that could open on a whim and consume everything that lived
on it. Killeshan’s breath steamed through fissures in the lava
rock, small eruptions that stank of burning rock and gases and
left shards of debris to drift upon the air. Incongruous amid the
lava rock and weeds, isolated clusters of flowering bushes grew,
fighting to survive against the heat and ash. Once, Wren thought
to herself, this island must have been very beautiful, but it was
difficult to imagine it so now.
It was late in the day when they finally reached the Rowen,
the light gone gray and faint. The creatures within the haze had
begun to stir again, their rumblings and growls causing the three
companions to grow increasingly more watchful. They came
upon the river at a point where its far shore was hidden by a
screen of mist and its near fell sharply away to a rush of waters
that were murky and rough, choked with silt and debris, clouded
so thick that nothing of what lay beneath the surface showed.
Stresa stopped at the shore’s edge, casting left and right un-
certainly, sniffing the heavy air.
Wren knelt next to the Splinterscat. “How do we get across?”
she asked.
“At the Narrows,” the other answered with a grunt. “Ssspptt.
The trouble is, I’m not sure where they are. I haven’t been this
way in a long time.”
Wren glanced back at Garth, who watched impassively. The
light was failing rapidly now, and the sound of the demons rising
from their sleep was growing louder. The air remained still and
thick as the heat of midday cooled to a damp swelter.
“Rrrwwll. Downstream, I think,” Stresa ventured, sounding
none too sure.
Then Wren saw something move in the mist behind them
and started. Garth had his short sword out instantly. A small
figure inched into view, and Wren came to her feet in surprise.
It was the Tree Squeak. It circled away from Garth and came
up to her, taking hold of her arm tentatively.
“What are you doing here, little one?” she murmured, and
stroked its furry head.
The Tree Squeak pulled itself up on her shoulder and chit-
tered softly at Stresa.
The Splinterscat grunted. “It says the crrrwwwll crossing is
upstream, just a short distance from here. Phffttt. It says it will
show us the way.”
Wren frowned doubtfully. “It knows what we’re looking for?”
“Ssssttt. Seems to.” Stresa hunched his quills anxiously. “I
don’t like standing about in the open like this. Let’s take a chance
and do what it says. Maybe it knows something.”
Wren nodded. With Stresa still leading, they started up-
stream, following the ragged curve of the Rowen’s bank. Wren
carried the Tree Squeak, who clung to her possessively. It must
have followed them all the way from that cleft in the lava rock,
she realized. Apparently it hadn’t wanted to be left behind. Per-
haps the small kindnesses she had shown had won it over. She
stroked the wiry body absently and wondered how much kind-
ness anything encountered on Morrowindl.
Moments later Stresa stopped abruptly and drew them back
into the concealment of a cluster of rocks. Something huge and
misshapen passed before them on its way to the river, a silent
shadow in the haze. Patiently they waited. The volume of
coughs and grunts continued to grow as the dusk deepened.
When they went forward again, even their breathing had slowed
to a whisper.
Then the shoreline moved away from where they walked,
sloping downward into the river’s swift waters, turning the swirl-
ing surface to broken rapids. The haze lifted sufficiently to re-
veal a narrow bridge of rocks. Quickly they crossed, crouched
low against the water, darting for the cover of the mist beyond.
When they were safely gathered on the far shore, the Tree
Squeak again chittered to Stresa.
“Go left, it says,” the Splinterscat translated, the words a low
growl in its throat.
They did as the Tree Squeak advised, moving into the vog.
The last of the daylight faded away and darkness closed about.
The only light came from far ahead, an odd white glow that
shimmered faintly through the haze. They were forced to slow,