Page 58 of A Dark and Drowning Tide

Lorelei reached for another handhold, a sharp edge of rock juttingout less than a meter above her. But just as she transferred her weight, it slipped free. It plummeted and clattered to the ground below. Lorelei swore, pressing herself as flat as she could as she struggled to find purchase. Terror had made her woozy, and her fingers ached.

“Lorelei!”

Sylvia’s outstretched hand appeared before her. For a moment, Lorelei was stunned at how easily she reached for her. Shifting her balance, Lorelei clasped her forearm and grunted as Sylvia yanked her bodily onto solid ground.

Sylvia flopped onto her back, one hand draped over the labored rise and fall of her chest. Her face was flushed with effort. “Saints, you’re heavier than you look.”

“I’m carrying a full bag!”

The scream came again, frayed with desperation. Without a word, they shot to their feet and darted into the underbrush. As Lorelei shoved through heavy boughs of pine, she could hear the sound of churning water. She felt imprisoned in that alpdrücke dream: water slipping into her mouth like cold fingers, hands closing around her wrists. She stumbled out into a clearing. Stretched out before them was a shallow pond. At the center, someone thrashed in the water.

No, something.

At their approach, the movement stopped suddenly. The figure slowly turned toward them. Its mouth was twisted into a merry, wicked grin. Each tooth gleamed, deadly sharp and as yellowed as a sun-bleached bone. It wore a long, hooded cloak that concealed its body and most of its face from view. The garment was roughly woven from reeds and algae, and it glittered with bright-blue sea glass and smooth river stones. As the creature moved, they clattered together, hypnotizingly musical. It made a little sweeping gesture, as if to sayta-da.

Sylvia groaned. “Of course.”

“What is that thing?” Lorelei asked flatly.

“A schellenrock,” she said. “They enjoy making mischief. It must’ve heard us coming and hoped to sidetrack us.”

The schellenrock seemed to wilt a little under Lorelei’s impassive glare. “If that was meant to be funny, I’m not laughing.”

“Please behave,” Sylvia hissed. “They’re very easily offended. You don’t want to see it angry.”

“We don’t havetime—”

She saw red as Sylvia held up a placating hand. “It may be able to help us. Give me just a moment.”

She picked her way slowly toward the pond, stepping carefully around fat white mushrooms. With the same tenderness she’d reserved for the village children, she crouched at the edge of the water and dipped a finger into it. The surface rippled at her touch.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said. “We don’t mean to intrude in your territory. We’re looking for a friend. A man, just a bit taller than me but shorter than her. Brown hair. Wears a vasculum . . .” Here, she paused and amended, “A tube around his neck. He is always shoving plants into it. Have you seen him pass by?”

The schellenrock seemed unimpressed. From within the recesses of its hood, a set of citrine-yellow eyes blinked slowly. It inspected the hem of its cloak, twirling this way and that as if it were infinitely more interesting than whatever Sylvia was saying. Lorelei wanted to strangle it for its insolence. But Sylvia smiled almost fondly and withdrew a single silver bell from her pocket.

“Fair enough. Well, I brought this bell all the way from Ruhigburg.” For effect, she rattled it. It chimed sweetly in the eerie quiet of the woods. “I think this would make a fetching addition to your cloak.”

The schellenrock waded closer, its eyes shining with covetous longing.

“You may have it,” Sylvia continued, curling her fingers around the bell and clasping it to her heart, “ifyou would be so kind as to point us in the right direction.”

It nodded eagerly. Sylvia beamed, holding her palm flat again. Lorelei could only think of how she’d tricked the alp and threatened it for the information she wanted. But Sylvia allowed the schellenrock to reachout with its small, clawed hands and pocket the bell. It jangled merrily, and although Lorelei could not see the creature’s face, an almost childlike happiness radiated from it. It shook the bell as Sylvia had, but the ringing was muffled and discordant from how tightly it clung to it. Her headache pounded in time with the sound.

“Well?” Lorelei demanded.

The schellenrock looked at her, then Sylvia. Slowly, it turned and pointed toward the summit. The tallest peak pierced the sky like a lance. Lorelei thought of the legend the old woman had told. Tomorrow night, when the moon was full, it would scrape against that jagged rock and spill its blood into the alpine lake below.

The Ursprung was nearly within reach.

“You’ve seen him, then?” Sylvia asked. “He’s alive?”

“For now.” Its voice brushed the shell of Lorelei’s ear, as light as dandelion seeds carried on the wind. “The women of the woods have had their fun with him. I heard them laughing about it.”

“The eschenfrau?” Sylvia asked. Lorelei tried to ignore the unease in her tone. When the schellenrock said nothing, Sylvia pressed, “Do you know how to reach the summit?”

It hesitated. With a sigh, Sylvia reached into her pocket and placed another bell on the shoreline. The schellenrock snatched it, and it disappeared into the dark recesses of its cloak. “Follow this stream until you come to a blade. When you cross its edge, you will be there.”

“Speak plainly,” Lorelei snapped. “What does that mean?”