Witch Wraith

Thirteen

On the morning following Farshaun Req’s burial, the Quickening and her passengers resumed their journey into the Charnals. They departed at sunrise on a morning that started out badly and steadily got worse. Dawn showed as a band of crimson and pale silver that lasted less than twenty minutes and then dissolved into gloom. Massive banks of clouds obscured the skies for as far as the eye could see and turned the whole of the mountain range sullen and threatening.

The members of the company went about their tasks purposefully, but no one could shake their sense of unease. That a storm was coming was a given; all that remained to be determined was how severe it would become and how long it would last. It was a commonly held belief among airmen that a red sky at dawn was a clear sign of an impending storm, and the more intense the color, the harder the blow to follow.

Because Farshaun was no longer with them, Austrum assumed command of the helm. An argument might have been made that either Railing or Mirai was the more capable pilot, but neither felt inclined to suggest this. Mirai barely glanced at Austrum when he climbed into the box and took over the controls, moving instead to the bow to begin helping the other Rovers work the lines. She didn’t spare a glance for Railing, either, which irked him, but nevertheless felt consistent with the way he expected she would behave from here on out. Last night was last night; it was over and done with, and he would get no special attention because of it. Not in the midst of their journey and not with any of the others around to take note. She had told him how it would be. She would wait to see how he conducted himself. If he found the means to toughen himself against his doubts and to set an example for the others, then things might change.

So he tamped down the twinges of regret and doubt about her seeming disinterest in him and concentrated on taking his first steps toward getting back to the person he had once been—Redden’s twin, yes, but the one who wasn’t afraid to risk anything, the one who was never in doubt. He plunged into the work of helping to fly the airship into the teeth of what everyone knew would be a very bad storm and set everything else aside.

He found himself beside Challa Nand at one point. “Doesn’t look good, does it?”

The Troll glanced at him. “Nothing gets by you, does it, Railing Ohmsford? Got any magic to get us through this?”

The boy shrugged. “Maybe. If it comes to it. And I do have some flying skills that might be useful when Austrum gets tired.”

“You’ll be needing them.” Challan Nand paused to look out at the darkness approaching. “We’ll miss the old Rover this day, I think.”

“He was the best of us when it came to flying an airship. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.” The memories came flooding back, and he shook his head. “What I said about him at the burial site was true. Everything I know, I learned from him.”

Challa Nand glanced over. “Then try not to forget any of it,” he said, and moved away.

The morning slogged on, with everyone’s attention on the darkening skies. To the north, lightning flashed in jagged streaks—bursts of brightness followed by deep rolls of thunder and then long periods of silence. The wind came up an hour past sunrise, hard and quick, given to sudden bursts strong enough to knock you off your feet if you weren’t paying attention. It howled down the canyons and through the peaks, ripping at lone stands of blasted trees and jagged rock. It slammed against the hull of the Quickening with such force that it repeatedly knocked them off course and forced them to stay well clear of cliffs against which they otherwise might have been smashed.

Before long, Austrum relinquished the helm to Railing, moving out of the pilot box and back down onto the deck. As handed over control of the ship, he gave Railing a look and a quick nod. How much did he know? Did it matter? Railing nodded back, but kept his expression neutral.

Railing soon found that his arms were aching after only an hour of holding the airship steady. The concentration necessary to withstand the force of the blow required forgetting about everything else, and he was grateful to do so. Skint was forward, monitoring their progress from the bow. Challa Nand stood next to him in the pilot box, listening to the Gnome Tracker’s warnings before suggesting adjustments. His huge presence was a comfort as he pointed out favorable avenues of passage, gaps that might better serve them, heights and depths they might more easily travel. He seemed to know a great deal about flying airships, particularly in these mountains, and Railing paid attention to his advice. They would make it through this patch of bad weather, he kept telling himself. They would find a way.

Shortly after, the storm struck—a curtain of black rain that left them all but blind. Railing could no longer either see or hear Skint from where he crouched at the bow. Steady, steady, Challa Nand would say every few minutes. And Railing would respond.

Austrum relieved him not long after, telling him to rest. Railing didn’t argue. It was barely three hours after sunrise, and yet it felt like they had been flying all day. Worse, the sun hadn’t showed itself since dawn, and the light was so bad you could only see a few yards ahead. Challa Nand seemed to see farther than the rest of them, his eyes sharp enough to pick out the cliffs that hemmed them in. They might have tried taking the airship higher, but once above the peaks the winds were blowing fiercely, threatening to shred the sails and bring the ship down completely.

Woostra had long since gone below, so airsick he could barely stand. He was forced to occupy the space alone since by now everyone else was well enough to stay topside, including the previously injured sailor, Aleppo. The Rovers and Mirai were working the lines and monitoring the power of the diapson crystals, ready to change them out if needed. Railing watched them through the rain and gloom for a few minutes, then worked his way forward to the bow and dropped down beside Skint.

“Do you have any idea at all where we are?” he asked.

The Gnome shrugged. “Somewhere in the Charnals? Of course, I’m just guessing.”

“How are we going to get through this? I can’t see anything beyond the end of my arm.”

“Challa Nand knows where we are and how to get to where we are going. He told me this morning we’re about two hours out from the Klu. We just have to ride out the worst of this storm and hope there isn’t another one waiting up ahead.” He glanced over at Railing and grinned. “Admit it—this is sort of fun, isn’t it?”

Railing stared at him, and then realized he was right. In a reckless, bone-jarring sort of way, it was fun. He grinned back. “As long as you’re an airman or a crazy Gnome Tracker, maybe so.”

Skint laughed, then took Railing down into the hold for a drink of ale. Sitting near the keg that held the amber liquid, they sipped from cups, sodden and bedraggled in the near dark.

“You look a wreck,” Skint offered, raising his cup and clinking it with Railing’s.

“Your health,” the boy responded.

They drank and leaned back against the bulkhead. “Sorry about Farshaun,” the Gnome said after a minute. His wizened face was solemn. “He was a good man. I liked him. He had iron in him.”

“That he had.” Railing looked off into the gloom, thinking of what Farshaun had said to him about Mirai on his deathbed.

That girl, she’s worth a dozen of you or me. She’s got grit and determination that hasn’t even been scratched. She’s got heart. And she loves you.

He believed it all except for the last, even though it was the last he most wanted to believe. He didn’t feel like she loved him, not really. Not even after last night. But he loved her; there was no disputing that. Now, more than ever. But in a different, more complex way. He loved her intensely and completely enough that he wanted her to love him back in the same way.

“You seem a little less distant today,” Skint said suddenly. “You were keeping pretty much to yourself after we left Arborlon. Something was bothering you. Did you get past that?”

Railing nodded. “I think maybe I did.”

He meant it. He could tell that he was different—his attitude, his temperament—ever since he had opened up to Mirai and confessed the secrets he had been keeping. It hadn’t changed the reality of how things might play out when they reached their destination. It hadn’t changed the wrongness of what he had done to the others. But it had allowed him to breathe again. Keeping his meetings with the King of the Silver River and the Grimpond to himself had suffocated him. Sharing it with Mirai had been the right thing to do, and he felt stronger for having done so.

He sipped at his ale, working hard not to spill it as the airship lurched side-to-side and bucked against the force of the winds.

“If I get through this in one piece,” Skint said suddenly, “I’m going back into the Eastland mountains and I’m never coming out again.”

“We’ll get through,” Railing answered at once, and he meant it.

Skint got to his feet, put down his cup, and started for the ladder. “You’ll be the one to make it happen, if anyone can,” he called back.

Railing stayed where he was just long enough to finish his ale and then followed him up.

On deck, he joined Mirai and the Rovers in working the lines, taking his place among them. He said nothing to the Highland girl, although they exchanged a brief glance. He was thinking—even in the teeth of this monster storm with winds lashing them and rains drenching them and the whole world around them gone as black as night—that they were going to get through. He was going to get through. And he would find a way to make certain the others got through with him. He would find Grianne Ohmsford, and he would persuade her to come back to help them, no matter what it took. He was strong enough for this. He was the one with the wishsong magic; even Challa Nand, that huge, seemingly indestructible Troll, had said they would need his magic before this was done. They all knew what he was capable of, and he didn’t have the right to doubt himself when they depended on him like that. There wasn’t room for doubt. There was only room for belief in himself and determination to make what was needed happen.

But reality has a way of demonstrating the limits of self-belief and determination, and shortly thereafter, one of the Rovers was caught by a sudden gust of wind that blew him sideways and right over the railing. His safety line jerked taut, keeping him from dropping into the void, and Austrum and Railing, who were working on either side of him, rushed to pull him back aboard.

But before they could do so, his safety line snapped—the wind too strong, the rope too worn. With a wrenching wail, he pinwheeled away into the void and disappeared, leaving the Rover and the boy holding the broken line and staring at each other helplessly.

By midmorning, to everyone’s relief, the storm had moved on. The winds had gone still and the downpour turned to a steady drizzle. Ahead, the clouds began to clear and they at last caught a glimpse of the bright sun as it peeked through the clouds. No one was saying much of anything at this point, the entire company made silent by the loss of yet another of their members and by the exhaustion that had gripped them all, in spite of the fact that it was not even midday. Railing was back at the helm, with Mirai standing next to him in place of Challa Nand and Skint, who had gone forward to study the lay of the land ahead. Neither was saying much, and nothing of consequence when they did speak, confining their conversation to remarks about navigation or the weather.

Unexpectedly, Austrum appeared behind them, coming up the steps and into the cockpit. “I think it would be best if both of you stayed in the pilot box until we reach our destination,” he said.

Railing and Mirai exchanged a startled glance.

“I’m suggesting this for a reason,” the Rover said. Pointing to Railing, “Everything we are doing depends on you. If we lose you over the side the way we did Ekstrin, this entire trip will have been for nothing.” He pointed to Mirai. “And he’ll need someone to spell him when he tires.”

“But you could spell …,” Mirai began.

He shook his head quickly. “How will it look if I let my men risk their lives while I stay safe and sound inside the pilot box? No, you share the helm duties, and I’ll work the lines with my men. The matter is settled.”

And with that, he vaulted out of the pilot box and did not look back.

“He knows,” Railing said after a moment.

Mirai nodded and said nothing.

They flew on through calmer skies for another quarter hour, at which point Challa Nand came into the pilot box and told Railing and Mirai that their destination was just ahead. Leaving Mirai at the controls, the boy walked out on deck with him and up to the bow, where Skint was looking out over the Klu. The mountains they were sailing toward were more heavily forested than those they had passed through earlier. The light caught the thickness and sweep of the trees—a deep green carpet that spread away through the tangle of peaks like an emerald stream.

“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 they 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.