And you, Syr Wizard—are you equal to what you will find within?”
“We shall know soon!” he replied, his cheer a thin veneer over grim purpose.
I walked beside Mother, Sondra and Con falling in behind us. Ambrose brought up the rear, muttering something to himself—or engaging in a one-sided conversation.
“What was that all about?” Sondra hissed to Con, quite audibly.
“You’re asking me?” Con muttered back. “Ask them.”
Sondra snorted at the likelihood of that, and I suppressed a smile, imagining their expressions.
“Tertulyn,” I said to Mother, “is she…?” I stumbled over how to finish that question.
Mother waited, raising a brow at me as we stepped into the cooler interior of the cave mouth. Finally she took pity on my inability to put words to my fears. “She is here. She is not herself. What is to be done? That is not mine to say. You will know.” The ground trembled beneath us, the sound of rocks grating against one another from deep below, roaring in a groan more felt than heard. Mother’s serenity cracked, too, revealing her anxiety and concern. “After You appeal to Calanthe and settle Her again.”
“And will you be able to guide Me in that?” I asked hopefully.
She cast me a startled look, then laughed. “Me? No, Your Highness. I am but a humble priestess. This falls to You. This is Your sacred duty—and knowledge—not mine.”
I’d been afraid of that. In silence, we all proceeded deeper into the temple. It was a cave, yes, formed of an opening in the bedrock of Calanthe, but also a window into the wellspring of all life on my island. Occasional breaks in the rough ceiling allowed light to stream in, and lush emerald moss lined every surface, muffling our footsteps into silence, like the thickest of carpets. Water dripped and trickled, echoing in the quiet, the melodies overlapping like singers chanting in rounds.
Tunnels branched off to the sides, leading to prayer rooms and living quarters. Tertulyn would be in one, along with other people who sought the temple’s healing solitude to cure them of ills physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. I felt somewhat better, surrounded by the harmonies of my early childhood. A taste of the coming home I’d longed for.
We reached the sacred spring, where a waterfall splashed from solid rock above, filling a still pool below. A vent in the ceiling admitted sunlight, which wound and danced in the falling water, but the pool lay in deep shadow, glossy and black as obsidian.
“The waters of truth,” Mother informed the others. “You may taste of it after we do, if you dare, then remain here to meditate on what Calanthe chooses to reveal. Euthalia and I will go on alone from here.”
“I promised Lia I’d stay with her,” Con protested, hand on his bagiroca, as if he’d attempt to bash her over the head with it. He might try—and then he’d discover that my abilities to reverse his intention paled in comparison with Mother’s. Between the warning in my eyes and Mother’s serene smile, Con reconsidered. But he still looked to me, the question in every line of him.
“Where I’m going, you cannot come along,” I told him as gently as I could.
“I hope that’s not a metaphor for our lives,” he answered, bitterness in his voice and yearning in his face.
I didn’t have a good answer for him, as it was probably the perfect metaphor, except in the reverse. I was the one who ultimately could not go where he went. “Wait for me?”
“Forever.” He wanted to kiss me, I could see that much, but I moved away and he didn’t follow, except with his eyes.
I turned to Mother. “I’m ready, but Ambrose should also accompany us.”
“Why does Ambrose get to go?” Con snarled, fingers twitching.
“Because I need him to extract Merle before I can step into the place he’s occupying,” I explained. When Con frowned, I tried again. “Imagine a person holding a huge rock on their shoulders. If you want to take the rock onto your own shoulders, the other person must step out from under it and let you take their place.”
Ambrose nodded, as if he’d seen this coming. Likely he had. Con still frowned.
“What are the odds of you being crushed by this huge rock?” he wanted to know.
I sighed. “Con, it’s a metaphor.”
“The metaphorical rock then.”
“I don’t know, all right? I haven’t done this before. But I have to, so can you just let Me go?”
In two strides he was on me, lifting me easily