over it. It rode her as a rider would a horse, but without pause
or rest, without destination, endlessly into night.
Let go.
She blinked, then smiled. Understanding flooded through
her. Of course. So simple, really. Let go of the magic. Let go,
and the weariness and confusion and sense of loss would pass.
Let go, and she would have a chance to start over again, to
regain possession of her life, to return to who and what she had
been. Why hadn’t she seen it before?
Something tugged at her in warning, some part of her deep
within that had become buried in the sound of the wind’s voice.
Curious, she tried to uncover it, but feathery touches on her
skin distracted her. There was a burning against the skin of her
palm from the Elfstones, but she ignored it. The touches were
more intriguing, more inviting. She lifted her face to find their
source. The faces were all about her now, milling at the edge
of the darkness and the mist, taking on form. She knew them,
didn’t she? Why couldn’t she remember?
Let go.
She cocked the hand that grasped the Eifstones in response,
barely conscious of the act, and a sliver of blue light escaped
the cracks of her fingers, lancing into the dark. Instantly the
faces were gone. She blinked in confusion. What was she doing?
Why had she stopped walking? She glanced about in alarm,
seeing the darkness and the mist of the Harrow, realizing she
was lost somewhere within, that she had strayed. The Drakuis
were there, watching. She could feel their presence. She swal-
lowed against her fear. What had she been thinking?
She started moving again, trying to sort out what had hap-
pened. She was dimly aware that for a time she had lost track
of everything, that she must have wandered aimlessly. She re-
membered bits and pieces of her thoughts, like the fragments of
dreams on waking. She had been about to do something, she
thought worriedly. But what?
The minutes passed. Far ahead, lost in the howl of the wind,
she heard the call of her name. It was there, hanging momen-
tarily in a lull, then gone. She moved toward it, wondering if
she was still going in the right direction. If she was unable to
determine so soon, she would have to use the Elfstones. The
thought was anathema. She never wanted to use them again. All
she could see in her mind’s eye was their fire exploding into the
monster that had once been Eowen and turning her to ash.
Again she began to cry and again quickly stopped herself.
There was no use in it, no point. Leafless trees and fire-washed
lava rock spread away from her, an endless, changeless expanse.
The Harrow seemed to go on forever. She was lost, she decided,
become turned about somehow. She stopped and glanced around
wearily. Exhaustion flooded through her, and in anguish and
despair she closed her eyes.
The wind whispered. Let go.
Yes, she replied silently, I want to.
The spell of the words folded about her like a warm cloak,
wrapped her and held her close. She resisted but a moment,
then gave herself over to it. When she opened her eyes, the
faces were back again, surrounding her in a circle of faint light
and feathery touches. She saw that she was at the edge of a
ravine-a familiar place, it seemed. Once again, everything be-
gan to fade. She forgot that she was trying to escape the Har-
row, that the faces about her were something other than what
they appeared to be. The haze of the mist crept into her mind
and settled there, thick and murky. Her ice-bound thoughts
melted and ran like liquid through her body; she could feel their
cold. She was so tired, so weary of everything.
Let go.
The hand that clutched the Elfstones lowered, and the faces
clustered about her began to take on shape and size. Lips
brushed her throat.
Let go.
She let her eyes close again. Her fingers loosened. It would
all be so easy. Let the Elfstones fail, and she would escape the