Witch Wraith

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.

Questions crowded his mind as he listened to the music of the creatures leading him. Would he find Grianne Ohmsford here, somewhere in the ruins of Stridegate, as the ring suggested he would? Was she still alive? He felt from the tugging of the thread that she was, but he couldn’t be certain. The tugging might just as easily lead him to her grave.

“Who are you?” he again asked the voices leading him.

This time, they answered.

–Aeriads–

Aeriads. Spirits of the air. The creatures that served the tanequil. “Where are you taking me?”

–She waits. She knows–

“Who?”

–Come–

He felt them moving away, and so he followed. The thread seemed to be following them as well, prodding him in the same direction. He was deep in the forest now, surrounded by the great old trees, a part of the shadows, a tiny transient life-form among ancients. He glanced about for movement, but found none. There was no sign of anything present save for the voices.

As he advanced, he rehearsed in his mind what he would say to Grianne. What words would he need to persuade her to his cause? He had come so far and risked so much, and yet he had no firm idea of what it would take. Even now, after all this time, he was uncertain.

He felt a chill run through him. He wasn’t equal to this; he didn’t have what was needed. He was going to fail.

–Come–

But to turn back now was unthinkable, an act of cowardice and an admission of defeat. He must do what he came to do and find a way to succeed.

–Here–

He was in a clearing, dappled with sunlight and permeated with a warmth he had not felt before. The voices were singing loudly now, their music filling up his senses. He looked around for something he would recognize, for a sign of Grianne, for the “she” the aeriads had told him was waiting, but there was nothing to see. The clearing was empty.

Then, abruptly, everything went silent, and in that same instant he felt the tugging inside his head disappear.

–Railing. I am here–

A voice in the air, disembodied. “Grianne?” he whispered.

–I am what Grianne has become–

He hesitated, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What she has become? “Are you one of them? An aeriad?”

–I am–

“You exchanged yourself for Cinnaminson?”

–I did. When I left Paranor, I came here to offer myself for the girl who would later became your grandmother. She had given herself for me, so that Penderrin could come into the Forbidding and free me. I chose to do the same for her and let her return to Pen–

He felt a rippling in the air and heard the soft voices of the other aeriads calling.

–My time to speak with you is short. Tell me why have you come, my brother’s great-grandson, child of my blood. Tell me what you seek–

So he did. Quickly and efficiently. He told her how he and Redden had accepted Khyber Elessedil’s request that they come with her to the Westland in search of the missing Elfstones of Faerie, of how their efforts had gone so badly awry and how Redden had become a prisoner of the Straken Lord and was trapped inside the Forbidding. He told her how Tael Riverine had demanded that Grianne be brought to him so she could become his Queen and bear his children. Finally, he revealed that the Ellcrys was failing and the wall of the Forbidding was coming down. The Straken Lord intended to bring his demon hordes into the Four Lands and take what he wanted, Grianne included, if she did not come back to him on her own. All of this had persuaded him to seek her out and ask if she would return to help them in their struggle—if she might not be able to show them a way that Tael Riverine could be destroyed. He had discovered her fate in the diary written by Khyber and had followed it here.

“I thought you might return with me because Redden is your blood descendant and you loved Penderrin and would want to help his grandson.” He exhaled sharply. “I came to find you, really, because I didn’t know what else to do to save my brother.”

–Railing, I cannot help you–

The words were tinged with regret, but were no less bitter for being so. Oddly, they were the words he had been expecting to hear all along, but had convinced himself she would not say.

“Is there nothing you can do?” he pressed. “Even if you came back long enough to face him and tell him what you have become, perhaps that would be enough. If he saw what you were, maybe he would no longer have interest in you and be persuaded to abandon …” He trailed off helplessly, aware of how foolish that sounded. “Or maybe you could just persuade him to let Redden go because his imprisonment serves no purpose.”

–The Straken Lord will be persuaded of nothing. He will be enraged. He is not human. He is a demon. He craves power, and when he cannot have me, he will turn his anger on others–

Railing felt the first twinges of desperation. “If you are an aeriad, you are beholden to the tanequil. But Cinnaminson was an aeriad, and you found a way to replace her and set her free. Can’t you do that now for yourself? Can’t you get free of the tanequil, at least long enough to come back with me?”

–I have been an aeriad for a lifetime, not for mere weeks. I am nothing of what I was and cannot impact the world of humans and Elves as once I did. I cannot come back with you–

“But you must!”

He blurted out the words in a paroxysm of frustration and dismay. The air around him went still in the aftermath, and for a second he thought she had left him, unwilling to listen to more.

“What about the Druid order? It is destroyed because of Tael Riverine! Would you let that happen? Would you do nothing to help preserve it?” He paused, waiting for an answer that did not come. “Grianne! Are you there?”

–I cannot help you, Railing. You must leave–

He took a deep steadying breath. He stood at the edge of a cliff, and she was pushing him from behind so that he would fall and all would be lost. He was devastated, but he was angry, too.

“I will go to the tanequil and speak to it! I will insist you be freed from your service and come back with me! My brother’s life is at risk, but so are the lives of everyone in the Four Lands!”

There was a rush of movement as the other aeriads whipped about him—or perhaps it was only Grianne, suddenly become aggressive and swiping at him repeatedly.

–Do not do this–

“What else can I do? Give up? Go back without you? Go back with no way to save my brother?” He gathered himself. “I won’t leave until I am sure there is no other way. Not until I’ve spoken with the tanequil. Will you help me or not? Will you persuade it to speak with me, just for a minute, just to hear what I have to say?

–The tanequil already knows–

“Then take me to it!”

–Beware, Railing Ohmsford–

Her voice was soft, but there was iron behind the silk. For an instant, he was certain he had gone too far.

“Just … let me try,” he said finally.

–You risk more than you realize–

“I would risk everything for my brother!”

–So you do. So you will. Good-bye, Railing–

And she was gone. He could feel her leave-taking. He could sense the emptiness she had left behind and hear the silence that filled it.

“Grianne?” he called out anyway.

Nothing. And then …

–Come–

The voices of the other aeriads, calling him away. Where would they take him now? To the tanequil or back to the bridge? If the latter, he would refuse to cross. If they would not take him to the tree so that he would have a chance to say what was needed, he would not follow them.

He began a lengthy trek through the forest, weaving in and out of the great black trunks, shadows draping his way and shards of sunlight providing fragments of illumination to guide his footsteps. The aeriads sang to him so that he knew where to go, but there was no further communication with Grianne Ohmsford. If she was there with her sisters, she was keeping quiet. If she was monitoring his journey, she was doing so in secret. He hardened his heart against her, still disappointed and angry at her refusal to help, still frightened that he was going to fail in his efforts.

But if he found the tanequil and spoke with it, there was still a chance that something could be salvaged. The aeriads served the tree; if the tree agreed that Grianne should be set free to come back with him, that the Four Lands needed her to stand against the Straken Lord, wouldn’t she have to change her mind and do what Railing asked? Wouldn’t she then be bound to aid him in his efforts?

He held on to that hope like a lifeline, knowing it was all he had left.

It became clear after a short while that he was not being taken back the way he had come. The trees were getting larger and the way darker. The forest canopy was closing out even the little light that had filtered down previously, and the whole of the forest through which he walked was gloom-filled and hazy. The aeriads had stopped singing, but every so often they would speak that single word—come—to let him know where he was to go. The hugeness of the trees diminished him further, and he experienced a withering of hope and confidence. The audacity of his efforts to persuade Grianne resurfaced, and he saw again how foolish he had been.

As he navigated the maze of the forest, the warnings of the King of the Silver River whispered anew from his memory. He was doing something that was forbidden. He was asking for what he could not have. If he persevered, he would not get what he was hoping for; he would get something else entirely. Grianne Ohmsford was lost to his world and belonged to another. He could not bring her back again. He should forget this quest and simply go after Redden on his own. But was that even possible? Was there any way he could go back into the Forbidding and free his brother from the Straken Lord?

His trek wore on, and the gloom deepened. It must be late in the afternoon by now. The stresses of both the morning and the trek caught up to him, and he grew sleepy. The aeriads had resumed singing, and their music was weaving about him in a soothing blanket that left him heavy-eyed and slow-footed. He took a moment to stop, and when the aeriads did not object he sat down to rest.

Just for a moment.

But in seconds he was asleep.

His sleep was deep and dreamless, and when he woke again the sun was lower in the sky. He blinked a few times and waited for his lingering lethargy to disappear, wondering how he had managed to sleep at all with the mix of emotions roiling inside.

And yet he had. He had slept, and slept deeply.

–Railing–

He sat up quickly and looked around. A voice, calling his name, but it wasn’t the aeriads. This voice was deep and resonated with distant thunder and the roll of the earth in a quake. It took him only a moment to find the source. A monstrous tree loomed over him, all gnarled and studded with boles, its limbs so broad they seemed to have forced the surrounding trees to fall back in deference. There was a surreal aspect to this tree, as if it had come from another world or another plane of existence, a creature alien and unknowable. Its trunk was black, but streaked with tinges of orange, and the green of its leaves ranged from bright emerald to the darkest jade. Even in the windless silence of the morning, its canopy shivered softly.

It was the tanequil. The aeriads had brought him to it, and Grianne, for all her protestations and warnings, had not denied him his chance.

He sat up slowly, discovering as he did so that there were tiny roots clutching at him, slender tendrils attached to his body and limbs. He looked down at them in wonder. Had they sprouted while he slept? How could they have managed to do that in so short a time?

In his mind, he heard his name spoken once more.

–Railing–

But the voice was more distant now, less clear—as if the communication had frayed or the distance between them increased.

“Tanequil?” he replied.

Nothing. He waited, but there was no response. What was he doing wrong? The aeriads had responded quickly enough; there had been no problem communicating with them. Why was the tree not answering him?

He lowered his hands to the ground for leverage as he prepared to stand. But the minute he did so, the tiny roots began wrapping about him anew, entwining his fingers and wrists, their feathery touch strangely compelling.

–Railing–

The voice was strong again, clear and precise in his mind. It was speaking to him through the roots, he realized. He kept his hands where they were and remained kneeling so that the roots could continue to make contact with him.

Then, on an inspired whim, he spoke the tree’s name in the silence of his mind.

–Tanequil–

The answer was instantaneous.

–Railing. What do you require of me–

The boy could hardly contain his excitement.

–Grianne Ohmsford’s freedom. She must come back with me into the Four Lands. It is a chance to save my brother. A chance to save everyone–

Quickly he blurted it out in chaotic, disorderly fashion, facts mingling with emotions, details interwoven with pleas. He revealed the whole of what he was seeking, sparing nothing of himself and his doubts and fears, opening up in a way he had not done before, not even with Mirai. His thoughts passed through his mind in a rush; he could not seem to help himself. Everything burst forth from where it crowded together and found its way to the tanequil in a stream of raw emotion.

When he had finished, he was exhausted from the effort. The tree was silent for a long time. Railing, waiting impatiently, wondered if he had done enough or too much. He couldn’t be certain; his perspective was skewed and his nerves rubbed raw.

–Mother Tanequil commands the aeriads. They belong to her and answer only to her–

Mother Tanequil? What is the tree talking about?

–But you’re the tanequil, aren’t you? Are you female? I thought you were male–

–I am both. My trunk, my branches, my leaves are male. I am Father Tanequil. My roots, grown deep into the earth are female. I am also Mother Tanequil–

Railing struggled with the concept.

–But aren’t they one and the same? Aren’t the two joined together? Do you not think and act as one–

–We are one, but we are separate, too. The aeriads serve Mother Tanequil. She must decide if one of them is to be released. Have you brought an offering in exchange for your request–

The boy took a deep, uncertain breath. He had been dreading this moment.

–No–

–Nothing–

–Nothing should be required. If my request is denied, the whole of the Four Lands will be overrun with the demons released from the Forbidding and everything and everyone will perish. You would be at risk, too–

The tree seemed to consider. Its roots stopped their caressing, and its leaves ceased their shivering.

–I am never at risk. Things that are mortal cannot destroy the Faerie–

–But you would be left in a world filled with evil beings seeking ways to destroy you or possess you or dominate you. This can’t be something you want–

–Evil has tried to dominate us before. Evil has tried to destroy your kind before. You always survive–

Railing was furious.

–But it doesn’t have to happen! It can be prevented if Grianne Ohmsford comes with me–

–Mother Tanequil will decide–

Railing sat back on his heels and tried to think of another argument he could make. But he had talked himself out, and he sensed that the tree did not want to hear more.

–Do I need to go to her? Do I need to speak with her–

–She hears what I hear. She knows what you want and is deciding. She chooses to help you or not. You must wait–

–I will not give up, even if she chooses not to help me–

It was a bold statement, born of frustration and a need to make clear that he would accept only one answer. He spoke with a creature thousands of years old, a creature of Faerie and of the world’s beginning, but he could not let that frighten him.

The tanequil’s deep rumble was restrained and even. –You are reckless and foolish. You act without thinking. What you need is not what you seek–

What does that mean? Haven’t I made my needs clear?

–If she chooses to help, Mother Tanequil will give you what you need, though perhaps not what you want–

Railing stared at the tree, confused. How could there be a difference? He started to say something, to ask for an explanation that would dispel his confusion and a rising sense of doubt. But the tendrils that caressed his hands and limbs were withdrawing.

–Return to the bridge–

The touching ceased, and the links of communication were broken. Railing remained where he was, arms at his sides, hands against the earth, staring up at the tanequil. Speak to me, he willed it. Don’t leave me.

But the tree had finished with him. There would be no more talking. After long minutes, he got to his feet again, trying to decide what he should do. Should he return to the bridge as the tree had ordered, or should he remain where he was in case it chose to speak to him further?

–Come–

The aeriads were making the choice for him. He hesitated a moment, and then he turned in the direction of their voices and reluctantly walked away.

Once, when Redden and he were small, they had walked into the Duln from Patch Run without telling their mother. They had been forbidden to do this, but they were wild and reckless even then, and such admonitions seldom deterred them once they had decided on a course of action. They were looking for a werecot—a small and very rare animal that had been seen in the forests surrounding their home perhaps twice in the last hundred years. This did not trouble them. If someone else had seen a werecot, they would see it, too.

So off they went on an adventure, but they managed to go much deeper into the Duln than they had intended and soon were lost. This might have frightened other boys, but it was of no particular concern to them. After all, they had the use of the wishsong, and they knew that if they were really in trouble, the magic would come to their aid. What they had failed to consider, however, was that magic doesn’t necessarily solve all your problems. In this instance, they could not figure out how to use it to find a way out of the forest. So they wandered for most of the day, trying to rescue themselves and failing, and it was nearing nightfall when they finally stumbled clear of the woods, miles from where they had started out.

Remembering this, it occurred to him that what was happening here was very like what had happened in the Duln when he and Redden were boys. He was discovering all over again that there were limits to what magic could do. Not just the wishsong, but other magic, as well. These limits were defined by the nature of the magic, but also by the character of the user. The tanequil, though it had the power to help him by using its magic to free Grianne, might not have the inclination to use that magic.

It also occurred to him that this was the longest period of time that he and Redden had ever been separated.

When he arrived back at the bridge just after sunset, he slowed to a stop and stood staring out across the ravine to where he had left the others. There was no sign of them, not from where he was standing. He was certain they were there, however. What he was less certain about was whether he was ready to face them. A part of him wanted to remain where he was, waiting to see what would happen with Grianne, hoping against hope that the tanequil would grant his request and set her free, at least long enough to come back and help his brother. Another part of him felt he should cross over and tell the others what had transpired and face up to the strong possibility he had failed and this entire expedition had been for nothing.

–Cross–

Once again, the decision was made for him. The aeriads whispered the word in the still evening air, and without even pausing to think about doing otherwise, Railing Ohmsford walked to the stone arch and began to climb the steps leading to its broad span. He had gotten halfway across when he saw Mirai jump up from the bench on which she had been sitting to give him an encouraging wave. He saw Skint and Challa Nand, too, all of them on their feet and moving toward him.

He made himself return the Highland girl’s greeting, trying to look encouraging and feeling anything but.

“What happened?” Mirai asked as soon as he was standing in front of her once more. “Did you find her?”

He was grateful for her restraint. She hadn’t tried to hug or kiss him in front of the other two. She was keeping her voice level and direct. If she was excited or anxious, she wasn’t showing it.

“I found her. She’s alive. But she won’t come back.” He paused. “She’s an aeriad. She serves the tanequil, so really it’s the tree who makes the decision about what’s going to happen next.”

Mirai stared. “The tree is deciding what she will do?”

Close enough, Railing thought. “I spoke to it. I made all the arguments. I gave all the reasons. But I don’t know. It didn’t seem persuaded. If anything, it seemed reluctant. It kept telling me that even if it decided to grant my request, I wasn’t going to get what I wanted. I don’t know what that means.”

But he was thinking that it was surprisingly close to what the King of the Silver River had told him, and he wondered if that might be a harbinger.

“But she’s still alive? She could actually return with us?” Skint shook his head. “I would never have believed it. Not really. Even though I came on this journey with you, Railing Ohmsford. Even though.”

“She isn’t here yet,” Challa Nand mumbled.

Mirai took hold of Railing by his shoulders and turned him so they were facing each other. “You did what you could. You couldn’t have done more.”

He smiled bitterly. “I could have tried harder.”

They sat down together on the stone benches and talked about it for a while longer. Railing filled in the details, even the ones that were so painful he could barely speak of them—the tanequil’s seeming indifference to the fate of the Four Lands, Grianne’s deep commitment to her life as a spirit of the air that precluded disobedience to the tree—because it seemed to lessen the hurt he was feeling when he did so.

They were quiet for a time after that. Skint wandered off to study the walls of the gardens. Challa Nand stretched out on one of the benches and fell asleep.

Mirai moved over to sit close to him. “I am proud of you, Railing,” she said. “Proud of you for trying. Proud of you for risking so much to see if there was something that could be done. If it doesn’t work out the way you want it to, I want you to know that I will still stay with you until we find Redden and bring him home. No matter what.”

It was exactly what he had needed to hear, and his relief was so strong that he couldn’t manage a reply. He only barely managed to keep from crying.

So they sat in the gardens of Stridegate and waited for something to happen. Dusk deepened into night, and more than once Railing thought just to go and be done with it. Grianne wasn’t coming, they were wasting their time hoping she would, and the matter was decided. He kept waiting for one of the others to suggest they leave, but none of them did. They simply waited with him, staying silent, their thoughts kept to themselves.

The stars were twinkling brightly overhead when Mirai, standing a few yards off, said softly, “Railing?”

He glanced over and saw that she was staring at the bridge. He leapt up at once.

A figure was crossing the high span, moving slowly and deliberately toward them. Hooded and cloaked, its features were concealed in the dark, but Railing felt a surge of excitement. It could only be one person. Grianne Ohmsford.

They watched her come, all four of them clustered together by now, measuring her progress as she made her way toward them, her footsteps painfully slow, her efforts extreme. Her garments were old and frayed, the ends ragged and the fabric tattered. In the moonlight, she had a spectral look to her—as if she were one of night’s shadows, a wraith come out of the darkness. For just an instant, Railing wondered if she might be no more than a shade and that this was what the tanequil had been trying to tell him, but he dismissed the idea as absurd. Why would she return to him as a shade? She was still alive, wasn’t she?

But as the figure drew closer, he saw that something was seriously wrong. In the look and the walk and the posture—everything was just slightly skewed from what it should have been. He exchanged an uneasy glance with Mirai. She saw it, too.

The figure came to a stop in front of them.

“She released me, Railing. I am here for you.”

Grianne Ohmsford pulled back the hood, and the four standing in front of her recoiled in shock. Her face was ravaged by age and time so that she seemed more a haggard crone than simply an older woman, more skeleton than flesh and blood. Her features were twisted and hard, her hair white and stringy, and her skin devoid of color, washed of all but a faint gray cast. Her hands and arms, where they were revealed, were withered and spotted. She was—it was apparent, even within the cloaking—no more than a shadow of the woman she had been, and that shadow only a single step from the grave that must already be reaching out to claim her.

But it was the eyes that told Railing everything he needed to know about who she was and what the tanequil had been trying to warn him of. Her eyes were filled with a hatred and rage that ran so deep, it had no bottom. They glittered with the intensity of it, and in that glitter there was the promise of pain and suffering. There was inexorable purpose.

What you need is not what you seek.

“You have me back,” she hissed at him. “What do you intend to do with me?”

It wasn’t Grianne Ohmsford that Mother Tanequil had returned to him.

It was the Ilse Witch.