by Terry Brooks
Skint grunted. “If we thought this was a waste of time, we wouldn’t be going with you.”
“Seersha was adamant that I do this,” he said.
“She does seem to have made up her mind that you’re not going into the Forbidding with her,” Mirai agreed.
“She thinks I would be underfoot. She worries I would do something foolish because I want to help Redden so badly. She thinks I’m young and impulsive and don’t have enough experience.” Railing shook his head. “I can see her point, even though she’s wrong.”
“I’ve always wondered about the Ard Rhys Grianne,” Woostra said quietly. “What happened to her?” He was still sitting at the back of the room, separated from the others by more than the distance between them, an outsider suddenly pressed into service with them. “She vanished completely after Shadea a’Ru and the rebel Druids were dispatched.”
“She must have said something about her intentions to someone,” Mirai said.
“Not a word. She gave over the leadership of the order to Khyber and a couple of others, then boarded an airship and left. It’s all in the Druid Histories. But there’s nothing written about what happened to her after that. Not that I’ve been able to find, and I’ve read it all at one point or another.”
“So this is a waste of time, after all.”
Woostra got up and came forward to join them, taking the seat vacated by Crace Coram. “I don’t think so. She kept a journal; Khyber once told me so. Grianne gave it to her for safekeeping when she left the order. But Khyber put it away, and no one ever saw it afterward. I asked her about it once, and she said it was where it belonged. It’s worth taking time to look for it.” He shrugged. “And there might be other writings. Khyber kept a journal, as well, tucked in a drawer in her sleeping chamber. I’ve never read it—never thought I had the right or the need to do so. But I’m willing to take a look at it now.”
“But even if you find something, even if Grianne Ohmsford is still alive out there somewhere, what sort of shape is she in?” Skint pressed. “I heard what Seersha said about the Druid Sleep and the magic and all that, but even so Grianne would be more than a hundred years old. I don’t care what you do to help yourself, what sort of magic you command, you aren’t going to be as fit and strong as you were a hundred years earlier. What help is she going to be able to give us?”
“I considered that,” Railing said quickly. “But then I thought, maybe she knows something about the Straken Lord that would help us get Redden back. Maybe she knows a weakness that even now, a hundred years later, she could use to destroy him. Or maybe she knows a way to outwit him. Or confuse him enough to give us a chance.”
He threw up his hands. “What I know for sure is that I can’t sit around here doing nothing! If I can’t go into the Forbidding with Seersha, I’ll do this.”
“I just think we need to be realistic about our chances,” the Gnome Tracker muttered.
“Maybe we should talk about who else is going,” Mirai said, clearly anxious to turn the conversation in another direction. “We should take a crew to man the airship and maybe a few Elven Hunters for protection.”
“No,” Railing said at once. “I don’t want anyone to go with us. It should just be the four of us.”
Skint made a rude noise. “That’s just nonsense, boy. Woostra and I don’t know anything about airships, and if something happens to you, Mirai would be left to manage alone. You’re supposed to be healing, remember? We need a crew to keep things running smoothly. And a little protection wouldn’t hurt.”
“He’s right,” Mirai cut in before Railing could object further. “We don’t want to try this without help. We don’t know where our search will take us. Let’s be smart about this.”
“How do we know who to trust?” Railing replied. “Look what happened to Aphenglow.”
“That was about something else—probably to do with the search for the missing Elfstones and that journal she found. We’re on a different mission entirely.”
“We can be careful about who we take with us,” Skint said. “We can find people we can trust. That Rover fellow. Farshaun Req. Why don’t we send word and ask him to come with us? He’s someone you trust. He can bring his own crew of Rovers, too. Skilled fliers, those fellows. Then we can spend our time worrying about what it is we’re trying to do and let them fly the ship and watch our backs.”
Railing immediately thought of Austrum and Mirai, and he almost dismissed the idea out of hand because of what he feared might happen if the two were brought back together. But that was foolish thinking; if Mirai wanted to be with the big Rover, it would happen one way or another. She would make it happen.
“Getting him here will take time,” he said instead.
Skint made a dismissive gesture. “A day, maybe two, at the most, if we send word now.”
Railing looked from face to face, seeking and finding approval. Still, he hesitated. This search was what he had agreed to, yet he remained uncertain. There were reasons to reject it, even now, even after he had verbally committed to the idea and made it his own. Layers of doubt clouded his confidence, making him wonder if he shouldn’t take this last chance to abandon the plan and try something else.
But what else was there to try? What other road was there left for him to travel?
“Send word to Farshaun,” he said finally. He was speaking to Mirai. “Tell him to bring Quickening. Tell him we’ll be waiting.”
23
They flew out of Arborlon two days later with Farshaun Req at the helm and a crew of four men he had brought with him from Bakrabru working the lines. It was early morning, and the skies were bright and clear. The Rovers had arrived in Arborlon at twilight of the previous night, much faster than Railing had expected, and they had already stocked Quickening with supplies, weapons, and spare parts so that she was ready to depart at once. Railing was tempted to do so, to leave under cover of darkness to avoid the chances of being seen by unfriendly eyes. But common sense won out, and after consulting with Farshaun and Mirai it was agreed that allowing the Rovers a meal and a good night’s sleep was the better choice.
Standing in the pilot box with Farshaun as the buildings of Arborlon dwindled and disappeared behind them, he leaned close and said, “I didn’t know if you would come.”
“Why wouldn’t we come?” the old man asked in surprise. “Redden is one of us, as much a part of our family as he is of yours. We want him back safe, too.”
“But after what happened in the Fangs? You lost all your men, friends and family both—all but Austrum—when the Walker Boh went down.”
A shrug. “We’re fliers, Railing. We’re used to losing men to the skies. We don’t measure our loyalty or our sense of responsibility by things like that. We know the risks, and the risks never change.”
Railing watched the Rovers scurry about forward of them, tightening the radian draws on the mainsail. The sailcloth billowed in the favorable following wind, and the lines sang with the strain.
“You know what? Austrum never said a word about the Walker Boh when I asked him,” Farshaun continued. “Just said he would find three more men and be ready in two hours. Good as his word, too. That boy has grown up a considerable amount since saving our skins in the Fangs.”
Railing nodded wordlessly. He didn’t like to be reminded of the virtues of the big Rover, but he wasn’t the sort to diminish another’s accomplishments or disparage his contributions. Austrum had saved them, and he did seem somewhat less bombastic this time around. What was even more unexpected was how distant he and Mirai acted toward each other. They had greeted each other coolly, and since then when they spoke it was without any particular heat or special sign of interest. Railing had watched for something more, but it hadn’t been there.
So now they were on their way, and the enormity of what they were undertaking was blocking out other concerns. Its weight pressed down anew every time he considered the odds against finding Grianne Ohmsford. Since he was already riddled with
guilt for not going after his brother directly, the weight seemed even heavier.
At one point, he left Farshaun and went back to talk with Woostra, who was huddled in a niche between crates of light sheaths lined up along the stern railing. The gawky, angular scribe looked very out of place. Railing walked over to him and sat down.
“What happens when we get to Paranor?” he asked.
Woostra cocked his head and stared off into space as though he had not considered the matter and needed a moment to think it through. Then he shrugged. “We go inside.”
“But then what?”
“We look around.”
“But isn’t there magic that protects the Druid’s Keep?”
Woostra gave him a look. “Don’t overthink this. When we get there, you and I will go into the Keep and study the readings. No one else—just the two of us. Only Druids are allowed within, and I can’t have a bunch of Rovers and such tramping through the halls. I’m only taking you because you’re an Ohmsford and you might see or recognize the importance of something that I would miss. You’ll bring fresh eyes to the effort, and you share a family history with Grianne. Don’t worry about the Keep’s magic; it’s no longer warding against entry. Aphen took care of that.” He paused. “At least, I hope she did. I guess we’ll find out. In any case, you and I will go in alone.”
Railing wasn’t reassured in the least by any of this, but he wasn’t in a position to argue. Woostra was the only one of them who could access Paranor, and he would just have to hope the scribe was right about the Keep’s magic being back under lock and key.
Toward midday, after spending the morning alternating between conversations with Farshaun and taking his turn at the helm, he found a moment to be alone with Mirai in the pilot box. They had almost completed their crossing of the Streleheim Plains by then, and the peaks of the Dragon’s Teeth had come into view—a jagged, broken line that stretched across the eastern horizon.
He stood beside her as she worked the steering and for a moment didn’t say anything. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “It will be all right, Railing. We’ll get him back.”
“I can’t stop thinking that this might all be a waste of time,” he confessed. “I’m flying away from Redden, not toward him, and it might all be for nothing. I know rationally what we’re doing. I understand the reasons for it. I even believe it has value. But it just feels so …”
He trailed off, unable to find the words.
She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and that alone was worth anything she might have said to try to comfort him. They stood in silence for a while longer before she spoke again.
“If we don’t find anything at Paranor, if you don’t feel right about what we’re doing at that point, we can go back and find Seersha. We can travel all the way to the Breakline, if you want. I’ll go with you. I’m not giving up, either.”
“I know that. I never thought you would.”
She smiled at him. She was so pretty, he thought. He wanted to tell her so. He wanted to lean over and kiss her. But they were standing out on the open deck with people all around them, and he couldn’t make himself do it. He loved her, but he wasn’t sure enough of himself to risk finding out that she didn’t love him in return. At least, not in that way.
He stared off into the distance. If he were Austrum, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have just done it.
But instead he made up an excuse about needing to talk to Woostra and left her there alone. Conflicting thoughts jumbled together in his head. How can I even be thinking about Mirai like that when Redden’s life is at stake? How can I be so selfish? Why didn’t I go ahead and kiss her? She wouldn’t have minded. She didn’t mind Austrum doing it. But it doesn’t matter about Austrum. What matters is Redden, and I can’t let myself think about anything else.
He raved on for a few moments more and then angrily swept everything aside and went down into the hold to sleep.
He was awake again when they reached the Dragon’s Teeth, and then all the way through the peaks and across the Forbidden Forest to the spires of Paranor. By then the day was easing toward sunset, and the sky to the east was darkening. Woostra had them set down in the same clearing where he had landed with the Elessedil sisters and Cymrian weeks ago when returning to discover information about the Bloodfire.
Then, leaving the others to keep watch, the boy and the Druid scribe departed for the tunnels that led into the Keep.
It took them little time to find the hidden entrance and make the underground journey into the fortress. Torches helped them navigate their way through the darkness, and no obstacles appeared to hinder their progress. Although Woostra proceeded with no apparent concern for what might be lying in wait, Railing couldn’t help listening for noises and searching for movement. He couldn’t seem to help himself, even though he knew that if anything were hiding in these tunnels, it would be on them before he could do anything about it.
But nothing happened, and once inside the walls of the Keep and aboveground, Woostra started directly for the tower where the Druid Histories and accompanying papers were concealed and where Khyber had her sleeping chamber. Evidence of the Federation’s attack on the Keep had not been removed. Debris from broken walls and parapets still littered the courtyards through which they passed, and damage from fire launchers and rail slings still scarred the buildings surrounding them. Bodies lay everywhere, now picked apart by birds of prey and other scavengers. The Keep itself was silent and devoid of life, and it was clear that the Federation had made no further attempt to occupy it.
“Guess the scavengers decided they could feast on the dead after all,” Woostra muttered. He glanced over. “Stay close to me. Don’t wander off.”
Fat chance of that, the boy thought. The heaped bodies and the extent of the carnage inflicted by whatever magic warded the Keep unnerved him. In the best of times, Paranor would be an intimidating place—cold and cavernous and filled with strange sounds. But turned into a charnel house, it was terrifying. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and as they passed down the lifeless corridors he could feel cold spots that froze his blood.
“Why isn’t the Federation army anywhere about if the magic’s gone back to wherever it came from?” he whispered.
Woostra glanced over. “They don’t know that Aphen has locked the magic away again. And they have no way of knowing what’s here without coming back inside the walls. They’re not about to do that after what happened to their fellows.” He paused. “Besides, Drust Chazhul is dead. Without his insistence on pursuing the attack, they’ve retreated to Arishaig. Edinja Orle will have a different take on things.”
Railing listened to the silence, unbroken save for the sound of their footsteps as they climbed flights of stairs and traveled down empty, echoing passageways crisscrossing the building. Rooms came and went, all of them deserted. Paranor felt as if it had been abandoned for centuries and not weeks. He tried to imagine what it would be like to live here, to be a Druid in residence, and he could not do so. It felt too closed away, too claustrophobic. He was a creature of open air and sunlight, and walls felt unnatural and unfriendly. He thought of his great-aunt living here, of her days as Ard Rhys, but any image he could form was incomplete and tinged with what he knew of her dark life, and it felt forced and unreal.
“Here,” Woostra said, many floors and passageways later, standing at a set of heavy doors that were closed and locked. “We begin our search in these rooms.”
He manipulated the locks, and the doors opened to admit them. Together they entered the first of what Railing could see was a series of rooms with wall-to-wall bookshelves and cabinets and floor space crammed with worktables and desks. He looked around in dismay. How in the world would they ever find anything in this jumbled mess?
“We’ll begin here,” Woostra announced. “We won’t need to look through the Histories themselves; I’m familiar with what they contain, especially regarding recent times. There’s nothing in them that wi
ll help.” He saw the look on the boy’s face. “Don’t worry. I know where to search for what we need.”
So search they did, through notebooks and journals, through stacks of letters, files thick with official Druid documents and piles of odd notes and scraps of paper with cryptic comments. They did not find Grianne Ohmsford’s private diary as they had hoped to. They found, in fact, exactly nothing that would help explain what had become of Grianne after she left Paranor.
It took them all night to discover this, and at the end Woostra simply shrugged. “Unfortunate. We’ll try the sleeping chamber of the Ard Rhys.”
They left the document chambers and went up another flight to Khyber Elessedil’s private rooms. Woostra took the boy inside, and together they resumed their search. There was a desk and a writing table, but neither yielded anything of value. Because this was primarily a sleeping chamber, the search went quickly and finished when Railing, looking through a nightstand, found a series of journals belonging to Khyber Elessedil beneath a false bottom in a drawer containing a collection of loose documents.
He thought at first he had found what they were looking for and was flushed with anticipation as he handed the journals to Woostra.
But the Druid scribe, after carefully paging through each, shook his head. “These were written by Khyber Elessedil. And they aren’t what we want. They don’t go back far enough. There is at least one missing, the oldest. That’s the one we need to find.”
So they went back to looking, working their way from the obvious places to the least obvious, trying to work out where the Ard Rhys could have hidden another journal. They looked for the better part of an hour but in the end came up empty-handed.
“I don’t understand it,” Woostra admitted. “Why would she hide one journal and not the others?”
“Maybe there aren’t any besides the ones we’ve found,” Railing said. “Maybe that’s all there are.”
Woostra shook his head. “I don’t believe that. She would have started keeping a journal right from the start of her term of service if she was going to keep them at all. She’s always been very thorough. She’s hidden that one deliberately. We have to look some more.”
