had lived out there for years. No one was prepared to second-
guess him.
They began the trek through Eden’s Murk. The Owl led,
followed by Triss, Ellenroh, Eowen, Gavilan, Wren, Garth, and
Dal. They proceeded in single file, strung out behind Aurin
Striate as he worked to find a line of solid footing through the
mire. He was successful most of the time, for there were still
stretches where the swamp hadn’t closed over completely. But
there were times as well when they were forced to step down
into the oily water and mud, easing along patches of tall grass
and scrub, clutching with their hands to keep from losing their
footing, feeling the muck suck eagerly in an effort to draw them
in. They traveled slowly, cautiously through the gloom, warned
by the Owl to stay close to the person ahead, peering worriedly
into the haze whenever the water bubbled and the mud belched.
Eden’s Murk, despite the pall of silence that hung over it,
was a haven for any number of living things. Most were never
seen and only barely heard. Winged creatures flew like shadows
through the brume, silent in their passage, swift and furtive. In-
sects buzzed annoyingly, some iridescent and as large as a child’s
hand. Things that might have been rats or shrews skittered about
the remaining trees, climbing catlike from view an instant after
they were spied. There were other creatures out there as well,
some of them massive. They splashed and growled in the still-
ness, hidden by the gloom, hunters that prowled the deeper
waters. No one ever saw them, but it was never for lack of
keeping watch.
The day wore on, a slow, agonizing crawl toward darkness.
The company stopped once to eat, huddled together on a trunk
that was half drowned by the swamp, backs to one another as
their eyes swept the screen of vog. The air turned hot and cold
by turns, as if Eden’s Murk had been built of separate chambers
and there were invisible walls all about. The swamp water, like
the air, could be chilly or tepid, deep in some spots and shallow
in others, a mix of colors and smells, none of which were pleas-
ant, all of which pulled and dragged at the life above. Now and
again the earth would shudder, a reminder that somewhere be-
hind them Killeshan continued to threaten, gases and heat build-
ing within its core, lava spurting from its mouth to run burning
down the mountainside. Wren pictured it as she slogged along
with the others-the air choked with vog, the land a carpet of
fire, everything enveloped by gathering layers of steam and ash.
Already the Keel would be gone. What of the demons? she
wondered. Would they have fled as well, or were they too mind-
less to fear even the lava? If they had fled, where would they
have gone?
But she knew the answer to that last question. There was
only one place for any of them to go.
They will be driven from their siege back across the Rowen, Garth
signed grimly when she asked for his opinion. They walked
together momentarily across a rare stretch of earth where the
swamp was still held more than an arm’s length at bay. They will
start back toward the cliffs, just as we have done. If we are too slow, they
will be all about us before we can get clear.
Perhaps they won’t come this far downriver, she suggested hope-
fully, fingers flicking out the signs. They may keep to the valley
because it is easier.
Garth didn’t bother to respond. He didn’t have to. She knew
as well as he did that if the demons kept to the valley in their
descent of the Blackledge, they would reach the lower parts of
the island quicker than the company and be waiting on the
beaches.
She thought often of Stresa, trying to remember when she
had last seen the Splinterscat after the serpent’s attack, trying to
recall something that would give her even the faintest hope that
he had escaped. But she could think of nothing. One moment
he had been there, crouched amid the baggage, and the next he