I

shining through the granite like moonlight through a dense fog. The glowing arc passed beneath the arch, then back up into the first pillar, completing an entire circle to rejoin the Heart again.

Tol'chuk gaped at the blazing arch above and the glow of its reflection in the granite below. The unbroken ring reminded him of the mountain people's Citadel: an arch of granite whose reflection in Tor Amon formed a magickal circle. It was the same here.

Unity, the Triad ghost whispered in a mix of sorrow and joy: It has been so long since the Heart was hale enough to ignite the Gate fully.

I don't understand.

The spirit pointed a hand overhead. The arch you see in the cave is but half of the whole. He shifted his arm toward the floor. Below lies the other half circle, still buried, completing the Gate.

A ring of heartstone, Tol'chuk mumbled. Not just an arch. The spirit nodded. With the Heart returned, the way is now open.

The way to where?

The ghost again turned those wormglowing eyes toward him. To the center of all things, the core of the world. The spirit waved an arm toward the Gate. Behold what lies within the Land's true heart!

The mirage of rippling granite under the arch suddenly convulsed as if a large boulder had dropped into its center. From either pillar, two sweeping clouds of mist sailed forth the other spirits returning. The pair joined their brother, and they all watched as the ring of heartstone blazed and the rock in the center rippled and churned. Granite lost form, becoming something else.

Tol'chuk feared what he would see, but he could not tear his eyes away. His breath grew still.

Slowly the churning slowed. The black granite cliff face disappeared. In its place was a sight that dropped Tol'chuk to his knees.

He stared out into a pit of endless darkness, traced with jagged lines of crimson fire. Flares traveled along these veins like fireflies, pulsing and racing. Some seemed to flicker from the ring of heartstone here and travel down those lines. But it wasn't these veins that took the breath from Tol'chuk. Set in the heart of the inky darkness revolved a giant crystal of the purest silver blue, shining like the most perfect diamond in the night. Tol'chuk could not remove his gaze from its beauty. Though he had no reference by which to judge its size, he knew what he looked upon dwarfed the largest mountain. He was but a mote before its majesty.

Behold the heart of the world, the Triad intoned together. The Land's spirit given form. Behold the Spirit Stone.

With their words, the shining crystal swelled toward them. Tol'chuk sensed a presence filling the space like pressure under the deepest waters. Unblinking, he stared, feeling complete and whole, even before an energy unfathomable in depth and scope.

And as he watched, he realized the traceries of crimson were in fact veins of heartstone. The webbed net of lines crisscrossed and forked, but all paths led down to the crystal at its center.

The Spirit Stone' the true heart of the world.

She comes, the Triad whispered around him, their voices full of reverence.

Tol'chuk sensed it too, a growing heaviness to the air, a pressure on the ears. Then a figure appeared, stepping forth from the Spirit Gate as if from the stone itself. Limned against the silvery shine, the newcomer was a dark shadow, a living flow of black oil. It was a woman, tall and stately, clothed in a mist of silver tresses that clouded around her, draping over ebony shoulders, obscuring her face, and seeming to wave and sweep as if she moved underwater. The strands roiled and flowed all the way back to the Spirit Stone, blending one to the other.

Who' ? What' ? Tol'chuk stammered.

Drawn to his voice, she stepped forward, turning to him. Her silver tresses washed from her face for a moment. Her features grew to perfect clarity, carved of stone.

Tol'chuk gasped. Elena!

Mama Freda continued to warm her cold bones by the fire. At her side, Jerrick spoke in whispers to Magnam and Jaston, but she listened, instead, with the keen ears of her pet tamrink, her attention on the pack of og'res from the Ku'ukla clan.

It was dizzying to sit so still before a warm fire while another part of her, sharp with senses, raced and sped. Her nose smelled both the sizzle of woodsmoke from the campfire and the goatlike odor of wet og'res.

Mama Freda wrapped her hands over the end of her cane, leaning her chin upon her fingers, while her heart pounded in her ears, fearful for her pet, fearful for them all. From the words of Cray'nock, the Ku'ukla clan planned treachery and bloodshed. She longed to tell the others, but blind as she was here, it was impossible to tell who might eavesdrop. Around her, she heard the scuff of og'res, their grunts, their barked orders. Some were close, keeping an eye on the strangers in their den. For now, she would remain silent until she discovered what trickery the Ku'ukla clan planned.