Page 89 of Bull Moon Rising

“I can safely say I do not have Old Prellian blood,” I point out. The ancestry of my father’s hold goes back three hundred years at the very same spot, and even before that, our ancestors were mountain folk. Old Prell was not anywhere near the mountains. Shame. I would love to have magical blood.

“We can take turns,” Lark says, pulling the stick out. “It can’t hurt, right?”

I want to point out that it sounds like a silly waste of time, but what if I’m wrong? They’ve been relying on my so-called expertise all morning and I’ve led them nowhere. “Can’t hurt,” I agree, and gesture at her. “You want to give it the first shot?”

She hands the staff with the lantern over to Mereden, and takes the dowsing rod in her hands. It’s a simple stick with a fork on one end—an uneven fork, I can’t help but notice—and she closes her eyes and concentrates. “Lead us to the riches of Old Prell.”

Lark holds it out and turns around slowly, making a full circle. After she does this twice, she squeezes one eye open and looks at us. “I’m supposed to feel something, right?”

I have no idea. I shrug. “I’ve never used a dowsing rod.”

No one else has, either. Kipp takes it next and closes his eyes, turning in a circle before shrugging and handing it back. Mereden looks equally uncertain when she takes her turn and says she doesn’t trust herself to tell if it’s tugging or if it’s her imagination.

“Oh, come on,” Gwenna protests as I take the rod. “Someone has to feel something, don’t they?”

“You would think.” I try closing my eyes and turning, but it just feels like I’m holding a stick and spinning in a circle in an underground cavern. Which…I am. I open my eyes and shrug. “Are we sure we’re supposed to feel it or do we just have to go on instinct?”

“Here, let me give it a try and then we’ll give up on this stupid thing,” Gwenna says, holding her hand out. I hand it over to her. She gives it a little flick as if shaking it into submission. “Now, show us something so we can move on with our lives—”

The stick jumps in her hands.

At least, it looks as if it does. We all gasp—even Kipp—and take a step back. Gwenna flings it away from herself, and the stick skids across the floor. At the edge of the light, I can see it slowly come to a stop, pointing down one particular tunnel.

I look over at my former maid. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” she protests. She wrings her hands, frowning. “All I did was pick it up.”

Lark nudges her from behind. “Pick it up again.”

Gwenna looks reluctant. She eyes me, seeking advice. I shrug, because I have no idea. This wasn’t in any book I ever read. She takes the rod between two fingers, as if it’s filthy, and grimaces. “I don’t have magic in my blood.”

“Maybe you do,” Mereden breathes, her eyes wide. “Maybe you’re descended from a secret line of Prellian kings.”

“It’s more likely that I was descended from Prellian maids,” she retorts, but slowly, calmly grips the stick again and points it at the nearest cavern wall. “All right. If you can show us to the artifacts, please do.”

The stick twitches in her grip and we all jump.

As I watch, she turns slowly, and it’s as if the stick is pulling her forward. She surges ahead, the rope pulling taut as she takes the lead.

“Wait,” I cry. “Let’s turn around. Lark, get closer to her so you can light the way.”

We reshuffle ourselves while the stick twitches and jumps in Gwenna’s grasp, as if impatient. When Kipp and I are at the back, Gwenna takes the lead again, letting the stick point the way. We follow behind it as it takes us down one of the tunnels we’ve already walked a half dozen times, surging forward. The tunnel ends in a rock fall full of massive boulders, and it’s far too much for our measly pickaxes to handle, so we had turned around.

“I promise I’m not doing this,” Gwenna calls back to us as it leads us on deeper into the collapsed tunnel. “It’s like it’s alive when I touch it.”

“Just find us something to take back,” Lark tells her. “We won’t tell anyone that you’re a mancer.”

Gwenna jerks to a halt. “I’m not a mancer!”

“But someone in your family lineage might have been,” Mereden says helpfully.

Gwenna’s jaw clenches and she gives me a worried look. “I’m not a mancer,” she says again, and continues down the tunnel.

“No one’s accusing you of being a mancer,” I say soothingly. It’s a valid fear—personal magic has been outlawed since the Mancer Wars, and all mancers were put to death by the king. Poor Gwenna is going to be terrified if Mereden keeps bringing it up, and I make a mental note to talk to her about it later.

We follow along for a time as the tunnel narrows. Gwenna frowns to herself as she lets it drag her along, and then the stick seems to turn, leading us back the way we came and away from the rock fall. The stick stops her halfway down, pointing at the wall of the tunnel. “I wasn’t sure, but…right here. It keeps finding something right here.”

“It’s a wall,” Lark points out unhelpfully.

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