Each one they had found contained a carved boulder—a boulder with a face engraved into it. The boulders contained the magic of the Fountain—asleep and waiting to be awakened. Whenever she reached out and touched one, she could see blazing in her mind the location of the next stone on the next island. There was also script carved into the rocks, an ancient language, which she had used her magic to decipher. The markings had been left by a Wizr from Chandigarl centuries before, and they documented his search for the Deep Fathoms.
With each visit, Sinia had felt something beckoning her onward.
She sighed, mopping sweat from her brow with a nearby towel. The journey had been both thrilling and dangerous. Storms had threatened them and damaged the ship, and they had encountered a treasure ship not long after leaving Ploemeur. The Wizr on that ship had sought to hunt them down, but Sinia had conjured a mist to hide their escape. Still, all their adventures could not banish her sense that something terrible was happening back at Kingfountain. She’d had a vision of a runaway wagon barreling down the switchbacks from the castle atop the hill in Ploemeur, but the vision was frustratingly short on details. They so often were.
Sinia leaned back in her chair, staring at the map but not seeing it. The urge to turn the ship around was nearly overpowering. There was a war in her heart. She was determined to exercise faith in the Fountain and where it was leading her, but her instincts as a mother were powerful and omnipresent. She would do anything to safeguard her children and protect her people. She had trained Trynne in what to do, how to reset the wards and preserve Brythonica. She thought back again on the vision she had seen of Trynne’s marriage. She had never met the man before. Judging by his clothes, he appeared to be from the East. King Andrew had been there. So had Genevieve and Lady Kathryn. She herself had not been there, so she had taken the vision as a blessing from the Fountain. It allowed her to be there even though she could not be.
Go back, the thoughts tormented her. Abandon this silly quest. You are no longer of the Deep Fathoms. You are mortal now. You do not belong among them.
She forced the thoughts away. Leaning forward again, she retraced the series of islands they had encountered amidst the vast ocean. Each carved boulder was a link to a ley line, and each was close to a small natural fountain. They’d used the fountains to replenish their supply of water aboard the boat. Fruits from the native lands had been harvested to restock their supplies.
They were getting closer.
Sinia heard the footsteps coming toward her chamber before the knock sounded. It was a firm, commanding sound. She recognized it as Captain Pyne’s knock.
“Come in.” She watched as the captain opened the door.
“My lady,” he said, his eyes wide with wonder. “I know not how to describe it. I didn’t believe the sailor in the crow’s nest until I saw it for myself, so I climbed up the rigging just to be sure.” He had a scraggly beard from their months at sea. The dome of his head was covered in stubble as well as a healing gash from an injury he’d suffered during a storm.
“To be sure of what, Captain?” she asked in confusion.
“My lady, we’re approaching the island you directed us to. It’s a beauty, I tell you. Green as the spring and full of vegetation. There’s a hump of mountain on the southeastern side, showing a cliff and such. It’s an odd-shaped crook of land, to be sure. But my man in the crow’s nest saw something. There’s an undersea waterfall.”
Sinia knit her brows in confusion. “I don’t understand, Captain.”
“That’s the only way to describe it, my lady. There’s some sort of underwater breach. You can see it from high above. The current is pulling us toward it. Do we go around the other side? I’d like you to come and look at it, my lady.”
“Of course,” Sinia said, pushing away from the table and hurrying after him down the cramped corridor. The crew members, still dressed in their Raven tunics, were hard at work, but many of them were pointing at the island with enthusiasm. It had been two weeks since their last stop. She could smell the difference in the air. Being aboard a vessel for so long had awakened new senses she’d not realized she had.
“Up the rigging this way, my lady,” Captain Pyne said. He let her go first and followed behind. She had climbed up the rigging more than once and loved the feeling of being up in the crow’s nest at the apex of the mast. Gripping the ropes one by one as she climbed, she felt exhilarated as the wind streamed through her hair. When she reached the top, the sailor in the nest gripped her wrist and helped her climb up.