Despite the relative peacefulness and comfort of my temporary bed, I slept little that night. I would doze, then wake, cry myself back to sleep and then wake again. My world was a blur of sorrow and dream with my conscious thoughts being worse than any nightmares I had ever experienced. Eliza was gone. She was not dead, but she was trapped. She would exist inside the flesh of that pine tree until it finally died of calamity or disease. Her mind would merge with it like her body already had until her thoughts were nothing more than urges to drink water, burrow her roots deep into rich earth, and grow tall into the sunlight. She would cease to be a being and become something less than a beast. There was no cure for her predicament and she was in it because of me.

  “I am sorry, so sorry, Eliza,” I would wail again and again to the winds until I had exhausted myself and sank back into sleep.

  When sunlight returned to the world, I awoke from my longest nap of the night. I slowly sat upright and reached for my bundle of shorn hair. I spent my breakfast time munching on moss and weaving my vine-like ringlets into knotted braids since I had no spindle to twist the thick fibers together. The process was painstaking even for my adept skills, but the challenge gave my mind something to ponder other than Eliza’s imprisonment or my own entrapment. Curqak and his deadwalker allies would no doubt lay siege to the mountain from concealed positions outside the Ring Spell’s influence. I had no way of escape from the mountain and, while this peaceful sanctuary was a great comfort to me in my grief, I could not kneel at Aribem’s altar forever. If nothing else, I desperately needed to warn others that deadwalkers had somehow returned to the southern continent.

  As I continued weaving and knotting my hair into serviceable textile material, I began to mentally sift through various avenues of escape. When I finished my first weaving task, I began interlacing the thin braids in much the same way as I would thread together reeds to make a basket. Since my hair was much softer than the reeds that I usually used, I had to keep my weaving much tighter than normal. The added attentiveness helped me concentrate on something other than the rising panic I felt from being trapped. Hours had passed since dawn and I still had no notion of an escape plan. The only logical route that I knew was to exit the mountain the way I had entered: past Eliza’s pine. After the thrashing she had given them yesterday, the deadwalkers would give her a wide berth to try to avoid the reach of her massive roots.

  I frowned. Perhaps the pine root system on the southern side of the mountain was indeed the key. I was a sproutsinger mage like my sister, after all. I was not nearly as skilled as she, but I could still communicate through plants and even cause a few grasses and reeds to dance for me. Surely any deliverance from my current predicament would come through sproutsinging.

  I tied off the top of my small woven basket and dipped it beneath the cool waters beside me. Under the moisture’s influence, the basket tightened and glued together. The basket was not the prettiest vessel I had ever crafted, but it was the best work that I could do under the circumstances. I sighed and stepped once more to the altar. Gently I placed the Keystone in the center of the basket and placed my offering into the stone altar’s crowning basin.

  I bowed toward the altar and prayed to the Creator. “I am sorry that I lost the rose from my clan and that I offer you a token that isn’t even mine. But, if it is pleasing to you, I place this basket woven from my own hair as my offering of praise as well as the Keystone entrusted into my care on Aribem’s holy altar. Please accept my humble gift, Creator.”

  A low rumble shook the mountain. I stumbled backward as a jet of fire shot from the center of the altar, consuming my handmade basket. The sunsilver basin atop the altar melted in the sudden conflagration and covered the precious Keystone in molten metal. My bare feet slipped against the slick moss behind me and I tumbled into the sacred spring.

  The spring was far deeper than I had expected. I could see clearly to the bottom half of a spruce-length below me. The water around me was so clean, it was almost effervescent. I should not be here; I was defiling the spring with my presence! An explosion boomed above the waters and I swallowed the sweet liquid in my panic. I swam back to the surface and scrambled out gasping onto the multi-colored moss just as the mountain gave another violent heave. What was happening?

  “We have little time, Ella, now that the volcano is awake.”

  I spun in surprise to stare at a large golden-furred bear. She sat placidly on her haunches and stared back at me. I was certain she had not been there before I’d fallen into the spring.

  “Did you just speak?” I squeaked. “Where did you—”

  “As I said, we have little time, Ella, so listen to me,” the bear said. “I am Mainmangi, the Pyrekin beholden to the Ursa Agate—the Keystone you were safeguarding. The Creator is pleased by your offering and has briefly awakened me in this realm so that I may tell you how to escape the deadwalkers and return to your clan. Do you understand?”

  I bowed to the Pyerkin guardian. “Yes, My Madam.”

  “Then listen well. This volcano will erupt within the day and you must be prepared for such a calamity.” She gestured to my boots. “Put those back on; you have a lot of running ahead of you. The mountain is weakest on the northwest side so you must run to the southeast to escape its fire. The deadwalkers know that something roils within the mountain’s bowels, but they do not expect a sacred mountain blessed by Aribem himself to fully erupt. You have been warned.”

  I pulled on my right boot and began to tighten its laces around my feet. My inadvertent bath had cured the blisters on my feet and reduced the stiffness in my body. I was physically ready for another race against death, but was I mentally prepared for such a thing?

  “What about my sister?” I asked the glowing golden she-bear. “Is there some way to free her from the merge with the pine?”

  Mainmangi slowly shook her head. “I have not the skill for such a cure. I am sorry.”

  “What will happen to her?”

  “The Creator wishes that she endure this calamity unharmed, so I will protect her from the fire. Beyond that, I can give no promises.”

  Anger flared as hot within me as the mage fire had on the altar. “So this is how the Creator chooses to treat His beloved children? To save them from certain death only let them suffer so?” I demanded.

  The ground beneath my half-laced shoes trembled as she laughed. “Such arrogance in the young! Take heart, Ella. The Creator desires nothing more than the healing and wholeness of all of His creations, but His eternal healing of your soul is far more important than the temporary healing of your body. Trust in the Creator, for He will bring good out of even the most evil of situations.”

  The Pyrekin bear bent and scooped up a pile of moss with her massive paws. At her touch the moss shimmered and changed from bright reds and oranges to a cool blue hue. Of their own accord, the moss strands lengthened and then quickly wove themselves into a kind of cape. Mainmangi offered it to me just as the weaving completed. “Put this on, Ella. It will keep you safe from the falling embers. Now, off with you! Go to the base of the mountain. I will shield you from unfriendly eyes until the time is right for you to flee.”

  I took the moss cloak—it was now icy to the touch—and walked toward the cleft in the rock. I paused to look back at her. “Will you go with me beyond the mountain?”

  She sadly shook her head. “I must stay here where my Keystone lies. I am bound to it until such times as prophecy foretells of the release of the twelve Keystone-bound Pyrekin.”

  “When will that be?”

  She shook her head. “It is not for one such as me to know the date. I only know what the Creator instructed me to do here now and that is enough knowledge for this day. Now go, seek your clan, and tell them all that has happened here. The Creator will guard you even when I cannot. Even now He sends a mighty ally to you; be ready for him.”

  I nodded and then bowed deeply toward her. I picked my way carefully down the mountain to the edge of the Ring Spells and waited for a signal to run. It came in a fiery explosion from high on the opposite side of the volcano. Birds flew screeching into the air as smoke and ash vaulted into the sky. Zombies and imps bellowed wildly as they fled the angry eruption—its burning debris striking and scorching them as they ran.

  I ran, too. I ran south down the mountain to within reach of Eliza’s pine, my fingers caressing its rough bark as I sprinted past.

  “I love you…” I said, but the roiling earth and hissing smoke overpowered my farewell. The pine’s nearest branches swept me off my feet and into a gentle embrace. Then the nearest limb thrust a golden-brown pinecone and a small bundle of branches in my hands. I stared at the fagot in amazement. It was from my home tree; it was the one I had lost when Eliza had saved me from the deadwalkers!

  “For sweet fortune, good health, and fond remembrance,” the tree whispered. “Guard them well. I love you.”

  Eliza’s pine shoved me into the nearest neighboring tree and bade me to run along the branches in the direction of higher ground. I watched deadwalkers scatter along the ground beneath me as I used the close-knit tree limbs to circle the mountain. I then climbed along the foothills toward safety.

  The first wave of lava had now snaked its way to the foot of Mount Denth and flowed into the tree line. I felt the blistering heat flare behind me as the first of the trees surrendered to the lava and caught fire. I dared not look back for fear that the sight of burning forest would steal my last sprig of courage. Instead I pulled Mainmangi’s icy cloak tighter around my head and shoulders and dropped out of the trees. I raced northwest along the craggy, undulating hills toward the Nyghe sol Dyvesé Mountains. If I could get above the tree line of the nearest mountain, I should be safe from the forest fire now raging at my heels.

  Tears rolled down my ash-streaked face as smoke swirled around me. In spite of my resolve not to, I finally glanced behind me. The volcano’s smoke had smudged the clear morning sky as I started up the nearest Nyghe sol Dyvesé peak. Ashen twilight would have reigned if not for the bright, hot lava now advancing in all directions. Fire was now sweeping through the crowns of the evergreens like a roaring monster. And in the midst of all the devastation, Mainmangi’s flickering golden-brown form stood sentry next to Eliza’s pine. As I slowed to catch my breath, I watched in morbid fascination as lava parted in a wide arc around the pair even as it carved a path of destruction everywhere else.

  A second blast from Mount Denth shook me off my feet. I landed left knee first against a sharp slab of rock as the volcano violently erupted. I gripped my injured leg in agony as the ground around me shuddered. The deer and hares were outrunning me now. I was so tired and so sore. All recovered strength that I had gleaned from the sacred spring was now lost in my struggle to scale the mountain. I looked behind me again as the fire advanced.

  I began to crawl slowly onward, hobbling on both hands and my right leg to keep the shooting pain of my wounded knee to a minimum. The ground beneath me was soaked with my tears and blood and sweat. The icy cape was still keeping the debris from singeing me, but I could feel the forest fire’s incredible heat through the soles of my boots.

  “Creator, help me! I cannot do this on my own!” I cried as I struggled onto a large stone outcropping halfway up the peak. I stared at the advancing flames in despair and clutched Eliza’s pine cone and my home tree bundle to my chest. The fire would soon overtake me and then Eliza would have to live imprisoned in a tree for centuries knowing that her sacrifice to save her sister meant nothing. This wasn’t just. None of it! I screamed in pain and frustration and sorrow as burning death crept ever closer. And then, to my shock, I was answered.

  I looked up to see the silhouette of a griffin flying high over the burning forest. “I see you!” he screeched as he wheeled closer. “Stay where you are! I am coming for you!”

  The griffin folded his eagle-like wings and swooped down toward me. “Reach for me!” he roared.

  I did. Despite my pain and fatigue, I managed to grab the jeweled collar beneath his eagle-like head. I felt his powerful talons and forearms lock around me and pull me against his feathered and furred chest. With a muscular spring of the griffin’s lion-like back paws, we bounded off the rock into the smoky air. I held onto him and buried my face in his feathery shoulders as he flapped his wings hard to gain height over the tops of the torched trees. We flew up the rugged face of the mountain and then on beyond its peak. My dry sobs matched the frantic beat of his heart as we winged toward safety.

  “Calm down. All is well now, little one,” he said once we had sailed far beyond the flaming trees and into a clearer sky. “I have you and I’ll not let go until we are safe.”

  “Thank you, My Sir…” I said once the panic had worked its way out of my heartbeat. “Thank you for saving my life!”

  “Gladly,” he said gently. “So, what shall I call you, my fair little dryad?”

  “I am called Ella by my kin, My Sir.”

  He nodded. “I am pleased to know you, Ella. I am known as Canuche.”

  I frowned. Why did the griffin’s name seem so familiar? It was odd that someone who was obviously my senior in age and rank would offer so informal a title for me to use. I shrugged and said, “Well met, Canuche.”

  The corners of the griffin’s sharp grey-and-gold beak turned up in a smile, but he said nothing more. We wafted on the wind currents ahead of the ash cloud for a while in silence as I fought the weariness now threatening to overwhelm me. At one point I felt my grip slip from the collar and then I bounced awake as he jostled my groggy form.

  “Sorry, Ella,” the griffin said. “Sleep if you can. We’ll be back to my aerie in no time and then, I promise you a true rest.”

  My eyes closed even as I nodded in agreement. I doubted I would ever truly sleep while being buffeted so much by the wind, but eventually weariness overtook me and I fell asleep cradled in the griffin’s embrace. As Canuche flew on, the morning shifted into afternoon. Yet our world remained steeped in the smoky twilight caused by Mount Denth sol Dyvesé. Sometime that evening, I vaguely remember a thump as Canuche landed on a high, flat ridge deep in the Nyghe sol Dyvesé Mountains southeast of the volcano, but little else.

  Chapter V

  The Griffin Aerie

  When I found wakefulness again, I discovered myself huddled in an enormous nest tucked inside a shallow cave cradled high in a cliff face. I was staring into the dark orange eyes of a griffin, but she was not Canuche. I blinked in groggy surprise as she watched me.

  “How do you feel?” she asked kindly.

  My head throbbed, I couldn’t breathe through my stuffed-up nose, my throat felt aflame, and my coughs were wet.

  “Awful,” I said with a thick voice. I tried to make my bleary eyes focus on her, but I did not succeed.

  “I’m not surprised.” She gently placed two digits of a large yellow talon against my forehead. Her lion-like tail whipped back and forth as she gently touched my face. “With all of the smoke and ash you inhaled, my dear, I am surprised you’re not worse off. You’re hot with fever, but at least your burns and other injuries are relatively minor. I’ll have to watch you closely to be sure your pneumonia doesn’t worsen. Come, drink this. It will help you fight the sickness.”

  She held a large tankard of liquid to my lips and I drank. My numbed tongue tasted hints of onion, garlic, basil, and mulled wine along with something very, very bitter. The concoction had to be far stronger than what I could sense and I was suddenly grateful that I could not taste its full effects.

  “Drink all of it, Little One.”

  I obeyed.

  “Are you comfortable?” she asked.

  I nodded and sank back into the softness of the feather-down-filled sack that cradled my head.

  She nodded with approval and pulled a rough wool blanket up around my shoulders. “Good. I’ll bring you more medicine and some food later. For now, try to sleep some more.”

  I did. Somewhere from within the depths of my dreams I later heard Canuche and the female griffin talking.

  “What happened?” the female asked.

  “I was patrolling northeast of the Reithrgar Pass when I spotted a pack of imps circling the foot of Mount Denth,” Canuche replied. “I followed their progress and discovered that the sacred mountain was smoking.”

  “Smoking? But that has not happened in over three hundred years!”

  “I know. It erupted, Unuca. The entire valley is gone! The pine and fir trees surrounding the volcano are either burned to cinders or blown over by the blast.”

  “Dear Creator, keep us! Were any beings killed?”

  “Likely,” the griffin male said. “I only found her fleeing from the lava.”

  “And she came close to running her boots clean off,” Unuca replied. “The soles are almost gone. See?”

  Canuche clucked in agreement. “She made a valiant effort. I will say that for her. I knew she was trapped, so I grabbed her before flying her here to safety.”

  “What was she doing there, My Sir?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll ask her when she wakes up again.”

  “And you’re certain that they were imps?” Unuca asked.

  “Positive.”

  The female growled. “This doesn’t bode well. Have you informed the Council of Mages?”

  “A dispatch has already been sent to the Isle of Summons.”

  “What do we do with her?”

  “Nurse her back to health as quickly as you can,” Canuche replied. “Then I’ll transport her back to her kin. She’ll need to be among her loved ones anyway when war breaks out.”

  “You think it a certainty?”

  “With deadwalkers once again roaming Sylvan soil, there can be no doubt.”

  “Dear Creator, keep us!” Unuca murmured again.

  “Lo Aideem,” Canuche agreed.

  *