carried in equal measure with the grubs and insects he foraged
on his own. At the moment he was sitting just to one side of
the opening in the banyan, gnawing on a root.
He glanced up alertly. “Out there?” he repeated. The words
were so guttural Wren could barely understand them. “Grrrssst.
Nothing much, really. Some ugly, little creatures that wouldn’t
dare show their faces in other circumstances. They creep about
now-hhhrrgg-because all the really dangerous things-except
the wwwssst Wisteronare at Arborlon, waiting for the Keel to
give out.”
“Tell me about the Keel,” she urged. Her fingers signed to
Garth, translating the Splinterscat’s words.
Stresa put down the root. The purr was back in his rough
voice. “The Keel is the wall that surrounds the city. It was
formed of the magic, and the magic keeps the demons out.
Hggghhhh. But the magic weakens, and the demons grow
stronger. The Elves don’t seem to be able to do anything about
either.” The Splinterscat paused. “How did you find out about
the demons? Hssttt. What is your name again? Grrllwren?
Wren? Who told you about Morrowindl?”
Wren leaned back against the banyan trunk. “It’s a long story,
Stresa. A Wing Rider brought us here. He was the one who
warned us about the demons, except that he called them mon-
sters. Do you know about Wing Riders?”
“Ssttppft! The Elves with the giant birds-yes, I know. They
used to come here all the time. Not anymore. Now when they
come, the demons are waiting. They pull them down and kill
them. Fffftt-quick. That’s what would have happened to you
as well if they weren’t all at Arborlon-or at least most of them.
The Wisteron doesn’t bother with such things.”
Arborlon, Wren was thinking, had been the home city of
the Elves when they had lived in the Westland. It had disap-
peared when they did. Had they rebuilt it on Morrowindl? What
had they done with the Ellcrys? Had they brought it with them?
Or had it died out once again as it had in the time of Wil
Ohmsford? Was that why there were demons on Morrowindl?
“How far are we from the the city?” she asked, pushing the
questions aside.
“A long way yet,” Stresa answered. The cat face cocked.
“The In Ju runs to a mountain wall called Blackledge that
stretches all the way across the south end of the island. Beyond
that lies a valley where the Rowen flows. Rrwwwn. Beyond that
sits Arborlon, high on a bluff below Killeshan’s mouth. Is that
where you are trying to go?”
Wren nodded.
“Ppffahh! Whatever for?”
“To find the Elves,” Wren answered. “I have been sent to
give them a message.”
Stresa shook his head and fanned his quills away from his
body an inch or so. “I hope the message is important. I don’t
see how you will ever manage to deliver it with demons all
about the city-if the city is even there anymore. Ssstt.”
“We will find a way.” Wren wanted to change the subject.
“You said earlier that the Elves made you, Stresa. And the de-
monS. But you didn’t explain how.”
The Splinterscat gave her an impatient look. “Magic, of
course!” he rasped. “Hrrrwwll! Elven magic allows you to do
just about anything. I was one of the first, long before they
decided on the demons or any of the others. That was almost
fifty years ago. Splinterscats live a long time. Ssppptt. They
made me to guard the farms, to keep away the scavengers and
such. I was very good at it. We all were. Pfftt. We could live
off the land, required very little looking after, and could stay
out for weeks. But then the demons came and killed most of us
off, and the farms all failed and were abandoned, and that was that.
We were left to fend for ourselves-grrrsssst-which was all right
because we had gotten pretty used to it by then. We could survive
on our own. Actually, it was better that way. I would hate to be
shut up inside that city with demons-hssstt-all about.” The crea-
ture gave a low growl. “I hate even to think about it.”