by Terry Brooks
“You’ll have to be quick,” Farshaun said. “You won’t have all that much time. Sarys is sharp enough to sniff out a deception if you dawdle.”
Both Railing and Mirai knew this well enough not to have to be told, but they nodded anyway. Timing and stealth would mean everything if Railing was to avoid discovery, and they were aware of what would happen if he were found sneaking into his own house.
Farshaun swung Quickening into a cove only a short distance from the Ohmsford home while still safely out of sight. Once the airship was settled and moored, Austrum rigged one of the flits and with help from the other Rovers released it from its mooring cradle by removing the blocks and ropes that held it fast.
“Remember,” Woostra told the boy as he started after Mirai for the flit. “If you find the journal, bring it with you whether you can read its contents or not. We may have need of it for reference purposes. We don’t want to have to rely on memory if there’s a question later.”
Railing nodded and climbed into the flit, cramming himself into the narrow cockpit behind Mirai. The girl unhooded the parse tube that contained the single diapson crystal powering the tiny craft, and they slowly lifted off into the early-morning light.
They eased their way down the coastline, staying just above the water and below the tips of the trees bordering the shore. Both knew where they were and how far they could go before risking discovery, and so they said nothing as they flew east toward Patch Run.
When Mirai maneuvered the flit into a landing site, Railing was not surprised to find that it was one he had used hundreds of times before, one he would have chosen himself if he had been at the controls. Mirai released the restraining straps that buckled them both in place, and Railing extricated himself from the cockpit and climbed free.
“It’s maybe fifteen, twenty minutes’ walk from here,” he said to her. “Give me a chance to get close to the house before you fly in. When I see you come out with Mother, I’ll go in the back way. Give me as much time as you can.” He paused. “I forgot to ask. Where does Mother keep the key to the trunk? And how do you know this?”
Mirai couldn’t contain her grin. “It’s in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. I gave her a necklace last year that I brought back from one of my trips. A gift. After admiring it, she put it in the nightstand. I was there when she did it. I caught a glimpse of a large iron key at the back of the drawer—perfect for opening a trunk. I’m guessing there’s only one locked trunk in your house?”
He returned the grin. “You are full of surprises.”
She nodded without answering, giving him a wink, and with a parting wave he started off.
He went quickly through the trees, staying back from the shoreline now, wanting to come in from behind his home. The day was warming and sunlight streamed out of the bright, clear sky. He wrinkled his brow in response to the glare. There would be no help from clouds or mist on this day. If he made even the smallest mistake, he would be revealed.
When his home finally came in sight, he was still well back of it. He worked his way around to where he could see not only the house but also the pathway leading down to the docks where Mirai would rope off the flit once she flew in. Crouched down amid trees and brush so that he was safely hidden, he waited. Memories surfaced unbidden of Redden and himself—of adventures shared, challenges met and overcome, and lessons learned. The longing to go back was so acute that tears filled his eyes. He wanted things to be the way they had been. He wanted his brother back, and he wanted to come home.
He had just taken a deep, steadying breath and cleared his eyes when he saw Mirai appear on the pathway. She never looked in his direction, her eyes turned toward the house, and a moment later his mother appeared, coming out through the door in a rush to embrace Mirai warmly and usher her onto the porch. He could hear snatches of their conversation, but not enough to determine what they were saying. Then they disappeared from view, and for endless minutes he could neither see nor hear them at all.
Long minutes later, they reappeared carrying a pot of tea and cups and a plate of muffins that they took to the table and benches set out on the lawn, seating themselves where they could look out across the broad sweep of Rainbow Lake.
Railing got to his feet at once and moved back through the trees until the house blocked his view of the women; then he hurried for the back door. It was unlocked, and he was inside quickly and moving toward his mother’s bedroom. Her sleeping room was on the first floor because she had ceded the rooms on the second floor to her sons, so he got to it quickly. Kneeling in front of the nightstand, he reached down to open the lowest drawer. It wouldn’t budge. He tried again, thinking it might be stuck. Still nothing. But there wasn’t a keyhole. If there was a lock, where was the keyhole?
He was still in the process of trying to find a way to open the drawer when he heard someone come in from outside.
He had only seconds to hide. He heard the footsteps cross the common room and start down the hall. Dropping flat, he squirmed under the wood-frame bed, remembering as he did how he had done so as a child when playing hide-and-seek with his brother. It was a much tighter fit now, but he managed to squeeze himself in and inch his way toward the far side.
He watched his mother’s legs appear through the doorway. To his surprise, she moved toward the nightstand and knelt before it. He shrank deeper into the shadows of his concealment and stopped breathing, praying she wouldn’t stoop any lower. If she did and glanced beneath the bed, he would be caught.
But instead Sarys did something else, something he couldn’t see. Seconds later he heard a distinct click, the release of a catch, and the lower drawer sprang open several inches. His mother opened it all the way, reached inside, took something out, and closed it again.
He waited until she had left the room and gone back outside, her footsteps indicating she was descending the porch steps, and he was back out of his hiding place and searching the surfaces of the nightstand for the lock release. He found it after only a few experimental pressings—a peg knob located near the back panel, the third in a line of four. It gave at his touch, and the drawer sprang open a second time.
He looked inside. Jewelry, some letters bound in a ribbon, some coins, a few artifacts …
And a trunk key.
He snatched it up, closed the drawer carefully, and headed for the steps leading to the second floor and the attic above. He paused as he neared the stairs, aware that if his mother was looking into the house she might see him going up. But Sarys had her back turned, engaged in deep conversation with Mirai. He thought the latter might have glanced his way, but quickly dismissed the idea. Mirai wasn’t stupid.
He went up the stairs, his passage swift and silent. At the top, he rounded the banister and went down the hallway. A second set of steps, enclosed by a wall and shut away behind a door, led up to the attic. He eased the door open, peered upward into the dark, and began to climb.
The attic was deeply shadowed and thick with gloom. A single window set at the front of the house let in what light there was. Dust motes danced on the air where the sun streamed through the glass, and shadows layered furniture and boxes draped in cloth coverings. It had been a long time since Railing had been up here, and he took a moment to orient himself. More memories of childhood flooded his mind—images of Redden and himself as young boys playing games in this storage space—but he set them aside and began to search for the trunk.
He found it quickly enough. It was tucked back behind some boxes, covered with a sheet and wrapped with cord. He studied the cord for a moment to memorize how it was wrapped before loosening the knots and pulling off the sheet. He knelt in front of the trunk and tried the key in the lock. It turned easily, and the lock fell away.
Carefully, he raised the lid and looked inside. The trunk was stuffed with books and papers of all sorts, some labeled, some not. There were logbooks, journals, maps, charcoal and painted portraits, and other recordings both written and drawn. He glanced at the whole of it m
omentarily and then began to go through it systematically, again being careful of the order of things so that he could put it all back the way he had found it.
He discovered what he was looking for after only a few minutes. The journal was tucked down by itself against the front wall of the trunk, apart from the rest of the stacks, clearly taken out at some point in the past and then put back again so that it could be easily found. Railing knew at once that his mother had read it, and whatever she had found had caused her to place the journal aside from the rest of the contents.
He opened it to be sure of what he had and found Grianne Ohmsford’s name written on the inside of the cover. He skipped quickly to the back of the diary, to the last few paragraphs written, and began reading.
This will be my final entry as Ard Rhys of the Third Druid Order. It will be my final entry of any kind, as I will leave tomorrow with Penderrin Ohmsford for Stridegate, there to keep the promise I made to myself weeks ago when the boy came for me inside the Forbidding and brought me out again. That he should have come for me, that he should have saved me when all other efforts would surely have failed, that he should have risked so much for someone he knew so little about, cannot go unrewarded.
He has sacrificed much for me; now I must sacrifice for him. I will fly to Stridegate and set free the girl he loves, who was taken from him by the tanequil in exchange for the staff that would provide me my freedom from the Forbidding. I will repay my debt, and by doing so I will step down from my position as Ard Rhys and leave forever my life as a Druid.
There was much more that followed, but no time now to read it all. Railing closed the book, tucked it into his tunic, and began replacing the contents of the trunk in the order in which he had removed them. When he was finished, he closed the lid, draped the sheet back in place, and retied the cords so that everything looked exactly as he had found it. He didn’t think his mother would notice any changes, but there was no point in taking chances. His mind was racing as he worked, excited that he had discovered what he was looking for, already anticipating where it might lead. He could barely concentrate on what he was doing, so anxious was he to get to a place where he could read the entry uninterrupted.
Finished, he departed the attic, returned the key to his mother’s nightstand, and slipped out the back door.
Neither his mother nor Mirai saw him go.
He returned through the woods to where Mirai had left him earlier, having agreed that they would meet back here when both were finished. Mirai would take a while longer with his mother to be certain that he had enough time to find what he was looking for—if it was there to be found. Sitting back against a tree trunk in the shade, where he could escape the heat of the day, he retrieved the journal from his tunic, opened it anew, and began reading through it in detail.
He was reading it for the second time when he heard the flit approaching and watched Mirai settle it down smoothly in the clearing. Railing rose and went over to her immediately.
“I found it!” The words just burst out, his excitement too strong to contain them.
“I’m glad,” she said, but didn’t sound very glad.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing much. I just spent two hours lying through my teeth to someone I happen to like a lot and who trusts me to tell her the truth. She’s your mother, and I deceived her badly, and I didn’t much like doing it. That’s all.”
“Mirai, I know you …”
“She asked how you and Redden were, Railing. She told me she was worried about you, and I said you were both doing fine.”
He stared at her in stunned silence.
“I just had to get that out. Just so you know. We don’t have to talk about it again.” She beckoned. “Climb on. Let’s go.”
They flew back to the Quickening in silence.
25
Returned to the Quickening, Railing sat huddled with Mirai, Skint, Woostra, and Farshaun Req at the bow of the airship while he first related the history of his family in the time of Grianne Ohmsford—including the revolt of the rebel Druids at Paranor—and then read the final entry in Grianne Ohmsford’s journal aloud. No one interrupted while he did this, and for a few long moments afterward the silence continued. The day was winding down, the sun drifting west toward the horizon and the light beginning to wane. It had taken longer than he had expected to travel to Patch Run, retrieve the journal, and return to the vessel. Railing could feel time slipping away, its passage swift and unstoppable, running through his fingers like grains of sand.
“Let me get this straight,” Skint said finally. “Your great-aunt, once the Ilse Witch, then Ard Rhys, simply walked away from the Druids in order to exchange places with this girl, this Cinnaminson? She gave up everything to become a slave to an ancient magical creature that took the form of a giant tree and made young girls into spirits, invisible creatures that live in the air?”
“She felt she owed it to her brother’s son, because the tree took Cinnaminson as part of its payment for giving Penderrin Ohmsford its branch as a talisman that would allow him to pass through the Forbidding and back again.” Railing felt a surge of irritation at the way the Gnome was putting things, but he managed to stay calm as he spoke. “The girl he loved had been taken from him, and Grianne Ohmsford believed she should be returned. To do that, she had to change places with her.”
“But don’t you see?” Mirai added quickly. “It’s more than that. She was unhappy, and she knew she would never be happy as long as she was connected to the Druids. She could not continue as Ard Rhys. She was hated and distrusted in too many quarters. People would not forgive her. Haven’t you heard the stories of her time as the Ilse Witch? Too many knew them and could not forget or forgive. And once you’ve become as marked as she was, no matter how much good you do or how many people you help later on, you never entirely escape what you were. We are the sum of our lives and not simply pieces of them. We are the whole of our time in this world. Grianne Ohmsford couldn’t live with what that meant. She was looking for a way out.”
“So she found it as an aeriad in service to the tanequil,” Woostra said slowly. He gave Skint a look. “She wasn’t a slave, Skint. Not from the sound of her words in that final entry. Not from the little we have written down in our histories of the tanequil and the aeriads that are bound to it. The symbiosis might not be entirely clear to us, but there was never a suggestion that the voices speaking to Penderrin were troubled or miserable, or that slavery was involved.”
“If you say so.” The Gnome Tracker was clearly not convinced. “But look at what we are left with, even if your interpretation of things is true. We have to undertake a journey to this place called Stridegate—which I, for one, have never been to—to find this tree and persuade it to release Grianne Ohmsford from her service so that she can come back with us into the Forbidding and confront the Straken Lord. Think about that. Why would the tree agree to do this? Before, it wanted an exchange of bodies—Grianne Ohmsford for the girl. Whom do we exchange? Or how do we persuade it that no exchange is possible, so it has to release Grianne and never mind that other little detail? Then there’s the matter of Grianne being well over a hundred years old. Sort of ancient to be going into combat against demons and such, don’t you think? And that’s if she even agrees to come back with us in the first place! Would you do something like that? If it were me, I would tell you to push off.”
“I won’t dispute any of those arguments.” Railing gave a shrug. He even managed a smile. “Why would I bother to try? You’re right about every one. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going anyway. I have to. If there is even one chance in a thousand that we might get what we want, that we might be able to bring my great-aunt back with us and free Redden, then I have to take that chance.”
He looked around at the faces of his companions. “I’m not asking anyone to go with me if they don’t think they can do so willingly. Mirai and I have made our decision. The rest of you have to do the same. I only read the journal entry s
o that you could hear it for yourselves and make your own judgment.”
“You might remember that only a couple of days ago we weren’t in the least convinced that the writings we uncovered even existed,” Mirai pointed out. “We had no real reason to think they contained anything at all about what became of Grianne Ohmsford. We thought she was dead and gone and her disappearance would be a mystery forever. Now we have reason to think otherwise. We know she’s out there and very likely still alive. We know that at least once before someone in service to the tanequil was released to come back. And Railing’s grandmother came back whole and unchanged!”
She took a deep breath. “Here’s what I think. This search is all about faith. Faith that what’s clearly impossible might somehow turn out not to be. Faith that we can do what we never would have thought we could. Faith to keep going when everything tells us we should turn back.”
She exchanged a quick glance with Railing. He gave her a small nod and a smile and waited. The silence deepened.
Then Farshaun cleared his throat and shifted positions on the decking. “My bones don’t tolerate hard surfaces like they once did. Too many years of riding airships and sleeping on hard ground. But I don’t fancy making any changes in my life. I don’t have enough time left to try experiments.” His eyes locked on Railing’s. “I’m all in on this. I like the sound of it. Maybe Mirai is right. Maybe this is a good chance to find out something important about the limits of possibility.”
“You just want to keep an eye on us,” Mirai deadpanned.
“I’ll go, too,” Woostra said. “You might need someone who can explain how an Ard Rhys thinks, how her mind works. Whatever she is now, however we find her, Grianne Ohmsford will still think like an Ard Rhys.”
They all looked at Skint. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going,” the Gnome said defensively. “In point of fact, I am. At least I know how to find my way around in that country. None of the rest of you could find your behind with both hands. I just wanted to be sure you understood how this was likely to turn out. You have to go into something like this with your eyes wide open.”
