The vale of the Shadowstar did indeed look like some dismal limbo for the damned. Perhaps it was, at that, Morhion thought with a bitter, silent laugh. Serafi, Caledan, Morhion himself—who were they but lost souls one and all?

Cautiously, the four made their way toward the center of the blasted vale. The sulfurous reek was almost over-powering. Tatters of steam scudded across the rocky ground, and a dull red glow hung on the air like a bloody miasma. Acrid steam rose from countless fissures in the dark rock, and it was from some of these crevices that the ruddy light emanated.

Morhion wasn't exactly certain when he noticed the thrumming. Abruptly he halted, cocking his head. By the expressions of the others, they had heard it as well. It was a vast sound, and incomprehensibly complex. Count less different tones and pitches blended together to forge a single throbbing voice that was almost like—

"Music," Morhion finished the thought aloud.

"The Valesong," Mari said in amazement. Gradually her expression became a frown. "But there's something wrong with the music. I'm not certain exactly what-this is like no harmony I've ever heard before. It's almost alien. Still, I can't help but feel there's something wrong. It's almost as though some part of it were…missing."

Morhion trusted Mari's knowledge of music. "Verraketh said that he marred the Valesong long ago." He gazed around at the rocky landscape. "But what is the source of the music? We cannot restore it if we do not know how it is formed. Does it truly echo here from the dawning of the world?"

"That would be some echo," Ferret commented skeptically. The thief began to look around, exploring. Morhion wondered what he was doing. "Doesn't this music sound familiar?" Ferret muttered. The thief hopped aside to avoid a blast of hot steam shooting from a nearby fissure. At the same moment, another tone was added to the music that throbbed in the vale.

Kellen looked at the fissure, his green eyes curious. "It's almost like a pipe organ," he said thoughtfully.

Ferret snapped his fingers. "That's it!" He tousled Kellen's dark hair. "Good work, kid!" Kellen grimaced smoothing his hair with a hand.

Morhion gazed at the little thief. "What are you thinking, Ferret?"

"Just a minute," Ferret said hastily. The thief continued to explore the vale in ever-widening circles, climbing atop heaps of rubble and peering into dark pits. At last he let out a hoot of victory. He waved an arm wildly, gesturing for the others.

"What have you found?" Mari asked as they reached the thief.

Ferret perched atop a blocky outcropping. Three jagged hole gaped in the rock beneath him. "Look at these fissures," the thief directed. "Are we supposed to be impressed?" Morhion asked dubiously.

Ferret hopped down. "Don't you notice something strange about these holes, something that makes them different from all the other crevices in the vale?"

"There's no steam," Mari said after a moment. "Exactly." He peered into one of the fissures; it was large enough to crawl into. "As far as I can tell, these three holes join together a little way down. Unlike all the other fissures in the vale, no steam is blowing out of these. Something must be blocking them from below." Morhion suddenly understood what the clever thief was getting at. "Now I see, Ferret. The music doesn't echo in the vale. The vale itself is making the music."

"You got it," Ferret beamed. "It was Kellen who made me understand. The steam blowing through all these crevices acts like a giant pipe organ. Each fissure makes one note, and all the notes blend together to make the Valesong."

Mari nodded excitedly. "But something below ground is blocking these fissures, which means the Valesong is missing three notes. That's how Verraketh marred it." Morhion bent to examine the rough-edged holes. He could see only darkness beyond. "We have to find a way to unblock these fissures. If we can restore the Valesong, we might have a chance to—"

"Morhion! Mari! Ferret!"

The cry rang out over the vale. Kellen. Swiftly the three turned, peering into the swirling steam, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy. He must have wandered off.

Mari's sharp eyes found him first. "There!" she said, pointing. As they approached, they saw what had caused him to call out.

"Kellen," Morhion said gravely. "I want you to take a step back. Carefully."

The boy stood on the edge of a wide pit. Crimson light rose out of the pit, along with wisps of hot yellow smoke. Four yards below the rim of the pit was a bubbling pool of lava. When Kellen did as he was told, Morhion reached out and snatched the boy safely away from the edge.

Mari gazed down at the pool of molten rock, her face bathed in the ruddy glow. "The lava must be heating a source of underground water, and the resultant steam is forced up through the fissures in the rock, making the Valesong."

"Hey, guys," Ferret said with a gulp. "You may want to look up for a second."

The others did as the thief bid. Morhion swore softly. On the far side of the pit stood a sharp-edged pinnacle of basalt. Carved into the jagged surface of the spire were stairs spiraling upward, leading to the pointed summit. There was something up there, a dark shape at the top of the stone spire, but Morhion could not make it out.

Carefully, the four skirted the lava pit and approached the pinnacle. They found the beginning of the stone stair case on the far side of the spire, opposite the pit. They found something else as well: A patch of stone had been molded into a new shape. It was a human hand, reaching out of the surface of the pinnacle. An object rested in the outstretched hand, a set of pipes. They looked like the reed pipes a forest satyr might play to enchant a nymph, but they were made of smooth onyx stone.

"Caledan," Mari whispered.

Kellen approached the stone hand and reached out to touch the onyx pipes. The instrument parted from the hand with a faint snick! and came away in Kellen's grip. He stared at the pipes in wonder. They were beautiful, as smooth and fluid as midnight water. "Thank you, Father," he said softly. He tucked the pipes into the pouch at his belt, where he kept his bone flute. "Anyone else curious to find out what's up there?" Ferret said, beady eyes shining. He pointed to the staircase with a thumb.

Cautiously, the four ascended the rough-hewn stair-case. The steps were narrow and uneven, and one slip could send them plummeting to the rocky ground far below. Finally they climbed the last steps to the summit and found themselves on a half-moon-shaped stone plat-form. Before them, hewn from the dark bones of the pin-nacle itself was a gigantic chair. No, not a chair, Morhion realized. A throne. "In Milil's name, what is that?" Mari gasped. The thing on the throne was about the size and shape of a barrel, but it was jet black and glossy, and tapered smoothly at one end. The object was attached to the throne by a sticky mass of dark strands. Only after a moment did Morhion realize that the thing's hard surface was slightly translucent. He could just glimpse some-thing within, something dark and pulsating. Whatever it was, it was alive.

"It's almost like some sort of cocoon," Ferret said with awe and revulsion.

"No, not a cocoon," Morhion countered in sudden realization. "Not a cocoon, but a chrysalis, like that which encases a caterpillar while it completes its metamorphosis a butterfly."

"While it completes its metamorphosis?" Mari repeated. Her voice became an anguished moan. "Oh, by all the gods of light. It's Caledan!"

Instantly Morhion knew she was right. He took a step toward the chrysalis, reaching out a hand. "Caledan, my friend—"

His words were cut short by a shriek of pure and ancient malevolence. A form uncoiled itself from a jagged outcrop behind the throne. The thing's gray, scaly hide had blended seamlessly with the dull stone, concealing it even as it had lain before their eyes. Now the creature sprang down to stand protectively before the chrysalis on the throne. It extended spiny arms ending in obsidian talons; its spiked tail flicked menacingly. The thing's eye less face was utterly inhuman.