'Father.'
'Eh?' Knucklebones was so startled she jerked back her hand.
Carefully, Brookdweller took it again, saying, 'Your father was an Old One. Your mother a New One.'
'My father was elven, and my mother human?' the thief breathed so fast Sunbright thought she'd pass out. 'I–I always thought it the other way around. I don't know why…'
'Of the High Forest,' Brookdweller continued. She closed her sunken eyes as she stroked the thief's hand. 'Not a Moon Elf, not Illefarni, not of the forest… Eaerlanni, most ancient of the Shadow Folk… A sad folk, beaten and blaming themselves, given to wandering… But, but…'
Human and part-elf strained forward, barely breathing, as the priestess hissed,'… But also Moon Elf, also Illefarni! The signs are jumbled, many streams flowing to one river, and the river running backward. Blood creating blood, and flowing through time… I–I-'
She stopped as Knucklebones yanked her hand free. The small thief shivered and rubbed the limb. Brookdweller opened her eyes slowly, fed twigs to the fire, though the first ones had barely burned.
'I understand, dear. Second sight is a frightening power. Many who possess it wish they did not, eh?'
The last was addressed to Sunbright, and he nodded. 'Visions are a blessing, and a curse, my mother told me. It was years before I understood why.'
The old woman nodded as if they discussed the weather. Straightening her back, she asked, 'And what do you seek, northman?'
'An elf. A-a friend. One Greenwillow, who was lost, killed…'
Quickly, Sunbright told of Sysquemalyn's pocket hell. How, as the floor crumbled, Greenwillow confessed her love, and shoved Sunbright to safety. How the barbarian had turned to find only a gaping chasm roiling with hellfire. 'Her death,' he finished, 'if she's truly dead, haunts me. And if dead, I fear her soul is trapped in those awful depths, unable to escape. I've searched for years, by magic and other means, but learned nothing. Can you-'
'She is dead.' Seeing the pronouncement jolt the human, the priestess explained, 'We People of the Woods are charged with magic, as a fish is charged with water. Yet no elf could survive hellfire. No living thing can. So the question is to Greenwillow's soul. And that is no question, for souls have no bounds. They come and go, or linger forever, as they wish. Even ghosts damned to walk the earth do so of their own will, though they deny it. Nothing can trap a soul; Greenwillow has indeed walked on.'
'Where?' Sunbright blurted. 'Do you know where?'
The priestess closed her eyes, pondering, but snapped them open when Knucklebones added, 'Yes, please! Tell us where! I must know!'
'You?' Sunbright stared at his small lover. 'Why should you-'
'Because I'm tired of hearing about Greenwillow!' she blurted. Sudden tears spilled down the thief's cheek from one good eye. Knucklebones wiped them frantically, fearing to look weak. 'I'm tired of you talking of her! I'm tired of living in her shadow! These Moon Elves are beautiful and slender and tall and graceful. Not short and homely and scarred and starved and one-eyed like me! Compared to Greenwillow's memory, I'm nothing but a louse, a bastard half-breed pitched in the gutter to die because my own mother couldn't bear the sight of me! But even if I am only a sewer rat, I love you, Sunbright, and want you to myself. I can't compete with a noble half- goddess who's dead, so I can't even confront her!'
The small woman sobbed, covering her face. Stunned by her outburst, Sunbright touched her shoulder, but she shook him off. In the meantime, Brookdweller had closed her eyes to rock back and forth, crooning aimlessly like an idiot. Had the whole world gone mad? the shaman wondered.
'Knucklebones. Knuckle'.' Sunbright struggled for words. 'I love you. Please don't think otherwise. And I don't compare you to Greenwillow. She was sweet and lovely, true, but so are you. You've a kind heart and gentle core that I admire so. I don't care about your origins. Mine are no better. And despite your hard life, you've kept your heart pure-Wait!'
He grabbed, but the thief slipped away like an eel, slithered out of the brush hut, and vanished down the trail. Fuddled as a hammer-struck cow, Sunbright clambered up, banged his head on brush and fetched up Harvester's pommel, almost tore the hut down.
At that moment, Brookdweller broke from her dream. 'It clears! I see the links!' the old woman cried. 'I know where Greenwillow's soul has gone!'
Far down the trail, sobbing for breath, blinded by tears, Knucklebones ran helter-skelter past fork after fork, not caring where she ended up. The part-elf stumbled far off the beaten trail, reached the end of a path, and kept going, bulling into rushes in a swamp. Dimly she perceived her feet splashed in brackish water, but she didn't care. If she drowned, her sorrows would end. For no matter how long she followed Sunbright, nor how deeply she loved with all her heart, he'd always compare her to the slender, beautiful Greenwillow, and Knucklebones couldn't live as his second-best love. And without Sunbright, with no links to the past and her future lost, she had nothing and had nowhere to go. Any place was as bad as the next, and death no worse than life.
And too, she felt so queer lately, her guts churning all the time, her emotions running hot and cold, as if she were two people fighting for control. She'd never felt this way, and couldn't explain it. And right now, she didn't care.
Saw grass tore at her hands, cut her red cheeks, stabbed her clothing. The water to her knees slowed her. And her breath tore for crying. Soon, part of her mind knew, she'd collapse, and cold and the short winter night would claim her Strangled, she jerked to a halt. A tree branch had snagged her throat, but it snapped shut like a mink trap and cut off her wind.
Suddenly Knucklebones didn't want to die.
Lashing out, her fists struck stone, not wood. Gasping for wind, she forced open her one eye, swollen from crying.
And beheld a monster.
Inches from her face leered a bald head of stone. No eyelids, no ears, no hair. Bulging blue eyes shot with red bored into her face. A gash of a mouth hissed like a volcano pit.
Knucklebones was hoicked from the swamp water. Her neck popped and creaked at the strain, her vision dimmed. Windmilling her legs only banged her toes on a stony body. Punching scraped skin like a rasp. Slapping her belt, the thief whipped up her dark elven knife, jabbed at the bulging eyes, the stony mouth and skin. The knife tip didn't even scratch the stone hide. A claw flicked the knife away.
The helpless thief writhed like a rat in a trap.
'You,' hissed Sysquemalyn, 'I can use.'
'Where the in the nine hells can she be?'
Sunbright was disheveled, sweaty, and pale. He and Blessedseed had tracked Knucklebones's flight through the forest and into the swamp, and found where her footprints disappeared in churned mud and saw grass. Other prints, long and clawed, marked the spot. Elves had joined the search, and turned up her dark elven knife, but no other trace. Old Brookdweller closed her eyes and stated that the thief was vanished from the forest. Charging from the enchanted wood, Sunbright had run to his mother's hut in the valley, asked outriders on the prairie, and finally bolted to Drigor's forge. The old dwarf had seen everything.
'Mud churned by long feet with claws, eh? I'm afraid to name the culprit. It must be that monster that attacked us in the Iron Mountains.'
'Monster!' Sunbright slapped his forehead. 'By the Wild Fire, I'd forgotten that! But why does this fiend pursue me? And why take Knuck-Oh, no!'
'The monster punishes you by seizing your little lady. That's plain enough.'
The dwarf fiddled with a five-pound hammer, flipping it end over end without realizing it. Others stood around helplessly: Monkberry, Magichunger the war chief, Forestvictory, a handful of other barbarians, the elven guide Blessedseed. With the sun directly behind the mountain, shadows gathered around the forge, the air was so chilly their breath steamed.
Drigor's forge lay below the wide streak of rust that named Sanguine Mountain. The dark soil was black volcanic ash mixed with red ore, folded like a rumpled blanket around the mountain's foot. Rich soil made grass grow head-high, and fed many stands of poplar trees that shivered in a breeze. To the east, a crazed dropoff overlooked rolling prairie. A bubbling cascade that spilled down the mountain had been deepened into a pool that
