Michael forced himself to look away from the furious energy in the rapids and focused on the serene islands of stone with their dainty waterfalls and calm pools.
Yoshani followed his gaze and smiled. “Not all heart wishes are in conflict with another.” He tugged on Michael’s arm. “Come. Your journey has not ended, and if you delay too long, you may not find what you seek.”
Troubled by the words, Michael turned away from the river—and became aware of an odd sound, like a low, steady thunder. A mist was rising up from the river, softening the air and forming rainbows. Where the mist rose, the river disappeared, and Michael began to suspect he knew what that sound of steady thunder meant.
But he wasn’t prepared when Yoshani stopped and looked at him.
Michael’s heart pounded in his throat. The river poured over the edge of the world, smashing on tumbles of huge boulders before the water found its way back to the river in the gorge.
“The path down to the river is over there,” Yoshani said.
“And why would I want to be going down there?”
“Because the River Guardians live down there, and they are the only ones who can help you on the next stage of your journey.”
Michael studied the other man. “You’re leaving now.”
“Yes. But I hope we will meet again, Michael.” Yoshani paused, then added, “Remember the river’s lesson: A heart wish that is not in conflict with another—or with itself—more easily finds its way.” He raised a hand in farewell. “Travel lightly.”
Michael watched Yoshani until the man was no longer in sight. Then he turned to the path that led down into the gorge.
More like a staircase carved out of the stone than a path, Michael decided by the time he was halfway down. And the wooden railing not only provided the comfort of a handhold, it distinguished the stairway from the rest of the stone. The River Guardians probably didn’t need that distinction, but he figured visitors appreciated being given that much guidance.
By the time he reached the river and a flat area that was a dock, a dozen of the otterlike creatures Yoshani called River Guardians were waiting for him.
“Greetings,” Michael said, wishing he’d thought to ask Yoshani if there was a particular greeting that was required or expected.
The River Guardians all bowed slightly, the pads of their paw-hands pressed together chest high. They looked at him out of bright black eyes, and none of them so much as twitched a whisker.
“I seek Belladonna,” he said.
Whiskers twitched in response to those words. Then one of them—maybe the leader—took a step forward. “Dangerous journey to reach Island in the Mist.”
“Where is this island?”
They all turned and pointed.
He looked at the falls and the spume of mist that rose up to the top of the river. Then he looked at the spume rising farther up the river—a spume that reached for the sky and obscured whatever lay behind it.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I do this to find Caitlin Marie. I do this to find Belladonna. I do this to understand a riddle. “If that is where I must go, then I will go.”
The leader bobbed its head. “This way.”
They crowded around him, herding him to a boat that was secured to a post-shaped piece of rock by a leather collar connected to a rope.
Not much of a boat. Fine for rowing around a pond or small lake, but the thing didn’t look big enough or sturdy enough to test the strength of that river. Then he realized what else was missing besides size and sturdiness.
“Where are the oars?”
“No oars,” the leader said. “Magic boat. Won’t work with oars.” It pointed at the boat, then at Michael. “The heart is the sails, the will is the tiller.”
“You expect me to steer that thing by wishing it where I want to go.”
“The heart is the sails, the will is the tiller. When the river tests you, it does not hear mind wishes, only the heart.” The River Guardian stared at him. “If you are worthy of what you seek, you will find Island in the Mist. If you are not meant to find it, the boat will bring you back here. If your heart needs another place, you will find another landscape. But if your heart tries to deceive the river about why you seek, the river will take you.”
I could die doing this, Michael thought as he stared at the boat. “Nothing is ever simple around here, is it?”
“Ephemera is as simple as the heart,” the River Guardian replied. “Go or leave?”
He was about to tell the River Guardian the words meant the same thing. Then he realized they didn’t, not the way the creature meant them. He could go to the island or leave this part of Sanctuary. What was unspoken between the two words was that if he left he would never find what he sought.
“I’ll go.”
Only one seat in the stern. Guess these things aren’t meant to hold more than one person, Michael thought as he gingerly stepped into the boat and settled himself in the center of the seat. He gave a moment’s thought to slipping off the travel pack and placing it in the bow of the boat, then decided against it. Except for his whistle, now wrapped in a clean square of cloth, the pack and everything in it was a loan from Sebastian or Teaser, and he didn’t need it bouncing out of the boat when he hit rough water. And he had no doubt there would be rough water.
One of the River Guardians removed its robe and handed the garment to a companion before it slipped into the water next to the boat. Another River Guardian lifted the leather collar from the stone post and tossed it to the one in the water, who slipped the collar over its head.
It swam against the current, pulling the boat to the center of the river. When they got to that point, the distant spume seemed to pull into itself, giving Michael a good view of what waited to test him.
The river above him split, divided by a large spar of land. The falls he’d seen had been awesome enough, but these…
Walls of water. A huge half circle of white thunder falling to the river with nothing to break its long descent. Churning water and wild currents filled the bowl formed by those falls. And the spume of mist that rose from the center of that wild water marked the spot that held the prize—if he could survive the river long enough to reach it.
Suddenly the collar and rope were tossed into the boat and he was adrift, alone, with the currents tugging at the boat, pushing him back down the river, away from the place he needed to go.
The heart is the sails, the will is the tiller, Michael thought. I seek the Island in the Mist.
Against all logic and reason, the small boat began moving against the current. On either side of the river, he caught glimpses of buildings shaped from the native stone, blending in so well it was hard to tell where the intentionally created began and the naturally created ended. He wished someone else could steer the boat so he’d be free to just look at the world around him. But every time his attention strayed for more than a few seconds, the boat floundered.
Well, he’d just keep his mind on his business. When he reached the island, he’d be able to stand on the shore and look his fill at the falls and the river.
Except he couldn’t see an island, and he was now close enough to the walls of water that the currents were vicious.
What do you seek? It might have been a thousand voices whispering the question—or only one.
“I seek the Island in the Mist.” It seemed right to say the words aloud, to give them the weight of his voice.
Why do you seek?
“Heart’s hope lies within Belladonna. I seek Belladonna. I seek her help in fighting the Destroy—”