by Terry Brooks
“That’s the Inkrim,” the Troll advised, pointing farther north to where the Klu opened up to form a wide valley.
The Inkrim clearly took its name from its color. It was virtually black, with shadows and rock formations and the huge dark trunks of the trees, which grew in heavy clusters, and odd formations that seemed to have been caused by a massive upheaval in ancient times. Railing tried to imagine his grandfather, Penderrin Ohmsford, navigating this country on foot when he had come in search of the tanequil. It looked impossible. But his grandfather had not been given a choice. He and the others with him were being hunted by Druids who wanted them dead. Their airship had been destroyed, and travel afoot was the only option that had been left them.
At least this time, the boy thought, we have the means to fly over this mess.
He returned to the cockpit so that Mirai could go forward for a look of her own, and Skint came into the box to join him. The sun was almost fully out by now, and the world again had a peaceful look to it, even if the land below was dark and forbidding. “Challa Nand says we can fly right up to Stridegate’s ruins and set Quickening down. The natives—the Urdas—would tear us to pieces, if they could, for doing so; the ruins are sacred ground for them. But they have a strict taboo about entering; it applies even to them. Still, if they can find a way to reach us, they will. So we have to be careful.”
They boy understood. He knew a little of the history of his grandfather’s search for the tanequil, and the Urdas had featured prominently. Because they were afoot, Penderrin and company had been attacked and nearly overrun by the natives, and had barely managed to gain the sanctuary of Stridegate.
With any luck, they should be able to avoid repeating that—although luck hadn’t been particularly kind to them so far.
They sailed on for another half hour, Challa Nand setting them a roundabout course to reach the Inkrim and Stridegate’s ruins. His purpose, he explained, was to avoid being seen by the Urdas. So they were flying outside the perimeter of the valley with a screen of peaks to shield them from view. When they emerged again, they would be directly in front of Stridegate and perhaps be able to land the Quickening swiftly enough that they would not be noticed.
“It will all have to happen quickly, so be ready when I tell you,” he said to Railing. “Take her down to just above ground level. We’ll moor her from there and descend using ladders. I don’t want her on the ground if we have to make a quick escape. I want her ready to lift away.”
“I am to stay at the helm?” the boy asked.
The Troll shrugged. “It’s your quest.”
They swung north and then sharply west again—a swift change of direction that Railing executed perfectly, keeping the Quickening low in the shelter of the peaks, trying to move her through shadows cast by the mountains so she would be less visible. Ahead, the Inkrim was a huge bowl of darkness, its interior filled with jagged rocks and trees, ravines and ridges, and layered shadows.
Challa Nand was back beside him, gesturing. “Down there. That’s Stridegate.”
Railing could just barely pick out the tangle of broken walls that had once formed buildings. The remains of the city spread out over several miles amid clumps of trees, tall grasses, scrub, and wildflowers. If it hadn’t been pointed out to him, he probably would have missed it entirely.
“Fly there, the closest end. Where the darkness is heaviest.”
Railing did so, taking the airship down to just above the treetops, then into the ruins at the near end, clear of the darkness, which he now realized was a combination of shadows and heavy mist. There seemed to be a microclimate of some sort at work—a reordering of the weather that darkened and deepened everything. There was no evidence of it anywhere else.
He found an open space among the jagged sections of walls and towers and eased the airship into position, holding it in place just off the ground. The Rovers scurried about, dropping mooring lines and then descending the rope ladders port and starboard to secure them. Everyone moved as quickly and as silently as they could manage, and within less than ten minutes they were anchored in place.
Leaving the Rovers and Woostra aboard ship, Challa Nand took Railing, Mirai, and Skint with him to begin the search.
Descending from the airship, they gathered in what resembled the aftermath of thousands of years of abandonment and decay, staring into the ruins. “Where do we go from here?” Challa Nand asked.
Railing hesitated. He had no idea at all. What he did know was that this was as far as they were going to get unless he did something to help them determine where the tanequil could be found—and that meant using the ring the King of the Silver River had given him. He glanced around a bit longer, stalling while he tried to come up with something else, but there wasn’t anything. He would have to use the ring.
He moved away from them, looking out into the rumpled carpet of crumbled walls and ruined buildings that stretched away into the mist and shadows, and his hand dipped into his pocket and brought out the ring. He glanced at it momentarily before slipping it on his finger. He couldn’t hide what he was going to do next, so he turned back to them as he pulled one of the golden strands free of the woven band and held it up. Instantly the thread disappeared in a blinding light that caused him to close his eyes protectively. When he opened them again, the thread was gone and he knew where to go.
“What was that?” Skint asked him, as the others came over. “Where did you get that ring?”
“It was a gift from Aphenglow,” he answered quickly, trying not to look at Mirai. “It helps find things that are hidden or ways in and out of places when you don’t know them. She said I might need it.”
The Gnome and the Troll exchanged a quick look that suggested they had doubts, but then the latter shrugged it off and said, “Lead the way.”
They set off into the ruins with Railing in front. The thread was there inside his head now, an instinct that tugged him along in a strange but not unpleasant way. He set a brisk pace, moving through the rubble, picking his way over broken rock and around half-formed walls. He could tell already they were headed into the heaviest of the mist shrouding the ruins, the darkness before them steadily deepening.
When the mist was sufficiently thick that they could barely see a few yards ahead, Challa Nand said, “You’re sure about this, are you?”
“He’s sure,” Mirai answered for him, then moved up to his shoulder. “You are, aren’t you?” she whispered.
He gave her a quick glance and a smile, and she nodded and dropped back again.
A short while later the mist and shadows fell away, and they found themselves standing before a fully formed and undamaged wall draped with flowering vines and deep green ivy. It was such an astonishing transition that everyone just stopped and stared for a few minutes. Railing felt the tug of the thread within his mind, urging him on.
And then, abruptly, there was something else—a sort of presence. It wasn’t inside his mind; it was in the air he was breathing. It was close enough that he felt it brush against him. He took a step back in surprise, trying to decide what it was.
–Enter–
The voice came out of nowhere, but he knew at once it was the presence that had just touched him. He looked again at the wall. There was an arched entry that opened about twenty feet to his right. He started toward it at once, and the other three followed.
Once they passed through the arch, they were inside magnificent gardens. Iron trellises of flowering vines backed up against the stone walls, and rows of flowering bushes grew everywhere in neat, orderly rows. Beds of brilliant color spread away through statuary, fountains, ponds, and huge old hardwoods thick with leaves. The sun shone out of cloudless skies, bright and warm and unimpeded by mist or shadows. There had been no sign of such a place when they were in the air; nothing of what they were seeing had been visible from overhead. It was as if they had entered another country—as if by stepping through the arch, they had come into a place completely apart from the ruins the
y had passed through only moments before.
Railing looked about in disbelief, aware the others were doing the same. He had heard that the Meade Gardens in the Dwarf city of Culhaven were wondrous, but he couldn’t imagine they were more incredible than these.
Mirai was back beside him. “Who do you think tends these gardens?” she asked quietly.
He hadn’t thought of that. Someone must. The grounds were immaculate. Everything was pristine, with no sign of wilt or decay—and nothing growing that didn’t belong. He felt the presence brush him again. More than one, he realized suddenly. Surely they had something to do with how these gardens came to be protected when everything else had been destroyed.
–Come–
“Who are you?” he whispered into the air.
–She waits–
They were urging him on, but they would not answer his question. He looked around doubtfully, seeking reassurance from the ring’s thread, but it had quit prodding him. It was gone, he realized.
“What are you doing?” Mirai was standing close to him, her voice deliberately low.
He shook his head. “Something is calling to me. I can’t see what it is, but it’s there.”
“The aeriads?”
“I can’t tell. But I think so.”
They stood together, looking ahead into the gardens, listening. A few paces behind them, Challa Nand and Skint waited, watching them. A hush had settled over everything.
–Come–
The voices. An entire chorus now. “They’re calling again,” he said to Mirai.
He reached for her hand, took hold, and started away once more. They continued walking in the same direction, through the hedgerows and bushes and flower beds, through the statuary and fountains, bright sunlight splashing everywhere as they walked. The minutes passed, but the voices did not return. The gardens continued to stretch out ahead of them with no discernible end in sight. Railing began to wonder if they had made a mistake of some sort. But if they had, wouldn’t the voices say something?
“Railing,” Mirai said suddenly, her hand tightening on his.
As they slowed, he followed her gaze to something off to the left. It was a formation of some sort, and at first he couldn’t decide what it was. But as they drew a little closer, he saw it was a bridge—an arch constructed of ancient stone blocks reaching across a broad ravine to a stand of huge old-growth trees and jagged rock formations. The trees rose hundreds of feet toward the sky, the branches meeting overhead to cast dark shadows on the earthen floor. It was impossible to see much beyond the perimeter, even though the trees were widely spaced and passage through looked unimpeded.
When they got closer still, he saw that the ravine was so deep and shadowed he could not find its bottom. It seemed to encircle the stand of old growth as the sea surrounds an island.
–Cross–
He shook his head. Instinctively, he knew that was a mistake. Crossing over that bridge would change everything. Something dark and dangerous waited there. Maybe it was the tanequil and maybe it was something else. But it wasn’t anything he wanted to face.
–Cross–
Yet the voices demanded it, and if he wanted to discover the truth about what had become of Grianne Ohmsford, he would have to do as they asked. The answer was there. Both the King of the Silver River and the Grimpond had said so. He had come all this way believing he would find what he sought. He had come to help his brother, and any thought of turning back now was out of the question. Whatever the risk, he would have to take it.
He reached down and pulled a second thread from the ring, its slender strand sliding free, flashing swiftly and disappearing. He asked this time where Grianne Ohmsford could be found. It was the only way of reaffirming that she was in the same direction he was being led. Sure enough, he knew at once that he would find her on the forested island on the other side of the ravine.
He knew as well he would find the tanequil there.
He looked at Mirai. “I have to cross that bridge.”
“I know,” she said. “I guessed as much. I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t do that.”
She was suddenly angry. “I can do what I want, Railing.”
“No, I don’t mean it that way.” He glanced back at Skint and Challa Nand. They were watching them, but keeping their distance. “I can’t take you any closer because I don’t want the tanequil to think I might agree to trade you for Grianne. She’s there, somewhere in that forest, but so is the tanequil. I can’t take anything for granted. Remember what happened to Penderrin and Cinnaminson? The tree took her in exchange for the staff. That sort of exchange isn’t going to happen. Either I find Grianne and bring her out or I don’t. But no one stays behind like Cinnaminson did.”
“Maybe you won’t have a choice. What if the tree demands that you stay?”
He shook his head. “I’ll find a way. Grianne will do the right thing; she will come because I will make her understand it is the right thing to do.”
“If you won’t take me, then at least take Skint or Challa Nand. You need someone with you.”
“But it would be the same, Mirai. I would simply be risking their lives instead of yours. I’ve done that for the last time. I won’t do it again. I have to go alone.”
Mirai studied his face, then slowly nodded. “You’re set on this, and I know I don’t have the right to stop you. I was the one who insisted you find yourself again, and you have. You’re the Railing I remember, and that’s who I want you to be. Who you need to be. But I don’t like letting you leave me behind.”
His smile was wan and brief. “I don’t like it much, either.”
“Your mother will never forgive me if something happens to you, too.”
“She probably won’t forgive any of us for anything that’s happened, if she ever finds out.”
Mirai smiled in spite of the tears in her eyes. “I’ll explain it to the other two. I’ll make them understand.” Then she put her arms around him and kissed him hard. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she said.
Wordlessly, he turned away and started for the bridge.
Fourteen
Railing felt the immensity of what he was about to do pressing down on him as he approached the steps leading up to the bridge and hesitated one final time.
The voices would have none of it.
–Cross–
He resisted the urge to look back at Mirai and her companions—to seek reassurance where no reassurance could be found—and instead obeyed the voices and began to climb. The world around him receded, the colors and smells and sense of peace all fading away. At the top of the steps, he felt the pull of the gloom and shadows that lay ahead. All around him, the voices wrapped him in their invisible whispers and soft caresses.
–Cross–
He made his way onto the bridge, allowing himself to take his time, working hard at staying calm enough to think everything through. The bridge arch provided a wide span for crossing, but there were no guardrails or walls. As he moved onto the walkway, he could see down into a ravine that fell steeply away below. It was an endless drop into blackness, and, after twenty feet of walls grown thick with vegetation and gnarled roots, it became a void.
He took a single glance to either side and did not take another. He forced himself instead to focus his attention on the stone pathway before him. He kept to the exact middle of the span so that he would not be tempted to go closer to the edge. The lure to do so was present; he could feel it. But because he was always taking risks, always tempting the fates—just as Mirai had said—he knew better than to put himself within reach.
As he neared the far side of the bridge and began looking up into the huge old trees that grew there, he heard singing. It was in the air around him, swirling about, drawing him in. The voices were soft and sweet, and while the words were indistinct, the music was soothing. He could feel his fears and doubts diminishing and his confidence growing. It was an unwarranted response to what was happening, but
the voices were compelling.
He came down off the bridge and stood looking into the forest. The trees towered over him, their huge trunks more than a dozen feet across, their great limbs canopied overhead to blot out the sky, leaving the forest dark and layered in shadows. Nothing moved within the trees; no sounds came from the gloom.
Where was he supposed to go now?
–Come–
As if they had read his mind, the voices beckoned. Their music shifted and took him forward and slightly left of where he stood. The bridge disappeared behind him. His companions vanished. He was alone on his quest, and he was faced with discovering at last if his journey had been in vain or if it might provide some hope for finding Redden and putting an end to the threat from the Straken Lord. Even as he considered what he was trying to achieve, he was confronted anew with the foolishness of it. To think that he would be able to find a woman who had disappeared more than a hundred years ago alive and well and then persuade her to come back with him to face a monster that wanted things of her she could not possibly provide was the height of arrogance. He wondered at what had made him think he could do this.
And yet, right from the beginning, it had seemed to him that he could succeed. He had told himself that this was the path he must travel. Even knowing how impossible it seemed, he was drawn toward it. He wondered now, remembering how he had disdained the advice of the King of the Silver River, how he had ignored what his instincts told him about the Grimpond’s duplicity, how he had refused to allow common sense to intercede and the possibility of failure to color his hopes. The warnings had been given, the odds against him made clear, and still he had persisted.
He continued ahead, knowing only that he was moving toward something and whatever he found would bring about some sort of resolution. He told himself—insisted to himself—that it would be enough.
