Witch Wraith

Twenty-three

After departing the village home of Sora and Aquinel, the Ellcrys seed recovered and their quest for the Bloodfire back under way, the Elessedil sisters and Cymrian reboarded their Sprint. With darkness already well advanced, they flew for a few more hours, then camped for the night on the edge of the Drey Wood. And the following morning, they lifted away for the still-distant country of the Wilderun. They flew south through the remainder of the day past the last of Drey Wood and angled west over the Matted Breaks. Through the drifting clouds, they caught glimpses of the rock towers of the Pykon looming in the distance in solitary splendor. Dark and forbidding, they had seen centuries come and go, cities and governments rise and fall, and changes of all kinds in the world about them, and still they endured.

It was written in the Druid Histories that Amberle Elessedil had come this way centuries ago on a similar search, passing down through Drey Wood, the Matted Breaks, and the Pykon, as well. All who had come with her had been killed protecting her—all but the Valeman Wil Ohmsford. It made her think on Redden and Railing. She wondered if the latter had gone looking for his brother yet. She wondered if his brother was lost to him, as she feared Arling might be lost to her. She wondered, finally, if the twins—or even one of them—might in some way prove to be Arling’s protector as their ancestor had proved to be Amberle’s. She remembered that Allanon’s shade had told Khyber Elessedil at the Hadeshorn that an Ohmsford must come with the Druids on their search for the Elfstones—that having one along would prove essential to their success. But there had been no success, and it made her think that perhaps no Ohmsford would stand as a protector of her sister and that everything would be different this time.

Farther on, they caught sight of the silver thread of the Mermidon winding through foothills north of the Rock Spur and followed the course of the river until it disappeared into the mountains themselves. They flew on after that across the broad, rugged span of the Rock Spur—a sprawling mass of jagged peaks and deep valleys into which the emerging sun barely penetrated. In spite of the morning’s clouds, the midday sun was bright and welcoming as they passed beyond the mountains.

By early evening, they were entering the valley of the Wilderun just east of the town of Grimpen Ward. All three knew of Grimpen Ward’s reputation, and none of them thought it a good idea to spend the night there. On the other hand, continuing on deeper into the Wilderun and attempting to locate the Bloodfire with darkness likely to fall long before they were finished was not an attractive option. So they decided to find a suitable place to camp for the night and then set out again at dawn to complete their search.

They landed in a clearing within the deep forests of the Wilderun, not far from the Rock Spur. The shadows cast by the huge old growth were already darkening the pale light that penetrated the canopy of branches—a clear signal that, when night approached, it would be on them quickly.

“I’m going to use the Elfstones,” Aphenglow announced to the other two, once the three of them had climbed down from the airship. “We need to make certain we are on the right track before we go any farther. But I won’t do it now; I’ll wait until morning.”

Neither Arling nor Cymrian said anything in response. They all understood that use of the magic might draw unwanted attention—a constant risk when the Elfstones were employed. But this place was as remote as any they were likely to find far away from Arishaig and the other major Southland cities. They had to confirm both the exact location of the Bloodfire and the possibility of wards that might interfere with their efforts in reaching it. There had been nothing in the various histories they read that revealed either, but they couldn’t rely on writings alone.

They unloaded gear and supplies for eating and sleeping, and Aphen set about building a fire. Cymrian said he wanted to have a look around to be certain they had chosen a safe enough spot, and then he moved off into the trees.

Arling began unrolling blankets and setting out food and drink. As she carried in wood for a fire, Aphen glanced repeatedly at her sister, wondering what she was thinking. On her third trip, she walked over and sat down next to her.

“How is my brave sister?” she asked.

Arling smiled. “Well enough. Better than I was before we got the Ellcrys seed back.”

“We were lucky the task wasn’t more difficult. Good thing we had the Elfstones to find it for us.”

Arling didn’t respond, but instead busied herself with removing supplies from their containers. She had an unreadable look on her face, as if whatever she was thinking confused her. Aphen waited long minutes before speaking again.

“I wish we could take back everything that’s happening and make it go away,” she said finally.

Her sister nodded. “But we can’t.”

“We can keep trying.”

Arling looked up at her and smiled. “You don’t need to. I know what’s going to happen.”

Aphen felt a surge of panic. “I don’t think you should—”

“Let’s stop pretending, you and I,” Arling interrupted. “If we find the Bloodfire and immerse the Ellcrys seed, the matter of what happens afterward is decided. There aren’t any choices. There aren’t any miracles that can change things. There never were. I think I knew it the moment the Ellcrys gave me her seed. She was so certain I was the one; it had to be me, she insisted. I kept telling her I wasn’t right for this, that I couldn’t do it. But she knew me better than I knew myself.”

She paused. “When I was in Arishaig, down in the streets of the city, I was trying to escape, running anywhere I could think to run. But everyone else was doing the same thing. They were trying to escape, too. Not from Edinja, of course; from the demonkind attacking their city. But it was the same thing. Our fear of what was going to happen was the same. I could feel what they were feeling; I was sharing the rawness of it. But I knew something they didn’t. I knew I could save us all, just by doing what I had been asked.

“Then later when we flew out of the city on our Sprint and I was looking down at the walls, I could see the Federation soldiers fighting and dying. I saw all those men and women struggling to survive against creatures that had no regard for them at all, and I pictured in my mind what that would look like if those people were my own—if it were Elves that were down there. I thought about what it would be like if it were Arborlon under siege rather than Arishaig.”

She took a deep breath. “And it will be Arborlon if nothing is done, won’t it, Aphen? Unless someone prevents it? Unless I prevent it because, really, there isn’t anyone else, is there? We don’t have time to find someone else; we don’t even know where to begin to look unless one of the other Chosen volunteers to replace me. And that’s not going to happen. None of it is going to happen.”

Aphen stared at her, stunned. “You’ve decided to do what the Ellcrys wants? Everything?”

Arling nodded. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Because I know how all those people in Arishaig felt, when they saw their own deaths coming. There were thousands of them, Aphen! And there will be millions more. I can’t live with that. Not knowing I can do something about it. I don’t care what the cost is anymore; I have to do whatever I can to put a stop to this. No more excuses. No more delays. No more false hopes. I’m the one.”

“But you’ve been so determined not to … to let this …”

“I was wrong. I was selfish. I was thinking only of myself and not of anyone else.” She brushed back her dark hair. “When the Ellcrys began telling me of her life, of how she had witnessed so much of the world’s history, of how she had been there steadfast and determined, the sole barrier between the world of the demonkind and our own, I found myself admiring her. Even though I didn’t want to do what she was asking—didn’t want to be her—I understood the immense importance of what she was doing. Without her, the entire Four Lands would be in chaos. We would be at war constantly with the creatures she shut away—just as we were in the time of Faerie. She was the one who prevented that.

“So I began to change my mind. Gradually, perhaps without even realizing it, until all at once I saw that maybe I was wrong; maybe I would have to do this. At Arishaig, caught up in the middle of the fighting and the killing, running in fear amid all the others … I knew. I was certain. It took me until now to say this to you. But it needs saying before we reach the Bloodfire and I do what I must to save the Ellcrys from extinction.”

Aphen was in tears. “Arling …”

“I can do it now, Aphen. I can become her. I can make myself …”

She was in tears now, too. Aphen reached out and pulled her close. She tried to find something to say that would express what she was feeling, but she couldn’t find the words. Instead, she just closed her eyes and held her sister and let Arling hold her in return.

They were still locked in a tight embrace when Cymrian reappeared, coming out of the trees and walking toward them. He didn’t say anything. He just walked past them and went over to the airship, climbed into the cockpit, and began working on something, giving them the time and space to be alone.

When Aphenglow finally broke the embrace she continued to grip her sister by her shoulders, their faces close, their eyes locked. She held her sister’s gaze. “I will be with you every step of the way, Arling. I will be with you no matter what.”

Her sister smiled. “I never thought you wouldn’t.”

They ate their dinner seated about the campfire, the sun going down and night’s darkness sliding in to take its place. The skies were clear and bright with stars, and the forest about them was still. They spoke in low voices so as not to disturb the silence, speaking of small, unimportant things. There was no need to talk about what was going to happen on the morrow; what they needed now was to reaffirm the sense of closeness and confidence they had in each other. Talking made them feel better. It helped to chase back fears and doubts; it helped to instill in them a welcome sense of peace.

Yet still, Aphen dreamed of home and of strange images of the Ellcrys tree, its silver branches reaching for her, its scarlet leaves shimmering. She was trying to leave the gardens, to turn away from the tree, but she could not manage it. She struggled as the branches closed around her arms and then abruptly began to change into fingers and hands and arms. The tree became a girl, and the girl became Arlingfant, and she was begging Aphen to stay with her, to keep her company for all time—holding her fast, refusing to let her go, even after she panicked and screamed and was enclosed in an impenetrable black haze …

When she woke, she did not mention the dream to her sister. The day was cloudy and gray as they ate a small breakfast, and Aphen said little as they ate, thinking instead of what they were doing and what it would mean when they were done. She still hadn’t given up hope that a way might be found to absolve Arling from responsibility for the rebirth of the Ellcrys, although by now she had come to see that her hopes were growing dim and Arling’s chances small.

Impulsively, after they finished their meal and began to dispose of its leavings, she went over to her sister and hugged her close, saying softly in her ear, “I love you, little girl.”

The first drops of rain were just beginning to fall as Aphen stood in the center of the clearing with the Elfstones nestled in her hand. She used the images of fire burning underground in rock surroundings and of an arm extending the Ellcrys seed toward the flames to trigger the magic’s release. The response from the Stones was immediate. Sudden brightness surged through the cracks between her fingers with an unexpectedly sharp flaring of blue light—one that caused her makeshift image to shatter instantly and then vanish. In the dark emptiness left, the Elfstone magic formed into a tight line and raced southward through the heavy forests of the Wilderun, carrying Aphenglow with it. Curving through miles of ancient trees and vast patches of grasses and scrub, over fallen logs and broken branches, and across steams and ponds, it continued until it reached the edge of the Hollows and the spindled pinnacle of Spire’s Reach.

Aphen had studied these landmarks on her maps after reading the Druid Histories that revealed the Wilderun as the source of the Bloodfire, so she recognized what she was looking at, even without yet knowing exactly where the magic was taking her.

Where it took her was down into the murky forested depths of the Hollows to the base of Spire’s Reach. An opening in the rock revealed the entrance to a cave, and within that was a maze of tunnels, winding this way and that, crisscrossing and dead-ending all through the riven rock of the tower, until at last she found herself at a set of stairs surrounded not by cavern rock but by stone blocks shaped and set in place by mortal hands. The stairs descended hundreds of feet deeper into the earth, ending at a massive cavern opening. Huge columns braced the ceiling and stone benches, some whole, some broken, spread outward like ripples in a lake from a broad platform positioned at the exact center of the chamber.

Aphen thought the vision would end here, but it didn’t. Instead, the blue light continued on across the room to a huge stone door that stood ajar, and beyond to yet another set of stairs leading farther down.

This time her downward journey ended much more quickly, and the light revealed a fresh passageway, leading to a second great cavern. This one was not constructed of stone blocks and columns, but carved out of the earth by nature and time, its walls and ceiling and floors ragged and broken and cracked. Sweeping across the floor of this chamber, the light illuminated a wall of huge boulders and shattered rock.

At its center, a portal formed of glass glistened in the magic’s bright light, flat and perfectly centered on an opening.

Then the vision was gone.

Aphen took a moment to lower her hand and slip the Elfstones back into their pouch.

“I saw nothing of hidden dangers,” Cymrian announced. His white hair glistened with rain, and his face was water-streaked. “Did you?”

She shook her head. “Which doesn’t mean there aren’t any.”

“Why would anyone make a door out of glass in a cavern deep underground?” Arling wanted to know, looking from one to the other. “What would be the point?”

Aphen didn’t know. “Perhaps this is another instance of us not recognizing what we’re being shown. Like with the waterfall in the Fangs that turned out to be only a screen of light.” She felt uneasy just talking about it, but hid her discomfort with a smile. “Shall we find out?”

They packed up their camp and climbed back aboard the Sprint. Moments later they lifted off, gained sufficient altitude to put them well above the trees, and began flying south into the mist and gloom of the Wilderun.

They set a course that took them toward the center of the valley, and after a few hours they caught sight of Spire’s Reach. Its rock tower was at first no more than a vague outline in the curtains of brume, distant and indistinct. But within the hour, they had drawn near enough that they could make out its rugged features. By then the earlier drizzle had turned into a steady downpour and the day had become black and threatening. Fighting wind and rain, they huddled in the Sprint’s narrow cockpit, their cloaks wrapped close about them, their shoulders hunched and heads lowered.

Aphen was piloting, hands moving swiftly over the controls in an effort to keep their flight smooth and steady. She was thinking it would be nice if she could stop being wet all the time, that it seemed as if she was never dry anymore when she was in the air, only cold and damp.

But it was what it was, and within the next half hour they had reached their destination, sweeping past the craggy heights of Spire’s Reach and then swinging back again while searching the entire base of the pinnacle. It was Cymrian who saw what he believed to be the opening in the rock they were looking for while they were making their second pass, and on bringing the Sprint down for a closer look, Aphen was inclined to agree.

They landed not far away, setting down in a grassy flat at the base of the peak. They took a moment to prepare before disembarking. Cymrian added a few more weapons to his arsenal, Arling handed out waterskins, and then they set out to look for the entrance into the base of Spire’s Reach.

They found it quickly, and it was immediately recognizable to Aphenglow as the opening the Elfstone magic had revealed. Cymrian had brought along a trio of smokeless torches he had found aboard the Sprint; he handed one to each of the sisters and kept the third.

“Let me take the lead,” Aphen said. “That way I can make sure we are going in the right direction.”

Aphen wasn’t entirely sure that she remembered the right direction, but she pretended she did. Cymrian was back in his protector mode, if indeed he had ever left it, the best trained of the three in any case should they encounter trouble. But she had use of the Elfstones, and their magic would prove to be the more formidable weapon in almost any situation.

So they passed through the opening, leaving the rain and the forest behind, and found themselves in chilly darkness. Aphen led with Arling following her and Cymrian acting as rearguard. Their torches cast hazy, narrow beams into the gloom to reveal a rough-hewn entry chamber and a maze of tunnels leading away from it. After brushing the rain from their cloaks and giving Cymrian a moment to search for any sign of hidden traps and snares, Aphen chose the passageway she believed the Elfstones had revealed in their vision and the three companions set out.

They walked for a long time through the tunnels without reaching an end. Aphen was surprised to discover she remembered almost all the twists and turns she was meant to take. Only once was she required to employ the Elfstones to reassure herself she was making was the right choice. The rest of the time her memory was good enough that using the Elfstones wasn’t necessary.

Even so, she was carrying them in her hand now, ready to help Cymrian if matters suddenly turned dangerous. They had come so far and gone through so much that she was not about to let anything stop them now.

It was this determination that led her to reflect on the fact she was leading her sister to the very fate she had promised to save her from. She could pretend otherwise, could say she was only doing what they had all agreed on and what Arling herself had decided, but the end result would be the same. When they reached the Bloodfire and the Ellcrys seed was immersed, Arling’s future was as certain as the rising of the sun. She would become the Ellcrys and cease to be human.

And Aphenglow would have helped bring that about.

She sensed this was wrong—a twinge of recognition amid all the thoughts and deliberations on why it was both right and necessary. She sensed it even while telling herself she shouldn’t. It made her want to turn around and go back in spite of everything that insisted she do otherwise. It made her want to abandon reason and resignation and give in to the white-hot mix of emotions she was experiencing.

The guilt that tore at her deep inside.

The despair that filled her at the thought of losing Arling forever.

Turn back. Give up on all this.

They reached the opening to the stairway leading down into the earth, and with her emotions still roiling and her feet moving as if of their own accord, she started down. They heard no sounds other than the ones they were making as they walked. No one had spoken since they had set out. There was a disconnect among the three, as if they were strangers on a journey that could not be discussed and was being undertaken for reasons that were not entirely clear.

At one point, Aphen found herself in tears and was forced to wipe them away surreptitiously, to muffle the sobs that kept rising in her throat.

Their descent continued for a long time. They traversed hundreds of steps, perhaps thousands. She lost track of time. She only knew to keep going, to place one foot in front of the other and try not to think about what she was doing—the first an endless struggle, the second a hopeless task. She did it because she knew there was no other choice now and because she had lost the will to resist. Her fate was inescapable. She was her sister’s guide and accomplice both; she would be the source of both her salvation and her undoing.

At the bottom of the steps was a passageway, and they followed it to a huge chamber constructed of stone blocks and supported by massive columns within which ancient benches spiraled out from the raised platform at the chamber’s center. The cavernous space smelled and tasted of stale, damp air. Large pieces of it lay in ruins. Together the Elves navigated its debris and crossed to the dais and from there to the massive stone door Aphen had described. It stood ajar, just as it had in her Elfstone vision, and they slipped through its opening to where a short set of additional steps descended to another passageway.

At the end of this new passageway was the second cavern, this one very different from the one they had just left—a rock chamber formed by nature’s hand, carved out over endless amounts of time, rugged and damp with moisture. Huge stalactites hung from the ceiling in clusters, stone spears poised to impale should they fall. Chunks of broken stone lay scattered about the uneven floor, the leavings of earlier formations that had already given way and shattered.

The Elves glanced around, searching the gloom with the glow of their torches.

Then Cymrian called out and pointed, and all three focused their lights on a glass door set into the far wall between a pair of towering boulders, its smooth surface rising to where a rippling dampness higher up revealed a steady flow of water.

“That door isn’t glass,” the Elven Hunter said after a moment’s study. “It isn’t even a door. It’s a sheet of water.”

Aphen saw it, too. The supposed door was actually a thin, smooth screen of water that spilled from a trough in a curtain so still it barely shimmered at all.

“The Bloodfire is there,” Arling said suddenly, pointing at the opening. She took a step away from the other two. “Beyond the waterfall, inside that opening. I can feel it now, tugging at me. It senses the presence of the Ellcrys seed.”

She took another step away. “I have to go to it.”

“Not without me,” Aphen said at once, and started after her.

But her sister held up her hands. “No, Aphen, I have to go alone. I have to do this by myself. I want you to wait for me here. You and Cymrian both.”

Aphen started to object, but then saw the determination mirrored in her sister’s eyes and thought better of it. Of course she has to go alone. Of course she has to do this by herself. She understands the importance of finding the strength she needs to carry this through. She knows how hard it will be, and because she knows she will face it on her own terms and prove to herself that she is ready.

“Aphen?” her sister whispered.

Cymrian was looking at her, waiting to see what he should do. “All right,” she said finally. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Arling turned, crossed the chamber to where the waterfall waited, ducked through its thin curtain without a backward glance, and was gone.