by Terry Brooks
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 him and Mirai longer than they had realized 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. Who 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 so that you could hear it for yourselves and make your own judgment.”
“You might remember that only a couple of days ago w
e 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.”
“That’s exactly what we need you for.” Farshaun gave him a look. “To help us keep our eyes wide open.”
Skint grimaced. “Glad you understand. Now, when do we leave?”
It was decided they would depart at first light, flying north toward their destination. Skint believed they could find their way as far as Taupo Rough without much trouble, but it might be a problem after that. They would have to find someone who knew where Stridegate could be found. Likely it was in the Charnal Mountains, and they were wide and deep. This was a journey that could take them weeks, and it didn’t seem to him they had weeks to spend.
That prompted Railing to suggest they leave at once. Since time was precious, they couldn’t afford to waste it. But Farshaun suggested they would be better off waiting until daylight because they were traveling into strange country and would likely encounter dangerous situations on their way, even apart from Gnome raiders and sky pirates.
A compromise was reached. They would travel now to the far shores of Rainbow Lake, where they would find shelter and anchor east of the city of Varfleet. After a good night’s sleep, perhaps the last they would get for some time to come, they would wake at sunrise and continue north to their destination.
This wasn’t entirely satisfactory to Railing, given his desire to reach their destination in as little time as possible, but he understood the need for caution, too. So they crossed Rainbow Lake as the sun slipped west and by nightfall were moored in a secluded cove ten miles east of Varfleet and safely out of view. Farshaun had insisted earlier that Austrum and the other Rovers be informed of what they intended to do, and while the company ate its dinner the old man explained to his younger companions the general nature of their journey without getting too specific. He stayed away from what he knew about the Forbidding and the demons and stuck to the reason for their search—to discover the fate of Grianne Ohmsford. Mirai pitched in, picking up loose threads and adding information where she saw it would help. Austrum asked the most questions, but Mirai was there to provide the answers each time. Railing watched how attentive he was to her, how he listened without argument and was deferential and polite. A far cry from his brashness of earlier, the boy thought, vaguely irritated all over again.
In the end, the Rovers agreed to sign on, young and bold enough to accept the risks for the promise of an extraordinary adventure, sure enough of their strength and resilience to reject the possibility of dying. Their elders had a darker view of the risks involved, but the young Rovers were all enthusiasm and confidence. Railing remembered feeling like that when he and Redden had set out with the Ard Rhys and her company for the Breakline. But all of that had been knocked out of him in the struggle to survive the horrors that had attacked them in the Fangs. All of that now belonged to someone he had been and not who he was now.
He went to sleep shortly afterward, more tired than he had realized. Mirai was still awake when he rolled into his blanket, talking with Austrum. They spoke in whispered voices, their heads inclined close. Railing wanted to interrupt them, to put a stop to it. He didn’t like what he was seeing, but he knew enough about Mirai to accept that she would do what she wanted no matter what he thought about it.
He closed his eyes instead and slept.
It was still dark when he woke again, the sky clear and bright with stars, the world a silent and wondrous nightscape. He lifted himself on one elbow and looked around. Someone had called his name, but everyone around him seemed to be sleeping. Dreading what he would find, he looked over to where he had last seen Mirai, but Austrum had gone and she was sleeping alone. He watched her for a moment, then threw off the blanket and got to his feet. He looked around the starlit darkness at the sleeping men and finally found the big Rover well off to one side near the pilot box. Then he heard his name again, and he scanned the decks of Quickening from bow to stern, in search of the source. Everyone was asleep—even the sentry sitting near the stern where it faced back toward the shoreline. They were anchored several hundred yards offshore, and when he walked from the port to the starboard railing he could find no trace of another vessel from which the voice might have come.
Perplexed, he stood waiting for his name to be called again, listening intently to the silence, trying to convince himself he had not been mistaken.
But instead of hearing his name, he saw a light appear on the shoreline—a tiny flash that came and went in a steady blinking. He watched as the light began to grow brighter, and finally he realized that it was moving toward him. He backed up a step and almost called out for Mirai. But by then the light was right on top of him, and he found his voice had disappeared in his sense of wonder and surprise.
When the light abruptly disappeared, a young girl was standing before him. She was no more than ten or twelve years old, her hair white-blond and her eyes a stunning depthless blue. She smiled and stretched out her hand to him, and he surrendered his own.
The light returned, enfolding them both, closing them away. Everything around them disappeared, and there were only the two of them standing face-to-face, joined by the meeting of their eyes and hands. Railing tried to ask who she was and what she was doing, but his voice had deserted him completely. She seemed to know that he was trying to speak, however, and even though she remained silent herself, she gave him a reassuring smile and a squeeze of her hand.
Then the light flared once, bright enough that even the girl disappeared within it, her hand releasing his as she faded away, and when the light was gone and his vision had cleared sufficiently that he could see in the darkness again, he found himself alone.
But he was no longer aboard Quickening. He was standing on the shore where he had first seen the light. He looked down at his feet to make certain of where he was and then out into the cove to where the airship was lying at anchor. His first thought was that he was dreaming, even though he knew deep down inside where truths are always revealed that he wasn’t, that this was actually happening in his waking life and it was real.
“As real as the search
you undertake for the Ilse Witch, Railing Ohmsford,” a voice whispered to him.
He turned and found an old man standing behind him, a white-bearded ancient cloaked in robes that were worn and ragged, his tall, lean body stooped with age and perhaps the weight of something much greater, something that was reflected in his eyes as he studied the boy with an intense but not unfriendly gaze.
“How do you know about Grianne Ohmsford?” Railing asked, finding that his voice was now returned to him.
The old man made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, I know quite a lot about most things. It is my business to know.”
Railing shook his head. “I have the strangest feeling I should know you.”
“Or at least know of me.”
“You have use of magic, don’t you? Are you a Faerie creature?”
“I am. I was well known to others in your family. I have helped them now and then over the years by offering respite from weariness and stress and advice about how to continue. Sometimes they took both and sometimes they took only one and sometimes they did not take either. Once or twice, I gave them talismans. Like this one.”
He held out his hand, his fingers closed about whatever lay within. Railing hesitated. “Take it,” the old man said. “Would you reject a gift from the King of the Silver River?”
Railing stared in surprise, then quickly extended his hand. The old man dropped a ring into it. The ring had a very odd look to it. The band was formed of a series of gold strands that had been interwoven in an intricate, delicate design. There were perhaps a dozen threads in all. At the apex a single gemstone, milky white and opaque, had been fastened in place. Railing had never seen anything like it. He tested the strength of the woven strands to see how much give there was to the metal and found to his surprise that there was scarcely any. The metal felt hard and fixed.
