by Terry Brooks
“I would guess that it is somewhere in your home,” Woostra answered. “If it hasn’t been destroyed.”
Railing thought a moment. “We have a trunk in which writings made by Ohmsfords since the time of my great-grandfather have been kept. Everything before that was lost during a period when it seemed all of the Ohmsfords had died out. The trunk came to us and my father took it into the attic of our home and left it there, bound and locked. We have been careful to preserve everything in it ever since.”
“But you must have looked in it?”
“I don’t think anyone has. Not since my grandfather died.” Then he paused suddenly, and a startled look crossed his face. “Except for …”
Realization flooded his eyes. “My mother.”
24
He explained his mother’s involvement to Woostra after they had returned Khyber Elessedil’s journal to its hiding place in the bedchamber wall and sealed it up again.
“I saw her looking through the trunk once, not long after my grandfather died and it was delivered to us by my grandmother. I was by myself; I don’t remember what Redden was doing. I do remember I was still pretty young and didn’t know the history. I only knew that it had come from Grandfather, and that Father considered it very valuable.”
“You never looked inside it yourself?” Woostra was leading him back through the empty corridors of the Keep and out into the courtyard past the desiccated bodies and piles of debris. “Or maybe your brother?”
“If Redden had looked, he would have told me. We tell each other everything.” He did not mention Mirai. “I didn’t look because I just didn’t have any real interest. After a while, I sort of forgot about it.”
“But you saw your mother?”
“She was kneeling by the trunk, and the lid was raised. She was holding papers and had others stacked beside her. Maybe there was a book or two, as well. Maybe even the missing journal. I can’t remember. I almost said something, but the look on her face—I remember it so well. She was very upset. I didn’t know why but I knew enough not to disturb her. I watched for a minute more and then left. I told Redden, and later on when Mother wasn’t around we went into the attic where the trunk was stored for a look. But it was locked again, and we didn’t know where the key was. We thought about breaking the lock, but if we did Mother would know what we’d been up to and we decided it wasn’t worth it. Just a bunch of old papers and books, we told ourselves.”
He shook his head. “We never went back. Mostly, we didn’t think it was important enough.”
They crossed the courtyard and retraced their steps down into the tunnels. They might have found a way through the gates or over the walls, but Woostra never seemed to consider going another way. He was silent for a time after Railing finished his story, and it was only as they reached the far end of the tunnel and the hidden entry they had passed through coming in that he turned once more to the boy.
“Your mother is no friend to the Druids. Especially not to the Ard Rhys. She still blames the order for your father’s death. You know all this, so you know we can’t just go to her and ask to look in the trunk.”
“We can’t go to her at all,” Railing declared. “She thinks Redden is safe. She can’t be allowed to find out he isn’t. If she sees me without him, she’ll know something is wrong.”
Back outside in the open air, the entrance to the tunnels sealed anew, Woostra turned to him again. The woods were dark save for where shards of moonlight sprinkled the forest floor in strange patterns.
“We have to go to Patch Run if we want to know what happened to the journal,” he said quietly. His scarecrow form was hunched over as he bent close to Railing. “It may be that your mother has destroyed it. We can’t discount that possibility. She was angry and distraught after your father died, and she might have done it out of spite. Whatever the case, we can’t discover the truth unless we get a look in that trunk. Do you know where she keeps the key?”
Railing shook his head. “I’ve never seen it. It could be anywhere, I guess. Probably it’s in her bedroom somewhere. What’s the difference? I can’t ask her to tell me. I can’t let her even see me. I can’t go back without Redden.”
Woostra rocked back on his haunches. “I don’t see that you have a choice. If you want to find out what’s become of Grianne Ohmsford, we have to look in that trunk. It’s up to you. Better make up your mind here and now, before you have to face the others.”
Railing stared at him a moment and then looked away. The scribe was right. They didn’t have any other option. They didn’t have time to find another option even if there was one. He wondered if his mother had destroyed the journal. If she had, none of this mattered. Even if she hadn’t, there was nothing to say it contained anything they needed to know. But this had always been a long shot, right from the first. He had known that. There had never been anything better than a small chance that they could find Grianne Ohmsford and return her to the Forbidding.
“You already know my answer,” he said. “I don’t want to give up. But we have to find a way to do this that won’t let Mother know that anything has happened to Redden.”
Woostra grunted. “It won’t be the first miracle we’ve performed since all this started.”
Back on the Quickening, it was Mirai who came up with a solution to their problem of how to gain access to the contents of the trunk without exposing Railing’s presence.
“Sarys doesn’t need to know you’re there at all, Railing,” she told him. “Not if I’m the one who goes to see her.”
They were discussing the matter on the foredeck—the Highland girl, the boy, Woostra, Skint, and Farshaun. Austrum was in the pilot box, and the other Rovers were lounging about nearby, but all were out of hearing. Woostra had just finished relating what he and Railing had discovered at Paranor, concluding with the boy’s recollection of the trunk being delivered to the twins’ home in Patch Run.
“I could go up to the house,” Mirai continued, keeping her voice low enough that the others had to lean close to hear, “and tell Sarys that her sons are still safe and sound in Bakrabru, but busy with the Ard Rhys. The Ard Rhys never said anything about how long they would be gone, so Sarys has no reason to question me. I could say that I’ve come home on an errand for my father and decided to visit long enough to let her know everything is fine. Deliberate lies, but necessary ones. If we do it in daylight, I can entice her out of the house. While we’re visiting, Railing can slip in through the back door, find the key, open the trunk, and have a look.”
There was a long silence. “But you don’t know where the key is.” Skint pointed out to Railing. “You’ll have to hunt for it.”
“You don’t know if the missing journal is in the trunk,” Farshaun added.
“You don’t know if you can read the journal even if it is in the trunk,” Skint continued. “It might be in whatever language Grianne was using in the other one. Old Elfish or whatever. This whole plan sounds like a disaster in the making. Isn’t there a better way?”
“We’re listening, if you know of one,” Woostra snapped back irritably.
Mirai shook her head. “Stop arguing and listen for a minute. There isn’t a better plan. There isn’t even another plan. The facts are simple. Only Railing or I could even approach Sarys without drawing suspicion. The rest of you wouldn’t get through the front door. Since Railing can’t do this, it has to be me. And I wouldn’t be offering at all, believe me, if I didn’t think it was possible. I just have to distract Sarys long enough to give Railing a chance. If he can’t find the journal, then at least we’ve tried.” She looked directly at Railing. “Isn’t this what you want to do?”
He nodded quickly. “I made the decision coming back to the ship. I can risk being disappointed if this doesn’t work out, but not living with myself if I don’t even try.”
“Well, it will take a lot of trying and a lot more luck than skill.” Skint was conceding nothing. “I don’t know how you can manage it.”
&
nbsp; “Would it help you if I told you that I know where the key to the trunk is?” Mirai said, cocking one eyebrow.
Skint stared at her for a long moment. “On the other hand, this boy does seem to have more luck than most.” He gave an elaborate shrug. “I suppose we had better give him his chance.”
They lifted off and flew on through the remainder of the night, passing out of the Dragon’s Teeth, across the Mermidon, down the length of the Runne Mountains, and out into the broad sweep of the Rainbow Lake. The skies remained clear and they passed only a handful of other airships as they traveled down the flight corridor that ran from Tyrsis and Varfleet south, easing their way toward their destination.
Railing slept again for a time, at Mirai’s behest, aware that the few hours he had managed so far were not nearly enough to give him the rest he needed. The stress he was feeling by anticipating what lay ahead only added to that he was already experiencing from worrying about his brother. Mirai told him again as she accompanied him belowdecks that they would get Redden back. They would not abandon him; they would not give up on finding him. It didn’t matter what they found in the trunk or what they had to do to find Redden himself. They would get him back safe.
Then she lay next to Railing and snuggled up against him, and both were asleep in seconds.
It was dawn when Skint came down to shake them awake. “We’re there,” he said.
Farshaun was in the pilot box when they came back on deck. He gave them a quick once-over and nodded enigmatically, as if satisfied with what he saw. “We’re just west of Patch Run.” His gaze shifted to Railing. “Your house is farther down the shore, but not far. We’ll land Quickening in one of these coves and lie at anchor while you take a flit the rest of the way.”
The boy and the girl nodded. “I’ll drop Railing off just before the house is in sight. He can walk in and slip around back while I draw Sarys outside.”
“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 he 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 momentarily 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.
