along the boundary of Eden’s Murk. At noon they stopped to
rest and eat, a gathering of hard-faced, silent men and women,
their furtive, uneasy eyes scanning the mire ceaselessly. The
earth was silent today, the volcano momentarily at rest. But
from within the swamp there was the sound of things at hunt,
distant cries and howls, the splashing of water, the grunting of
bodies locked in combat. The sounds followed after them as
they trudged on, an ominous warning that a net was being gath-
ered in about them.
By midafternoon, they had found the pass that Stresa fa-
vored, a steep, winding trail that disappeared into the rocks like
a serpent’s tongue into its maw. They began their ascent quickly,
anxious to put distance between themselves and the sounds trail-
ing after, hopeful that the summit could be reached before
nightfall.
It was not. Darkness caught them somewhere in midclimb,
and Stresa settled them quickly on a narrow ledge partially in
the shelter of an overhang, a perch that would have looked out
over a broad expanse of Eden’s Murk had it not been for the
vog, which covered everything in a seemingly endless shroud of
dingy gray.
Dinner was consumed quickly and without interest, a watch
was set, and the remainder of the company prepared to settle in
for the night. The combination of darkness and mist was so
complete that nothing was visible beyond a few feet, giving the
unpleasant impression that the entire island had somehow fallen
away beneath them, leaving them suspended in air. Sounds rose
out of the haze, guttural and menacing, a cacophony that was
both disembodied and directionless. They listened to it in si-
lence, feeling it track them, feeling it tighten about.
Wren tried to think of other things, wrapping her blanket
close, chilled in spite of the heat given off by the swamp. But her
thoughts were disjointed, scattered by a growing sense of de-
tachment from everything that was real. She had been stripped
of the certainty of who and what she was and left with only a
vague impression of what she might be-and that a thing beyond
her understanding and control. Her life had been wrenched from
its certain track and settled on an empty plain, there to be blown
where it would like a leaf in the wind. She had been given trusts
by the shade of Allanon and by her grandmother, and she knew
not enough of either to understand how they were to be carried
out. She recalled why it was that she had accepted Cogline’s
challenge to go to the Hadeshorn in the first place, all those
weeks ago. By going, she had believed, she might learn some-
thing of herself; she might discover the truth. How strange that
belief seemed now. Who she was and what she was supposed to
do seemed to change as rapidly as day into night. The truth was
an elusive bit of cloth that would not be contained, that refused
to be revealed. It fluttered away at each approach she made,
ragged and worn, a shimmer of color and light. Still, she was
determined that she would follow the threads left hanging in its
wake, thin remnants of brightness that would one day lead to
the tapestry from which they had come unraveled.
Find the Elves and bring them back into the world of Men.
She would try.
Save my people and give them a new chance at life.
Again, she would try.
And in trying, perhaps she would find a way to survive.
She dozed for a time, her back against the cliff wall, legs
drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped guardedly about the
polished length of the Ruhk Staff. Faun was asleep at her feet in
the blanket’s folds. Stresa was a featureless ball curled up within
the shadows of a rocky niche. She was aware of movement
about her as the watch changed; she even considered asking to
take a turn, but let the thought pass. She had slept little in two,
nights and needed to regain her strength. There was time enough
to take the watch another night. She rested her cheek against