28

Ravine

“SLOW DOWN, CALLA!” SAFFRON CALLED from above, as she carefully picked her way down the rocky slope. The light from her lantern swung back and forth, creating a haze.

Pye whimpered from above as the two twig-trots watched the flower-elves descend.

Calla indignantly looked back up at her sister. “You’re the one who said you don’t want to be out here for long,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but I also don’t want to carry you if you break your leg,” Saffron shot back.

“As if you could carry me—eep!” Calla’s foot skidded and she slid a few inches. Pebbles cascaded as she regained her posture.

“You okay?” Saffron called.

“Of course I am,” Calla said. She hoped Saffron didn’t hear the shakiness in her voice. As the two reached the bottom of the ravine, they began to carefully pick around.

“We found the winged-moose around here,” Calla said. She noticed a large mound of dirt off to the side. “That must be where they buried it.”

Saffron shuffled up, trembling.

“What’s with you?” Calla said.

“I just stepped in the muggiest puddle, bleh,” Saffron said. “Can you hurry up and find what you’re looking for already?”

“I just need to find the exact spot the winged-moose was,” Calla said. They trampled through the dense thicket, Calla swinging her lantern around as her eyes combed through the reeds.

She frowned. It seemed that any clues, like tracks or feathers, had been washed away by the stream or shuffled around by other wilders or larks passing through.

“Look!” Saffron said, pointing to a large indent in the ground.

As the two sisters approached, Calla noticed two slightly crushed feathers lying in the middle. “This is the spot.” She crouched nearby and closely inspected the ground. As she held the lantern over it, she saw the earth was lightly charred black—and not just stirred up mud, as she’d assumed earlier.

“Now what?” Saffron asked.

Calla dug into her pocket and pulled out a small twig—too small for a proper spell, but enough for what she needed. She snapped it in two and dropped it on the spot.

“If there’s any magic,” Calla said, standing up, “it should glow or react.” I hope.

She knew magic always reacted to magic, but the results could vary.

Calla snapped her fingers. A small silver flame flickered, only to be extinguished immediately. She held her breath and once more raised the lantern over the spot.

Come on, she silently willed.

“Oh, look!” Saffron said, pointing at the ground.

A strange purple wisp began to rise from the dirt, like a thread severed from a spool. Calla had seen this before. It was the same sorts of wisp she’d spotted slowly rising from the wilterwalker’s shadow.

“It is magic!” Saffron said, surprised. She looked over at Calla gleefully. “Oh wait till I tell the other Keepers! They’ll be so shocked.”

She paused, noticing Calla’s expression. “What’s wrong? You were right.”

“Saffron, sometimes when a caster wants to conceal their true spell, they’ll hide it with a fake dummy,” Calla explained to her. “In my book it’s called a slight of the hand.”

“Okay?” Saffron said.

“When Rowan cast that spell against the wilterwalker, I was confused that he thought a simple spell like that would work against it. But then I saw these kind of wisps come up from his shadow,” she said, pointing to the ground.

“Rowan?” Saffron echoed. “What does he have to do with this?”

Calla slapped her forehead, shaking the lantern. “I feel so dumb! Even with my magic it didn’t do much! Why did I think that spell could possibly work? He was casting two spells—one to distract us. A second in secrecy. That second one did the real damage.”

Saffron grew flustered. “But why would Rowan do that? And what does he have to do with the winged-moose or the dead wilders?”

Calla paused. It puzzled her too.

Why would such a kind lark go around killing innocent wilders? Especially when he seemed eager to help us. Heck, even Thimble warmed up to him.

Then it dawned on her. Aster!

“Saffron,” Calla said, “was Rowan the one on the council who asked to bring Thimble, because of her magic-sensing ability?”

Saffron slowly nodded. “Yeah, so what?”

“Why Thimble?” Calla pressed. “Why not Pye or someone else’s companion wilder?”

Saffron shrugged. “He asked if any of us had magic-sensing companions, and I mentioned our twig-trots. Then he said Thimble was the best choice due to age and experience.” She gave a small laugh. “Honestly, it’s kind of ridiculous when you say out loud now. Thimble can barely navigate herself out of a door.”

“Right,” Calla said. “It doesn’t make sense. Not to mention Thimble hates almost everyone. She hardly tolerates us.”

Calla suddenly felt unnerved by the chumminess between Thimble and Rowan.

“It’s almost as if Thimble already knew him,” Saffron said, echoing her thought, “but that means there’s a chance he knew Mom.”

Calla’s mind whirled at that. “You mean worked alongside? But wouldn’t the other Keepers have recognized him?”

Saffron nodded. “I believe so but still, it’s a possibility they bumped into each other, at least briefly.”

“Something isn’t right,” Calla said, “and I feel like Rowan may be at the center of this.”

Saffron nervously agreed. “Even if Rowan isn’t behind all of—whatever this is, we need to let the Keepers know what we discovered, maybe minus Rowan. If there isn’t a plant causing these wilders to grow ill and die, we may have all been tricked. The mission, the summons, the dead wilders…”

She glanced at Calla, her face pale.

“It’s all been a slight of the hand.”