Page 32 of Silver Linings

“Mostly my grandmother,” Sidney replied. “By the time I was old enough to really get out here, she’d retired and had handed over running the pet store to my mother. She always stayed in great shape, so she didn’t have any trouble going pretty much anywhere she wanted as long as it wasn’t straight-up rock climbing.”

“Do you have many places for that here?” Ben asked, somewhat surprised. Yes, there’d been that rocky overhang the day before, the one that had provided them with some shelter from the rain. However, he hadn’t seen much in the way of actual cliffs or anything more than a steep hill.

“No,” she said with a grin. “At the far eastern edge of the woods, you start to get into the foothills of the Trinity Mountains, but that’s more than fifteen miles from here. Even our most ambitious hikes never took us that far. But we wandered around here a lot. My grandmother loved these woods. She always said a crossing point like this one needed to be preserved.”

“‘Crossing point’?” Ben repeated, thinking there must be something significant about that phrase, since he didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone say it before.

At once, Sidney seemed to realize she’d made a misstep. Color touched her cheeks — although he supposed her flush could have been merely from exertion — and she said quickly, “Oh, she just meant that migrating birds pass through here. That’s why we get a lot of bird watchers.”

On the surface, that explanation sounded plausible enough. However, Ben couldn’t help thinking there had been something more to her comment…a clue that might have something to do with the rumored white horse that had brought him here in the first place.

He had a feeling if he pressed her on the subject, she’d only retreat that much more, so he decided to let it alone for now. While she’d been friendly — and obviously glad to have him as an ally in her fight against Northwest Pacific — he still guessed she was keeping her own secrets, ones she very possibly would never divulge.

Only time would tell, he supposed.

As they continued even deeper into the forest, however, he couldn’t help asking, “Are you going to make it back to work on time?”

Because she was in front of him, leading the way, he could see the way her shoulders lifted. “It’s only nine-thirty. But I stopped in and moved the hands on my little ‘be back at’ sign to one o’clock, just to be safe.”

Well, that was something. He had to admit he was surprised to learn it wasn’t even ten yet, because it felt as if they’d been out here much longer than that.

The forest seemed to thin somewhat as they walked, and Ben saw the reason why soon enough. The pines and sequoias that had crowded on all sides appeared to be giving way to oak trees, huge magnificent specimens that appeared far older than Silver Hollow, their branches bright with fresh green leaves. Rather than moss and ferns, grass grew underfoot, and he found himself letting out a breath of almost relief. The woods were beautiful, but they could also be almost oppressive.

“I had no idea something like this was even out here,” he said, and she flashed him another of those incandescent grins.

“It’s kind of an open secret,” she replied, and unhooked her water bottle from her hip so she could help herself to a drink. “The trail is hard to find and it’s really off the beaten path, though, so only the most dedicated hikers ever make it out this far.”

Almost impossible to find, as far as he was concerned, and he’d always thought he knew what he was doing when it came to wandering around in the woods. Then again, even though the trees in the San Bernardino National Forest were pretty impressive, they couldn’t begin to compare to what grew here in the Pacific Northwest in terms of sheer density.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” he said, then got out his phone so he could take some pictures.

“It’s a good place to take a breather,” she agreed, and drank some more water.

He probably should have been hydrating as well, but he found himself drawn closer to the trees, making sure he got plenty of photos of the oak grove. Since Sidney had said this spot was an open secret, he didn’t think they’d be giving too much away by publishing the best of these photos in their planned pamphlets and posters and flyers.

But when he stopped only a few feet away from the largest oak, an enormous specimen that looked as if it had been there long before European settlers ever reached this part of the world, he found himself frowning.

“There’s something scratched into this tree,” he said, and at once, Sidney returned her water bottle to her belt and hurried to stand next to him.

“What is it?” she asked, although she sounded more irritated than curious. “Some jerk who decided to leave his initials on something that’s been here for five hundred years? I swear, no matter how much you tell people to leave no trace, there’s always some asshole who thinks the rules don’t apply to him.”

Ben could understand her annoyance. If he had five bucks for every time some uncaring tourist had carved their initials into a petroglyph or on an ancient pre-Colombian stone wall, he might not be a millionaire, but he would have definitely earned enough to pay for his trip to Silver Hollow.

However, what he saw scratched into that tree only made him frown. This was no “Kevin loves Susan” or “R.L. was here.”

No, the symbols carved there appeared to be Celtic. He had to admit he wasn’t entirely certain, just because the ancient European civilizations had never been his area of specialty.

“What are those?” Sidney asked as she drew closer. Her irritation appeared to have given way to confusion, which he completely understood. “Some kind of runes?”

“Not exactly,” Ben replied. Although he was no expert on Norse civilizations, he still knew enough to recognize that those symbols weren’t runes…at least, not the kind that most people would recognize as such and would use for divination or other arcane purposes.

No, the more he looked at the marks, the more he was convinced that they were Celtic in origin, even if that determination didn’t begin to explain what the symbols were doing out here…or why someone had felt the need to scratch them into this tree.

Except he thought he remembered that the ancient Celts believed oak trees were sacred and would conduct some of their rites in oak groves. Was that what had happened here? Was Silver Hollow hiding a secret cult of pagans who came out to dance in the moonlight in this sheltered spot?

Almost the same moment that thought crossed his mind, he immediately dismissed it. Anyone who hiked all the way out here to perform a secret ceremony would have to be awfully motivated, and somehow he couldn’t imagine any of the residents he’d encountered over the past day and a half doing anything quite so wild.

Then again, people could surprise you.

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