by Jeff Wheeler
“Have you tried?” Cettie asked, handing him back the sample.
He nodded vigorously. “I wanted to experience it. Pushing the carts and steering the barrows all day has made me more grateful I’m training to be a doctor. Some of the old men in the camp are so withered and broken they can never work again. But Fitzroy won’t dismiss any of them. He’s a good man.”
“He is indeed,” Cettie agreed.
“This way, please,” he directed. The pathway ahead plunged into a lush green landscape with towering trees and plants of all sorts growing out of the rocky walls of the gorge. The river was placid as Cettie gazed up at the overhanging trees. She could barely see the tempest hovering above where they had landed. They continued on the path, which cut through the gorge, and Adam kept an easy pace for them. Anna bit her lip and kept glancing at him, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.
It would have been impossible, even for a zephyr, to descend into this part of the gorge. The stone banks on either side were irregular, and many areas were so thick with leaves and vegetation that the sun was impossible to see.
“That’s my favorite tree,” Adam said, pointing to a thin-barked tree that Cettie couldn’t name. It had thick boughs that stretched out over the river, perfect for climbing. “See how that branch comes back and joins the trunk again? It looks like an elbow, doesn’t it?”
Cettie held up her hand to shield her eyes and saw what he meant.
“What’s it like, training to be a doctor?” Cettie asked farther down the trail.
“Mines are dangerous places to work. We see a lot of injuries.”
“It must be very dark in the mines.”
He turned back and shook his head. “There are strings of lamps down there, but it’s peculiar the way everything echoes.”
The first river crossing was a small bridge made of two slim tree trunks connected by nailed-down boards. There were no rails to hold on to, but Adam did not even pause before starting across it. The makeshift bridge bounced with his every step.
“It’s fun,” Anna said, seeing Cettie’s worried expression. “You won’t fall in.”
Even if she did fall in, it would only get her wet. The bridge wasn’t high above the water, and the clear flow passed just underneath it. Cettie stifled her doubts and proceeded across the planks. The bridge did sway a little, but she crossed it easily enough, and Anna followed.
Adam waited at the other end to help each of them down the final step.
“The trail gets narrow up ahead,” he warned. “Just stay near the rocks, and you’ll do well. How old were you when you first did the river walk?” he asked Anna.
She lowered her eyes, her cheeks flaming. “Six . . . I think.”
“Why did Fitzroy ask about the grotto?” Cettie inquired.
He shrugged. “Some think it’s haunted. No one is allowed to go there at night.”
“Do you think it is?” Cettie asked, feeling a twinge of worry.
He shook his head. “The people here are superstitious,” he said, hands on hips, gazing up at the dense foliage around them. “It’s hard to imagine that Fog Willows was born from these rocks.” He slapped the nearest boulder with his hand, as if he were stroking a horse. “Come along, then,” he said cheerily, and continued on the way.
They crossed two more bridges, and each time, Cettie gazed down at the water beneath her. There were no fish that she could see, no muck or murk. There was no stagnation, only a fresh, endless supply of crystalline water. The walls of the gorge were rugged and uneven, and it looked as if huge segments had been twisted and broken loose, creating the jagged edges. It was difficult to comprehend that her new home had been lifted from this very place. Never had she realized there could be so many shades of gray, but they only made the stone more beautiful. In several places, tree roots had expanded in cracks and seams. Life clutched at the rock, gripping it with tenacity.
Farther on, they encountered a massive series of boulders blocking the way forward, but Cettie spied a makeshift ladder leaning up against the barrier, and a path had been constructed out of wooden planks ahead. Iron poles had been wedged into the rock walls at short intervals to hold the path up. To her eyes, it looked very precarious.
Adam, without a moment’s hesitation, mounted the ladder and climbed to the rickety path. Her heart quailed a bit, but she was determined to be brave. If the path was sturdy enough to hold the robust young man, surely it would support her, too. He stood at the top and waved them on encouragingly.
“You first,” Cettie said to Anna, but the girl shook her head covertly.
“I couldn’t talk to him. You’re doing a better job of it. You go first.”
Cettie sighed and gripped the ladder. It shook a bit, and she closed her eyes. Adam knelt by the top of the ladder and gripped it in both hands.
“You can do it,” he coaxed.
Cettie planted one foot and then the other, climbing to the top slowly and meticulously. It felt like the ladder might suddenly pitch over at any moment, sending her plummeting into the river. She gazed up into Adam’s eyes. Was he the kind of young man who would tease her for such a fancy? Maybe even shake the ladder? But his eyes were full of encouragement, and he continued to grip the ladder tightly to minimize the shaking. When she arrived at the top, he once again held out his hand and helped her climb onto somewhat firmer ground.
She thanked him profusely, grateful that challenge was done.
“Just stay close to the wall,” he said. Then he gripped the ladder again. “Come on, Felicianna Fitzroy. You’ve done this plenty of times.”
But he waited until both girls were up on the ledge before continuing down the planks. Again, there were no handrails to hold on to, and Cettie kept as close to the wall as she could, but the footing was uneven, and it required her constant focus. The river was farther down now—probably the distance of a second story of a street-level shop. The waters were deep and tranquil.
“Some of the miners like to come here and jump in the water,” Adam said over his shoulder. “It’s very deep at this part.”
That was something Cettie of the Fells would never have considered. She had a slight fear of heights and didn’t like steep staircases or coming too near the edge of a drop. It felt different to look over the edge of a perfectly safe sky ship than to crest a path on which a stumble could be fatal. Besides, it was completely against the rules of decorum. Young ladies did not jump into rivers. Most of the rules of society were not passed down, she had discovered—they were taught in nuances, looks, glances, and subtle smirks. Cettie often felt she were a blind girl, trying to cross a room and continuing to stumble into furniture she couldn’t see. But despite—or perhaps because of—the titters from Phinia and Stephen and the glares from Mrs. Pullman, she was determined to learn the proper order of things, and to walk without fear of colliding into some tradition no one bothered to teach her.
The planks hugged against the rock wall and bent around a sharp angle. On the other side, the path led down over some smaller rocks before joining the level of the river again. In the distance, she could hear the gentle rushing of a waterfall. When they reached the rocks, Adam bounded up to the first one and waited, extending his hand again to help them clamber up and over the impediments. His bare hand.
One of the questions of etiquette that had puzzled her for months was why Fitzroy did not wear the gloves favored by the upper classes. Adam did not wear them either. Could she broach the subject with him without embarrassing herself—or him? She didn’t feel brave enough to ask her benefactor.
After he assisted them back onto the trail, Cettie steeled her courage and asked her question.
“I’ve noticed something,” she said, almost blurting out the words.
Adam turned back and looked at her quizzically, inviting her to speak.
“Since I came to Fog Willows, everyone I’ve met wears fancy gloves. There are dinner gloves, dancing gloves, writing gloves. Even the sky-ship officers wear thick gloves to protec
t from the cold. Yet Master Fitzroy doesn’t wear them. At least, I’ve never seen him wear them. I could not help but notice that you don’t wear gloves either . . .”
Adam stooped down and picked up a rounded stone from the riverbank. He examined it for a moment in his bare hand, then rose and threw it into the river, angling it so that the rock skipped a few times before plunking in. Anna’s eyes were fixed on his face, and Cettie could tell she was just as eager for his answer.
Silence settled on them, making things uncomfortable. Cettie felt like she had blundered again.
When Adam finally turned to look at her, his expression was difficult to interpret. He didn’t seem upset, necessarily, more melancholy. His answer was delivered in a low, measured voice. “Let me try to explain it. When I was ten, I used to live in a manor like Fog Willows. My father risked everything in a speculation. He trusted his men of business, whom he thought were his friends. I think he asked Fitzroy for advice, though maybe he was too embarrassed to.
“I still remember when the creditors came and took everything away. Every sofa. Every writing desk. Everything.” His face was very grim. “It still wasn’t enough to settle the size of the debt. The mountain of debt.” His eyes flashed. “So my father sold a deed for me to Fitzroy. I didn’t know it at the time, but my father had been sick all along. His speculation was a last gamble to try and right his financial situation. I was only ten, not old enough to have learned the Mysteries. But I’m grateful that my father chose Fitzroy. He holds my deed until I am eighteen, and then I must make my own way in the world. What I study, when I go away to school soon, will be my only means of supporting myself.” He brushed his hands together and glanced at her. “I owe Fitzroy everything. But the more I have gotten to know him and understand him, the more I wish to emulate him.”
Cettie’s eyebrows shot up. It was a word she’d never heard before.
He saw her look and explained, “Has he told you the story of the man and his son who needed to sell their mule?”
Cettie could see in Anna’s delighted look that she knew the story well. “No, he hasn’t.”
“Then ask him to tell it to you. In that one story, you’ll learn just about everything you need to know about what makes him the man he is.” He looked down the trail. “Shall we?”
The river walk ended at the edge of a huge cave. Living water gushed down the rock walls, filling an enormous pool that drained into the river they had journeyed along. Sunlight streamed in on the far side of the cave, indicating there were gaps in the rock to allow it in. Boulders were strewn around the opening, wet and slippery. The ground was unstable, but there were some flat portions to stand on.
“It’s so beautiful,” Cettie said, staring in wonder.
“This is the grotto,” Adam replied, arms folded as he gazed at the pool. “The pool isn’t very deep. Up to your knees, perhaps, and it goes around that bend. There are smaller caves back there. But we will not go that far.”
“Do people go in there? I thought you said it was haunted.”
“I don’t let others’ fear stop me when I know something is safe. Just like with the sky manors, there are boundaries. I always stay within them.”
“Does the grotto connect to the silver mine? Is it part of Dolcoath?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “No, these are the headwaters of the river. There’s an underground spring here, and the water comes out through the rocks above us. Remember the leaf we passed along the trail that we all took a drink from? All the water here comes from the same source.”
“I see,” Cettie said. She glanced at Anna, who was looking surreptitiously at Adam.
He showed no awareness that he was being observed, and continued to gaze at the grotto. “I never grow tired of the view. I’m not the only one who ventures here. Sometimes the village daughters come here during the heat of the summer,” he said, hands on his hips. “Their mothers act as chaperones. The young men aren’t allowed to come at the same time, of course. Propriety.”
Cettie crouched by the edge of the pool and dipped her fingers into the cold water. It was completely transparent, just like the large glass windows at the bottom of the tempest. Broken chunks of stone loomed above her head, reminding her of the floating manor she lived in. There was no doubt a matching edge at the bottom of Fog Willows. She sensed an affinity between the two places, a shared soul. She wished she could have been alive back when the manor had first been made. In her mind, she could almost hear hammers and the grunt of workmen, the creak of ropes and squeal of pulley wheels. The coldness of the water made her fingers numb, but she enjoyed the small discomfort as her imagination wandered free.
She felt a sudden throb of fear in her heart. It was as if something had awoken inside her mind, some preternatural awareness of danger. The cold, numbing sensation told her there was something in the caves behind the veil of the falls. Something alive. Something blocked off from the common world. She knew it as surely as she could sense the presence of a ghost. A mind prodded at hers, urging her to come into the pool. To wander deep into the grotto—behind the bend where she wouldn’t be seen.
This was no ghost.
Fear knifed through her heart. She started to tremble, and not from the chill of the water. The compulsion to step into the water was powerful. Darkness wreathed her vision, causing ripples of panic. It was like the entity was fixing her wrists and ankles with strings, eager to use her like the street puppets she’d occasionally seen in the Fells.
“I think we should go,” Adam said, his voice suddenly firm and serious.
His words loosened the strange presence’s grip on her mind.
She looked up at him, saw him staring into the grotto, his eyebrows knitting in worry.
The thing’s grip tightened again in an instant. Loose strands became strong cords. Cettie couldn’t move. Her muscles were locked, seized into place. She wanted to rise out of her crouch, but the thing’s pull on her was fierce.
Adam turned and looked at her, saw the fear in her eyes. His lips pressed into a tight line. She knew without asking that he felt it, too. “We’re going. Now.”
“If you think we should,” Anna said quietly. She sounded a little baffled by his sudden haste.
“Come on, Cettie. Get up.” He offered his hand to help her rise. She wanted to reach for it, but her muscles were still gripped by that terrible power. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything. It felt like someone was choking her.
The compulsion to wade into the pool crashed over her in waves.
Adam’s hand gripped her arm firmly. “Easy now, up we go.” He pulled, and she felt the bands once again begin to loosen . . . but they did not break. Her eyes pleaded with him to take her away. She still couldn’t speak.
“Anna, you may need to run ahead for help,” he directed. “I’ll bring Cettie. Come along, it’s going to be dusk all too soon.”
An angry sensation flooded her mind. It made her want to jerk her arm free, to strike Adam across the face, to grab a rock and bash his head with it. She had never had such violent inclinations in her life, and she was ashamed of her surging feelings despite knowing they didn’t come from her.
Think the word, and you will undo the barrier. Don’t be frightened.
She didn’t know the word, but it felt as if she had only forgotten it. If she could concentrate, she would remember it. Then she could say it. Then whatever was caged within the grotto would be freed. Part of her mind rebelled against the idea, and she tried to squeeze the strange feelings out. If only she could get away . . .
One step over a rock. Then another. As Adam led her away from the pool, a frantic, thwarted sense of fury continued to pump into her mind from behind. She glanced back, convinced that she saw a hulking shape within the shade of the grotto. It made her mind go black with panic.
Open the barrier. Open it.
She came to herself a few moments later, the grip of the grotto broken. She could hear the birds again. Had they been silent, or
had all her senses been focused elsewhere? She noticed that Adam’s arm was around her back, his hand pressing against her side. His other hand clutched hers, as if he’d been dragging her away from that dark place. She felt the urge to look back.
“No, don’t look,” he said warningly, coaxingly. “We’ll be all right if we stay on the path.”
Anna clambered over the rocks ahead, walking with firm purpose and agitation. Taking a deep breath, Cettie let the fresh scent of the trees soothe her. Her heart was finally ceasing its reckless charge.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked her softly, discreetly.
“Much so, thank you,” she whispered. She could speak again!
The rushing noise from the grotto was fading now. The trail led up to the wood planks held up by the iron poles. The water was placid and smooth, flowing effortlessly away.
She looked up into Adam’s worried face. “What . . . what was that?” she asked in a mouselike voice.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt like that before today.”
In her heart, Cettie felt the dreadful conviction that it had come because of her. Because of some darkness inside her.
That certainty horrified her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE POOR MAN’S MULE
When they returned from the river walk, they learned that Fitzroy had gone down into the mine and would not return until later. They stayed at Mr. Savage’s home, which was the largest dwelling at the bottom of the ravine, fenced in with a small stone wall mounted with iron spikes. The servants were more humble than the ones who worked at Fog Willows, but they fed and entertained the young women as best they could.
Cettie sat by the window seat in the library, feeling the cool breeze from the gorge waft in. The noise of the day’s work had come to an end. She imagined it was nearly the hour that the lights began to dim at Fog Willows, and yet word had not arrived from her guardian. The lack of news unsettled her, even more so after the strange ending to their afternoon excursion. She had chosen a book of fables from Mr. Savage’s sparse library, but she found herself distracted by every noise she heard from outside—the occasional bark of laughter from passersby, the crunch of gravel, the sound of crickets.
