barely slept. Neither did the sniffers. They were closing in. Soon they’d be nipping at her heels. She clutched only a thread of hope that Mother was alive.

At last, dead tired, Jen parted the pine branches and scanned the clearing beyond. Flattened, sun-dried straw covered the ground. Otherwise, the area was empty, except for three dead oak trees in the center.

“Is this the spot?” she asked. She rubbed her hands, trying to bring warmth to her fingertips. She’d been plowing through snowpack all afternoon.

Blue’s teeth were chattering. “That’s it.”

Jen turned to him. “I’m going alone.”

“No,” said Blue.

“I can’t put you in any more danger.”

“There’s plenty of danger coming up behind.”

True. Jen had watched the sniffers gaining on them all afternoon. The roaring was not more than half an hour behind.

“I can take my chances with the Dancers, or get dragged back to Naryfel’s dungeon,” said Blue.

Jen shuddered. “The Desert King wants me. You can slip away.”

Blue put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. “And miss all the fun?”

Jen bit her lip as she looked back at the clearing. She could see how this spot got its name. The three oak trees looked like dancers, leaning from the waist with outstretched arms. Their branches almost touched, forming a triangle. And a deep, almost tangible silence hung over the knoll.

“Are you sure no one comes back from here?”

“Some of the gypsy women do—but they’re practically witches themselves. Their own men fear them.”

That didn’t sound reassuring. “How do we talk to the Dancers?”

“We need to leave an offering in the middle of that triangle. Then lean up against one of the trunks. I’ve got some unka in my pocket. We can offer that.”

Jen nodded. The roaring from behind took on a note of excitement and prodded her forward. She led the way down to the three trees. As she entered the clearing, everything became sharply focused. The rustle of her feet on the dry straw. The soft hiss of air as she breathed. The rough and wrinkled oak bark, with deep trenches and pits, ancient like the earth. The air felt warmer. The chill she’d been feeling for the past hours melted away.

Blue handed her the unka and she laid it in the middle of the triangle. She sat facing the offering, with her back against the widest tree. Blue sat beside her. He gave her a bold smile, but she felt his arm trembling. She waited, and the roar of the sniffers grew louder—then faded.

Tendrils of mist rose from the ground at the outer edges of the circle. It reminded Jen of the mist she’d seen the day of the warning, only this was pure white. Soon the ring of pine trees that surrounded the clearing was covered, as if someone had drawn a curtain. She felt strangely at peace.

A shadow fell across her face, and she looked up. There were green leaves on the oak trees, and ivy cascaded down the trunks. One of the vines caressed her arm as it brushed by.

Jen glanced at Blue. His eyes were closed. His breathing had slowed and he seemed to be sleeping. For a moment she wondered if she was dreaming too, but knew she wasn’t. She felt more awake, more alive, than ever in her life.

The earth shook, drawing her attention back to the clearing. The ground was now covered with a carpet of grass, clover and wildflowers. Through the mist beyond, hanging ghost-like, she saw huts with thatched roofs, a well, and a blazing fire pit—the central square of a village. A drum started beating . . . and the murmur of voices. Little girls ran among the buildings with baskets filled with berries. Women faded into view, hoeing at a garden, grinding grain with mortar and pestle, or feeding their babies. An old woman sat at a loom, chanting.

One of the girls put down her basket and skipped into the clearing—becoming less ghost and more real as she drew near. She capered and leaped about the clearing, arms flying, flaxen hair swinging free. She was five or six, and her eyes were wide, sparkling, and innocent.

“This must be one of the Dancers,” Jen murmured. The little girl tipped her head to one side and curtsied.

“Yes,” Jen heard in her head.

“I’m here to—” she began.

The girl circled her arm through the air and brought her finger to her lips. “Hush.”

The word floated in Jen’s mind, and she realized the girl was communicating through dance. Somehow, Jen could understand the motions.

“We know why you’re here,” the girl continued, touching her forehead and gesturing to the ground.

A second dancer capered out of the misty village and joined the first. This one was a woman. She had full hips and breasts, and her belly was round and swollen. But she spun and twirled across the clover as lightly as a butterfly, her long hair, as green as the trees, floating behind her.

A wave of calm passed over Jen. She was certain the Dancers were good and turned to nudge Blue. He wouldn’t want to miss this.

“Do not awaken your friend. What you see is only for your eyes. He is not ready to meet the Dancers.” The woman dipped and swayed, also speaking through dance.

“Did you—” Jen began.

“Enchant him?” Laughter flowed into Jen’s mind from both dancers. “We are protecting him,” they said.

A third dancer joined the first two. This one was an old woman, gray and wrinkled like oak bark, but she danced as spryly as the first two. Her sky-blue eyes twinkled, reminding Jen of Medlara.

“Do not be afraid, Jenren of Aerdem,” said the old woman.

“Is my mother alive?” Jen asked. She realized she spoke to the Dancers in her mind.

“She is alive,” said the old woman. “We will open a way for you to the Ice Falls.”

“But the rest you must do on your own,” said the younger woman.

“What can I hope to do against Naryfel?” Jen asked.

“Remember when you were little?” said the girl. “The world was filled with wonders. You couldn’t wait to run through fields of daisies, to splash through a mountain spring, or watch a butterfly idle on a leaf. The world was safe and—”

“Filled with possibilities,” said the younger woman. Bread dough appeared in her hands and she started to knead it.

Jen remembered. Diving into the creek on hot summer days. Wondering if she could climb to the top of the bay tree in Nell’s back yard—then doing it. Making cookies with Nell on rainy afternoons. Nell singing Jen to sleep with lullabies. Then memories of the last years flooded Jen’s mind. Losing Nell. Searching the wide world alone for a mother she never knew. Finally finding her family. Then her kidnap. The maze of fire. Naryfel’s prison. Almost drowning in the river. Jen started crying. “That was torn from me.”

“Yes,” the younger woman soothed. “But you can’t bake bread without heat.” The dough in her hand expanded, turned golden and brown. She handed Jen the loaf. Finding it too hot to hold, Jen dropped it in her lap. The steam carried up the fresh, yeasty aroma.

“You are powerful,” Jen said. “Please, save my mother.”

“We can only guide you,” said the old woman.

“But Naryfel’s magic is strong.”

A wooden matchbox appeared in the old woman’s hand. “Yours will be stronger. Fight her with this. But you must not look inside or open it until the right moment. Otherwise, you may lose faith in its power, for it will look like there is nothing there.”

“What is it?” asked Jen.

All three dancers leaped about the clearing like deer. “The truth.”

“Give me something more. Naryfel will laugh in my face and throw me over the Ice Falls right after my mother.”

“Trust yourself,” said the little girl.

“But how will I know the right time?”

“You will know,” they all answered. “Go. Now. Before the door closes. Trust that you will know.” They began to fade, their last words echoing, fading with them . . .

“Wait,” Jen cried. “How am I to get there?”

The village was gone. The old woman and the young woman had disappeared. Just before she evaporated with the mist, the little girl reached above her. Pulling her arm down like she was lowering a shade, a large piece of the clearing changed. The motion was similar to the one Naryfel used to turn into Vieveeka. Only when the Dancer did it, it was like she had turned one huge piece of a jigsaw puzzle, with a different picture on the other side. At that spot, Jen looked on a stark, icy world. The wind was blowing there. Snow drifted into the Dancers’ clearing.

A roar of triumph jerked Jen to her feet. A pack of snarling sniffers charged out of the trees, followed by Bloody Knife.

Blue sprang up, a dazed look on his face.

“Follow me,” Jen cried. She raced to the jigsaw opening, Blue on her heels.

With a piercing howl the sniffers tore across the clearing to cut her off.