Witch Wraith

by Terry Brooks

  Which meant that, when all was said and done, he was going to have to find a way to return her to where he had found her.

  As they sailed across the Streleheim and down along the eastern edge of the Westland forests toward the Valley of Rhenn, he wondered anew at her immediate plans. She had quit letting them dictate their course once they were out of the Charnals. Responding to something she alone understood, she had given them explicit directions on where they were to go. When Austrum had questioned her—the one such question anyone had dared to ask—she had responded by lifting him off his feet with one withered arm and carrying him to the railing. She had held him over the side as if she intended to drop him, and it was only when Railing shouted at her to stop—telling her that Austrum was their navigator and the captain of their vessel—that she relented, bringing him back on board and tossing him aside as if he were not worth the effort.

  So they did her bidding and marked time and tried to keep from losing hope. The atmosphere aboard the ship was tense and despairing. Even Challa Nand, usually so bluff and open, kept to himself and spoke only in short, abrupt sentences when forced to speak at all. No one knew where the ship was going, but they were all reasonably certain it had to do with finding Tael Riverine.

  Although from the force and insistence of her commands, Railing had the unshakable feeling that Grianne already knew where he was.

  Now dawn was less than an hour away, and he was beginning to believe they were flying to Arborlon. What he didn’t know was why they would be going there. If she intended to confront Tael Riverine, wouldn’t she be flying them into the Forbidding, assuming she could determine a way to pass through its protective wall? That was what he would do.

  But then he saw the other possibility, and it turned him to ice. What if the Straken Lord and his creatures had already broken free and set upon Arborlon and its Elves? Wasn’t that what had happened before in the time of Wil Ohmsford? Wasn’t that the logical course of action where the one sure way to destroy the Forbidding was to destroy the Ellcrys? Aphenglow and Arlingfant had set out in search of the Bloodfire to quicken the Ellcrys seed, but what if they had failed? What if the demons were inside the Four Lands for good?

  All of which made him wonder about Redden’s fate. If the Straken Lord had come into the Four Lands, what had he done with Redden? Perhaps his brother had been brought along, although he couldn’t think of a reason for this. But leaving him behind made no sense, either.

  “You seem more distraught than usual,” Mirai observed, coming up beside him. “Which is saying something.”

  “I have good reason,” he answered.

  Quickly, he explained his fear about what might have happened and why they were heading where he believed they clearly were.

  Mirai nodded. “All possible. But we can’t do anything about it either way. Not with her watching everything we do.” She gestured toward the Ilse Witch, a ragged shape in the predawn gloom. “We have to wait and see.”

  He followed her gaze. Whatever happened, it was his fault for finding and bringing Grianne Ohmsford back, his obsession with believing she was their only real hope.

  “She hates us,” he said.

  “She hates everyone and everything.” Mirai moved over to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the witch. “But regret and guilt are a waste of time. You did what you thought you had to. That’s over and done with. We just have to keep our heads once we get to where we’re going, because not much of what might happen is likely to turn out the way we hoped.”

  “I have to find a way to get rid of her,” he said quietly.

  Mirai shook her head slowly. “Stop thinking like that. Don’t take on anything more, Railing. Let this play out however it needs to. But step back from it now. Promise me.”

  He kissed her instead, not caring who saw. He was past the point of having to pretend. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away or cut the kiss short. She kissed him back and held him to her.

  By sunrise, they had reached the Valley of Rhenn and were confronted with the terrible truth about how things stood.

  In the dark of the night, Redden Ohmsford and his companions, footsore and weary, stumbled through another of the familiar shimmerings that marked a hole in the wall of the Forbidding and found themselves back in the Four Lands, not far from where Drey Wood opened onto the Tirfing. The skies were dark and clouded over, the lands drenched by a recent rain. Redden and Oriantha stood where they were for long moments trying to get their bearings, while Tesla Dart frantically searched for Lada. She scurried left and right, calling his name, whistling and cooing. But the Chzyk had not come through with them.

  Finally, the Ulk Bog gave up and wandered back over, her face a mask of sadness. “No Lada. He leaves me. Perhaps he decides this world is not his. I am alone now.”

  “Alone with us,” Oriantha pointed out impatiently. “Which is not quite the same thing as alone altogether.”

  Tesla Dart nodded, still looking forlorn. “You are friends,” she acknowledged, managing to sound doubtful.

  “You can go back if you want,” the shape-shifter pointed out. “You’ve done enough. You don’t owe us anything more.”

  The other shook her head. “Stay with you. If you promise you keep me. Not leave me behind.”

  Redden didn’t hear. He was busy surveying what appeared to be a landscape of crop fields dotted with farm buildings. Or at least that was what he could make out in the diminished light. He could not see the horizon in any direction, and even though there were a few lights shining from the windows of the farmhouses, their glow was dim.

  “Where are we?” he muttered.

  Oriantha moved to stand close. “The Sarandanon, if I’m guessing right.”

  He looked at her. “How can you tell?”

  “I can’t, really, for sure. But we were already in the Westland when we reentered the Forbidding. Then we turned north. We traveled a long way, Redden. I think we would be standing in forests if we were anywhere else in the Westland but the valley.”

  “Do you know which way to go from here to reach Arborlon?”

  She cast about for a moment, almost like her animal self would have, head lifted into the soft wind, sniffing the air, tasting it. “That way,” she said at last, pointing.

  He had no reason to argue with her since he had no idea himself which way to go. He assumed she could tell things from reading the air currents in a way he could not. Since she had been right about most things during their time together, he simply nodded in agreement.

  “Speak words to me!” Tesla Dart shouted abruptly as the other two started to turn away. “Not leave me!”

  Both Redden and Oriantha stared at the Ulk Bog. “What are you talking about?” Oriantha asked irritably.

  “Not do to me what Straken Queen did to Weka. Promises she will take him, then doesn’t. Breaks her word. Weka is abandoned and hunted by Straken Lord. Frightened and alone! Has only me, a little girl, to be with. She does this! She leaves him. Weka tells me!”

  “Grianne Ohmsford?” Oriantha was having trouble understanding. “Is that who you are talking about?”

  “I know the story,” Redden interrupted. “Grianne was helped by Weka, so she said she would take him with her when she left. But she couldn’t. Penderrin came for her, but the magic he used would only let him take her back with him, not Weka. So she had to leave the Ulk Bog behind. But it wasn’t her fault, Tesla. It wasn’t what she wanted. Penderrin told my father this. She regretted it deeply, but there was nothing she could do.”

  The Ulk Bog looked unconvinced. “Hate her for this! Weka never forgot. Betrayed by her! You could do this, too. To me!”

  “We already took you out of the Forbidding, didn’t we?” Oriantha snapped. “What more are we supposed to do? We brought you with us and we’ll keep you with us. We know you helped us like Weka helped Grianne, but we are not like her.”

  But Tesla shook her head, her jaw set, her eyes fixed on them. “Speak the words. Promise.�
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  Oriantha looked angry, but Redden quickly stepped forward, setting down the box with the Elfstones, and held out his hands, motioning for the Ulk Bog to take them in her own. She did, watching him closely, her grizzled face scrunched up. “I promise we won’t leave you,” the boy said. “We will keep you with us, no matter what.”

  Tesla Dart stared at him for long seconds, then she nodded slowly. “I believe. You don’t lie.”

  Redden kept holding the Ulk Bog’s gnarled hands. “Tesla, if you felt like this about Grianne, why were you waiting for her all these years? Why were Lada and the other Chzyks keeping watch when we came through the Forbidding?”

  “I tell them to.” She looked sullen once more. “I stay to watch.”

  “But why? Why would you do that?”

  Tesla Dart’s face darkened further. “Because.”

  “Why, Tesla?” he pressed.

  Tears appeared unexpectedly at the corners of the Ulk Bog’s dark eyes. “She must say she is sorry! She must tell me so. She must say why she leave Weka behind.” She hissed furiously. “If she doesn’t, I kill her. Kill her for him!”

  There was such fury in her voice that Redden was left speechless. Oriantha, standing to one side, shook her head and turned away.

  They set out walking across the broad fields and grasslands, heading in the direction Oriantha had indicated earlier. Redden was still trying to absorb the impact of the Ulk Bog’s scorching condemnation of Grianne. He wanted to ask her more, wanted to know how Weka had found her, how long they were together, if she really was his niece, and what had become of him.

  But he sensed there was nothing to be gained from this, and after a time he stopped thinking about it and began searching for signs that would tell him they were going the right way. Maybe Oriantha didn’t need such signs, but Redden would have preferred to find one or two if only to give him peace of mind about what they were doing.

  Because a little reassurance at this point was something he could sorely use.

  His recovery from his ordeal as the Straken Lord’s prisoner continued to be slow. He was emotionally stronger since putting an end to Tarwick and his hunters. After all, he had escaped being captured and returned to the Straken Lord. He had found and gained possession of the missing Elfstones—something no one else had been able to do. He was free of the Forbidding once more and on his way to Arborlon and a reunion with Railing. He had reason to feel good about all of this.

  On the other hand, another encounter with the Straken Lord was not out of the question. Even the thought of it caused a shiver to run up his spine, his memories of his previous imprisonment and the prospect of a repeat experience a nightmare.

  Nor was he recovered physically. If anything, he was feeling worse than ever. He was keeping it to himself, but something very troubling had happened to him when he had combined the magic of the crimson Elfstones and the wishsong to destroy the Catcher and his minions. His body had been left hollowed out and his strength diminished in a way that suggested he had suffered at least a part of the fate of the creatures he had emptied of their lives. He knew enough of the ways of magic to understand there was always a price exacted for its use. The more powerful and destructive the magic, the higher the cost.

  The crimson Elfstones might have stolen away the mortal substance of their victims, but it felt as if they had stolen some of the same from him, as well.

  Still, there was nothing to be done about it. He had saved their lives, and so there could be no regrets now about how he had accomplished it. Nor was there any point in worrying about healing himself until he found Railing again. All he could do was keep going and remember what was at stake.

  He clutched the box with the Elfstones to his chest, aware of the irony implicit in doing so. Even though their magic had damaged him, he held on to that box as if he would never let it go. Only the crimson stones were elsewhere, still shoved down inside his pant pocket. He had thought many times to return them to their designated space, but each time he started to do so he changed his mind.

  Because beneath his fear of what it meant to use them again was another fear, one that was even more overpowering.

  If he did not have them, he could not protect himself or his companions. If he did not have them, they could still all be killed. Or they could be imprisoned, as he had been before. They could be caged and left to die. He would never see his brother or his mother or Mirai or any of his friends again.

  He could hardly bear even to think on it.

  They walked for hours through the gloom and emptiness, searching for a town or a village where they might find an airship. Walking was too slow and wearing. They were already close to exhaustion. Redden in particular, but even Tesla Dart, who never seemed to tire, was showing signs of weariness. She no longer darted ahead or scurried about like a bug. She mostly stayed next to her companions, her wizened face taut, her eyes searching everywhere at once. In part, Redden thought, it was the effect of the land—an unfamiliar place to which she was not yet accustomed. She was more cautious, less certain of herself, more inclined to hang back and stay watchful.

  Oriantha set the pace, the Ulk Bog matched it, and the boy did the best he could to keep up, even when what he wanted most was to sleep.

  When they finally stopped to rest, sometime much deeper into the night—the blackness still vast and complete and the countryside still a vague and shadowy place all about them—he felt like he might never be able to rise again.

  “You look terrible,” Oriantha noted, bending close to study his face.

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “You might be tired, but you are not fine. Something is wrong. It’s using the Elfstones like you did, isn’t it? That did something to you.”

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Tesla Dart moved over as well, looking interested.

  “You used them when you shouldn’t have,” the shape-shifter declared, not accusatorily, but in sympathy. “Only an Elf is supposed to use them, and you are not an Elf. You are of mixed blood, and the magic doesn’t work for you like it would for a full-blooded Elf. Am I right?”

  “I suppose so. But it’s not as if anything can be done about it now. It’s over and done with.”

  “But it hurts?” Tesla asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t feel right, but I think it will pass. I just have to give it time.”

  “Meanwhile,” Oriantha said, “give me that.”

  She took the case with the Elfstones out of his hands before he could think to tighten his grip. “Hey!” he protested.

  “I can carry them as easily as you. There is no immediate need for them. You need to conserve your strength. Let me keep the case for now. You can have it back again in Arborlon.”

  He started to object and then decided against it. What was the point? She was right to think that relieving him of the case would help.

  “We should start walking again,” Oriantha said abruptly, rising.

  They set out once more, Oriantha taking the lead and carrying the case with the Elfstones, Tesla Dart close behind her, and Redden trailing. He thought Oriantha was right, and the effects of using the Elfstone magic were not a consequence of using it with the wishsong, but rather using it at all. He knew from his family’s history that only Elves could use Elven magic safely. Having some Elven blood was not enough to protect him. It was Wil Ohmsford’s use of Elfstone magic centuries earlier that had brought about a change in his genetic makeup, resulting in the birth of the wishsong in his children and in the generations thereafter, right down to today. It was not so difficult to think that maybe his own use was causing similar changes within him, changes that would not manifest themselves until he had children of his own.

  History repeating itself, he thought. Lessons learned long ago so often needed to be learned all over again in the present. It might true here, and he might be the student who was being taught.

  But he did not dwell on it, putting the matter aside and
thinking instead of Railing and home, of Mirai and Sarys, of better days behind and more ahead. This would be ended soon, the Straken Lord defeated and sent back into the Forbidding and his old life restored. Things would return to how they had been.

  Just so long as he didn’t think about those who had died inside the Forbidding.

  Or forget that the Druid order was decimated.

  Or assume that Railing would be waiting for him, safe and whole.

  Oriantha came to a stop, peering ahead. “There are lights less than a mile off. A cluster of them. Maybe we’ve found the help we need.”

  And she picked up the pace.

  Thirty-two

  Railing Ohmsford hooded the parse tubes sufficiently to slow the Quickening to a crawl as they came out of the darkness into the first light of the new day just north of the entrance to the Valley of Rhenn. Below and as far south as they could see, hordes of creatures were massed across the open grasslands, pressing toward the pass that led into the valley. The size of the Straken Lord’s army seemed limitless—a vast sprawling migration that darkened the plains like a tidal wave threatening to inundate the entire Westland.

  Everyone aboard—save Railing and Mirai standing in the pilot box, and the Ilse Witch crouched by the foremast—gathered at the ship’s railing and stared down at the invading army, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. Austrum and his Rovers, Skint, Challa Nand, and even Woostra—but no one was saying anything. There were no words for something like this.

  Mirai, standing close to Railing, whispered, “Shades! How can there be so many?”

  He didn’t know. Those hundreds of creatures he had fought against in the Fangs seemed like a mere handful compared with the seething maelstrom roiling below them. What chance did the Elves have of turning back so large a force?