Belladonna

everyone on board. Now fog covers that stretch of water — a fog you can't see until you sail into it. And while you're trapped there, you can hear men calling for help, calling for mercy, calling ..." Kenneday swallowed hard. "Just calling. The voices of doomed men, already dead."
    "There are stories about all kinds of monsters," Michael murmured. "They give a reason for tragedies that have no reason."
    "Can you look me in the eyes and tell me there are no monsters in the world, Michael? Can you tell me there's no truth behind those stories?"
    He couldn't. Not when he knew demons walked in the world. After all, Elandar had the waterhorses, who would give a man a fatal ride, and the Merry Makers, who would lure their prey into the bogs with their lights and music.
    "I've seen the mood in a room change just because you started twiddling on that whistle of yours," Kenneday continued.
    "That's all I'm asking. We have to pass that stretch of water in order to go on to the White Isle, and I'll be sailing with half my crew if I try to haul anchor without some kind of talisman to protect us when we reach that foggy water. But if there's a luck-bringer on board, twiddling a bit of music to calm the sea and whatever stirs within it, my men will be easier for it."
    "I don't know ..." Michael jerked back as two meaty hands set two more glasses of ale on the table. "Big Davey."
    Big Davey tipped his head toward Kenneday. "His won't be the last offer, just so you know. I reckon right now you can get passage on any ship for the price of a few tunes." He pulled a folded and wax-sealed paper from the pocket of the stained apron tied around his waist. "This came for you. The sailor who left it said a Lady of Light had asked him to leave it here for you since it was known that you stop here when you come to Kendall."
    Michael's heart jumped into his throat, but his hand was steady when he took the paper.
    "I'm thinking another whiskey might be in order," Kenneday said quietly, looking at Big Davey.
    Big Davey nodded and went away. Kenneday picked up his glass of ale, then leaned back and half turned in his chair to look at the other men in the tavern, giving Michael the illusion of privacy.
    Michael,
    Come home as soon as you can. Things are happening. Dreams, portents. It is possible that the Destroyer has risen from whatever shadow place it has used as its lair.
    I had a dream, Michael, and in the dream a voice said "heart's hope lies within belladonna." I do not know the answer to this riddle, but I feel certain the answer is the key to protecting Elandar from a great evil.
    I hope you receive this message, and I hope you can come home. But if your heart calls you elsewhere, you must follow. Find the answer to the riddle. For all our sakes, find the answer to the riddle.
    Your aunt,
    Brighid
    PS. Do you remember the story about the Warrior of Light?
    Cold hands closed over his heart ... and squeezed.
    The Destroyer? The Warrior of Light? What did two plants have to do with stories and dreams and a riddle? Did Aunt Brighid really expect him to protect their country by finding the answer to a riddle?
    And what if finding the answer was the only way to protect Elandar?
    Lady of Light, have mercy on me.
    Michael folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. Then he closed his eyes in order to close out the room and the other men.
    Heart's hope lies within belladonna.
    A warmth, a tug that suddenly turned into a longing so fierce it was almost painful. He could feel her, smell her, hear the music in her heart. The dark-haired woman who had been filling his dreams lately.
    Dreams, Aunt Brighid had said. Portents.
    Could his dream lover be the key to the riddle? Could she lead him to the Warrior of Light?
    "Michael?"
    He opened his eyes and noticed the glass of whiskey. He drank it down, wanting the heat of it to warm a cold that suddenly filled his bones.
    "Trouble at home?" Kenneday asked.
    "I'm not sure," Michael replied. "But I'll take your offer."
    Kenneday started to push back his chair. "Then let's get you settled. We sail with the morning tide."
    Michael shook his head, then leaned over and rummaged in his pack. When he straightened up, he held his whistle. "Give me an hour here."
    Heart's hope lies within belladonna.
    He let the rhythm of the words fill his heart, his body, and then let the words shape the music that flowed from him as he played no particular tune. He could sense something quivering in response to the music,