Faun could communicate with them. It had been a long time
since the Tree Squeak had even tried. Her chest tightened. She
knew how devoted the little creature was to her. It would do
anything for her.
It was about to prove that now.
Faun! No!
Her breath came in quick gasps. She wanted to cry out, to
call the Tree Squeak back. But she couldn’t; a cry would wake
the Wisteron. She reached the far edge of the flats, Orps racing
away in every direction, dark flashes against the damp. She could
hear Garth and Triss following, their breathing harsh. Stresa had
gotten ahead of her somehow, the Splinterscat once again
quicker than she expected; he was already burrowing through
the trees. She followed, crawling hurriedly after, her breath
catching in her throat as she broke free.
Faun was halfway down the side of the ravine, slipping
smoothly, soundlessly across the rocks. Strands of webbing lay
across Faun’s path, but she avoided them easily. Above, the
Wisteron hung motionless in its net, curled tight. The remains
of Gavilan hung there as well, but Wren refused to look on
those. She focused instead on Faun, on the Tree Squeak’s ago-
nizing, heartstopping descent. She was aware of Stresa a dozen
feet away, flattened at the edge of the rocks. Garth and Triss
had joined her, one to either side, pressed close. Triss gripped
her protectively, trying to draw her back. She yanked her arm
free angrily. The hand that gripped the Elfstones came up.
Faun reached the floor of the ravine and started across. Like
a feather, the Squeak danced across the carpet of dry bones,
carefully choosing the path, mincing like a cat. She was sound-
less, as inconsequential as the Orps that scattered at its coming.
Above, the Wisteron continued to doze, unseeing. The vog’s
gray haze passed between them in thick curtains, hiding the
Tree Squeak in its folds. Shades, why didn’t I keep hold of her? Wren’s
blood pounded in her ears, measuring the passing of the sec-
onds. Faun disappeared into the vog. Then the Squeak was vis-
ible again, all the way across now, crouched above the Staff.
It’s too heavy, Wren thought in dismay. She won’t be able to lift it.
But somehow Faun managed, easing it away from the layers
of human deadwood, the sticks of once-life. Faun cradled it in
her tiny hands, the Staff three times as long as she was, and
began to walk a tightrope back, using the Staff as a pole. Wren
came to her knees, breathless.
Triss nudged Wren urgently, pointing. The Wisteron had
shifted in its hammock, legs stretching. It was coming awake.
Wren started to rise, but Garth hurriedly pulled her back. The
Wisteron curled up again, legs retracting. Faun continued to-
ward them, tiny face intense, sinewy body taut. She reached the
near side of the ravine again and paused.
Wren went cold. Faun doesn’t know how to climb out!
Then abruptly Killeshan coughed and belched fire, miles
distant, so far removed that the sound was scarcely a murmur
in the silence. But the eruption triggered shock waves deep be-
neath the earth, ripples that spread outward from the mountain
furnace like the rings that emanate from the splash of a stone.
Those tremors traveled all the way to the In Ju and to the Wis-
teron’s island lair, and swiftly a chain reaction began. The shock
waves gathered force, turned quickly to heat, and the heat ex-
ploded from the mud flats directly behind Wren in a fountain
of steam.
Instantly the Wisteron was awake, legs braced in its web-
bing, head swiveling on a thick, boneless stalk as its black mir-
rored eyes searched. Faun, caught unprepared for the tremors
and explosion, bolted up the side of the ravine, lost her grip,
and immediately fell back again. Bones clattered as the Ruhk
Staff tumbled down. The hiss of the Wisteron matched that of
the geyser. It spun down its webbing with blinding speed, half
spider, half monkey, and all monster.
But Garth was faster. He went over the side of the ravine
with the swiftness of a shadow cast by a passing cloud at night.