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There were many of them, so many Their pale faces surrounded hi else disappeared beyond it: Orpheus, Resa, Meggie, the Black Prince, who had been standing beside hiround beneath his feet Suddenly, he was standing on rotting leaves Their fragrance hung sweet and heavy in the cold air Bones lay a bones Where was he?

They’ve taken you aith theer

Why didn’t the idea make him afraid?

He heard birds above him, many birds, and when the White Wo froht like cobwebs He was inside a tree as hollow as an organ pipe and as tall as the castle towers of Oreen light on the nests of birds and fairies Mo put out his hand to the roots to see if his fingers still had any feeling in them Yes, they did He ran them over his face, felt his own skin, the same as ever, warm What did that mean? Wasn’t this death, after all?

If not, as it? A dream?

He turned, still as if he were asleep, and saw beds of eless in death as in life But on the last ure, his face as still as when Mo had last seen it Dustfinger

Roxane had kept the promise she made in the oldafter o about preserving the body even when the soul is long gone

Hesitantly, Mo approached the ure Without a word, the White Women made way for him

Where are you, Morti, even though the dead sleep here?

Dustfinger did indeed look as if he were sleeping A peaceful, dreamless sleep Was this where Roxane visited him? Presumably it was But how did he himself come to be here?

"Because this is the friend you wanted to ask about, isn’t he?" The voice came from above, and when Mo looked up into the darkness he saw a bird sitting ae and a reddown at him from a bird’s round eyes, but the voice that came from its beak was the voice of a wouest here He has brought us fire, the only eleladly bring you here, too, because they love your voice, but they know that voice needs the breath of living flesh And when I ordered the the White Book, they persuadedme you have a plan that will appease e to hear his own voice in this place

"Don’t you know? Even though you’re ready to part with everything you love for it?

You are going to bringme the Adderhead, Bluejay"

"Who are you?" Mo looked at the White Woer’s still face

"Guess" The bird ruffled up its golden feathers, and Mo saw that the mark on its breast was blood