“Go east,” Sage repeated, glancing back toward the town. Had Landyn been correct? “Do we go back?”
The pounding rain suddenly softened to a gentle shower, which coated Sage in a fine, misty spray. Sage furrowed her brow, trying to figure out what they should do next.
“Look,” Marcus called, pointing to the rock.
Sage urged her horse closer to it, squinting until she saw faint etchings. Two words were carved into the rock’s surface, and two arrows pointed in opposite directions. Puzzled, she scowled and ran her fingertips along the chiseled lines. “What does it say?”
“It doesn’t say anything,” Marcus replied. “Some of those symbols are not letters.”
“Could it be coded?”
“No,” a voice from behind them said.
They turned to see Landyn on his horse, Raven at his side, and Christian and Willow coming up the hill.
“It’s old Latin,” Landyn explained. “It says ‘Annadale and East.’”
“East?” Sage echoed, shocked. She looked at Marcus in surprise and comprehension.
They said together, “It’s a town.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Are you certain we don’t go eastward?”Landyn asked as they looked down at the small town of East.
Sage clenched her jaw. Yes, she was certain. The directions said, “Go East.” She had been right in the past and was convinced she was right now.
The small town was a patchwork of farm fields, homes, and shops hemmed in by the meandering river running along one side. It appeared to be overflowing its banks and swallowing freshly harvested fields. A horse stumbled away from the water, its lead rope held firmly by a man with a sweat-soaked hat pulled low over his eyes. A woman’s voice echoed from the rear of a home.
A small boy chased a duck toward the river.
Sage held her breath, tension building in her chest as she watched the child. The rain had stopped for now, but that didn’t mean the risk of the river engulfing the farm fields had ended. Anxiously, she glanced at Willow.
Willow’s gaze was locked on the boy approaching the rushing water. Her horse danced nervously beneath her.
“Don’t,” Sage advised, but it was too late.
Willow dug her heels in and spurred her horse down the hill, sending clumps of earth and grass spraying outward.
“What are you doing?” Raven gasped behind her.
Christian’s horse lurched after her.
“Damn it,” Sage muttered and urged her steed forward, with Marcus following close by.
She charged down the slope, and a shrill cry resonated across the air. She saw a woman sprinting from one of the houses toward the boy.
The river swelled, breaking free of its banks and moving hungrily across the fields toward the boy and the duck.
Sage felt her heart pounding against her ribcage as adrenaline flooded her veins. Suddenly, it wasn’t about what Willow was doing—it was about saving the boy. Even though Willow was in front of her, Sage didn’t know if her sister would reach the boy before the water did.
The man leaped onto the horse he had been pulling and turned it toward the boy, but he was too far away.
Willow flew across the open fields, her horse galloping with powerful grace. The ground was slick from the recent rain, and mud splattered Mercy’s hindquarters as she raced to the little boy’s aid.
The boy paused and looked back at the woman. Then, he turned toward the rising river.
A tendril of water spiked from the river like a finger, gushing toward the boy.
