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She looked at Azalea.
Azalea held her gaze. “Be brave, Door Master. I’ll be here when you bring him up.”
Truly nodded, closed her eyes, and taking one last fortifying breath, descended into the belly of the beast.
32
TINY BUBBLES
The water was cold. And getting colder by the second.
The rapid descent didn’t help. Something about her plummet into darkness wasn’t natural. The bucket acted like an elevator, conveying her down, instead of allowing her to sink like a stone. Holding her breath, Truly ignored the burn in her lungs and tapped into the strange sensation.
Power slithered up from down below. The magic hissed, warning her to return to the surface as the chill deepened and water swam over her skin. The wet fingers tumbled around her like mini-cyclones, grasping at her clothes, pulling at her hair, needling into her skin until numbness set in.
Shivering in the dark, Truly clenched her teeth, gripping the wooden lip of the box as a cross-current battered her. The bucket swung toward the side of the well. Tiny air bubbles streamed past, swirling through faint light as hummingbirds walked the tops of her shoulders. Tail feathers aglow, the matched pair switched sides, changing the angle of illumination.
Truly stared into the abyss. But even with the hummingbirds’ help, she couldn’t see much. Darkness driven by unnatural forces crept in from the outer well walls, cannibalizing the light until indistinct lines faded into blurry shapes.
Balanced on the balls of her feet, Truly descended deeper into the darkness. She glanced over the edge. Her hair streamed into her face. Wiping the loose strands away, she squinted into the on-coming flow. The hummingbirds shifted. Small talons dug into her shoulders as the glow around each brightened, eating through the gloom, and still…
Nothing but a gaping abyss below her. Total darkness. Pain beating on her chest, Truly closed her eyes. God. She hoped Azalea was right. Though to her, it seemed impossible Westvane lay at the bottom of the well. Trapped beneath unknown amounts of water. Injured by Eblin and his sentries. Being made a meal of by a powerful forest spirit who didn’t want her to find him.
Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.
Bile touched the back of her throat as she opened her eyes.Please, let him be alive.The silence plea echoed inside her head. But even as Truly clung to hope, she forced herself to face the facts. She might be too late. For all his strength and skill, Westvane might already be dead.
Wielding her intuition like a weapon, she tapped into the cradle of her own power, reaching into the magical library that lived inside theEcotone. Her mind ran through miles of ancient corridors. Books flew off shelves. Pages flipped. She absorbed the written word, tucking the knowledge away as understanding rose.
The spirit that protected Weeping Hollow was unforgiving. A vengeful spirit without conscience, showing no mercy to those it considered a threat. After her encounter with Priestly and the queen’s guard, Truly couldn’t blame it. Lyonesse was cruel, brandishing the magic she commanded without caring whom it hurt. Taking their cue from her, her followers acted in accordance with her wishes, beating down anyone who opposed her.
Not surprising.
Systematic oppression thrived in a vacuum. Those in authority liked the status quo — the less awareness and more control, the better. The dominant caste in Azlandia was no different. As with most authoritarian regimes, inequality and abuse ran rampant inside a framework ofus versus them. Privileged classes always resisted change. Equal rights for all required an even playing field, but also, true acceptance. A fact Lyonesse knew.
If the collective’s focus shifted toward fairness, the perks the Electi enjoyed as the ruling class would disappear. Her iron grip on Azlandia, her insistence on the old ways supported by cruel laws, ensured the people stayed in line, and she remained in power.
Tried and true tactics for a dictator.
Azlandia might be a new world to Truly, but the story unfolding inside it was as old as time. Which made Weeping Hollow’s reaction to magic-wielders understandable. If she was the forest, Truly wouldn’t want Electi on her turf either. That didn’t mean, however, that she wouldn’t challenge the entity who called it home. Try to make the woodland spirit her friend, instead of keeping it a wary ally. If she succeeded, Weeping Hollow would become a sanctuary. A place for her to revisit and rest each time she crossed theEcotoneand —
The bottom of the bucket banged into something.
A thump swirled in the heavy current around her. Wood twisted, bowing underfoot as a vortex opened beneath her. Water raged upward. The violent tornado clawed at her hair and clothes, tossing her overboard. Truly grabbed one of the ropes, fighting the pull as the whirlpool banged her against the wooden side, trying to tear her away.
The stream of water reversed, funneling toward the top of the well.
Water drained away. Gravity grabbed hold, slamming her into the bottom of the bucket. Rough rope rubbed her skin raw. Pain ghosted up her arm. Rubbing the sore spot, Truly blinked water out of her eyes and looked up. The surface rippled above her. Fresh air instead of cold water rolled in to surround her. Flipping onto her side, she sucked in a choked breath. Her lungs spasmed as her ribcage expanded. Couching, inhaling hitched breaths, she threw the rope aside and sat up.
Hummingbird wings buzzed as her companions took flight.
Light spread through the cavernous space.
Shifting to her knees, she peered over the side. Uneven stone walls. Stalagmites rising like jagged teeth from the floor. A cave at the bottom of a well, the perfect place for the forest to make a meal of someone.
Still coughing, Truly climbed out of the bucket. Her feet slipped on mucky ground. Her knees buckled, and she folded in half, stifling a groan as her body protested the movement. Battered. Bruised. Nearly drowned by a magical well. No wonder she hurt everywhere.
Kneeling in the mud, she watched the hummingbirds flit around the cave, shining light in dark corners, and forced herself to stand up. Tiny wings vibrating, one hovered over a stalagmite and —
