• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Cursed?” Rachel asked.

“Supposedly the lake is bewitched,” Ferrin said. “Even the hardy folk of the wildlands keep their distance, which should prevent us from meeting much interference.”

“We need to get to the island in the middle of the lake,” Jason said.

“The island?” Ferrin exclaimed. “Why? Are you on a tour of the most dangerous and inaccessible places in all the land?”

“What makes you say that?” Rachel asked.

“Nothing floats on Whitelake. Not boats, not insects, not dust. Certainly not people. Everything sinks. Nobody knows how deep it is. Folks in town claim it goes down to the center of the world.”

“But you’ve never actually seen the lake?” Jason checked. “No,” Ferrin responded. “You think people might be exaggerating?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jason said.

Ferrin kept peering out the window. Half an hour later, pulling up the hood of his cloak, he called for the driver to halt. After they climbed down and collected their gear, Jason told the driver to return to Trensicourt.

“Are you certain, my lord?” the driver asked, eyes darting to Ferrin’s hooded form. “Begging your pardon, this is far from the destination I anticipated, an uncivilized stretch of wilderness where you might come to harm.”

Rachel had not heard the driver utter a complaint as Jason had issued prior instructions. Evidently, the man had reached his limit.

“I’m sure, Evan,” Jason said. “I need to take a few detours before I go where Duke Dolan probably told you I was heading.”

With practiced skill Evan produced a crossbow and pointed it at Ferrin. “If this man is trying to coerce you, I can take care of him, my lord.”

“No, Evan, he’s a friend,” Jason assured the coachman. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m really here on purpose. You can tell the regent that I’m just taking care of some unfinished business.”

Evan lowered the weapon. “Very well. Safe journey, my lord.”

“You too, Evan,” Jason said.

The driver flicked the reins, and the coach rumbled forward.

“How is he going to turn the coach around?” Rachel asked. The road looked much too narrow.

“He’ll forge ahead until he finds a clearing,” Ferrin said. “Come, we should get away from the road before nightfall.”

The next morning, from a craggy hilltop, Ferrin pointed out the town of Whitelake, a rough-hewn settlement of log structures a few miles from the base of a squat, conical mountain. Golden-brown prairie land surrounded the town, beyond which forested hills and ridges continued into the distance.

“Where is the lake?” Jason asked.

“Atop the mount,” Ferrin said.

“It looks like a squashed volcano,” Jason said.

Ferrin rubbed his chin. “Volcanic activity might help explain tales of an unnatural lake.”

They descended the hill and started across the open, grassy plain separating them from the mount. Rachel noticed that Ferrin kept checking behind them.

“Think we’re being followed?” Rachel asked.

“Almost certainly,” Ferrin said. “It’s a single person, staying well back, I’ve half glimpsed him a few times. He might just be a hunter watching to ensure we leave his territory alone. Maybe he’ll veer off now that we’ve left the forest.”

“And if not?” Jason asked.

Ferrin shrugged. “Could be a scout for a team of bandits. Could be a tenacious spy from Trensicourt. Could be an agent of the emperor. Hard to guess.”

“Let’s hope he’s a shy, lonely fisherman,” Jason said.

“The mountain doesn’t look too hard to climb,” Rachel noted, looking ahead.

“True,” Ferrin agreed. “The slope all around the mountain is strangely regular—fairly steep but never sheer. Anyone behind us will have a nice view of our ascent. But nobody will be able to sneak up on us.”

They crossed the grassland without incident and started up the mountain. The slope was steep enough that hiking up it felt like climbing stairs. Rachel bent forward like Jason, using her hands as she advanced. Partway up they took a lunch break, having already gained an impressive view of the plains and forest behind them. As they finished,