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coat on when I almost stumbled as the path became wide stone steps leading down to a large lake. The moment I stepped onto the lake’s bank, the squirrel turned and darted back the way we had come.
    â€œGood-bye!” I called, feeling suddenly alone. It was possible I would be by myself for this whole quest. It would have been nice to have someone with me, but I knew that I would be all right. This way, I could do exactly what I thought I needed to do without having to explain things to anyone. It could save a lot of time, being alone.
    As I stared out over the lake, I realized what Queen Patchouli had said was true: I didn’t need a map. The lake’s surface was so still—like glass—and the pointed peaks of the three mountains on the far side of it were bathed in an unworldly golden glow. The mountains had to be the Three Queens, and the fairy-built raft of willow logs floating in the reeds would take me to where their slopes began.
    I folded my coat and placed it on the raft beside a long pole. I wore my backpack so there was nochance of dropping it in the lake—unless I fell in. Aventurine is full of surprises, and something that looked safe could easily be dangerous. Large creatures might live in the lake or the calm water could suddenly become a tidal wave or a whirlpool. I had learned how to swim with Birdie, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it again without the river maidens’ magic. I was thankful that at least the idea of swimming didn’t bother me anymore, or this would have been a lot harder.
    Gripping the sides of the raft with both hands, I pushed off. Jumping aboard just as it left shore, the tips of my toes touched the water. I didn’t get far. Cattails and reeds along the banks snagged on both ends of the raft. Lying flat on the raft, I paddled with my hands until it floated free. Then I sat up and paused to get my bearings.
    The fairies hadn’t given me a paddle, but I could push the raft with the pole, at least until the lake got too deep. Shifting carefully, I looked over the raft’s edge. The water was so clear, I could see everything in detail right down to the bottom of the lake. A translucent yellow fish with a rainbow top fin swam through plants with clear round leaves. A school of pink wiggly worms followed the fish.
    Grabbing the pole, I stood so that my weightwas evenly distributed. The raft rocked a little on the quiet water, but I felt steady. I slipped the end of the eight-foot pole into the water and pulled it out when it touched bottom. Most of the pole remained dry, telling me that the water was shallow. I was still close to shore, though, so the water could get deeper in the middle.
    Setting my sights on the three distant mountains, I put the pole back in the water and pushed. The raft moved forward. I pulled the pole partway up, jammed it into the bottom again, and pushed. After a few minutes, I settled into the rhythm of the poling motion—plunge, push, lift. It reminded me of music or playing a game. Every song, dance, or sport has a rhythm all its own. I can tell that I’ve got the hang of something new when the rhythm feels right.
    But there’s a downside, too. When I get into the zone of whatever I’m doing, it’s like being lulled to sleep. So I wasn’t ready when something yanked on the pole and almost pulled me into the water. I sat down hard and hung on to the pole—without it, I’d have to paddle with my hands all the way across the lake, and I didn’t have time for that!
    One of the logs the raft was made of was bigger around than the others. I pressed my heels against it for leverage and pulled the pole back. The thing inthe water pulled harder and dragged me close to the raft’s edge. I looked down at the water and saw beneath the surface a giant, flat bluish-green creature that looked like a stingray with pincers for a mouth. The pincers were clamped around my pole.
    I played