brows.
The man was an Elf.
After all this time, she thought. After so much effort. Relief flooded
through her and at the same time a strangeness that she could
not identify. It seemed odd somehow to finally come face to
face with what she had worked so hard to find. She stood there,
staring, caught up in her emotions.
He gestured again, a bit more insistent than before. He was
older than he had first appeared, but so weathered that it was
impossible for Wren to tell how much of his aging was natural
and how much the result of hard living.
Coming back to herself at last, she caught Garth’s attention
and signed for him to do as the Elf had asked. She rose and
started back the way she had come, the others following. The
Elf passed them a dozen steps along the way, a seemingly ef-
fortless task, and beckoned for them to follow. He took them
back down the ravine and out again, drawing them across a bare
stretch of lava rock and finally into a stand of stunted trees.
There he crouched down with them in a circle.
He bent close, his sharp gray eyes fixing on Wren. “Who
are you?” he whispered.
“Wren Ohmsford,” she whispered back. “These are my
friends-Garth, Stresa, and Faun.” She indicated each in turn.
The Elf seemed to find this humorous. “Such odd company.
How did you get here, Wren?”
He had a gentle voice, as seamed and worn as the rest of
him, as comfortable as old shoes.
“A Wing Rider named Tiger Ty brought Garth and me here
from the mainland. We’ve come to find the Elves.” She paused.
“And you look to me to be one of them.”
The lines on the other’s face deepened with a smile. “There
are no Elves. Everyone knows that.” The joke amused him. “But
if pressed, I suppose that I would admit to being one of them. I
am Aurin Striate. Everyone calls me the Owl. Maybe you can
guess why?”
“You hunt at night?”
“I can see in the dark. That is why I am out here, where no
one else cares to go, beyond the walls of the city. I am the
queen’s eyes.”
Wren blinked. “The queen?”
The Owl dismissed the question with a shake of his head.
“You have come all this way to find the Elves, Wren Ohmsford?
Whatever for? Why should you care what has become of us?”
The eyes crinkled above his smile. “You are very lucky I found
you. You are lucky for that matter that you are even still alive.
Or perhaps not. You are Elven yourself, I see.” The smile faded.
“Is it possible …
He trailed off doubtfully. There was something in his eyes
that Wren could not make out. Disbelief, hope, what? She
started to say something, but he gestured for her to be silent.
“Wren, I will take you inside the city, but your friends will have
to wait here. Or more accurately, back by the river where it is
at least marginally safe.”
“No,” Wren said at once. “My friends come with me.”
“They cannot,” the Owl explained, his voice staying patient
and kind. “I am forbidden to bring any but the Elven into the
city. I would do otherwise if I could, but the law cannot be
broken.”
“Phfft. I can wait at the-hrwwll-river,” Stresa growled. “I’ve
done what I promised in any case.”
Wren ignored him. She kept her gaze fixed on the Owl. “It
is not safe out here,” she insisted.
r It is not safe anywhere,” the other replied sadly. “Stresa and
raun are used to looking after themselves. And your friend Garth
Seems fit enough. A day or two, Wren-that would be all. By
then, perhaps you can persuade the Council to let them come
inside. Or you can leave and rejoin them.”
Wren didn’t know what sort of Council he was talking about,
but irrespective of what was decided about Stresa and Faun she
was not going to leave Garth. The Splinterscat and the Tree
Squeak might be able to survive on their own, but this island
was as foreign and treacherous for Garth as it was for her and