Heart of the Mountain
Chapter 1. The Source
It had all seemed so easy. A weekend trek into the forest to the caves, find where the underground stream bubbled to the surface and banish the supernatural water spirit with a carefully worded incantation. That would bring about a sudden end to the bizarre run of bad luck that had befallen the Beacon Hills Canoe Club downstream and there would be no more overturned leisure craft and no more near-drownings or worse.
But, of course, it couldn't be that straightforward because, as Stiles should have known, where he was involved, a wrench would find its way into the works.
It was all because of Lydia that he'd become ensnared in the first place. She knew Latin, specifically the archaic dialect that the banishing spell was written in, and she had initially declared that she would make the journey to the spring herself. That was for all of thirty seconds until she realised that her shoes would be unlikely to survive the hike into hill-walking country.
Then Derek had insisted on going alone; had been quite vocal on the subject actually for such a taciturn man, um, werewolf.
But Lydia, as always, was a force to be reckoned with.
"It's me and my Christian Louboutin's, which you will have to reimburse me for if there is so much as a mark on the sole. Or you take Stiles and his unfashionable trainers," she'd told Derek as she volunteered Stiles to go in her place, before explaining that Stiles' Latin enunciation was probably better than Derek's.
Of course no-one had heard Derek speak Latin, and he wasn't about to allow Lydia to pass judgement on his ability to do so, so Stiles was included almost by default.
Then Lydia had drilled Stiles on the correct pronunciation of the spell until he was pretty sure he was mumbling it in his sleep.
At first, he'd grumbled a bit about going, but if he was honest with himself he was actually looking forward to a short camping trip with Derek Hale. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was so alluring about the thought of hiking with the irascible werewolf who, when not being stoic and silent, was acerbic and dismissive, with just a touch of physical violence thrown in for good measure, but something told him this was an adventure he definitely wanted part of. He just didn't want to analyse why exactly because, as he'd learnt from his English Literature class, when you analyse something too deeply you take all the fun out of it.
Getting his father's approval was easier than Stiles had anticipated when he realised he could leverage his father's guilt about his punishing work schedules which prevented him from taking his son camping himself. It seemed that the sheriff's residual distrust of Derek Hale was ameliorated by his desire to let his son do the sort of things that boys of his age should be doing. If he was surprised by Stiles sudden urge to go roughing it in the wilderness, he kept it to himself, and after lecturing Stiles and Derek on snakes, campfires and 'pack it in; pack it out', the sheriff gave his begrudging blessing to the trip.
So, curbing his eagerness, or at least trying to make it less obvious, Stiles had set off with Derek to find the home of this mischievous, possibly soon to be murderous, water nymph, to rattle off the incantation and return home flushed with the success of saving Beacon Hills County water sports lovers.
Everything had gone so well at first.
Derek and Stiles had trekked as far as the base of the range of hills that provided Beacon Hills with its name, its picturesque backdrop and its seemingly unending supply of lumber.
As expected, initially Derek had been his usual moody self with a side order of angry indifference. But as they got further away from civilisation Stiles had thought that Derek was beginning to chill a little. He had even stopped Stiles from tramping through a thicket full of poison ivy, and he didn't have to do that.
At times Derek would point out a particular view saying, "You can see your father's station from here," or "that peak on the horizon is only 1500 feet short of Mount Whitney". And if Stiles asked a sensible question Derek would actually answer it too. As long as he didn't ask too many questions.
Stiles found himself learning a lot from Derek about the animals in the forest and about the different plants and trees; their uses and lifecycles. He now knew what mule deer tracks looked like, how to tell direction from studying the moss on tree bark, and that mistletoe was actually parasitic and needed a host plant in order to survive.
He wondered if all werewolves knew this much about the outdoors or if Derek was especially knowledgeable. He supposed regular wolves might know lots about the forests they inhabit too, although they couldn't actually articulate anything. Maybe werewolves had a similar level of knowledge. Or maybe it was just what Derek had picked up from all the reading he did, because he didn't really seem like the outdoorsy type.
In the early evening they had set up camp, and dined on cold chicken and ham sandwiches that Lydia had forced Derek to bring with him. And even though Derek must have said, 'shut up' to him nearly a dozen times, Stiles was still really enjoying his time in Derek's company. Which, if he thought about it, seemed a little odd and was something that, again, he didn't feel was appropriate to analyse.
They settled down for the night, Stiles in a small 'pup' tent (and yes, he milked that for every comic reference he could) and Derek slept in the open at the base of a tree. Derek had transformed into his wolf, telling Stiles he was doing so for comfort and so he could be extra vigilant since Stiles was human and needed a wolf-shaped bodyguard, it seemed.
Stiles might have been a little intimidated at the thought of spending the night with a naked wolf (and therefore a naked Derek) not ten feet away, so he had futilely protested that he didn't need protecting and that Derek was just showing off. But as he prepared to settle for the night, he found himself stealing fascinated glances at the curled up form of Derek's furry alter ego.
The next morning a fully human, fully clothed Derek woke Stiles with a bark (although Stiles refrained from calling him on it) and thrust a thermos of coffee and a cheese croissant at him, courtesy of Lydia's favourite coffee shop. The coffee was cold but Stiles still thought that this was one of the best breakfasts that he could remember.
They got an early start (too early, according to Stiles), leaving the tent and some other belongings there for their return. They set off with just their daypacks and hiked up to where the pine forest began to give way to the sparser vegetation of the stony, steeper hillside. There they found a small pool of running water at the head of the trickle that eventually became the river that ran through Beacon Hills County in the valley below.
The thin stream supplying the pool disappeared back into the entrance of a cave hollowed out in the top layer of soft sandstone that gave the soil at this height its distinctive orange hue. Over the sandstone, a little above the cave entrance, was the start of a layer of milky limestone, giving the tops of this range of mountains the appearance of being snow-capped even at the lowest elevations and in the driest of summers.
Stiles had never been this far into the forest before and he was stunned by the beauty around him, and particularly by the view over the valley which took his breath away for a moment. But he was there for a reason and as he drank in the stunning panorama, filing it away in his head, he shook himself mentally and turned back to the cave, nodding to Derek who seemed to be watching him closely. He knew that the banishment incantation needed to be spoken as near as possible to the actual point that the water came out of the ground, so he approached the cave cautiously, feeling Derek following close behind him.
The mouth of the cave was wide with the stream running in a small cleft through the middle of the flat, dusty cave floor. As he scanned their surroundings Stiles was relieved to find no animal bones or other signs that bear or mountain lion were resident. Stiles turned to walk backwards into the opening and smiled at Derek, relishing the fact that this was turning out to be an easy task. Derek scowled back.
At the back of the cave, they followed the stream into a broad tunnel, easily big enough for them to walk upright and wide enough that they could only just touch the sides if they stretched out both arms. Stiles pulled his flashlight from his backpack and they continued making their way deeper into the mountain.
As they turned a corner to follow the stream around a particularly dramatic stalactite/stalagmite combo, they found that the tunnel ran only for another few feet before opening out into a large cavern. It was difficult to make out the edges of this huge cave in the small beam of Stiles' flashlight, but they weren't there to marvel at the scenery so Stiles kept the beam down low, reflecting off the narrow ribbon of water that was drawing them further from the surface with every step.
At the back of the cavern the stream seemed to slide out from under the solid rock wall as the water flowed out of a fissure at ground level.
"Here," Stiles said, setting down his backpack on the stone floor and shining the flashlight at the point where the water slipped into view.
From his own backpack Derek took out the baggie containing the salt and redwood ashes mixture they had bought with them, and handed it to Stiles who scattered a generous pinch onto the surface of the water and began the incantation that he could, quite literally, recite in his sleep.
"Aqua spiritum redeundum tibi est ad patriam tuam. Aqua spiritum a te ad inferos, unde venisti." [Water spirit you must return to your true home. Water spirit return to the underworld from whence you came.]
And suddenly it seemed as though lightening had sparked in the enclosed space of the cavern. Stiles nearly dropped his flashlight in surprise but managed to tighten his grip and in its thin beam got his first glimpse of the water spirit that had been causing so much mayhem.
Standing a short distance away on the other side of the stream was a pale figure, a little over three feet tall, with a slender frame, over-long limbs and a thin face. At first glance, Stiles couldn't tell if the creature was male or female since its features were fine and its ash-blonde hair was lose and halfway down its back. Its clothes, a sort of bluey-green jumpsuit, didn't provide any clues and Stiles surmised that perhaps water spirits don't have separate sexes. He thought of earthworms briefly before he refocused and quickly continued his ritual incantation.
"Ut sine cura regni relinquat. Haec aqua est in nobis est quod tibi pretiosum. Tu autem reverteris, et in nomine tuo, quod nos hanc amnis."
"Oh pul-lease!" said the imp in a high-pitched whine. "Can you hear yourself? 'You may leave this realm without worry. This water is as precious to us as it is to you. You may return and know that we protect this stream in your name,'" it translated in a sing-song voice. "Seriously? And that's practically standard Latin, although it needs a bit of work before it actually makes any kind of sense. Where do you get this guff from?"
"Um, it's the standard water nymph banishment," Stiles replied uncertainly, dropping the beam of the flashlight so it wasn't blinding the small creature.
"Water nymph! Water nymph!" the small creature yelled. "I'm a goddamn sprite! A water sprite, you human numbskull. And, what's that?" it pointed a bony digit at the bag in Stiles' hand. "Salt and ashes? From a redwood, would that be? Really? You do know it's the 21st century? Jeez, do you people know nothing?"
Derek stepped forward then. "We know you've been capsizing boats and endangering human lives. We need you to stop."
"Bit of fun, is all," the sprite replied with a shrug of its shoulders.
"Not for the humans that have nearly drowned because of you," Derek said with a growl.
"Well, Heavens to Betsy, you're a werewolf!" the creature observed excitedly. "A human/werewolf tag team. Don't see many of those these days. Oh my, this is very interesting. Yes, very unusual. Well, well, well. And you're an Alpha too. Wait 'til I tell 'em at home. They won't believe me."
"Now we have established who we all are, you need to leave. There can't be any more boating accidents because someone will drown if this continues," Derek informed the sprite, taking a step nearer as he spoke.
"Hey, back off there you big mutt." The imp backed away until it hit the cavern wall.
Derek growled but he stopped in his tracks as Stiles moved forward to stand just in front of him.
"Um, Mr Water Sprite," Stiles addressed the creature, "we just want the capsizing to stop. Sudden whirlpools have popped up out of nowhere, rapids appear where the river bed is flat, and boats have been swamped by waves on a non-tidal river. People have been seriously hurt and it's only a matter of time before someone gets killed. I'm sure that's not what you want."
The imp looked at Stiles as if considering something important and Stiles shifted uncomfortably under its gaze. Then it tipped its head to look at Derek, who was half obscured behind Stiles, until Derek took a step away to his right and returned the stare in that withering fashion that he had perfected.
"This is all highly unusual, though not without precedent," it said as if talking to itself, "but I don't think I've personally ever seen anything this remarkable. Fascinating. I could dine out on this story for years."
"I'm sorry," Stiles said cautiously, "What haven't you seen before? Do they not have werewolves where you come from?"
The sprite let out a sudden cackle that had Derek clamping his hands over his ears.
"Oh, you human familiars are so funny," it said in a vaguely condescending manner, "You have no idea, do you?"
"Um, no idea about what?" Stiles asked, wondering if he really wanted to know.
"It's not important," it said dismissively, "well, not to me, anyway. But it's a great tale for when I get home. It'll have 'em in stitches."
"You'll go home then?" Stiles asked expectantly.
"I might. Mmm, yes, I could be persuaded to go home. Bit boring here actually. Okay, yes, I'll go. But I want something in exchange."
"What?" Derek barked.
"Well now, that would be for me to know and for you to find out," it said with a smile that seemed to expose far too many teeth.
"That makes no sense," Stiles said. "How can we know what you want if you don't tell us?"
"Hah!" the creature thrust out its jaw arrogantly. "That's where the fun comes in. I told you it was boring here. This should liven things up a bit. So, I'll leave you with this thought: When you find out what it is I want, you'll do what you need to do and then I'll be gone for good. And you might even thank me."
"Oh goody. A riddle," Stiles said sarcastically, not hiding his irritation. "Can you give us a clue here?"
"A clue? Yes, I can do that. 'What I want no one can give, two are needed for it to live.' Toodles!"
And with another flash of light the creature was gone.
"Disappearing in a flash of light? So cliché!" Stiles grumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
Then suddenly there was a deep rumbling noise, the sort that you felt in the pit of your stomach, before the whole floor seemed to pitch up, as the mountain-thick walls began to flex and shake, and rocks starting crashing to the ground around them.
"Earthquake!" yelled Stiles in panic as he fell to the floor, clutching his flashlight tightly to his chest.
