Page 61 of This Midsummer Heart
The Crossing
Auberon
Isendanothersilentpleato Titaine to stay with me, even though I know it will be hours before we reach the fae.
The female ranger is speaking. I tear my eyes away from the path ahead, slow to process her words.
“You know why humans called it the Bridge of Miracles back in the olden days, before the seas calmed and magic could make horses and carts go faster?” she prompts, but I only half hear her. My eyes are fixed on the narrowing isthmus before us.
“Because even then, wondrous things could happen there.” She pats Giselda’s rump. “May the gods speed your journey, Elf King, and the healing of your queen. I’ll tell my children and my children’s children of this day.”
My eyes widen just as Giselda takes off in an easy canter. I never told her who I was. I don’t think Titaine would have, either.
Rangers.Between recognizing ancient, cursed blades and predicting the tides, there’s clearly more to these mortals than meets the eye.
Just as there is more to Giselda. The faster she runs, the smoother her gait grows. Titaine is barely jostled as the white mare takes off at a gallop.
We overtake the caravan, slowing only to safely pass them, in a quarter of the time it should’ve taken. Still, sea foam sprays up, darkening Giselda’s flanks and my trousers. It’s a warning.
The tide is coming in.
Soon, we are out of reach of the beacon that’s meant to warn us.
I should have paid more attention—to a lot of things, but right now, it’s Giselda that concerns me. How long can she sustain this pace? If I keep pushing her like this, will she need to rest before we reach the safety of the southern continent?
As we race across the tether connecting Tethered Malu to the northern wolding, I watch her for signs of fatigue and strain. Titaine was right to bet our futures on Giselda’s ability to cross here. We leave the other horses, carts and caravans behind us before we finally have to slow at a bottleneck.
I keep Giselda turning and dancing so she will not have to stop short. She responds as easily to me as she would to Titaine—but she senses the coming tide as much as I do.
The land is too narrow for us to get around a small caravan. This one does not hold a merchant’s wealth, or even that of a town, but an extended family. Children look out the back of the covered wagons, giggling as they watch Giselda dance, their faces bright in the lantern they gather around.
It is almost too dark to see now. Only the lamps hanging at the front of the caravans allow me to see clearly.
Fear makes my limbs prickle and the hairs rise on the back of my neck. The sea crashes against the western bank of the land bridge, then the eastern, the waves rising into sheer walls of water before splashing us all. The shaggy oxen pulling the carts are big and slow, their gaits faltering as they, too, grow afraid.
Farther ahead, the land flares out, wide enough to pass this caravan.
Giselda stamps, her nostrils flaring. The movement elicits a groan from Titaine. Her eyes do not open, her lashes never even fluttering. I press my elbows tighter around her ribs, hoping to keep her still.
The waves hit the rocks, then leap onto the edges of the land bridge, where only dirt and stones remain after too much exposure to seawater. And I know exactly where these stones came from; the sea chucks one into the side of the second wagon, denting the canvas cover before dropping onto the ground.
“The tide is coming,” I yell, wishing I could get to the front of one of these wagons to speak to an adult. All I can see are the gawking—now shrieking—children.
I raise my voice to a bellow. “Abandon your carts! Unhitch the oxen and let them run if they can.”
Voices in a language I don’t understand rise in response. They don’t sound nearly as panicked as they should.
Either way, it’s hopeless. To get around the other wagons, they’d have to tip each of them into the sea to clear the path. The only way to go isback.
I cannot go back. Elves are great healers, but there’s very little magic in the salves and balms we know to prepare. Titaine needs magic. She needs her people’s ability to heal.
I do not think these wagons are made to go backwards, either.
It seems too much to ask that the Blade of Hedril will have an answer for this. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to feel the magic driving the waves towards us so erratically.
I can’t sense the chaos here like in Nerania Wood. I am not experienced enough with my own dark magic to know what to do.
“Titaine,” I whisper, gently shaking her. “Titaine, please wake up.”
