Princess Willowyn's Arc

Chapter 29 of 70

For six mornings Willowyn practiced on the sand. Each day the water road stretched a little farther before it fell. Twenty feet. Fifty. A hundred. But the ocean ran for miles, and no amount of practice could push her endurance that far. On the seventh morning she stood at the cave mouth and faced the truth. She could not hold the road on foot. She would drown halfway across. Raven joined her, the green fox at her heels. The witch had trained Willowyn for a year and knew her limits better than Willowyn did. "You can't walk it," Raven said. "Your legs give out and your focus follows." "Then I stop walking." Willowyn turned toward the griffin resting in the shadows. The pale beast lifted its head, silver saddle catching the light. "The griffin can't fly the open sea. But it can fly low. Just above the water. If I hold the road under us, its wings carry us the miles I can't walk." Raven studied the griffin, then the sea. "You hold the water and steer the beast at once?" "No. You steer." Willowyn met her eyes. "I hold the road. You fly." They worked fast before the tide turned. Willowyn tucked the minx into a saddlebag and settled the fox beside it. Raven checked each strap twice. Then she took the reins and mounted the front of the saddle. Willowyn climbed on behind her and pressed her hands flat against the griffin's back. "If the water breaks, pull up fast," Willowyn said. Her voice shook. "So we don't drown." Raven glanced back. A rare warmth crossed her face. "I have faith in you, my friend. You've shown me how much power you hold." Willowyn spread her will over the sea the way Raven had drilled. A ridge of water rose beneath the shallows. The griffin walked onto it, then beat its wings and lifted a hand's breadth above the curved surface. Willowyn did not grab the water. She guided it. The road ran forward and the griffin followed. Minutes passed. The shore shrank behind them. Willowyn's arms burned, but the griffin carried the distance her legs could not. She only had to keep the water shaped, wave after wave, while Raven steered. The endurance that failed her on foot held now, spread across wingbeats instead of steps. For three days Willowyn held the water path until finally far cliffs appeared out of the haze. Willowyn nearly wept. The griffin's claws struck black rock, and she let the road collapse in a roar of foam behind them. She slid from the saddle onto solid ground. She had crossed the sea. The warring lands lay ahead at last. Raven dismounted and lifted the animals down. Then she went still, staring inland. Willowyn followed her gaze. Smoke rose over the ridge, thick and black. Beyond it came a sound she had never heard but knew at once. Steel on steel. The battle she came to end was already underway.