Moon Shimmers(58)

I tried to calm my breathing. Bran grated on me. He was too damned handsome for his own good, and too dangerous to ever consider courting even in friendship.

“Then understand this: I don’t trust you and I probably never will. But I work with you because destiny seems to have thrown our lots together and I’m not willing to fly in the face of the Hags of Fate, or of Aeval and Titania. And they both want you along on this journey. I am grateful, however, that you are guiding us through the Deep. So let’s find a civil middle ground and stay there, shall we?”

“As you will,” he said, then turned back to his horse. “Everyone, finish your meals, attend to any needs you may have, and let’s be off again. We ride until sundown, which should put us close to the bridge. If I have my bearings right, we should reach the area where the cavern is by noon tomorrow.”

And with that, Delilah and I cleaned up and found a private place in the woods to use as a restroom. After we washed our hands and faces in the pond, we returned to our mounts and Bran led us back to the trail, and we set off again, into the depths of Thistlewyd Deep.





SUNSET CAME LATE and my lower back and butt were aching as I swung off the horse. I brushed her down and led her to a patch of grass where the other horses were eating. It felt like I was walking with bowed legs for the first few minutes until I did some toe-touch stretches and shook myself out. I unhooked my staff from the saddle and propped it near the area where Trillian spread out both his bedroll and mine.

Bran kindled a fire, making certain to ring it with stones so it wouldn’t flare out of control.

We were near a stream, and the trees were so thick in this area of the Deep that they blocked out most of the remaining light. A chill began to fill the air, a sour tang of moisture that never left the forest, retained within the mulched carpet of detritus that covered the forest floor. Delilah motioned to me and I joined her as she began to set out more sandwiches and cookies.

“There’s enough protein bars left for breakfast, but we’ll have to find food after that.” She portioned out the sandwiches—two per person. “I wish we had something hot to go with this. Even though it’s June, it’s going to be chilly tonight.”

Bran leaned on a tall branch he had found near one of the trees. “We can make a fish broth, if someone catches a couple fish. The stream is jumping with samracks. In fact, I’m willing to give it a try if you gather a basket of handover roots, which are near the edge of the water. Do you know what they are?”

I nodded. “Lethe used to have me gather them when I was little. I know what they look like. Delilah, grab a flashlight and let’s go see what we can find.”

Handover roots were common and easy to spot—hence their name. Travelers gathered them hand over fist on journeys since they were easy to identify and didn’t seem to have any counterparts that were poisonous and easy to mix them up with.

Delilah fished through her backpack until she found a flashlight, while I retrieved a light muslin sack. We always took several of them on trips because there always seemed to be something we needed to gather. As we crossed through the glade, over to the stream’s edge, we saw that Bran was already on the rocks that provided a path across the stream, kneeling and intently watching the water. He was carrying a long, wicked-looking dagger. Before we could say a word, he lunged, still managed to keep his balance, and brought the dagger up with a fat, wriggling fish on it. He dropped the fish into a bag that was on the rocks next to him.

“He’s got balance, I’ll say that for him.” I led Delilah away from the area where he was fishing, not wanting to scare the fish. “I couldn’t do that.”

“I might be able to, but it wouldn’t be easy. Menolly could manage it, though.” Delilah glanced around. “I remember eating handover roots, but I don’t recall what they look like.”

“Here, let me show you.” I hunted around for a moment, bidding her to point the flashlight this way and that. After a few minutes, I spotted a large spike of green with yellow flowers at the top.

“There. During the summer, they have spiky yellow blossoms. Here, let me dig one up.”

I knelt, unsheathing my dagger from my belt. I brushed away several inches of mulch—fallen needles and decaying leaves—from the base of the plant, then dug around the handover root, about two inches from the stalk all the way around. I grasped the stalk and gently rocked it, easing it out of the ground. There was a tearing sound as the root tendrils gave way and the root came out, long and fibrous, about three inches in diameter. It was about the size of a large potato.