Ard scratched his head. “What did he say?”

“ Mornhavon killed it,’ ” Karigan replied, surprised to hear the words coming from her own mouth.

Everyone looked sharply at her.

“I didn’t know you spoke Eletian,” Grant accused.

“I ... I don’t. His tone said it. And the evidence is beneath our feet.”

“She is correct,” Graelalea said, pointing at fused stone. “Mornhavon destroyed the grove with his power, and enough so that it would never again take root.”

“That is not all he did,” Lynx said quietly, gazing at the ruins in the forest.

They took their midday rest in the clearing, a few of them peering into nearby ruins. It was not easy to discern the original appearance of the structures for it was as if they’d become part of the trees themselves, absorbed by sinuous, snaking roots. Architectural details of stonework and sculpture remained, though most of it was badly damaged.

Karigan wandered toward the ruins as well, but paused to gaze back at Yates, who sat alone in the center of the clearing, staring at his knees. He’d become oddly quiet. Something was eating at him. If it kept up, she’d shake it out of him later.

A glint through the window of a nearby building caught her eye. She peered inside, but it was all shadow and stank of mildew. Curious as to what lay in the shadows, she drew out her moonstone. Instantly light filled the interior and she caught her breath, for on the opposite wall a mosaic flickered with life, a scene of a young maiden with a garland of flowers in her hair and her lover reaching for her. The backdrop was of a summer forest in all its shades of green with the azure sky above. Karigan’s eyes feasted on the colors after the dullness of Blackveil.

The artist had captured a story in motion, a moment in time, the light of Karigan’s moonstone rippling over the shining pieces of the mosaic making birds in emerald green and sapphire blue seem to fly; a deer in the distance looked back at her as if pausing just before bounding off into the forest. Would the maiden rebuff her lover, or would she fall into his arms for a kiss? Was their love destined or forbidden ? Karigan wondered if the mosaic depicted a scene from some tale of Argenthyne, or if it portrayed the inhabitants of this . . .

Yes, a house, Karigan thought. Whatever furnishings had once existed in the room had rotted away long ago, but beneath the dirt and dust on the floor was intricate tile work. She could not discern the designs, but they seemed to weave together in a way that made her think of music.

She closed her eyes and could almost hear the music. It flowed like water, sounds of laughter, and Eletian voices. When she opened her eyes, the moonstone still illuminated the room and she thought she saw filmy figures swirling in motes of dust in some lost dance.

But no, it was just the play of light on shadows in a place long abandoned and the whining of biters in her ears. What had happened to the occupants of this house? Had they been destroyed by Mornhavon’s forces?

There was a cry and Karigan tore herself away from the window to see what was the matter. The others ran to Hana who was looking through a doorway into another building. She did not appear to be in any danger, but Karigan ran anyway, and when she peered over Ard’s shoulder to see what everyone else was looking at, she reeled away rubbing her eyes.

Skulls. Skulls piled high to the ceiling.

She dared look in again. They filled the room from corner to corner, the bones matted with moss and darkened by ... soot? Striations scarred them, the gnawing of rodents. Gaping black eye sockets, empty, soulless. The people of Telavalieth.

There was no tale left for the beautiful maiden and her lover. Not here. None would know their story. They were all dead.

The Eletians huddled together and Solan sang, his voice pure, the sound of rain. The sorrow wrenched Karigan inside.

A tentative touch on her arm. She turned. It was Yates.

“What—” he began. “What is wrong here?”

“Look inside,” she replied, “and you’ll understand.”

Yates shifted his stance, his expression uncharacteristically fearful, his gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder.

Now alarmed, she asked, “Yates? Are you all right?”

“I can’t look inside,” he said, passing his hand over his eyes. “I can hardly see.” He squinted. “It’s gone now. My sight. I’m blind.”

ROOTS

Karigan waved her hand in front of Yates’ face, but he didn’t even blink. She placed her hands on his cheeks and turned his head so she could look directly into his eyes, searching for any sign of injury, but she saw nothing.

“Do your eyes hurt?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.

“Then how has this happened?”

“I—” He swept his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Started last night. Got worse today and now . . .” He gave a shuddering exhalation. “Karigan,” he whispered, “I’m scared.”

So was she. Yates stumbling blind in Blackveil decreased his chances of survival immensely, and would slow down the company.

She grabbed his hands and squeezed. “We’ll figure this out, Yates. Maybe the Eletians know what—”

A clattering came from inside the building with the skulls. Karigan gazed in—they all did. A huge snakelike tentacle serpentined among the skulls, pausing here and there as if to finger the air.

“Oh, gods,” Grant murmured.

It reared, sending several skulls clacking down the pile, then lunged through the doorway at them. They leaped back, Karigan tugging Yates after her.