“And if not?” Jason asked.

Ferrin shrugged. “Could be a scout for a team of bandits. Could be a tenacious spy from Trensicourt. Could be an agent of the emperor. Hard to guess.”

“Let’s hope he’s a shy, lonely fisherman,” Jason said.

“The mountain doesn’t look too hard to climb,” Rachel noted, looking ahead.

“True,” Ferrin agreed. “The slope all around the mountain is strangely regular—fairly steep but never sheer. Anyone behind us will have a nice view of our ascent. But nobody will be able to sneak up on us.”

They crossed the grassland without incident and started up the mountain. The slope was steep enough that hiking up it felt like climbing stairs. Rachel bent forward like Jason, using her hands as she advanced. Partway up they took a lunch break, having already gained an impressive view of the plains and forest behind them. As they finished, Ferrin announced that they seemed to have lost their tracker.

When they finally arrived at the top of the slope, Rachel’s legs ached, and her back felt sore from crouching forward. Perspiration dampened her face. But her discomfort was forgotten at the sight of the odd lake.

The top of the broad mount looked like the round caldera of a volcano, filled almost to the rim with sludgy white fluid. A small island, little more than a rock pile, poked up near the center. The surface of Whitelake was unnaturally smooth. Heat radiated from the lake, making the air shimmer. A smell like overboiled eggs permeated the air.

“Come,” Ferrin said, proceeding to the edge of the lake. Jason and Rachel joined him.

Ferrin held up a small, flat piece of wood, displaying it as a magician might before performing a trick. He handed it to Jason. “Light, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Would normally float on water?”

“I guess so.”

“Let’s see what happens here.” Ferrin handed the wood to Rachel.

She crouched, mindful of the heat radiating from the lake, and gently placed the piece of wood lengthwise on the creamy surface. The wooden fragment sank with hardly a ripple.

“What is the lake made of?” Jason asked.

“Not water,” Ferrin replied.

“Looks like pancake batter,” Rachel said. “Has anyone ever reached the island?”

“I have no idea,” Ferrin said. “People say Whitelake is cursed. If nobody comes here, and nothing floats on the lake, I can’t imagine anyone has been to that island. Nor can I imagine why you two would want to go there. I’d hate to watch you drown.”

Jason glanced at Rachel. “Could we have gotten bad info?”

“Info?” Ferrin echoed. “Did somebody tell you to come here? Who? Why?”

Jason crouched, selected a flat rock, and winged it sidearm out onto the lake. It took a huge skip, then another, and several smaller bounces, until it had traveled a very impressive distance. When it lost momentum, the rock finally sank. “Did you see that?” he asked. “The rock skipped like ten times!”

“Yes,” Ferrin answered in an intrigued tone.

Jason threw another with similar results. Rachel grabbed a stone, this one less flat, and threw it almost straight down at the water. It rebounded quite high, as if the surface were solid, then took a smaller hop and sank.

“Weird,” Rachel murmured, taking a stone in her hand and kneeling beside the lake. Holding the stone firmly, she struck the white fluid sharply. The surface felt solid. She pounded it several more times. Nothing splashed. The surface barely rippled. She examined the stone, observing no fluid on it anywhere. Dropping the stone softly into the lake, it sank.

“The surface hardens against pressure,” Jason observed. “Let’s try a big rock.” Together he and Rachel heaved a heavy stone against the surface of the lake. Sure enough, it rebounded once before losing momentum and sinking.

Rachel edged forward to the brink of the lake and stomped the surface with her foot. “Feels solid. Only yields a little, like a trampoline strung much too tight.”

She dipped her foot in slowly. The syrupy lake folded around the bottom of her boot.

“No!” Ferrin exclaimed, springing forward.

Once part of her boot sank beneath the surface, an alarming suction pulled it farther. Jerking back sharply, she felt the fluid harden around the submerged portion of her boot, as if it were encased in cement. When she relaxed, the fluid sucked it deeper. Rachel yanked again, hoping her foot would come free of the boot, which was already half immersed, but it was laced too securely.

Ferrin and Jason reached her side, supporting her. “Pull steadily against the lake, but not too hard,” Ferrin advised.

Rachel nodded. When she pulled too hard, the fluid solidified. Her only hope was to do this gradually. Braced by Ferrin and Jason, she resisted the suction just enough to prevent her boot from sinking deeper. Then, pulling only a little harder, she managed to slowly and evenly withdraw her boot from the liquid.

Once her boot was free, Rachel staggered away from the lake. She plopped down, panting. Her boot looked like it had been painted white almost to the ankle. While she watched, the fluid slid unnaturally off the boot and pooled in a little depression in the ground, leaving no indication her boot had ever been white.

“Thanks for the help,” Rachel said. “If I had been alone, that would have been the end of me. I didn’t expect so much suction!”

“The wood you placed earlier sank strangely,” Ferrin said. “The lake seemed to draw it in.”

“Can you imagine drowning in there?” Jason said. “You would be sinking, but as you struggled to swim, the lake would harden around you. Then when you relaxed it would suck you deeper. The perfect quicksand.”

“It felt very warm, even through the boot,” Rachel said.

Ferrin gave a nod. “Warm enough to burn bare skin, I expect. Do you still intend to try for the island?”

Rachel gazed out across the lake to the pile of rocks at the center. The image wavered with the rising heat. “How far away do you think it is?”

Ferrin squinted. “Hard to say. There is nothing near the island to lend perspective. The heat rising off the lake could also distort our perception. The island may be farther than it appears.”

“Let me check if the lake will hold my weight,” Jason said. “You know, just run out a short way and back.”

“Allow me,” Ferrin volunteered. “If a foot gets stuck, I can let it go.”

“Right,” Rachel said, “but how far will you get in the wilderness without a foot?”