Heart of the Hill by Andrea Spalding

quivering, but I can feel it trying to pull me back.”
    â€œWhat about turning the other way?”
    Adam turned to face uphill. “The same thing, but it’s pulling me back in the opposite direction.” He faced across the slope again. “The tickling’s back,” he called out. “Amazing!” He began to walk, following the pull of the thorn twig. The sensation was so intriguing that his fear receded and the world faded away as the thorn drew him forward and his feet followed.

    Inside the Tor, Earth Magic stirred again for the first time in over two thousand years. The Crystal Cave flickered with sparks of light. A Magic Child was treading the sacred Spiral Labyrinth, and Vivienne was preoccupied with Zorianna!

    Adam lost track of time and space as he climbed the Tor. At first he whispered to the thorn and himself. “Follow the tingling. Step to the side. Over that tussock. Avoid the rabbit hole. Oops, watch out for the land slip. Uh-uh, I’ve turned too far. I’ve lost it. Good, the tingling’s back.”
    The thorn guided him slowly around and around the sides of the hill, sometimes doubling back, but always winding upward. Eventually he stopped talking and focused entirely on the intensity of the feeling. Always he held the image of the Crystal Cave in his mind. As he wound upward, the image became stronger and clearer.

    Chantel and Mr. Smythe watched from the field as Adam crisscrossed the slope above them.
    â€œIs he in a trance?” asked Chantel uneasily. “It’s like he doesn’t know we’re here anymore?”
    â€œHe doesn’t. He’s divining, working an ancient meditative art.” Mr. Smythe patted Chantel’s shoulder. “Don’t be scared, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Come on. We’ll drive to the far side of the hill, climb the steps and watch his progress from the summit.”
    Chantel began to follow but paused at the top of the stile to watch Adam again. She waved, but he didn’t respond.
    A fragment of an old song her mom would sing at bedtime popped unbidden into Chantel’s head. “I’ll see you again,” she sang softly, “in all the old familiar places.” The sweet notes hung in the air.
    Adam hesitated, as though the music momentarily penetrated his consciousness, then he continued on, disappearing around the side of the hill.
    Chantel jumped off the stile and hurried to the car.

    Back at Myrddin’s house, Holly drifted into dreamworld. She was floating like a feather cradled by curls of mist. She glimpsed water below as the mist shredded and parted. Tiny waves swelled and flattened, and Holly followed their rhythm, up and down, up and down, relaxing into a deep, deep, sleep.
    Suddenly her fever rose, and Holly’s body grew hot, then cold: a mind-numbing, bone-chilling cold.
    The howl of the wind roused her. She shivered. The mist was cold and damp. The waves below frothed around a rocky outcrop and beat across the stony beach of a dark and forbidding island.
    The island drew her like a magnet.
    Holly didn’t want to go. She resisted, flapping her arms to regain height and control. She tried to turn her body and fly back into sleep, but the mist thickened and roped around her, restricting movement.
    Hidden in the shadow of the cliff below, a dark figure spun the mist into threads and reeled her in.

    Owen’s dreamself flew in and out of the mists of sleep until he sensed Holly’s presence. He followed her. It was pretty boring. She was aimlessly drifting through clouds and over a body of water. He flapped along behind her, livening up the dream with an occasional dive or roll down to the water and back up again. He saw the island before Holly did and gave a subdued cheer. Maybe now her dream would become more interesting.
    â€œUh-oh,” he murmured as Holly suddenly twisted, turned and kicked, as though fighting against something. He watched as