“They told you this?” Kermadec pressed her. “These spirits? You are not mistaken?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Khyber interrupted. “I’m going with them, whatever these spirits say. Ahren gave the responsibility of making this journey to me. He gave me the only real weapon we have. The Elfstones will protect us. And I have the use of Druid magic. Whatever threatens, I will be able to keep it at bay.”

“No,” Cinnaminson said again. She walked over to Khyber and embraced her. “Please, Khyber, no. The warning is clear. You cannot come with us. I wish you could. But whatever lies on the other side is for Pen alone.”

“And for you, it seems,” Khyber said quietly.

“And for me.” Cinnaminson released her and stepped back. There were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand why the spirits have chosen me. But my sense of what they want is very clear. Pen is to go and I am to go with him. But you cannot come. You must not.”

“This could easily be a trap,” Atalan pointed out, his flat face dark with suspicion as he swung back around again. “You are awfully trusting of invisible voices, Rover girl. If they have bad intentions, you will likely be dead before you know of them.”

“He is right,” Khyber agreed. “You are too trusting.”

Cinnaminson shook her head. “They are not dangerous to us. They mean us no harm. I have felt them guiding us ever since we entered Stridegate. They are a presence meant to shelter us, not to cause us harm.”

She turned to Kermadec. “Please. They have been waiting for us. They want something from us, but they won’t tell us what it is until we cross the bridge.” She hesitated. “What choice do we have but to do as they expect? Pen has come in search of the tanequil, and the Elfstones have shown it to be on this island. Doesn’t he have to cross over and find out if it is really there?”

There was a long silence as the other members of the company looked at one another uneasily. Even the Rock Trolls, who spoke little of her language, seemed to sense what was happening. Already on edge from their encounter with the Urdas, they were suspicious of everything in this strange place. Stridegate belonged to the past, to a time dead and gone. They had intruded on that past by going there, and they were anxious to do what was needed and be gone again. Most looked to Kermadec, waiting on his decision.

Cinnaminson turned to Pen, her blind eyes empty, but her face bright with expectation. “You understand, don’t you, Pen? You know what we have to do. Will you cross with me?”