him.
Only then did she remember the Ruhk Staff, still lying some-
where out in the mud. Hurriedly she went back for it, leaving
the cover of the old growth, crossing the flats once again. Orps
scurried away at her approach, flashing bits of silver light. The
air was empty and still, but the sound of Killeshan’s rumble
echoed ominously from beyond the wall of the mist, and the
earth shivered in response. She found the Ruhk Staff where it
had fallen and picked it up. The Loden sparkled like a cluster
of small stars. So much given up on its behalf, she thought, on
behalf of the Elven people, trapped inside. She experienced a
dark moment of regret, a sudden urge to toss it aside, to sink it
as deep within the mud as the Wisteron. The Elves, who had
done so much damage with their magic, who had created the
Shadowen with their ambition and who had abandoned the Four
Lands to a savagery for which they were responsible, might be
better gone. But she had made her decision on the Elves. Be-
sides, she knew it was not the fault of these Elves, not of this
generation, and it was wrong to hold an entire people account-
able for the acts of a few in any case. Allanon must have counted
on her thinking like that. He must have foreseen that she would
discover the truth and decide for herself the wisdom of his
charge. Find the Elves and return them to the Four Lands. She had
wondered why many times. She thought now she was beginning
to see. Who better than the Elves to right the wrong that had
been done? Who better to lead the fight against the Shadowen?
She trudged back across the flats, numbness setting in, the
last traces of the magic’s euphoria fading away. She was tired
and sad and oddly lost. But she knew she could not give in to
these feelings. She had the Ruhk Staff back again, and the jour-
ney to the beaches and the search for Tiger Ty lay ahead. And
there were still the demons.
Stresa was waiting at the edge of the trees. The rough voice
was a whisper of warning. “Hsstt. He is badly hurt, Wren of the
Elves. Your big friend. Be warned. The poison is a bad thing.
Phffttt. He may not be able to come with us.”
She brushed past the Splinterscat, irritated, abrupt. “He’ll
manage,” she snapped.
With help from Triss, she got Garth to his feet once more
and they started out. It was past midday, the light faint and hazy
through the screen of vog, the heat a blanket of sweltering damp.
Stresa led, working his way doggedly through the jungle’s maze,
choosing a path that gave those following a chance to maneuver
with Garth. The In Ju seemed empty, as if the death of the
Wisteron had killed everything that lived within it. But the si-
lence was mostly a response to the earth tremors, Wren thought.
The creatures of Morrowindl sensed that all was not well, and
for the moment at least they had suspended their normal activ-
ities and gone into hiding, waiting to discover what would hap-
pen.
She watched Garth’s face as they walked, saw the intensity
of his eyes, the mask of pain that stretched his skin tight across
his bones. He did not look at her, his gaze fixed purposefully
on the path ahead. He was keeping upright through sheer de-
termination.
It was twilight by the time they cleared the In Ju and passed
into the forested hill country beyond. They found a clearing
with a spring, and she cleaned her giant friend’s wounds anew.
There was nothing to eat; all of their provisions had been con-
sumed or lost, and they were uncertain which of the island’s
roots and tree fruit was safe. They had to make do with spring
water. Triss found enough dry wood to make a fire, but it began
to rain almost immediately, and within seconds everything was
soaked. They huddled back within the shelter of a broad-limbed
koa, shoulder to shoulder against the encroaching dark. After a