White Witch, Black Magic
Chapter Eight: We Find The Girl Who Lives In A Tree

“Cool!” Bella shouts.

Apparently, Neverard agrees. He gallops towards the silvery unicorn, Atlanta, and knickers happily. He rubs his head against hers, carefully avoiding the point on her long horn. They whinny and knicker back and forth, as if they were talking.

Atlanta turns towards the rest of the unicorns scattered around us and snorts, paws the ground, and knickers some more. All the unicorns start whining and rearing up, as if they’re really pleased about something.

“Humans! You have returned my son to me,” Atlanta says.

“Um…what?” I ask.

“Neverard. He is my son.”

“He can’t be. He hasn’t got a horn. And he can’t talk.”

“You are the one he calls Emma, are you not?”

“Yeah.”

“The witch.”

I wince. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. I’m not evil, I’m just…magic.”

“A White Witch, I see. But a witch nonetheless.”

“A White Witch? What does that mean?”

“White Witches are good. Black witches…not so much. One might say they use white and black magic. Good instead of evil.”

“Oh. Now, about Neverard being a unicorn…”

Atlanta seems to smile. “That isn’t what I said.”

“He’s your son. So if you’re a unicorn, surely he is, too.”

“Yes. And no. He is half unicorn. His father was a gallant stallion, but he was not a unicorn.”

“Oh.”

“As you can see, he has no horn. He cannot speak to you all, though it is possible for him to form a special link with one human. He is faster, braver, and stronger than all other horses and many unicorns. He has an extended life, about as long as that of a human’s. His magic is very limited, yes, but he is more than a horse. And he has something all his own…it is not a common thing for a horse and a unicorn to produce a foal.”

“So he’s one-of-a-kind?”

“Yes, Emma Rose. Much like you.”

I blush from the top of my head to the toes of my boots. “So, Atlanta, you wouldn’t be able to spare some food and water? Maybe let us spend a day with you, to rest?”

“Humans in the Land of the Unicorns? I think not—” Atlanta starts to say, but Neverard whinnies and paws the ground.

I can almost hear what he’s saying, just from reading his body language.

“Aww, come on, Ma. Let them spend the night.”

Suddenly an image of myself atop Neverard pops into my head. I see me when I first rode him, when we jumped the fallen tree, running from dragons and ogres…”

Atlanta shakes her head. “Neverard, I cannot possibly let them stay. They are hu—”

I see us in the mud hut during the thunderstorm, when Avaysia was showing us her necklace.

“Oh. That changes things. I had not realized…she looked so different then…Nymeria never told me…”

Wait a minute, I think. I’m not just reading their body language, I’m reading their thoughts! Should I tell them? I think I’d better…

“Emma! How’d you do that?” Neverard asks. His voice reminds me strongly of my brothers’. I guess it’s a teenage boy thing.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Know what?” Avaysia asks.

“What’s going on?” Jake says.

She has formed a mental link with you. Because you are linked with me, she can hear my thoughts also, Atlanta tells us.

She formed a link with me?

You formed a link with her.

“How?” I ask.

“How what?” Wren says.

I realize that I’m one-third of a conversation, but I’m all my friends can hear. I wonder how you just think something. I’ll have to work on that.

What are you working on, Emma? Neverard asks.

How to just think things…hey, wait! I did it! “I did it!”

Outloud again, Emma, Atlanta tells me.

Sorry.

Could you please give my son and me some privacy?

Sure. Uh, how?

Disconnect yourself.

How?

Here, I’ll do it for you. Goodbye. She says it with a little too much enthusiasm.

Bye, Em—Neverard starts. Then there’s a sensation of being pushed, and I can no longer hear the conversation.

I stumble into Jake, the mental push becoming physical.

“Sorry,” I say.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“I linked my mind with Neverard’s, somehow, and I guess that connected me with Atlanta as well.”

“You get weirder by the day,” Bella says.

“By the minute!” Avaysia giggles.

“You’re just jealous, Vay.”

“Jealous? I don’t want a horse reading my thoughts, thanks.”

“He’s half unicorn. Besides, he can only hear the thoughts I want him to. At least, I think that’s how it works. I’m not really sure.”

“Like I said, weirder by the minute.”

“A decision has been reached,” Atlanta says.

I note that the tone of her voice is different, more real somehow. I guess that means she’s talking, rather than thinking. My head is starting to hurt, trying to process all this at once. It’s easier to just ignore it.

“I have decided that, for the first human my son allowed to ride him, I will allow these humans to spend the night in Unicorn Grove.”

Mom, I hear Neverard saying—no, thinking.

Fine! “And the following day and night as well, if they wish.”

“You mean, we can sleep here? Without looking over our shoulders and wondering what’s going to attack us next? We’ll be safe?” Avaysia asks.

Yupper-do! Neverard thinks.

“Yes, Vay. That’s exactly what she means,” I say.

Avaysia shrieks and runs to Atlanta. She throws her arms around the unicorn and hugs her. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea what a relief that will be.”

Avaysia starts laughing hysterically. Atlanta backs away, looking worried. I see her throw a look at Neverard, as if to say I told you so. I see a bit of Neverard’s tongue poking out of his mouth. Atlanta sighs and rolls her indigo eyes.

Avaysia’s laughter has subsided into hiccups, which are punctuated by the odd giggle. She yawns, hiccups, and says, “I’m so tired!” Then her eyes close and she folds to the ground.

Her right leg gives out first, and her body twists. She starts to fall, angled to hit the ground and smack her head. Luckily, Wren happens to be in the way. She collides with him. Wren barely manages to catch her without falling over himself. Wren slowly lowers Avaysia to the ground, where she continues to sleep.

“Sorry,” Bella says. “She isn’t usually like this. We’ve just been a bit…sleep deprived. I guess it hit her the hardest.”

Atlanta shakes back her mane, her horn flashing in the sun. “Follow me.”

She turns and trots off. We trail after her, escorted by the rest of the unicorns. Wren carries Avaysia. We haven’t walked long when we come out on a small river, fed by a waterfall.

Atlanta walks behind the waterfall and disappears. We follow. She leads us to a trail that tunnels into the mountainside behind the waterfall. It’s dark and the path smells of earth. It slopes up. The unicorns must have really good night vision, because they’re walking without trouble, but the light from their horns isn’t enough for me. I create a few witch’s lights to guide us.

The tunnel curves sharply. I would have been certain to walk straight into the wall in the dark. I follow Atlanta around the bend. Sunlight shines into the cave from up ahead.

I wave my hand and the lights vanish. We emerge in the bright light. I blink as my eyes adjust, then gasp. I must be in the most beautiful place in the world.

The grass is green and lush, softer than anything I’ve ever felt before. The sky is a beautiful blue, deep as the ocean. The river runs through the grass, giggling merrily, before splashing down the rocks that make up the waterfall.

I look around at the wildflowers dotting the grass. Blues, reds, yellows, and purples as I have never seen color their petals. Trees of varying heights and types line the river and grow here and there.

Surely, this is what paradise must look like. It even smells nice here.

I idly wonder what sort of birds reside in this meadow. Their music is lovely, soft and gentle, almost like a flute…I cock my head, listening intently. That is a flute. I’m certain the unicorns, magical as they are, cannot play a flute. Which means there’s a human around.

I walk a bit to the left, then the right, trying to replace where the music is coming from. Atlanta is giving me a strange look. She’s probably decided that humans, in general, are mental.

I locate the direction that the music comes from. I go towards the sound. The grass is soft and springy beneath my feet, tempting me to lie down and rest for a while, but I keep going.

The music leads me to the base of a towering oak tree. It’s a huge tree, even bigger than the giant. The branches stretch high and wide, casting the largest shadow I’ve ever seen. Seated among the roots is a young girl, playing a wooden flute.

She looks to be about fourteen or fifteen. Her eyes are closed as she blows into the wood. Her skin is pale, her hair about chin length and pitch black. A sprinkling of freckles covers the bridge of her nose and cheekbones. Her lashes are long and her lips a dark red. But her most interesting feature is the tattoos that cover her. Every single one is teardrop shaped and shimmers bluey-purple. They make little trails across her skin, curling across her face, arms, and legs. One comes down from her hairline, cuts over her left eye, and forms a swirl under her right one. Another winds from the corner of her right eye down her neck, across her chest, and circles down her right arm. It ends in a spiral on the back of her hand.

The girl is dressed in brown leggings that reach to mid-calf. Her shirt is green and has only the left sleeve. The neckline slants across her chest diagonally, and the hem of it is cut the same way. Her feet are bare, and I notice that the teardrops curl around her legs and feet. A silver-white band of some strange metal sits on her head. It’s inlaid with blue-purple gem that sparkles the same color as the teardrops. The hilt of a dagger—made from the same metal—pokes out of a sheath at her hip.

Her song holds on a single note. Her lips part, the flute moves from her mouth, and the sound dies. She exhales and her shoulders sink.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she asks, eyes still closed.

Her head turns, as if she’s listening for something. I notice that back of her circlet is thinner than the front as if it’s been worn away. A small chip from her gemstone is missing, too.

“I wanted to see where the music was coming from,” I say. “I figured the unicorns can’t play the flute, but I thought that Atlanta doesn’t like people.”

“She doesn’t.”

“So why are you here?”

“An interesting question.” Her eyes open. The left is a penetrating, electric blue. The right is intense green. Both sparkle mischievously. “Why are you here?”

The question coupled with the eyes stumps me. “Fate?” I ask.

She laughs coldly. “Is there really such a thing?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Nyra. I’m the unicorns’ muse.”

“Emma Rose. I guess you could say I’m sort of a…witch-in-training.”

“And your friends?”

“Jake, Wren, Bella, and Avaysia.”

They’ve caught up to me, though Vay is still sleeping. Wren has laid her in the grass. I sit across from the girl, Nyra. The others settle themselves around me.

“A thief, an archer, a princess, a witch. Interesting. And you…Bella?”

“Yes,” Bella says. “How do you know so much about us?”

“Obvious clues. The weapons—” Wren shifts the quiver on his back “—the careful, silent tread—” Jake looks at his feet “—the soft skin and higher quality clothes—” we all glance at Avaysia. Even mud stained and torn, her dress is clearly meant for royalty. “But you, Bella. Where are you from? Clothes I’ve never seen before, but not fitting for a higher up; a graceful walk—a dancer, maybe?”

“Irish Step,” Bella says.

“And words I’ve never heard before,” concludes Nyra.

“I come from a land—a planet, actually—called Earth. It’s a long story.”

Something flashes across Nyra’s face. Surprise and shock, I think. But it’s gone so fast I’m left thinking I’ve just imagined it.

“You all need rest,” Nyra says. “Come.”

She stands. Her long, slender fingers twirl her flute. A faint smile touches the corners of her mouth but doesn’t reach her eyes. Nyra tucks the flute into a hip pouch that sits next to the silver sheath. She turns and walks off. I clamber to my feet and follow.

We walk around the massive tree trunk. It’s branches span out far above our heads. Nyra reaches up and slips her hand through a green loop of vine that dangles from the canopy. I notice them hanging down through the leaves all over the place. Nyra holds out her free arm.

“Give me the princess,” she says to Wren. “And follow me up.”

She holds tight to Avaysia, tugs the vine, and is whisked up into the leaves. I pick a vine and yank on it. I soar up, just as Nyra did. With a quiet rustle I’m pulled inside the canopy of leaves. The network of branches is amazing. Most of the limbs are big enough to walk across. A maze of boards and ropes connect the branches in the world’s biggest tree house.

My ascent slows as I reach a particularly broad branch. I release the vine and land on the bark. The bough must be five feet wide. I glance up and see Wren, Bella, and Jake arriving along the branch. Nyra and Avaysia are waiting near the trunk.

Nyra beckons us forwards. “Come,” she says again.

She steps onto a large blue mushroom growing from the tree trunk. Avaysia, who is now half awake, stumbles along after her. The rest of us follow single file, stepping from mushroom to mushroom. It’s like a squishy, colorful staircase. The mushrooms are all different colors and shapes. The most interesting is pink with blue and white polka dots.

“I’ve never seen something like this before,” Bella says. “Is this common in this world?”

“No,” I tell her. “I’ve never seen anything like it before either.”

The mushrooms lead to a branch, smaller than the first, but still easy to walk across. It might have been two or three feet wide.

“Welcome to my home,” Nyra says, pushing aside a curtain of woven grass.

We step through a hole into the center of the tree. The floor is wooden with rings in it, the way a tree stump looks. There are holes cut in the walls like windows without the glass. Branches and vines make a path to the higher levels, but there are no stairs. Above, and balcony rings the tree. I can see shelves of books.

A hammock hangs from two branches. Nyra pulls several more out a trunk and strings them up around the room. She settles Avaysia into one before turning to us.

“You are all tired. Rest, and then there will be food and a chance to clean yourselves.”

“Thank you,” Jake says. We all murmur agreement.

“You are welcome. Now rest.”

“Nyra, how did you come to be here?” I ask.

Nyra studies me. “That is a long tale. You need not hear it now. Nor, perhaps, ever.”

Nyra leaps up to a high branch and watches us as we each pick a hammock and lie down. They’re made from grass, which makes me think they’ll break, but they’re very strong. It’s like sleeping on a cloud, soft and warm, with a gentle swinging.

“Nyra?” I ask.

“Yes?”

“How old are you?”

There’s a pause. “How old are you, Emma?”

“I’ve seen fifteen summers come and go, plus a winter and spring.”

“Fifteen and a half. That isn’t so old. You don’t seem to have lost the cleverness of youth.”

“But how old are you?”

“Thirteen. Now sleep.”

I’m about to protest. I want to talk with this strange girl and hear about her life. How did she come to live with unicorns? Who helped her shape this huge tree into such a perfect home? Does she get lonely here?

But Nyra raises her flute to her lips. A melody floats through the air, high and soothing. The song makes me think of being a young girl. Of days spent in the woods with my brothers. My eyes close and I drift off into a peaceful sleep, all my questions forgotten.

l l l

 sitting on the windowsill, a bright yellow bird perched on her knee. It warbles a short song, and she plays a few notes on her flute. The bird pipes up again, and she laughs.

“Nyra?” I ask.

She glances up at me. “Good rising of the sun,” she says before returning to the bird.

Good rising of the sun? I think. So it must be sunrise, but where did she learn that? The unicorns? Or did she make it up herself? I’ve never heard of such a greeting…

Nyra holds out her hand and the bird hops onto it. She turns and puts her hand through the window. The bird flaps away, chirping a goodbye. She uses her flute to sing her own farewell.

I roll out of my hammock. “Were you actually talking to that bird?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I’m about to say that no one can talk to birds. Then I think, You’ve face ogres and giants, dragons and unicorns. You’ve seen a horse and cat turn into girls. You’ve been turned into a rabbit, nearly dehydrated to death, and have had a girl pop up out of a storm. What’s so crazy about talking to birds?

“So how’s life with the bird?”

“His name is ---” Nyra utters a two-note chirp that sounds like de-tweet. “Why are you not surprised that I can speak to him?”

“A month ago I would have been. But after all that’s happened, that’s the most sane thing I’ve heard of in long while.”

“I can speak to almost every animal. And babies, though I haven’t done that in many years.”

“How?”

“Young children and animals speak the same language. Everyone is born knowing it. Most everyone forgets as they age, though.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Is that what you meant by the ‘cleverness of youth’?”

“Yes.”

“Can you teach me the language?”

“You already know it. You just have to learn, re-learn, how to listen.” She pauses. “Do you speak another language?” she asks.

“French,” I say.

“What about France?” Bella questions, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “I thought you guys didn’t know about countries from my world.” She stifles a yawn and climbs out of her hammock.

“France…” I murmur. I remember Bella telling us about a country in her world called France, right before Winter ran off. It sounded familiar then, and it still does. “Why do I know that word?”

“You said you speak French. Maybe people in France speak French,” Nyra suggests.

“They do,” Bella confirms.

“But how did a language from your world get to mine?”

Bella shrugs. “Maybe it started in your world and came to Earth,” she suggests.

“That doesn’t tell us how it went from place to place. How you went from place to place.”

Bella shrugs again.

I hear someone yawn and turn to look at the hammocks. Jake is sitting up in his and stretching. He places his right hand on the edge of the braided grass and leans to the side, the way you might get out of a regular bed.

The hammock tips and Jake falls out of it with a shout. Thump! He sprawls across the wooden floor. The noise rouses Wren and Avaysia, who both clamber from their hammocks safely.

Jake rubs his head. “Ow,” he says. “That hurt. A lot.” I walk over and hold out my hand. He grabs it and I haul him to his feet. “What a way to wake up,” he says.

“When I got up, I saw Nyra talking to a bird,” I tell him.

“Ha ha.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Really?” asks Wren.

“I’ve heard of people being able to do that. I just thought they were only stories,” Avaysia says. “Can you really talk to animals, Nyra?”

“Yes.”

“That is so cool!” Bella says.

“Cool?” Nyra questions.

“Yeah. Wicked. Oh, right. Um…that’s…uh…” Bella seems to be struggling to replace a word that Nyra will be able to understand. “Swishy? No, you won’t have read that book series, never mind…”

“Awesome,” I tell Nyra. I know from previous experience what Bella is trying to say.

“Ah.”

We’re all quiet for a moment. I realize I’m still holding Jake’s hand, and I drop it. He grins at me. I stick my tongue out.

“So,” Nyra says. “Would you like to clean up first, or eat?”

I look at my muddy clothes. They’re torn and could use multiple patches. My skin is also dirty, and my hair is greasy and tangled. On the other hand, I haven’t eaten in a while, and some food would be nice.

“Clean up,” Bella says.

“Yes,” Avaysia agrees.

“I would rather be clean than fed right now,” Wren adds.

“I’m too hungry,” I tell them. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“I’ll go with Emma,” Jake decides.

Nyra nods. “Come with me.”

She leaps out a window onto a branch, jumps to a different limb, and disappears down a wooden chute. I follow her, easily making the jump. Avaysia, Bella, and Wren, who have little practice in trees, take another mushroom path after us. Jake bounces nimbly along with me.

The chute is steep, the sides high enough to keep me in safely. The bottom is sanded down; no danger of splinters. I sit and zip down. It’s an amazing feeling, hurtling down and barreling around corners.

I shoot out of the end of the slide, fly through the air for a few feet, and land on the balls of my feet and the fingers of my right hand. I stand and move out of the way as Jake comes down. He lands as neatly as I did, but Wren barely manages to keep his feet. Bella hits the ground and rolls to a stop. Avaysia, however, comes flying towards us. We all ducked, and she would have smashed into a tree, but Wren catches her.

“Never again,” she says. “I’ll replace a different way down.”

“There is no other way. Unless you know how to fly,” Nyra says.

“Brilliant,” Avaysia mutters.

Nyra smiles. “Those going for food, follow the purple flowers. To clean up, follow the yellow. Good setting of the sun.”

She darts under the tree, grabs one of the vines, and disappears into the leaves.

“I love this place,” I say. “I’m having so much fun.”

“I’m not,” Avaysia grumbles.

“Come on, Vay. Cheer up,” Bella says. “Yellow flowers and a bath. Let’s go.”

The girls and Wren head off, walking with a line of yellow flowers that appeared out of nowhere. Jake and I follow the purple blossoms, which also popped up from the ground seconds ago.

They lead to a clearing with the stream running through it. The grass here doesn’t look like grass because each blade is a different color. The ground seems to have been splattered in berries: blue here, red there, a dash of purple, a splash of orange…yellows and greens dot the bright colors.

“Is this grass?” Jake asks.

“What else would it be?”

Jake shrugs. I kneel and sniff the plants. They don’t smell like grass. So maybe it isn’t grass at all. A unicorn steps from the trees. I don’t know if I can talk to him normally, but I give it a try.

“Excuse me?”

The great head turns sharply, the horn slicing through the air with a whoosh.

Yes? The words are clearly audible, but they seem to be in my head. What do you want, human?

They way he says ‘human’ sounds almost like an insult and I pause, trying to figure out if he meant it that way. I can’t decide if human is being used as an insult, but Jake fills my silence. “What sort of plant are we standing on?” he asks.

This is called Witherin Meadows. The plant is Sprite Grass. He lowers his head and begins munching the grass. Eat, he says. It will not harm you, humans. Nymeria eats here just the same as we do.

“Who?” I ask.

Nymeria. The girl with the flute and silver circlet.

“You mean Nyra?”

Nymeria, Nyra… they are one in the same.

“Oh. Thank you…uh…”

Roran.

“Thank you, Roran.”

Roran bows his head and resumes munching on the grass. I sit back on my heels and pluck a bright pink blade. Jake kneels beside me and picks a piece of grass so violently orange it appears to be on fire.

“Ladies first?” Jake asks.

“I thought boys were supposed to be brave?”

“Only the stupid ones. How do you think I’ve survived so long?”

I give a short laugh. “Together then.”

“On three?”

“On three or after it?”

“Hmm. After it,” Jake decides.

“One.” I study the pink Sprite Grass. Do I really want to eat this?

“Two.”

No, I think. I don’t really want to, thanks. My stomach grumbles, betraying me.

“Three!” I say.

I take a deep breath, hoping it won’t be my last, and stuff the pink into my mouth. There’s an explosion of flavor, sweet and bitter at the same time. It’s delicious. The best thing I’ve ever eaten, better than even the chilly ice and cream I had at the castle.

“Oh my goodness,” I hear Jake say. “Was yours that good?”

“Better.”

Jake and I gorge ourselves on the colorful Sprite Grass. Each hue has a slightly different taste. We have a good time mixing and matching the blades. Two purples and a yellow taste the way a fire smells, but two yellows and a purple reminds me of Mama’s cherry pie. One of each color creates a flavor so good it makes me think I’m eating a rainbow.

Just as I’m starting to fill up, long after Roran left, Wren and the girls arrive. They’re looking cleaner than they have in a long time. They seem as surprised as Jake and I were at the sight of the Sprite Grass. They have a little more confidence in trying it, though, because Jake and I eat it without worry.

“It’s really good,” I assure them. “Perfectly safe.”

“Promise?” asks Avaysia.

“Promise.”

She tentatively puts a purple blade in her mouth. I watch her expression go from nervous to surprised to delighted in a heartbeat.

“Told you,” I say as she begins scarfing down the grass.

“Well, I’m full,” Jake says.

“Me too. Are the yellow flowers still there? Can we follow them to wherever they lead?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Bella tells me. “They call it ‘The Pool’.”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s hard to describe. Just take the yellow flower path and see for yourself.”

“That’s hardly fair. Jake and I showed you just how to deal with the Sprite Grass,” I protest.

“Just jump in,” Wren says. “Clean your clothes, too. When your ready to dry off, go lie in the sun.”

So Jake and I make our way to the edge of Witherin Meadow, where the trail of purple flowers is. We retrace our steps and head after the yellow flowers. We must be heading towards the stream that I know runs through the Land of the Unicorns, because I hear rushing water.

“We must nearly be there,” Jake says.

I know he’s right; the roar of the water is close. The ground slopes up and the grassy path turns to dirt. The yellow blossoms stick out on the brown earth, even more than they did on the green.

By the time we crest the hill, Jake and I are both a little short of breath. I lean against the huge oak tree that stands at the top, watching Jake clamber up the last few feet. He looks at me, past me, and gasps.

“Oh, wow,” he breaths.

I spin around. Behind me is the most amazing thing I ever seen, except for the dragon. Still, this runs a close second.

The ground falls away from us in a gentle hill, creating a smooth slope all around the water, except for one small section that drops off, like a jump. Jake and I are standing on the edge of what looks like a giant bowl. The “bowl”—or pool, as the unicorns call it—is filled with water that somehow manages to be a deep blue while staying clear. The surface is as smooth as glass, despite the waterfall.

Across from where Jake and I stand is a rock formation that reminds me of a step- ladder. A large circular rock, shaped a bit like a flower, sits at the bottom. A slightly smaller rock is balanced on top of the first. It continues up like this, the edge facing me receding bit by bit. Water pours down the structure, filling one bowl before flowing into the next. The water from the last rock runs down into the pool. The pool empties into a small river that twists off through the trees.

“Oh my goodness,” I say.

“Dare you to jump off that ledge,” Jake replies.

“How do I know the water is deep enough?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“We could walk around and see,” I suggest.

We pull off our boots before making our way around the rim of the bowl—pool, whatever—stopping at the ledge. It certainly looks plenty deep.

“Can you swim?” Jake asks.

“Of course! You?”

He nods. “Are you going to jump?”

I peer over the side. “The water is going to be freezing cold. Hitting cold water from this high up can—hey, what are you doing?!”

Jake interrupts me mid-sentence by picking me up. I shout at him to put me down, but he ignores me. Before I can react, he throws me over the edge. I plummet to the water, gasping in a few last breaths.

I hit the water with a terrific splash. I’m expecting cold, so I’m taken aback by how warm it is. Just a little colder than the perfect bath temperature. I surface in a cloud of bubbles.

“How is it?” Jake calls down.

“Just wait there!” I shout back.

I swim over to the nearest grassy slope, the lakebed rising up to meet my feet. I climb back up the hill and join Jake at the ledge. I’m soaked and cleaner than I’ve been in days.

“So you thought it would be a good idea to push me in did you?” I ask, stepping closer to Jake.

He backs up, towards the drop off. “Um, yes?”

“Thought it was funny?”

“Yeah?”

He’s right at the edge now.

“Was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Funny.”

“Yep.”

“Good. My turn for a laugh!” I slam my hands into him; my right one hitting his shoulder, my lift colliding with his chest. He stumbles backwards into thin air and falls. He makes a huge splash, sending water everywhere.

He pops up and blows a stream of water out of his mouth. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“That’s called revenge.”

“Well, are you coming in? Or I have to come up there and make you?”

“Watch out!” I put the toes of my right foot over the drop off, put my left foot behind my right, and place my hands on either side of my lead foot. “Here I come!” I call out, pushing with my arms and legs.

I dive off the rocks, shooting towards the water like an arrow. I pierce the surface and streak towards the lakebed. I fan out, arms and legs spread wide, to slow myself.

“Very nice,” Jake says as I surface.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“My father and brothers taught me.”

“Didn’t your mother ever make you do stitchery or something?”

“She tried. I told her not to bother. She’ll make a lady out of Hattie, but not me.”

“Is Hattie your little sister?”

“Yes.” We’re both quiet for a moment.

“Want to race across the pool?”

“Sure,” I answer. “Hang on.” I leave the water, strip down to my underthings, and splash my way back. When I get there, Jake’s got his back turned to me and his hands are over his eyes. I grin and poke his shoulder blade. “Alright.”

“Are you…” he struggles for the right word. “Decent?”

“No, I’m completely naked.” I can’t help but grin as his face, neck, and ears go scarlet.

Seemingly unable to restrain himself, Jake peeks at me through his fingers. Once he sees I’m lying, he relaxes.

“What did you do that for?” he demands.

“Wet clothes are heavy and too restricting. It makes it hard to swim.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, as if asking for more information.

“Does it bother you, Jacob?”

He can tell from my tone that I’m teasing him. “Who? Me? Not at all, Emma dear. It just makes it so much easier to tickle you!” he pokes my bare stomach and I ball up, going under water for a moment.

I come up spluttering but smiling nonetheless. Being here with Jake is like swimming at the pond with my brothers and our friends.

“Beat you across!” Jake shouts, kicking away from me.

“No fair!” I yell, taking off after him.

Getting a head start in a race is just the sort of thing Tom would do. Grinning, I kick my legs and pull with my arms, shooting through the water. I’m a good swimmer, but so is Jake, and with a head start he wins easily.

“You’re such a cheater,” I tell him.

He smiles cockily. “You know you love it.”

I splash him, then shriek and try to dart away as he lunges for me. His too fast; he catches me and dunks me. While I’m under I fill my mouth. When I surface, I shoot a stream of water into his face.

Jake recoils, surprised and taken aback. “Oh, Emma, yuck! That’s gross!”

I flash him a smile. “You know you love it.”

“Why, you cheeky little monkey!”

He dives towards me again, but this time I’m ready for it. I duck beneath his outstretched arms and go under. I open my eyes. The water blurs my vision, but there’s no murk to contend with. I grab Jake’s legs and pull them out from under him.

“Hey!” I hear him shout. He splashes down near me. I wave at him, bubbles trickling from the corners of my mouth.

We surface together. “Clever play,” Jake says. He shakes his head, the way a dog would, and splatters me with water.

“Shall we call it even?”

“Fine. But only because I know you must be getting tired, seeing as you’re a girl.”

I almost get mad, but because of the glint in his eyes—not to mention his cocky smile—I know he’s just trying to rile me up.

“Yes,” I say, sighing dramatically. “I’m feeling so faint!”

I collapse into him, pretending to pass out. I let my head loll about and remain limp until he’s dragged me over to the side of the pool and is pulling me out of the water. He lays me down on what feels like a rock. We must be on the lowermost rung of the waterfall ladder.

I flutter my eyelids and moan a bit for fun. I open my eyes and stare up at Jake.

“Oh, Jacob, my head feels so fuzzy…how ever can I go on…”

Jake laughs. “Your such a bad actress.”

I quit pretending. “Thanks,” I say sarcastically.

“Always be honest, right?”

“Only if you like pissing people off.”

“True.”

I hold out my hands. “Now that you’ve insulted me, the least you can do is help me up,” I say.

“It would be my pleasure, good lady.” Jake takes my hands in his and hauls me to my feet.

I stumble in the moss and my feet slip out from under me. I slid down the side of the rock and splash into the water.

“Emma! Are you all right?”

I wipe the hair out of my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Here, let me help you,” he says, leaning over and extending his hand. “Again,” he adds.

I reach up and take it, but rather than him pulling me out, I accidentally pull him in. He slides on the same moss that brought me down and splashes into the lake near me.

“Well that didn’t work,” he says.

“Want to race back across? A fair race?”

“Sure,” he says.

In a race where he doesn’t have a huge head start, we tie. I climb out of the water and lie down on the grass. I close my eyes and soak up the sun.

“Nap time?” Jake asks.

“Mmm.”

I feel him lie down next to me. I idly wonder if Wren and the girls are done eating yet. I tilt my head so the sun shines directly in my face. It feels nice. I realize that I haven’t been out in the sun since I entered the Sylvian Forest. There’s been to many trees.

I sigh contentedly. Before I drift off to sleep, I hear Jake sigh as well.

When I wake, it’s a little colder. The sun is closer to the mountains; the shadows are growing longer. Jake is no longer lying by my side. I sit up and look around.

I don’t see Jake anywhere, but the wet clothes I left in a pile have been neatly laid out in the grass. They’re still a bit damp, but I’m chilly, so I pull them on. Then I set off around the edge of the water, looking for Jake.

I walk through the water, letting it swirl around my calves. When I reach the place where the pool funnels into a river, I spot Jake downstream.

As I approach him, he pulls off his shirt and plunges it into the water. I stare at him in surprise. My mind, numb with shock, realizes that he must have waited until I was asleep to wash his clothes. He wanted to hide this from me. He doesn’t know I’m here, watching him.

“Oh, Jake,” I whisper.

He jumps and whirls around. “Emma!” he cries. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was,” I say. “Oh, Jake, what happened?”

“Nothing,” he replies.

But he knows that I know he’s lying. Because criss-crossing his back, seared into his flesh, are the marks of a whip.