by Terry Brooks
Rushlin whistled. “That’s Edinja Orle’s residence. Why don’t you just find a cliff and jump off and be done with it? Word is, no one who goes into that building uninvited ever comes out again.”
Aphen gave him a look. “My sister is in there.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Then you can be the exception that disproves the rule, I guess.” He glanced over at Cymrian. “Are you sure about this?”
“If you can point out the building and tell us a way to get inside. Or even if you can’t.”
Rushlin nodded, his features crinkling. “Like that, is it?” He gave them a conspiratorial grin. “Hope it doesn’t lead to tragedy. I’ll need today to find out what I can about possible ways to get you in. Getting out will be up to you.”
He stood, and they did the same. “Come back a few hours before nightfall. You won’t want to try entering that place until dark anyway. Find something to do. Take a carriage ride in Federation Square. Visit the museum of culture; that’s always good for a laugh. Go be a tourist. See the sights.”
He led them to the door and ushered them out. “But stay away from all things Edinja until you come back here. What you’re trying to do will require that you stay in one piece. At least going in.”
He closed the door with a small wave, leaving Aphen and Cymrian staring at each other.
7
Arling Elessedil was wrapped in a warm cocoon of sheets and blankets and near darkness, and it took her a long time to decide that she needed to open her eyes and look around—and that was only after what felt to be an endless sleep. She experimented first with moving her fingers and toes, arms and legs, and finally her head from right to left before taking the plunge. She could feel small twinges in her body—especially her back—from injuries she knew she had suffered when the Wend-A-Way had exploded into flames and fallen into Drey Wood. But she could also tell that her wounds had been treated and were healing beneath the bandages wrapped about her body.
When her eyes overcame gravity and drowsiness sufficiently for her to open them, she found herself in a beautifully furnished bedroom with drapes pulled tightly across the windows to keep out the light. The stone-block walls were whitewashed and layered with colorful tapestries and large paintings. Everything was very quiet—so quiet she could hear the sound of her own breathing. She lay motionless and expectant, cautious in this strange place, using her senses to see if she could detect another’s presence while taking everything in with slow, methodical care.
But she was alone.
She thought back to the crash that led to this moment, remembering the explosion, the flames, the feeling of the ship tumbling earthward, and the terrible certainty that she was going to die. She remembered seeing Aphen clinging to the back railing where she had fallen after using her magic against the Federation warship. She remembered Cymrian close to her.
After that, it was all a collection of snippets and glimpses. She remembered nothing of the actual crash. What she recalled next was the sound of Aphen’s voice and the feeling of sharp pain as objects were removed from her body and wounds were closed. She was weak and disoriented, and she couldn’t tell if she was dying or not. She went in and out of deep slumber and a dark interior seclusion, where she hid and waited for a reason to emerge. Two pairs of boots came and went, worn by people whose voices she heard but whose faces she did not see. Hands lifted her and she was placed in a wagon that bore her away, wheels creaking and traces jingling.
Then she was in darkness aboard an airship; she remembered the rocking motion and the sounds and smells of the wood and iron. People came and went, but no one spoke to her or touched her. She was alone then for what seemed on reflection to have been a very long time.
Now she was here, in this bedroom, and she had no recollection at all of how she had gotten here, how much time had passed, or even where she was.
She wondered what had become of Aphen and Cymrian. Why weren’t they there with her? Or were they, and she simply hadn’t realized it? But that didn’t feel right. Too many other things had happened where they were not present. She had become separated from them, and she needed to find out why.
Abruptly, she remembered the silver seed the Ellcrys had given her to carry to the Bloodfire. She had concealed it in a leather pouch and strapped the pouch under her cloak. She moved her hands over her damaged body. She was no longer wearing the clothes she had been traveling in when the Wend-A-Way had crashed. She was wearing a nightgown of soft linen.
And the pouch with the precious seed was gone.
She couldn’t believe it. Even though she knew it made perfect sense that it would have been taken with her clothes, she couldn’t accept that it was gone. She searched herself frantically, hands feeling all through the bedcovers and over her body, desperate to find the missing seed.
She went still the instant the door latch released and the door swung open to admit a dark-cloaked figure backlit by the daylight that until now had been shut out of the room.
“Awake at last,” a woman said softly. “I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been asleep for five days.”
She let the door close behind her—as if perhaps she felt more comfortable in the dark—her slight form returning to the shadows. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Arling answered, forcing her hands to move slowly back to her sides. “A little sore.”
The woman stopped at the Elven girl’s bedside, looking down from inside the hood. “You suffered dozens of wounds, but they seem to have been treated by someone who knew what they were doing and are healing nicely. Do you know who treated you?”
Arling almost told her, but something stopped her. “No. I was unconscious. Where am I?”
“You are in my home.” The woman’s voice was warm and welcoming. She pulled back the hood of her cloak to reveal a beautiful, fine-featured face with startling eyes and silver hair. “You were found in Drey Wood by the captain and crew of one of our vessels and brought here. What happened?”
Arling hesitated. “I was in an airship crash. I don’t remember much after that. But there were people with me. What happened to them?”
“I don’t know. A man and woman brought you to where my airship was anchored and asked the captain if he would take you somewhere safe.”
A man and a woman. The shoes. She felt a chill go through her. “These people didn’t say if there was anyone else?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t think they had much interest in anything but getting you off their hands. Peasants, from the sound of things. Would you like a drink of water?”
Without waiting for an answer, she moved over to a table set off to one side, poured water from a pitcher into a cup, and brought it back to the bed. Reaching behind Arling with one arm to brace her, she helped the girl into a sitting position and let her sip the water, careful not to give her too much or cause a spill.
Arling, for her part, was grateful for the water and for the time it took the woman to bring it over while she fought to get her shock under control. Was it possible that everyone else was dead? But wouldn’t this man and woman have discovered any bodies? Wouldn’t they have said something? Or would they have kept quiet because the less said the better?
“Who were you traveling with?” the woman asked, setting aside the water and seating herself next to Arling on the side of the bed. “Were they family or friends?”
Arling couldn’t help herself. “My sister.”
The woman shook her head in a gesture of regret. “Well, we must hope for the best. I will do what I can to find out what happened to her.” She rose abruptly. “It’s best if you sleep some more. Let me come back a little later and bring you some food. For now, just rest.”
“Wait!” Arling called out. “Did you take my clothes?”
The woman gave her a sharp look. “Yes.”
“Was there anything with them? My pack?”
“No. Just your clothes, and they are ruined. I’ve already thrown them out.”
&
nbsp; She wheeled away and was at the door before Arling could say anything more, her dark form silhouetted against the light as she opened the door. “You should rest now.”
Arling gritted her teeth. Her sister and Cymrian were missing and maybe dead. The Ellcrys seed was gone. She was injured and miles from anyone she knew. It was then, for the first time, that it occurred to her she might not have been rescued, but captured by the very people the Wend-A-Way had been fleeing. She might not be a patient, but a prisoner.
“Who are you?” she called out to the woman.
“A friend,” the other replied, pausing in the open door. “Just go back to sleep.”
Arling started to get out of the bed. She needed to have a look outside her room; perhaps that would tell her something. Or maybe if she could have just a peek through one of the windows …
But almost immediately the woman was back at her bedside, gently pushing her down. Too weak to resist, Arling fell back again. She was surprised to find herself so listless. She seemed to have no strength at all. She looked up at the figure bending over her, and suddenly she was afraid. Something in the other’s eyes, in the sharp edges of her face, in the set of her mouth, warned her.
“Go to sleep,” the woman whispered.
Arling’s eyes were already beginning to close, and she could feel herself slipping away. The last thing she remembered thinking before she dropped off entirely—so quickly she seemed to fall asleep mid-thought—was that this woman was not to be trusted.
Edinja Orle walked out of the bedroom and down the hall a short distance before stopping to consider her impressions of Arling Elessedil. The girl was young, but she wasn’t stupid. Already she suspected things were not as they seemed; Edinja had seen it there at the end in her eyes, heard it in her voice. The gentle approach she had planned to use to unmask her secrets was not going to work. Time’s demands did not allow for it.
There was no question that Arling was hiding something. But Edinja wasn’t sure what. She’d admitted to having a sister and had been straightforward enough about what had happened to them in Drey Wood, but there was something else going on, something Edinja didn’t yet understand.
She took a moment to recall what the captain of her warship had reported on arriving back from Drey Wood. They had engaged the Elven ship in combat after tracking it, losing it, and finding it again, and then they had brought it down. Stoon and the mutants had left the ship to track down the survivors, but none of them had returned. Finally, not wanting to go himself—Edinja’s interpretation of things from the way the captain squirmed while telling this part of his story—he had dispatched two members of his crew. When they returned, they told him that Stoon and all three mutants were dead, and their uneasy looks and whispers made it clear that they were done with this business.
But then, just as they were preparing to lift off, a husband and wife had appeared with a wounded Elven girl lying in the bed of a cart. The couple, clearly farmers or foragers, had asked if the captain knew the girl or could take her to people who did. The man, in particular, seemed anxious to have her out of the way. The captain, not entirely a fool, realized what he had—one of the two Elessedil sisters whom they had been hunting. He might have gone back to look for the other or their protector, but he would have had to go himself at this point because his crew had already made it plain that they were having none of it.
Deciding, therefore, that a bird in the hand was worth more than the two still in the bush, he had carried the girl aboard and headed for home.
But Edinja had warned the captain personally before he had set out that she wanted both women alive and under her control. He had been charged with making certain this happened, even if Stoon did not. So his assumption that she would settle for half a loaf was a big mistake.
Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. While she had expected to have both sisters brought to her—she didn’t care one way or the other about their protector—she would have to settle for the one. Because of her age, she knew the one she had must be the younger, the one that was a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys.
Arlingfant.
That meant she wasn’t the one carrying the Elfstones. The older one—Aphenglow, the Druid—would be doing that. So why was this one so concerned about her clothes and her pack? The clothing had been searched and discarded. But the pack was missing, lost or left behind. Had there been something of value in it?
She would have to wait to find out. For now, the girl would sleep, and the drug Edinja had added to her water would do its work.
She thought momentarily about Stoon. She would miss him in some ways, but none that truly mattered. He had his uses and his strengths, but didn’t they all? She would have had to rid herself of him sooner or later, and she always felt bad about having to do it herself. This time it had been someone else’s doing, and even though she had always known it would end like this, she could take some comfort in the fact that she hadn’t been the one to wield the weapon.
What she wondered now was whether or not the older sister and her protector were dead, too. That would prove more troublesome because it meant the Elfstones were likely lost, as well. And she would have to send someone back into Drey Wood to the wreckage of the Elven vessel to search for the bodies of the Druid and the Elven Hunter and the talismans, as well. She was already thinking of whom she might choose to do this.
Once, the choice would have been easy. It would have been Stoon.
“Poor Stoon,” she murmured.
She went off to prepare for the girl’s awakening—if she had calculated her dosages right, it would be about an hour from now—knowing that her approach must change. But first she would feed Cinla her favorite treats.
Arlingfant didn’t know how long she slept after the nameless woman who was caring for her had left, but when she woke again the woman was sitting on the bed beside her. “There you are,” she said. She smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. “Tell me your name.”
“Arlingfant Elessedil,” Arling replied at once, even though she hadn’t intended to.
“And your sister’s name?”
“Aphenglow Elessedil.”
“And your protector’s name? The Elven Hunter who accompanied you on your journey?”
“Cymrian.”
She couldn’t seem to help herself. Whatever the woman wanted to know she was willing to tell her. No, it was more than that. She needed to tell her. She was compelled to answer, and answer truthfully. She was horrified. Why was she doing this?
“It’s the drink I gave you,” the woman said, noticing her change of expression. “It puts you to sleep, and when you wake you find yourself unable to do anything but speak the truth. It’s a combination of drugs and magic I concocted some time ago. Rather useful.”
She leaned forward, the smile gone. “So we can dispense with games and get on with being truthful with each other. You know who I am, don’t you? You must have suspected, and now there can be no doubt. Say my name.”
“Edinja Orle.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard. Now all the introductions and identities are out in the open. Are you thirsty?”
“Yes,” Arling replied, cringing. She said it because it was the truth, but she didn’t want any more of what Edinja had already given her.
The sorceress rose, walked back to the table, and poured a fresh cup of water. She glanced over her shoulder at Arling. “This isn’t what you drank earlier. This is pure. Untreated. You’ve had enough of the other to serve my purposes. Do you still want it?”
“Yes.”
Arling took the water and drank it down, suddenly desperate to cool her throat. She hated what was happening, what this woman was doing to her, but she couldn’t make herself stop responding.
Edinja sat down again on the side of the bed. “Now tell me what was in your pack that you don’t have with you anymore.”
Arling fought to keep from giving the answer. “I don’t have a pack.”
“
Yes, I know. You lost it or left it behind or whatever. What was in it?”
“Nothing.”
Edinja was momentarily confused, but only momentarily. “Never mind the pack. What were you carrying that matters so much to you?”
Now Arling had no choice. The words came unbidden. “A seed from the Ellcrys tree.”
Edinja stared. “How did you come by such a seed? Why would you have something like that in your possession?”
“The seed was given to me by the tree.”
“For what purpose?” Suspicion reflected in Edinja’s eyes now. “Why would the tree give you its seed?”
Arling hiccuped when she tried to change the answer she was compelled to give. She was suddenly having trouble completing her sentences, the result, she assumed, of her efforts not to say anything. “The Forbidding is failing and the demons imprisoned … are breaking free. The Ellcrys … must be renewed by the magic of the Bloodfire. I have been chosen … to make this happen.”
A long silence followed. Edinja looked away and then back again. “How did this happen?”
Arling didn’t know what to say, the words catching in her throat. Edinja reached out and slapped her hard across the face. Arling jerked away. “The tree is dying! She must … renew.”
The sorceress rose and stalked about the room for a time, stopping once to pull back the curtains and peer out the window. “What happens if the seed does not reach this Bloodfire you speak about? What happens if the tree dies?”
Arling had lowered her head in shock from the slap, her eyes filled with tears. “Then the creatures of Faerie … imprisoned there … come back out into the Four Lands.”
“They would kill us all if that happened, wouldn’t they?” Edinja murmured, mostly to herself. “Can the Druids stop this from happening?”
“No.”
“Only this seed you carry can stop it?”
“Yes.”
