Belladonna

Chapter Sixteen

Sanctuary. The song of it flowed through him, sweet and gentle, but with just enough spice to give the heart delight as well as peace. He wanted to walk the grounds and the gardens, wanted to sit on one of those little islands he’d spotted and twiddle on his whistle, letting the notes become part of whatever message was passed along by the water.

You’re almost home.

The thought seemed to float on the air, seemed to slip into his body with every breath. You’re almost home.

He wasn’t anywhere near the land of his birth. Which made him wonder what sort of answers he might get from the man now escorting him to the next stage of his journey.

He still wasn’t sure Sebastian and Teaser weren’t playing games with him. Oh, he couldn’t deny that this part of the world was much stranger than anything he might have imagined, but how could people live as a people if they didn’t know where they lived?

“Yoshani,” he said hesitantly. “I was wondering if you know what a country is?”

“I know what a country is,” Yoshani replied with a smile. “And I understand what a landscape is. There can be many landscapes in a single country—and there can be many countries in a single landscape.”

Michael frowned. “That makes no sense.”

“Which part? Both are true, depending on how one sees the world.”

“They can’t both be true. The world—”

“—is fluid. Ever-changing. A reflection of ourselves.”

That thought wasn’t comfortable—or comforting. Not after the things he’d seen lately.

“Which is why I am grateful daily that I can walk here,” Yoshani added quietly. “That this place reflects a piece of my heart.”

And mine? Michael wondered, almost staggered by the power of wanting that to be true.

Yoshani raised a hand and pointed. “There is the path. It is not much farther now.”

For a few steps, the only sound was their shoes on the path.

“Do most people know about the world’s…odd behavior?” Michael asked. “I’ve never met anyone in Elandar who knew about this.” No one who had admitted it, he amended. But they all knew about people who had walked between the Sentinel Stones and disappeared forever. Crossed over to another landscape. That’s how Sebastian and Teaser had explained walking across an ordinary-looking bridge and ending up in another part of the world. Did all the Sentinel Stones work the same way? How could these bridges have existed in Elandar for centuries without anyone but the Merry Makers remembering how they worked?

Maybe people didn’t want to remember. Maybe it’s time for people to remember once again.

“It is not odd behavior, Michael,” Yoshani said. “It is the nature of Ephemera.” He stopped walking and stared at the land in front of them. “And no, most people do not understand our world. They are protected from its nature—and their own—by the bedrock of the Landscapers’ hearts. But because they have lived in the part of the world that was most shattered by the war between the Dark and the Light, there are many people here who understand the truth.”

“And what is the truth?”

Yoshani turned and placed a hand on Michael’s chest. “That no matter how much you know about the world and its vastness, the only landscapes you can truly see are the ones that resonate with your own heart.” He stepped back. “Come. The border is at the end of that path.”

A shiver went down Michael’s spine. He’d met Yoshani a few minutes after he crossed the bridge into Sanctuary, and had trusted the man on sight. But when he’d explained his purpose, something had flickered in Yoshani’s dark eyes. That flicker hadn’t altered his trust in the man, but it did worry him—especially after Yoshani explained that he’d have to cross over to another part of Sanctuary in order to continue his journey.

Now the border—and another piece of the world—was at the end of the path. At least there was comfort in knowing he wouldn’t be leaving Sanctuary just yet.

“What’s that?” Michael asked when they reached a statue of an otterlike being standing upright and wearing an open, full-length coat or robe. The top of the statue reached his chest, which reminded him of the Merry Makers because they stood at about that same height. And even though the creature looked benign, seeing something else that looked humanlike but wasn’t human made him very uneasy.

“That is a River Guardian. They built their homes in the face of the gorge and have tended the River of Prayers for as far back as their race has memories. Their magic is very powerful and has become part of the currents of the river, even beyond the landscape they call home. Just stay on the path and walk past the statue. That will take you to their part of Sanctuary.”

Michael hesitated. “Can you come with me?”

Yoshani studied him. “I can accompany you a little farther on the journey if you like.”

“I would like. Very much.”

Yoshani smiled. “Come then.” He walked past the statue and vanished.

Michael hurried after Yoshani, not wanting to get lost or left behind. But when he passed the statue and found himself in another part of Sanctuary, he forgot about his companion and the reason for this journey. Forgot about everything because the river pulled at him, the clash and harmony of its songs commanding all his attention.

Yoshani grabbed Michael’s arm to keep him from moving closer to the rushing water. “This river runs through many landscapes and, even here in Sanctuary, the banks are not always safe.”

Power, Michael thought as he stared at the river. He’d never felt such a powerful flow of water. Some parts of it looked tame and no deeper than an easily waded stream, and the dainty waterfalls that spilled from small slate islands were restful to the eye and heart. But the rest of it…

“It’s a battle,” he whispered, his eyes drawn to the places where the current seemed to fight itself, and the speed of the river mesmerized him until the lure of becoming part of it was almost irresistible.

“Michael.”

He still couldn’t take his eyes off the river, was almost deaf to everything except its sound, but he allowed Yoshani to pull him back a few steps.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“I think it has other names in other landscapes, but here it is called Wish River,” Yoshani replied. “The River Guardians say it reveals the conflicts that arise when one heart’s wants and needs are directly opposed to another heart’s wants and needs.”

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—”

Insanity or rage. It didn’t matter. The river turned against him. It flung the boat out of the water, sending it smashing back down into savage currents that were intent on killing him.

What do you seek?

“I seek—” Why was this happening? He was being honest about what he sought!

A wave crashed against the boat, almost knocking him into the river. He flung himself to his knees, grabbing the side of the boat with one hand while the other fumbled to slip the leather collar over his arm to give him that much connection to the boat.

What did he seek? Caitlin Marie. The answer to a riddle. Help defeating the Destroyer of Light before it consumed the parts of the world he knew.

The currents changed, knocking him this way and that.

What do you seek?

Like a series of pictures, the world changed around him. For a moment, he was surrounded by fog, and he could hear the voices of doomed men forever lost. A moment later, he was gliding over a mist-filled lake toward an island he could barely see—and didn’t want. A moment after that, he saw a rib cage partially buried under rust-colored sand. Then the currents, the river, and walls of water.

“I seek Belladonna!” he screamed.

Why do you seek?

Going under. Going under. No chance of surviving.

And in that moment, as he surrendered to fate, he felt the warmth of her as she leaned against him, as he wrapped his arms around her in dreams. Almost home. Almost…

My heart’s hope lies with Belladonna.

Yes, the river whispered. Yes.

Glorianna leaned against the wall next to her garden’s gate, catching her breath and her balance.

A heart wish that was full of joy and yet bittersweet. Separation and homecoming.

Right here. On her island.

She recognized the resonance of that heart. It had struggled to free itself from the Eater of the World, had almost pulled the Eater into her landscapes.

Now that heart was here on her island—and Ephemera was responding like a pet whose best friend had returned home after a long journey. Responding like that to another heart here, on her island. The world didn’t respond that way to Lee or Nadia when they came to visit. Didn’t respond to anyone that way. Not here.

Until now, something inside her whispered.

Then she saw him coming up the path from the little harbor. He looked scruffy, despite clothes that appeared to be fairly new. And clearly the river had given him a hard ride, which meant he had tried to hide his true purpose in coming to the island. That was reason enough to be wary of him, even if he hadn’t come into her landscapes in such an unusual way.

He stopped and looked around, his smile as warm as spring sunbeams after a long winter as he took in the grounds that were carefully balanced between created flower beds and the natural flow of the land. As he turned toward her two-story house, she stepped away from the garden. She didn’t want him in her house until she’d taken a better measure of the man.

Catching the movement, he turned toward her. Moved toward her.

Another jolt of recognition when he got close enough for her to get a good look at his face. Here was the moonlight lover from the painting Sebastian had made for her. But that man had been a fantasy that was…

…as real as a dream, a wish, a desire.

A yearning washed through her. It flowed into Ephemera’s currents before she could stop it or deny its importance.

But it didn’t go beyond the island. Didn’t have to in order to find fulfillment.

More than wariness jangled inside her now. She wasn’t sure she could—or should—trust the man coming toward her. But she knew with absolute certainty that, where he was concerned, she couldn’t trust herself.

He smiled at her and raised his hands as if to prove he held no weapons.

No weapons? Ha! She’d wager he had toppled a good many women’s defenses by wielding that oh-so-charming smile. And did he think she didn’t notice his eyes doing that quick, assessing sweep men always did when they saw a woman whose body appealed to them and got them wondering if…

Guardians and Guides. Heat flooded her face when she remembered she was dressed in her grubbiest gardening clothes—and had been working in her garden all morning, so she certainly wasn’t looking her best.

Which meant the look of appreciation in his eyes was nothing but a deceit.

You said once that the only man worthy of being loved was one who saw you in your gardening clothes and still thought you looked beautiful, her romantic side murmured.

Shut up, she told her romantic side. “What are you looking at?” she growled at him.

His smiled warmed. That son of a succubus was amused by her!

“More than an image that haunts my dreams,” he replied, his voice flowing over her like warm, silky water. “A woman. A beautiful, real woman.”

And because her stupid heart actually went pitty-pat in response to the words, she whipped her temper awake.

“Wasn’t sure that bit of a boat would make it,” he said, still giving her that charming smile.

“You’ll have to be tested,” she said, putting an edge in her voice to warn him she wasn’t the least bit charmed.

“Already was.”

When she didn’t respond, his smile faltered. Good.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Glorianna.”

He looked puzzled. And a trifle disappointed? But he rallied fast enough and polished up the smile.

“It’s obvious you passed the river’s test since you’re here,” she said. “But there is another test.”

Now the charming smile gave way completely to frustration and a hint of ripening anger. Which only stoked her own temper since being mad at him seemed the safest thing to do until she could get him off her island. Not the fairest thing, true, but the safest. Besides, she needed to see the results of this test.

He slapped his hands against his legs. “Another test? Don’t you people do anything for fun?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “We give strangers tests and then laugh at them while they make fools of themselves.”

The frustration vanished as quickly as it had come. He grinned at her as if he’d figured out the answer to a puzzle. “You’re just snappy because you got caught out wearing your old clothes.”

A mortifying assessment of her temper. Especially because it was partially true.

“Since this is my island, what I wear is no one’s business but my own. And I am not snappy!”

He rocked back on his heels. “Oh, but you are. Which is a fine thing because the temper brightens your eyes and puts color in your cheeks. Makes you even more beautiful.”

He was taller than her and heavier than her, but at that moment, riding on temper and embarrassment, she was pretty sure she could pick him up, haul him down to the shore, and toss him into the river. “Take the test or go back to the river. With or without the boat.”

He gave her his most woeful wounded-male look.

She just stared at him.

“Got a brother, don’t you?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

“I do.” And Lee had perfected that woeful look by practicing on her until she had perfected the Stare.

“Thought so.” He sighed. “All right, then. Let’s get this test done before you have time to think up another.”

He followed her to the spot she called the playground. Then he scratched his head and pursed his lips as he looked at a calf-high wooden box that was about the size of a marriage bed and was filled with sand. Another box, about half that length, was attached to it and held a wooden bench and gravel.

“It’s a sandbox,” he finally said. “Darling, if you’re wanting me to build you sand castles, I’m going to need some water along with the sand.”

“You won’t need anything that’s not already with you,” Glorianna said. “Leave the pack on the ground out here. You’ll want no distractions.”

He shrugged off the pack and set it on the ground, then looked at her, clearly waiting for more explanation.

She pointed to the gravel. “You can sit on the bench or stand on the gravel. But don’t step into the part with the sand, or you might never find your way back.”

She saw a flash of alarm in his eyes and watched his face pale. And wondered what kind of landscapes he’d already seen.

“Heart’s hope lies within Belladonna,” he said. No charm now. Not even any confidence. Just a vulnerable truth that she could feel resonating inside her like a pure note when he added, “My heart’s hope lies with Belladonna.”

“Maybe,” she replied, her voice rough from trying to control her own tangle of emotions as she silently acknowledged the difference in those two phrases. “It depends on the test.”

He hesitated a moment longer, then stepped into the wooden box holding the gravel.

“Don’t leave this space until I return for you,” she said. Ephemera, hear me. Show me the landscapes of this heart.

She walked away, ignoring his “Now just a minute here!” protest. She kept moving away until he turned his attention to the sand. Then she doubled back to quietly come up behind him.

“Fine,” he grumbled, lightly kicking at the gravel. “Play tricks on a stranger just because he doesn’t know much about…Lady’s mercy!”

Fist-sized stones—many with jagged edges—filled the box that had held sand. A moment later, half the stones sank beneath a foul-smelling bog.

“Just a trick,” he whispered. “Can’t be real. I can’t be doing this. Land doesn’t change this fast. Not this fast.”

Yes, it can, Glorianna thought. Under the right—or wrong—circumstances, it can.

The far corner of the sandbox disappeared under a heavy fog.

Dark landscapes, she thought, feeling a chill go through her. Was there nothing inside him but dark landscapes?

“Lady of Light, have mercy on me,” he said, sinking to his knees. Then he cocked his head, as if hearing something. His eyes widened in shock, swiftly replaced by wonder. “The wild child.”

The words resonated through the currents of power, leaving Glorianna breathless. It wasn’t the way she would have described Ephemera, but it felt exactly right.

“Come on, now. Come on,” he said, his voice cajoling. “You know me. You listen to me when I play tunes in the pubs, when I’ve given people a reason to sing and laugh and put aside their troubles for a while. And I’ve played tunes for you, when I’m on the road and it’s just the two of us. I’m a long ways from home, and maybe you don’t know me because of it, but…”

Stone rose out of the bog in front of him. Not fist-sized rocks, but a hefty piece of granite that had veins of quartz glinting in the sunlight.

“Well,” he said after a brief hesitation, “that’s a good stone.”

A patch of grass covered the area in front of the stone, and the bog under it turned to earth that smelled like fertile ground after a soft rain.

He laughed, sounding relieved. “Yes! That’s the way of it.”

A small heart’s hope plant grew in front of the quartz-veined rock.

Hold, Glorianna commanded as she moved around the box to where he could see her.

He stood slowly. She kept her eyes on the box that now reflected some of the landscapes of his heart. She didn’t need to see his eyes to know they held vulnerability and wariness.

A good heart shadowed by doubts. A hard life when he deserved something better. A balance of Dark and Light.

But the test didn’t answer one question: What was he?

“Anger makes stone,” she said quietly, pointing to the fist-sized, jagged-edged stones. Then she pointed to the granite. “And strength makes stone. Doubt and fear are bogs in the heart. Fog can come from many things, but despair makes the deserts—and hope the oases.” Now she looked into his blue-gray eyes. “You don’t understand the meaning of what you see, but you know the world listens to you, that you can make things happen. Don’t you?”

He looked reluctant to admit to anything, but he nodded.

“What do they call you?” she asked.

“My name is Michael.”

She shook her head slowly. “What do they call you?”

A stronger reluctance. She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed. “Luck-bringer. Ill-wisher.” He paused, then added, “Magician.”

He said the word as if it had been the bane of his life.

And it has been, she realized. Just as being declared rogue has been the bane of my life.

She studied him a little longer. Then she smiled. “Welcome to the Island in the Mist, Magician.”

There was real warmth in her smile, honest welcome in her words. And the music of her heart…Bright notes entwined with dark tones, forming a song that held the promise of everything he had searched for, waited for, wanted with all his heart. Love and happiness and home all held within a body he hoped to be kissing by the end of the day—and to keep on kissing for the rest of his life.

He’d misunderstood, had gotten things tangled up in his own mind. But…No, that wasn’t right. He’d gotten here because he’d told people he was seeking Belladonna.

He watched her smile fade and knew it was because he was staring at her, but the music inside her—and its possibilities—held him. Bright notes and dark tones. Could the answer be that simple?

“Glorianna…Belladonna?”

Her green eyes chilled as she nodded. “I am Belladonna.”

Her darkness is my fate. He grinned at her, and got a narrow-eyed stare in return. That was all right. He was here; so was she. They would build a grand life together—once they figured out how to deal with the Well of All Evil.

“What landscape do you call home?” Glorianna asked.

“My coun—” He stopped. Why bang his head against the wall of stubbornness these people had for refusing to understand the word country? “My landscape is called Elandar. My family comes from a village called Raven’s Hill.”

“Do you know the White Isle?” she asked.

Not knowing why she had tensed in response to his answer, he nodded. “I know of it. My aunt was a Lady of Light there before she came to live with us when my sister and I were children.”

“Come with me.” She turned toward the enclosure.

Michael started to follow, then stopped so fast he had to pinwheel his arms to keep his balance. “Wait. What will happen if I step out of this box?”

“Nothing. Your heart doesn’t dominate here.” Now she looked thoughtful. “But it does resonate here.”

“Is that going to stay like that?” he asked, waving a hand at the bog, fog, and sand—and that little bit that, in his own mind, represented home and hope.

“No, it’s just a playground where Ephemera can safely express itself. It will go back to resting sand when you step out of the gravel box.”

He stepped out of the box and silently counted. Before he reached “ten,” almost everything had changed back to sand.

“Ephemera,” Glorianna said in a warning voice.

“Can’t it stay?” Michael asked, feeling a heaviness in his chest at the thought of the heart’s hope going away.

“When you feel its resonance, what does it mean to you?” He gave her a puzzled look, so she pointed to the rock, grass, and heart’s hope. “What does that represent for you?”

“My homeland,” he said without hesitation.

She hesitated, then said, “An access point. All right. It can stay there for the time being. Come with me.”

He picked up the travel pack.

She stared at the pack. He didn’t see anything that would distinguish it, but when she looked troubled, he wondered if she recognized it as belonging to Sebastian. Should he say something? Reassure her that Sebastian had loaned it to him? Or should he reassure her that he barely knew the incubus–wizard–Justice Maker who ruled a place called the Den of Iniquity?

Not sure what to say, he offered no information—and she asked for none as she led him to the gate in the walled enclosure.

Then he walked into a garden that would change his understanding of the world forever.

Glorianna fiddled with the gate to give herself a moment to think.

He was carrying Sebastian’s pack. She recognized it because of the luck piece Lee had given Sebastian—a small, flat stone with a natural hole. It was tied to the pack with a strip of leather and wasn’t something that would draw anyone’s attention. But that stone was one of the two one-shot bridges Lee had created to assure that Sebastian would be able to reach the Den, no matter what landscape he might find himself in.

Which meant this stranger, this Magician, had been to the Den—or to Aurora—and had met Sebastian.

“How did you get to the River Guardians?” she asked.

“A man named Yoshani showed me the way to their part of Sanctuary.”

So Yoshani and Sebastian had met Michael—and they, having ways to send her a message, had made the choice to let the river test him. Why?

So I would know he is worthy of what he seeks—even if I’m not sure I trust my response to him or his to me.

“There’s something I’d like you to do while I show you the garden,” she said, turning to face him.

“Another test?”

The weariness in his voice tugged at her. “Yes, in a way it’s another test, but not a difficult one. I’d like to know which parts of the garden resonate for you.”

“You mean which ones I feel in tune with?”

“Yes.”

He immediately moved to the first bed on the left side of the garden and crouched in front of the statue of a seated woman. “A bittersweet tune for this one. A mother’s tune.”

“Why do you say that?” Glorianna asked, intrigued by his choice and the way he described his resonance.

“I look at this”—Michael waved a hand to indicate the bed—“and I hear the warmth and strength of a woman who loves and knows how to laugh but has also felt the sorrows that come in a life. So…a mother’s tune.”

Glorianna studied the statue she’d taken from her mother’s garden in order to protect Nadia from the Eater of the World. So. This Magician from Raven’s Hill resonated with Aurora, which was Nadia’s home village.

“Any others?” she asked.

With many of the access points to her landscapes, he held out a hand and tilted it back and forth to indicate a so-so response. He wasn’t repelled by those particular places, but they also weren’t landscapes that resonated with his heart.

Then they reached the part of her garden that held the dark landscapes. Michael immediately pointed to two of the access points. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he pointed to a third.

“You know the waterhorses,” Glorianna said.

Michael nodded but gave her a puzzled look. “How did you know?”

“You pointed to their landscape.”

That slight blankness in his eyes. He wasn’t a Landscaper in the way she would normally use the term, but he clearly had a strong connection to and power over Ephemera. It scared her to think that he’d been going about his part of the world, influencing Ephemera when he had so little idea of what he was doing.

“And you know the Merry Makers,” she said, and added silently, And the Den of Iniquity.

He nodded again.

“What about these?” Now she moved quickly through the garden, not giving him a chance to tell her about other connections he might have to her landscapes. She stopped in front of the section that held the Places of Light.

“Oh.” He swayed to a stop, then closed his eyes and smiled. “Oh, this is a grand part of the garden.”

She could see the truth of it in his face, could feel the air pulse between them as he resonated with those Places of Light. While it hadn’t affected him in the same way, he had resonated just as strongly with the three dark landscapes he had pointed out.

“Does any one of them appeal to you in particular?” she asked softly.

He said he was from Elandar, came from the village of Raven’s Hill. She wasn’t sure what to think when he passed over the access point for the White Isle and pointed to the access point that led to the part of Sanctuary that was connected to Aurora.

Michael turned in a slow circle, but the way she had designed the beds that represented her landscapes made it impossible to see all of the garden from any one place.

“I wouldn’t want her to face the dangers of the journey,” he said, “but I wish my sister could see this garden. She found an old walled garden on the hill near the family home, and she’s struggled for years to make something of it.”

She could still hear him talking, but Glorianna was no longer listening to the words. “Your sister has a garden like this?”

“Oh, nothing so grand, but this place reminds me of her bit of garden.”

Guardians and Guides, she thought. There are Landscapers out there who don’t know who they are or what they can do when they play with a bit of land. Especially if they come from the old bloodlines and are like me.

Raven’s Hill. A garden. A resonance that tangled with her own on the White Isle. And a man who had dared the river in order to find her. A dream lover who wasn’t just a dream.

“Glorianna?” Michael reached for her. She took a step back. “What’s wrong?”

“You came seeking Belladonna. Why?”

A blush stained his cheeks. “I’ve seen you in my dreams. Loved you in my dreams.”

She could feel the warmth of his hands—a memory held within a dream.

“I came to find the answer to a riddle—and I found you. ‘Heart’s hope lies within belladonna.’” He looked around the garden. “I’m thinking the answer to defeating the Well of All Evil is right here in this garden. Because this garden is your heart, isn’t it, Glorianna Belladonna?”

She felt breathless. Felt light enough to float with the clouds—and heavy enough to break the earth as she sank into it.

A test of the river to prove he was worthy of what he sought. A different kind of Landscaper, who might be able to show her an answer she couldn’t see by herself. And maybe—maybe—someone with whom she could share her home and the island. Someone who could accept Belladonna as well as Glorianna.

“I think I need to hear the whole story of how you ended up here, but I would rather you tell it to the whole family at the same time,” she said. “So we’ll have to go to my mother’s house.”

“She lives on the island?”

His hopefulness was so transparent that she had to smile. “No, she lives in Aurora. We’ll have to cross over to that landscape.”

He paled. “Cross over. Then it’s a ways from here.”

“Yes, in some ways it is a ways from here,” she replied. “And in others it’s no farther than a heartbeat away.”

He took the step that brought him close enough to brush a finger along her cheek. “Well, that’s true of a good many things, isn’t it?”

Who are you, Magician? “Yes,” she said. “It is.”