That leaves only Nyphron and Tekchin. Is that why he came? And when he suggested that he and Tekchin should go off together to search for a place to sleep, was that a ploy? Is he along just to get Tekchin?

  All of it made so much sense that Moya was left wondering what she would do if Tesh attacked. She focused on Brin, who looked happy and content in his arms.

  Will she ever forgive me if I kill him?

  She sighed and looked out over the dark water once more.

  This whole trip is stupid.

  Moya had told herself that from the start. She knew it was impossible when Tressa first spoke to Persephone, and since then it’d spiraled out of control. The Tetlin Witch didn’t exist. She was like the rumor of Fhrey being gods. Everything was made up. They were risking their lives merely to save themselves the guilt of doing nothing to save Suri. They were trying to convince themselves that they could prevent the fane from getting the secret of dragons. But wanting something didn’t make it real. Hope and faith don’t put no food on the table, Moya’s mother used to say.

  Does Roan know this? Does Gifford? Smart as the two of them are, they have blind spots. It’s all Tressa’s fault! What’s with her pretending to be a hero all of a sudden? Dear Mari, how I hate that woman!

  Moya looked over to where Tressa slept, curled up and at a noticeable distance from everyone else. That woman knew she was unwanted and disliked and had the presence of mind to keep her distance. Tressa shivered alone in the cold.

  Stupid bitch!

  Why in the name of the Grand Mother of All would Tressa send us out here? This whole trip has to be nonsense, doesn’t it? Moya needed to sandbag against that wave because she didn’t want to accept that not only was the Tetlin Witch real, but she could be very close.

  The witch was the source of all evil in the world. She created the demons and the raow. She was the source of all sickness and disease. She ate children, cooking them in a pot with carrots and basil leaves. If she did exist, Moya discovered a terrible flaw in Tressa’s plan. Thing was, no one really believed they would find the Tetlin Witch. It would be like finding Mari, or . . . like chatting with a ghost?

  She saw Meeks. He was in the darkness, coming closer.

  “Moya?”

  Moya opened her eyes and was surprised to see Tressa’s face peering at her in the darkness. Moya lurched, terrified. “What? What?”

  “It’s okay. You just fell asleep.”

  “Huh?” Moya’s heart was racing, her breath coming in rapid, short gasps. Audrey was across her lap, and her feet were still bare. She shivered with the chill. “Oh.”

  “Go lie down,” Tressa said. “I’ll take over for a while.”

  Moya’s head was groggy.

  “It’s okay,” Tressa said and followed it with a yawn. “I won’t say anything. You still have a reputation to uphold.”

  Moya nodded, too tired to argue. She crawled over and curled up next to a snoring Tekchin. Moya pulled the blanket around both of them. It was warm there, warm and safe. She laid her head down.

  Tressa. Moya rocked her head. Oh how I hate that woman.

  Moya woke with a stiff neck, sand in her mouth, and the discovery she was lost in a cloud. They all were. The thick dark of night had been replaced with the opaque white of a dense fog. Roan, Gifford, and Rain tended a small campfire while Tekchin, Tressa, and Tesh gathered driftwood. Brin sat huddled, wrapped tightly in her blanket and just staring at the little flames and the stream of smoke that billowed and blew away when the breeze slapped it.

  “Mornings are getting cold,” Tesh said, dropping his tiny gathering of wood and rubbing his own arms for warmth.

  Roan snatched two of the newly delivered logs and placed them strategically on the fire.

  “Is this okay?” Moya asked, looking at Gifford and then at the fog-shrouded trees. “With, you know . . .”

  Gifford looked over his shoulder, puzzled for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, yeah—no complaints yet.”

  “We haven’t used any live wood,” Rain explained. “Figured that would be . . .” He shrugged.

  “Rude?” Brin asked.

  “Sick and twisted,” Gifford added.

  The new sticks caught easily and the flames kicked out a pleasant heat that toasted Moya’s face and hands, forcing her to sit up and lean away. In the distance, the sound of waves continued. Moya didn’t know why she thought the noise might have stopped, but she found it odd just the same.

  “Has everyone eaten?”

  Tekchin nodded. Sitting beside her, he brushed hair away from Moya’s face and dusted the sand from her cheek. “Nothing formal, just bites.”

  Moya rummaged blindly in her own bag and found a wedge of cheese she hadn’t touched yet. As she ate, the others gathered around the fire, and once again their eyes focused on her. That’s when it hit: They’ve been waiting for me to wake up and tell them what to do next.

  “Tesh, Rain, and I did a little exploring this morning,” Tekchin said. “We’re on the edge of the Green Sea. The Ithil river pours out of the swamp into the bay, and this is the mouth of the estuary. So we’re through the swamp, but”—he looked at Moya—“no island.”

  “It has to be out there.” Tressa pointed at the sound of the waves.

  “Maybe,” Tekchin said.

  “That’s a big maybe,” Tesh said, “but it could just as well be back in there.” He pointed at the trees. “Or it might not exist at all. And if it is out across the water, there’s no way to get there.”

  “We could swim,” Moya said.

  All three shook their heads.

  “Tried that after the sun came up,” Tekchin said.

  “And?”

  “Well, the water is real cold for one thing,” Tesh said.

  “And the second?” Moya asked.

  Tesh turned and pointed to his side at a rip in his tunic. “Something tried to take a bite out of me. More than one something, I think. So, if the island is out there, we’re not getting to it without a boat.”

  “Well,” Moya said, “I guess that’s it then. If there’s no island, and no way to get to one, I don’t see—”

  “Oh please.” Tressa rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t have sent us if we couldn’t make it.”

  “Who?” Moya asked. “Malcolm?”

  “Of course Malcolm.” The woman took it upon herself to place new wood on the fire.

  “What is it with you two?” Moya asked. “Have you slept together?”

  “No!” Tressa exploded, aghast. She shoved back away from all of them with a hateful look in her eyes.

  “What?” Moya was genuinely shocked at her outrage. The question was possibly the most cordial thing she’d said to the woman in recent memory. “Konniger has been dead for years, and Malcolm is pleasant enough. You certainly could do a lot worse.”

  “It’s not like that—not like that at all! You people are so blind. Malcolm knows everything,” Tressa said.

  “He doesn’t know everything.”

  “No, really—he does. He knows the moment you were born. What your favorite food is. The thing you’re most ashamed of that you’ve never shared with another living soul. He knows we are sitting here right now and what we’re saying. He probably even knows what you’re thinking and what you’ll say next.”

  Moya pressed her lips together to avoid laughing. She didn’t know why. Two days ago, she’d have laughed in Tressa’s face and thought nothing of it. She’d often gone out of her way to do just that. How I hate this woman!

  “It’s true!” Tressa shouted at her. “You’ll see.” She pointed toward the waves. “We’re going to find the island. It’s going to be right out there and we won’t need a boat—or we’ll find one or something. Malcolm has already seen us succeed. He knows we’re going to do it.”

  “He doesn’t know,” Roan said softly. She was staring into the flames.

  This caught Tressa’s attention. “How can you say that?” Unlike with Moya, Tressa didn’t shout at Roan. Her tone was soft, hurt, as if Roan had betrayed her somehow.

  “He said himself that he doesn’t know everything,” Roan explained. “About the past maybe, but not the future. Someone’s foot can get in the way, remember? So while he’s seen the future, he also knows it can be changed.”

  “Not you, too,” Moya said. “Roan, of all people—”

  “You can add me to the list,” Rain said. “I was there that night in the smithy when Suri . . . well, when she did what she did.”

  “What the Tet happened to make you all think Malcolm is so special?”

  “You might want to avoid that particular curse, going forward,” Tressa said, returning to the little pile of wood Tekchin had dropped. She resumed feeding the campfire, which spit and hissed in the foggy morning air.

  “What? Tet?”

  Tressa nodded. “Given who we are hoping to meet, yes. It might be considered insulting.”

  “Oh please.” Moya shook her head. “But seriously, why are you all so dead set on raising Malcolm onto a pedestal?”

  “Haven’t you heard? He’s a god,” Tesh said skeptically.

  “God?” Moya laughed. When no one laughed with her, she stopped. “Oh—come—on.”

  Moya turned to Brin, who shrugged with a concerned look. “I wasn’t there. But,” Brin said slowly, thinking, “he does seem to know a lot, and when I told him about the Ancient One, he ran off like he was going to hunt him down. And he told Tressa about Suri being taken years before she was.”

  “That’s only if you can believe Tressa, which I don’t.” Moya glared down at the older woman, who smiled back. “Okay, whatever. Malcolm’s a know-it-all, fine. It doesn’t matter anyway because we can’t find this island . . .” She looked out at the impenetrable mist.

  “Even if it is out there,” Tesh said, “we don’t know how far or in what direction.” He stood up and took a few steps toward the water as if he was going swimming again.

  Moya saw the rip in his clothes, and there was a small stain of blood, too.

  “So we wait for the fog to burn off,” Tressa said.

  “And if it doesn’t?” Moya asked.

  “Can’t be like this all the time,” Tressa said.

  Moya gave her an amazed look. “A ghost talked to us last night. We all watched a parade of dead people march by, and Tekchin told me he and Tesh found a nest with eyeballs in place of eggs. Oh, and the trees here whisper to each other. No, Tressa, I think the fog could very easily always be here.”

  “Look, if anyone wants to pack up for home, go ahead,” Tressa said. “I can find the isle without you.”

  “Because Malcolm said you’d succeed.” Moya finished the unstated thought.

  Tressa nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Fine,” Moya said. “You want to stay, that’s okay by me. The rest of us—”

  “What do the trees say?” Brin asked Gifford. “Do they know how to get to the island?”

  Gifford shook his head. “I asked about it. I even went over to them.” He pointed at a clump of trees. “I spoke to those. Didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Maybe they only talk at night,” Brin suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  “We have to wait.” It was Roan again, her little voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

  “Wait?” Moya asked. “For what, Roan? This was supposed to be an overnight trip. We don’t have much food and water left. We’ll be lucky to get back without getting lost. Every minute we stick around, we run the risk of getting ourselves in real trouble.”

  “It’s just like in Tirre,” Roan said.

  Moya put the cheese back into her pack and inched forward. “What is, Roan?”

  “The water—it goes down.”

  “Goes down?”

  “In Tirre, sometimes it was high and other times it was low. If you look at the base of the trees, you’ll see a discoloration. It’s a water mark. It shows where the waterline sometimes is.”

  Moya looked at the trees Gifford said he’d tried speaking to and saw no discoloration. “There’s nothing there.”

  “No,” Roan said, “because the water is high right now, but it will go down. In a few hours, it will go much lower.”

  “Then what?” Moya asked.

  “Obvious, isn’t it?” Tressa said with a faraway look and a dreamy smile. “We’ll just walk to the island. I told you. Malcolm is always right.”

  “How long do we have to wait?”

  Roan shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Moya sighed.

  The whole trip had seemed like such a waste of time, except . . . Roan thought it was possible, and hadn’t she created miracles? After all, there really was a haunted swamp.

  But can the Tetlin Witch really be out there? Moya faced the fog and wondered. And what will I do if we find her, and it all turns out to be true? And more important . . . what will she do to us?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Unpleasant Paths

  Distilling barley makes liquor. Doing it again loses a little of the flavor but makes the intoxicant much stronger. — The Book of Brin

  Rolling through the outer villages, the wagon gathered a following. Most Fhrey had never seen a Rhune before, and the Gwydry in particular left their daily toil to walk alongside and peer through the bars at the caged beast. Mawyndulë found them a nuisance. They got in the way and startled the horse, which was hard enough to keep under control. Not that this was his problem. Mawyndulë had Treya lead the animal most of the time.

  “Did you capture this yourself?”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “What will you do with it? Put it on display in the capital?”

  The questions came by the dozens, but Mawyndulë didn’t answer any. He was too miserable to be friendly. He had a blister on his left foot, stubble on his head, and he was tired of Treya’s traveling meals. The bread was gone, and the thin soup didn’t fill his stomach after an all-day walk. What galled him the most was that the Rhune got to ride the whole way.

  Word began to spread, and the number of people waiting at each village grew larger. By the time they reached Alluriville, the crowd that assailed them was a mob. Mawyndulë had planned to stop there. He’d promised his sore feet and empty stomach they would be rewarded by a way-station visit, but the masses had been too excited, and he pushed on instead.

  Through all their travels, the Rhune watched him.

  She wore one of Treya’s tunics. His servant shouldn’t have sacrificed a spare outfit like that, but seeing the Rhune dressed up in “people clothes” was funny. At the spring fair, they often put a hat on a goat or a cloak on a cow, making people laugh. The Rhune in Treya’s outfit had the same effect.

  “Does it have fangs?”

  “What does it eat?”

  “Does it make sounds if you poke it?”

  A few people threw stones at the Rhune. Treya yelled at them to stop, begging Mawyndulë to do something. He didn’t. The people just wanted to make the Rhune get up, see it move. Given that he had walked all the way to Avempartha and back while the monster rode comfortably in the wagon, Mawyndulë didn’t see a problem with prodding it to do something for a change. He considered getting a stick and poking the thing himself.

  They didn’t make it to Estramnadon before the sun set, which only served to put Mawyndulë on edge. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be done with this awful trip, but there was no way he would travel at night. He’d already tripped on two roots. He was tired. His feet were sore, and the nights were getting cold. Mawyndulë was slow in reaching the realization that they’d have to stop, thinking that Estramnadon would be right around the next bend. It wasn’t, and by the time he gave up and ordered a halt, Treya was left unprepared and hustling in the dark to set up camp and make the meal. He took pity on her and made the fire himself.

  “Here you go,” Treya said, taking the Rhune a bowl of food. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “Why do you do that?” Mawyndulë asked while watching Treya pass a steaming bowl through the bars.

  “Do what? Feed her? You feed the horse. Why shouldn’t we feed her?”

  “No, not the food. I meant why do you talk to it like it’s a person?”

  Treya looked puzzled. “She is a person.”

  Mawyndulë laughed. “It’s an animal.”

  “Animals don’t talk. She does.”

  “Some birds have been trained to mimic. That doesn’t make them people. This one was trained—that’s all.”

  Treya looked back at the Rhune, whose face was mostly hidden as it slurped from the rim of the bowl. “I don’t think that—”

  “For Ferrol’s sake, don’t try and think. You’re a Gwydry; you aren’t built for it. Look, we’ve been traveling with it for days. If it could talk—I mean really talk intelligently and not just babble words drilled into it by Arion—it would have. If you were in a cage, you’d be demanding to be let out, wouldn’t you? But it hasn’t because it doesn’t really understand any more than a goat would. It isn’t a person.”

  Treya shook her head. “She talked to me a little. Said thank you when I gave her food, complimented me on it, and—”

  “Yes, yes, I just told you the thing was trained to do simple tasks. The Instarya stable master has a horse that can count with its hoof, but that doesn’t mean it’s capable of serving on the Aquila, does it? The Instarya are clever. They trained the creature to make it appear intelligent, but look at it. It just sits there cowering. It babbles. It drools. It wails. And you’ve seen how it keeps throwing itself against the bars like it’s insane. There’s no intelligence behind those eyes.”

  “She’s scared. That’s why she shakes. It has to do with being sealed up in a small space. That’s what she told me.”

  Mawyndulë frowned and shook his head. “What she told you? Do you hear yourself?”

  “I’m not saying she’s intelligent like a Fhrey, but I don’t think she’s like a cow or goat, either. She has feelings, and she can express them.”