The following few days were downright torturous for Willow.

  The group had made it to the path her father had once carved out through the mountains, and the group adjusted accordingly. With Rowan now in the lead so that he could adjust and reinforce the path as they went with the help of Bough. Meanwhile, Rotter and Scholar Mu now took up the rear and Willow hadn’t seen much of the wanderer woman since the incident that had led to her injury.

  Willow herself was mostly confined to the cart with Remy and Aunt Sarah as she slowly recovered from her spiritual trauma, and it was not a fun experience.

  Remy was mostly fine, though constant close proximity was still uncomfortable since the two of them had only recently tried to be friends again. They still had fun reading Willow’s mother’s stories to him whenever she was feeling up for it. The stories were old and familiar to her, but they were new and interesting to the boy, and sharing them was something she quite enjoyed.

  Plus, Willow never grew tired of exploring these worlds her mother had left for her.

  However her Aunt Sarah was a constant source of stress for her niece.

  Every story Willow tried to tell seemed to have something that her aunt would inevitably object to.

  For one of Phoebe the Prophet, “This story’s too confusing.”

  “Why doesn’t she have a husband?” She asked of Calypso the Artist.

  And finally, “There’s too much violence in this one!” For Eos the Dawbringer.

  It got so bad that she tried to take the scrolls away, but the two children kicked up enough of a fuss that Willow’s father got involved.

  Leading to the current argument.

  Her father still sat on the back of Bough, but was now facing into the cart attached to the rear of his beast. While her aunt was standing with her hands on her hips, and the two children behind her.

  “Why are you letting her read this stuff? It’s not suitable for a girl her age.” Sarah complained, her voice echoing throughout the ravine they were traveling through.

  Rowan’s thick brows knitted together. “Lexie read them to all our children. I saw no reason to exclude Willow from the tradition.”

  Her aunt was not deterred, her volume going up as her temper flared. “Why couldn’t they be nicer stories like the ones I grew up with? My own mother told me tales of Fia Fairweather, and those were nice and simple. With plenty of good examples being set for what’s proper behaviour for a young girl.”

  She gestured to the nearby confiscated scrolls. “These are filled with negative influences, and are far too difficult for children.”

  Willow’s father looked at her with a deadpan expression. “My own children seem to understand them quite easily, and from what I was hearing young Remus was also enjoying them until you started interrupting.”

  Sarah turned beet red and began to shout, the surrounding cliffs seeming to shake from the volume. “I won’t have your inept parenting corrupt my child! I don’t want him to turn out like some kind of deviant like your youngest!”

  Willow felt her stomach sink. She didn’t know what a deviant was, but it was clearly negative.

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  On top of her aching body and clouded mind it was just too much.

  Tears came to her eyes unbidden, and her breath quickened. Though she tried in vain to hold back a crying fit. Her emotions broke through like a collapsing dam, and she began to sob.

  Why did her aunt have to be like this?

  Before Rowan could retort, his face a mask of rage, the shaking of the cliffside became more pronounced and amplified. Rocks began to tumble and crash down the ravine, and her father brought his will to bear against the oncoming rockslide.

  Roots and soil shot from the cliffside, redirecting the worst of the boulders crashing towards the caravan, and stopping some of the smaller ones outright. At the rear Rotter physically blocked the detritus coming towards the stragglers of the group.

  Yet the noise and shaking continued to grow worse.

  Even through Willow’s muddled senses she could feel a concept brushing against her, transmitted by the noise.

  Yet she couldn’t make it out, her head was too jumbled, and her emotions too volatile to think clearly.

  “Everyone get to the cart or the Wanderer! We’ve got an Echo!” Rowan bellowed to the rest of their group, his anger redirected from Sarah for the moment. Hand carts were dropped and everyone took refuge next to their nearest protector. No one had been injured from the initial attack, but most were shaken and afraid.

  Her father’s call kept reverberating across the ravine, distorting and redoubling until more of the cliffside came down on top of them. Rowan and Bough strained from the continued assault, but they held firm and directed energy into the surrounding path so that it didn’t get swept along with the rest of the landslide.

  “Child, let my brother and I out so that we may assist.” Harmony commanded urgently.

  The girl didn’t even think to argue, releasing the twin spirits from their homes bound inside of her, startling the group taking refuge in the cart. Though she was quite curious on what they planned to do. According to both of them they were of no use in a fight as their natures were linked, and Harmony abhorred violence on a conceptual level.

  The cacophony continued to grow as the child-like spirits of yin and yang stepped out from Rowan’s protection into the maelstrom of noise, and held each other’s tiny hands.

  The twins opened their mouths and began to sing a two part harmony. Though their voices were quiet, they were heard by all.

  The song was beautiful, though no one understood the words.

  It shifted and changed seemingly on a whim, while always feeling part of the same whole.

  The cacophony quieted, and after a few moments a third voice joined the song. A rumbling bass that somehow complemented the voices of the two children without overpowering them.

  On the song went for several beautiful moments until it came to its eventual end, with the twins bowing to the far wall of the ravine and returning to Willow without another word.

  The girl could tell that whatever they had just done had tired them greatly.

  A reverberation shook the ravine, but it was no longer one of anger and violence. Instead it was overjoyed at the gift of song that had been offered to it.

  A spirit emerged from the opposite cliff and Willow finally saw what had been attacking her family.

  It looked like a large shallow bowl with intricate carvings all across its surface.

  The Echo floated closer to the group and seemed to be waiting expectantly.

  Sensing the opportunity for potential communication, her father shakily stood on his one leg and called out.

  “Apologies for disturbing you, great one!”

  “Apologies.” It called back with Rowan’s voice.

  It seemed to expect something more.

  “May we continue to pass through your domain? We’ll be quieter, I swear.”

  “May… pass. Be quiet.”

  Then the spirit returned to the cliffside, bargain struck.

  Leaving the caravan safe if ragged.

  And quite a few more people curious about what secrets Willow held.