When they landed, whatever time had passed, it was still night, but the sky was clear and bright about her. Spirit settled down on a small atoll green with vegetation. The sweet smell of flowers wafted on the air. Wren breathed the scents gratefully as she slid down the Roc’s broad back, reaching up in numb response for Triss and then Stresa. Imagine, she thought dizzily—a moon and stars, a night bright with their light, no mist or haze, no fire.
“This way, over here, girl,” Tiger Ty advised gently, taking her arm.
He led her to a patch of soft grass where she lay down and instantly fell asleep.
The sun was red against the horizon when she woke again, a scarlet sphere rising from the ocean’s crimson-colored waters into skies black with thunderheads. The storm and its fire seemed settled in a single patch of earth and sky. She raised herself on her elbow and peered at the strange phenomenon, wondering how it could be.
Then Tiger Ty, keeping watch at her side, whispered, “Go back to sleep, Miss Wren. It’s still night. That’s Morrowindl out there, all afire, burning up from the inside out. Killeshan’s let go with everything. Won’t be anything left soon, I’d guess.”
She did go back to sleep, and when she woke again it was midday, the sun sitting high in a cloudless blue expanse overhead, the air warm and fragrant, and the birdsong a bright trilling against the rush of the ocean on the rocks. Faun chittered from somewhere close by. She rose to look, and found the Tree Squeak sitting on a rock and pulling at a vine so it could nibble its leaves. Triss still slept, and Stresa was nowhere to be seen. Spirit sat out at the edge of cliff, his fierce eyes gazing out at the empty waters.
Tiger Ty appeared from behind the bird and ambled over. He handed her a sack with fruit and bread and motioned her away from the sleeping Triss. She rose, and they walked to sit in the shade of a palm.
“Rested now?” he asked, and she nodded. “Eat some of this. You must be starved. You look as if you haven’t eaten in days.”
She ate gratefully, then accepted the ale jug he offered and drank until she thought she would burst. Faun turned to watch, eyes bright and curious.
“You seem to have gathered up some new friends,” Tiger Ty declared as she finished. “I know the Elf and the Splinterscat by name, but what’s this one called?”
“Her name is Faun. She’s a Tree Squeak.” Wren’s eyes locked on his. “Thanks for not leaving us, Tiger Ty. I was counting on you.”
“Ha!” he snorted. “As if I would miss the chance of finding out how things had worked out! But I admit I had my doubts, girl. I thought your foolishness might have outstripped your fire. Looks like it almost did.”
She nodded. “Almost.”
“I came back looking for you every day after the volcano blew. Saw it erupt twenty miles out. I said to myself, she’s got something to do with that, you mark me! And you did, too, didn’t you?” He grinned, face crinkling like old leather. “Anyway, we circled about once a day, Spirit and me, searching for you. Had just finished last night’s swing when we saw your light. Might have left, otherwise. How did you do that, anyway?” He pursed his lips, then shrugged. “No, hold off, don’t tell me. That’s the Land Elf magic at work or I miss my guess. It’s better I don’t know.”
He paused. “In any case, I’m very glad you’re safe.”
She smiled in acknowledgment, and they sat silently for a moment, looking at the ground. Fishing birds swooped and dove across the open waters like white arrows, wings cocked back, and long necks extended. Faun came down from her perch to crawl up Wren’s arm and burrow into her shoulder.
“I guess your big friend didn’t make it,” Tiger Ty said finally.
Garth The pain of the memory brought tears to her eyes. She shook her head. “No. He didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I think maybe you’ll feel his loss a long time, won’t you?” The shrewd eyes slid away. “Some kinds of pain don’t heal easily.”
She didn’t speak. She was thinking of her grandmother and Eowen, of the owl and Gavilan Elessedil, of Cort and Dal, all lost in the struggle to escape Morrowindl, all a part of the pain she carried with her. She stared out over the water into the distance, searching the skyline. She found what she was searching for finally, a dark smudge against the horizon where Morrowindl burned slowly to ash and rock.
“And what of the Elves?” Tiger Ty asked. “You found them, I guess, judging from the fact that one of them came with you.”
She looked back at him again, surprised by the question, forgetting momentarily that he had not been with her. “Yes, I found them.”
“And Arborlon?”
“Arborlon as well, Tiger Ty.”
He stared at her a moment, then shook his head. “They wouldn’t listen, would they? They wouldn’t leave.” He announced it matter-of-factly, undisguised bitterness in his voice. “Now they’re all gone, lost. The whole of them. Foolish people.”
Foolish, indeed, she thought. But not lost. Not yet. She tried to tell Tiger Ty about the Loden, tried to find the words, but couldn’t. It was too hard to speak of any of it just now. She was still too close to the nightmare she had left behind, still floundering through the harsh emotions that even the barest thought of it invoked. Whenever she brought the memories out again, she felt as if her skin was being flayed from her body. She felt as if fire was searing her, burning down to her bones. The Elves, victims of their own misguided belief in the power of the magic—how much of that belief had been bequeathed to her? She shuddered at the thought. There were truths to be weighed and measured, motives to be examined, and lives to be set aright. Not the least of those belonged to her.
“Tiger Ty,” she said quietly. “The Elves are here, with me. I carry them...” She hesitated as he stared at her expectantly. “I carry them in my heart.” Confusion lined his brow. Her eyes lowered, searching her empty hands. “The problem is deciding whether they belong.”
He shook his head and frowned. “You’re not making sense. Not to me.”
She smiled. “Only to myself. Be patient with me awhile, would you? No more questions. But when we get to where we’re going, we’ll find out together whether the lessons of Morrowindl have taught the Elves anything.”
Triss awoke then, stirring sluggishly from his sleep, and they rose to tend him. As they worked, Wren’s thoughts took flight. Like a practiced juggler she found herself balancing the demands of the present against the needs of the past, the lives of the Elves against the dangers of their magics, the beliefs she had lost against the truths she had found. Silent in her deliberation, her concentration complete, she moved among her companions as if she were there with them when in fact she was back on Morrowindl, watching the horror of its magic-induced evolution, discovering the dark secrets of its makers, reconstructing the bits and pieces of the frantic, terrifying days of her struggle to fulfill the charges that had been given her. Time froze, and while it stood statuelike before her, carved out of a chilling, silent introspection, she was able to cast away the last of the tattered robes that had been her old life, that innocence of being that had preceded Cogline and Allanon and her journey to her past, and to don at last the mantle of who and what she now realized she had always been meant to be.
Good-bye Wren that was.
Faun squirmed against her shoulder, begging for attention. She spared what little she could.
An hour later, Splinterscat, Tree Squeak, Captain of the Elven Home Guard, Wing Rider, and the girl who had become the Queen of the Elves were winging their way eastward atop Spirit toward the Four Lands.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It took the remainder of the day to reach the mainland. The Sun was a faint melting of silver on the western horizon when the coastline finally grew visible, a jagged black wall against the coming night. Darkness had fallen, and the moon and stars appeared by the time they descended onto the bluff that fronted the abandoned Wing Hove. Their bodies were cramped and tired, and their eyes were heavy. The summer smells of leaves and earth wafted out of the forest behind them as they settled down to sleep.