They followed the shimmering stardust. Shirin, flashlight in hand, led the way, tromping through the underbrush and over the stones in a way that might have worried Alma if there had been any houses nearby. Shirin was not made for stealth missions.
Before long, everyone was tired. Hugo dragged behind them and even Shirin stopped talking—mostly. The farther they went, the more Alma worried. How long would they keep going? It was getting later and later—or rather, earlier and earlier. They needed to turn back soon. What if the spring was miles and miles away? Or worse, what if they found the stream’s source and water wouldn’t go into the bottle there either?
She tried to feel the cool air filling her lungs. She tried to watch the moon peekabooing through the tree branches. She tried to listen to the deep murmurings of the thunder in the distance, a sound she had always loved. But with every step she took, the woods seemed to grow fainter and fainter, and her thoughts grew louder and louder.
Then she paused for a moment to look through her quintescope, and for the first time that night, she saw it: trails of gold.
“The Starling was here!” she cried.
Without the quintescope, there was nothing to be seen except, Alma now noticed, a few slightly singed tree trunks. But when Shirin and Hugo took turns looking through the eyepiece, Shirin oohed and aahed and Hugo muttered, “Zonks.”
“When I accidentally scared the Starling,” Alma told them, “she left bits of this stuff all over the woods behind my house.”
“How come you can only see it through the quintescope?” Shirin wondered.
“If I may propose a very unscientific hypothesis,” Hugo said, “I believe the gold substance is quintessence, which the book says is ‘unseen by the natural eye.’ This quintescope makes it visible.”
It was what Alma had thought when she’d first seen the trail across the farmland. The Starling was losing her quintessence. “That must be it,” she said. “The ShopKeeper—he said the quintescope showed ‘true things.’ Maybe it will show true water too!”
“Perhaps,” Hugo said.
“There’s quintessence everywhere in here,” Shirin said, nearly taking off Hugo’s head as she swung the quintescope around. “Maybe she was looking for something.”
Alma had seen that too—trails every which way, in circles, overlapping—but she’d interpreted it differently. The random, scattered paths had reminded her of something else.
Sometimes, when she felt like she was about to have an episode, Alma would run—from classrooms, from the cafeteria, from her locker. She would run until she found somewhere that felt safe and private, usually a bathroom stall or an unoccupied classroom. Maybe, Alma thought, the Starling had fled in that same way, blinded by panic, frantically searching for somewhere safe.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Shirin let out a sharp cry, thrust the quintescope into Hugo’s hands, and starting racing toward the stream at top speed.
“We made it!” she screeched. “We’re here!”
Alma and Hugo hurried after her, and a moment later, they saw what she meant.
Ahead of them, the stream opened up. It wasn’t a flowing line anymore, but a pool. A pool of water that caught the moonlight magnificently and reflected it back like a spotlight. Steam rose from the surface, and Alma could see bubbles coming up.
There was no doubt that this was the source.
“I’m going to get some of the water,” Shirin said, pulling out the container.
Before she could plunge in, Hugo grabbed her arm. “Cease and desist!” he shouted, louder than Alma had ever heard him. “I have no scientific explanation for what’s happening here, but if we are going to investigate further, I would like to begin by pointing out that this appears to be a thermal spring. See the steam? Thermal springs are heated in the Earth’s crust.”
“But that’s perfect,” Alma said. “If it’s coming from deep in the Earth, it’s sure to be true!”
“Perfect,” Hugo said, “except that water at the source could be very hot, even boiling. This presents a very serious obstacle to our quest.”
Alma studied the water for a moment, then pulled off one shoe. “I think I have an idea,” she said.
“If you are thinking of putting your feet in this water, I would not suggest it!” Hugo cried.
“Hugo!” Shirin said. “Oh my goodness. Calm down.”
“Don’t worry,” Alma reassured him. “I’m not going in.”
She removed her sock, then pulled it onto the end of the longest stick she could find. Leaning as far over the water as she could, she dipped the sock in, then brought it back to her and gave it a tentative poke with one fingertip.
“It feels warm,” she said. “But not hot.”
“I would propose additional testing,” Hugo said, but Shirin was already pulling off her coat, then her shoes and socks. She splashed out into the water.
“It’s okay, Hugo! See?” She lifted one foot. “Not boiled. Not even poached. Come on, you two. It’s amazing! And look!”
She held up the little oblong water container, full and corked.
“I guess it wasn’t blocked,” she said. “Use the quintescope, Hugo! Maybe you’ll be able to tell if it’s true water!”
Reluctantly, Hugo pressed the quintescope eyepiece to his glasses and aimed it at the bottle. After gazing silently for a long moment, he passed the scope to Alma.
“Eureka,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.
When Alma looked through the quintescope, it was like someone had flipped a switch. Light was streaming from the water that was bubbling out of the ground, iridescent and brilliant.
Inside the bottle, the water was like a rainbow in motion, gleaming and sparkling in the starlight. Even Shirin, holding the bottle, seemed to shine.
And inside herself, Alma felt like she was shining too.
“We have our first element,” she said. “Water.”