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grove on the third day. Trevyn led us in, and the trees loomed above us, hushed and mighty. That place was full of magic, anyone could feel it. All the magic in Isle centered there. Frain rode steadily, and I knew once again that he was brave, for more than one man of the company went pale with fear. The retainers were afraid to look behind them, knowing that they would see no way out, that the grove we had just entered would seem to go on pathless and forever. Trevyn saw their terror and had them stop.
    â€œWait here,” he told them. “We three will go on to the center alone.”
    So Frain and Trevyn and I rode down the spiraling spaces between the giant boles. Trevyn knew the way quite surely. He sensed the center. It drew him, it was in him. He had been born here, in a way.
    The center was only a circle of green meadow around a young and growing tree. A unicorn grazed there. It moved off when it saw us, its solitude disturbed. White flowers that looked like lacework grew there. The tree was in new leaf, and the leaves were jade green and amethyst, sapphire, ruby red and tourmaline red and topaz. They glowed in the sunlight, and they sent flakes of it skimming across the grass at every stir of the breeze.
    â€œThis is her tree,” Trevyn said.
    We got down and let the horses graze. “Alys!” Trevyn called, not loudly. “Mother of us all, come to us, if you please.”
    â€œWhat was that you called her?” Frain whispered.
    â€œHer sooth-name.” Trevyn barely glanced at him, for he was listening, alert. “Not so very different from your name for her.”
    â€œYou think it is the same goddess?”
    â€œHow can it be otherwise? There is only one goddess, despite the many names. And she is only one aspect of the One who has no name,” he added. “Alys!” he called again, and then we sat on the grass. We sat until nightfall and on into the forest night which is all shadow and no light. From time to time through the long wait Frain glanced doubtfully at Trevyn. He sat undisturbed, and Frain sat as well.
    With night came the goddess. She was only a rustle of breeze at first. Then a cool voice spoke from the neighborhood of the sacred tree. “Alberic,” she asked, for that was Trevyn’s true-name, “what do you want?”
    â€œA favor for a friend, Lady,” said Trevyn to the voice. It was no use flattering the goddess or being less than forthright with her.
    â€œAsk anything you like for yourself, King of Isle, but ask nothing for your friend. He does not know me.” She sounded annoyed. “You have summoned me here—”
    â€œIt is for myself, Alys, for my heart has gone out to him. Help him. Please.”
    â€œHe has no wisdom. He is no better than a child.”
    â€œAs I was when you first knew me. If he is ignorant, then he needs your guidance the more. Mother, he has felt the touch of your hand, I know he has.”
    Frain sat by himself, trembling at the strangeness of the voice in the night and not able to understand what was being said, for of course Alys and Trevyn spoke in the Old Language. I wanted to go to Frain, but I knew he would take no comfort from my closeness.
    Alys sighed, a breath of wind.
    â€œAlberic, you greathearted nuisance—” she said, and there was a puff of red light, red as fire, and the most horrible of hags confronted us from midair. It struck terror into me, I felt my sweat run, and it wrung a stifled scream from Frain.
    â€œThe Lady is out of humor,” Trevyn said tightly in Traderstongue, speaking to Frain. “She is not usually so—unlovely.”
    â€œHe knows that,” Alys snapped. In quick succession she took form as swan, red roe deer, raven, white horse, and a woman holding three red apples in her hands. She was blonde, gray eyed, grave. “Adalis,” Frain whispered.
    â€œI am all of these and more,” Alys acknowledged. Suddenly a shimmering