The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his heart knocked against his breastbone. He was in the oracle’s innermost cave, the one on his own plane, he guessed by his sodden boots. The dripping water was at the side of the large chamber more or less opposite the tunnel opening, but the way the sound of it echoed, he couldn’t get his bearings. He’d just have to find a wall and follow it. He splashed through the dark, concentrating on keeping his balance and trying hard not to think about the ghost they’d heard when he was last down here, when a sudden cry of anguish froze him in his tracks—a man’s voice. Once again, the echoing chamber made it impossible to tell where the cry was coming from; it seemed to be everywhere at once.

“Who’s there? What’s wrong?” Alec called out.

Another cry echoed around the cave, trailing off into broken sobs.

“Please, let me help you. Where are you?”

The sobbing choked off, then a broken whisper—“Aura Elustri málroni, talía!”

Alec blinked in surprise. That meant “Aura Lightbringer, protect you from evil, my beloved woman” in Aurënfaie; málroni was the feminine form of “protect you.”

“Ysanti bëk kir,” Alec called softly. “Greetings, my friend.”

The weeping abruptly stopped. The sound of dripping water was all Alec could hear.

“Ysanti?” Alec called again.

A voice whispered right next to his ear, “Nölienai, talía.”

He reached out, but there was no one there and no sound of anyone moving or breathing. Aurënfaie spirit it might be, but that didn’t change the fact that Alec was alone underground in the dark with a ghost.

Panicking, he blundered slipping and splashing through the darkness until he ran into a wall. It was rough under his hand and he groped along it to the left, hoping he was oriented the way he thought he was. A sob echoed behind him.

“Aura Elustri málrei!” Alec whispered, calling down protection for himself.

A stir of air against his face spooked him until he realized that it must be coming from the tunnel. Flailing about, he finally found it and went up it like a scalded cat, expecting any moment to feel ghostly hands grasping at his ankles.

At last he saw light ahead of him and crawled the last few yards to the second chamber of the oracle’s cave, where the lightstone glowed in its ancient brazier. Scrambling to his feet, he whirled around, expecting to see a ghostly face leering at him from the darkness of the tunnel, but it was empty and this chamber was silent as the grave. It was then that he noticed the state of his borrowed clothing; the tunic and breeches were little more than tattered rags, faded and worn through with time.