He started forward again, leading her onto the bridge, reaching out with his senses into the twilight shadows that now draped everything from the forested pinnacle to the ravine that surrounded it to the bridge that reached to it. He used his tiny magic, his strange gift, to seek anything that might be waiting. Whispers came back to him, small rustlings and little hissings. They came from unidentifiable sources, from the impenetrable dark, from the void. He heard them, but could not make sense of them. He sorted through them swiftly, seeking just one that he might recognize.

Nothing.

He glanced over the side of the bridge into the ravine, into the pooled darkness. His gaze tightened. Was something moving down there?

He slowed, caution once again taking hold.

–Cross–

A chorus of voices spoke, all sounding the same, all whispering in perfect unison. They echoed in his mind, clear as the ringing of a bell. He started in shock, then glanced quickly at Cinnaminson.

“The spirits of the air,” she said softly. “Can you can hear them, too?”

He nodded, surprised that he could, wondering why they were speaking to him, as well.

–Cross–

Fairy voices, soft and feminine. Telling him to come ahead, to do what they had brought him to do.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

–Aeriads. Spirits of the air–

“What is the matter?” Khyber called out to them, a disembodied voice from somewhere behind. “Are you all right?”

He waved back at her without looking.

–Cross–

The whispers urged him to obey, and he did so, not knowing why exactly, not understanding the nature of his readiness to do as they commanded, only knowing that he should. He moved slowly, one careful step at a time, climbing toward the apex of the stone arch, watching the island pinnacle draw steadily closer.

“Where do you come from?” he whispered, not really expecting an answer, but curious anyway.

–From our father and mother. From seedlings strewn far and wide. From wind and rain and time–

Surprised, Pen considered the words. He had no idea what they meant, but the word seedlings caught his attention.

“Are you children of the tanequil? Is the tree your father?”

–Our father and our mother. One lives in light; one dwells in dark. One has limbs; one has roots. They wait for you–