mortal realm.
He saw his and Sidra’s croft in the distance, and his heart lifted. He didn’t know what he would say to her, but an apology was waiting, ripe in his mouth as he reached to open the kail yard gate. His hand passed through it.