by Terry Brooks
“Better now, eh?” Farshaun said to Railing, who nodded absently.
Skint left them without a word, moving over to the bar. A few minutes later, he was back with tankards of ale. “Get a little of this inside you. Our man will be over in a moment.”
They sat drinking the ale, waiting. Railing wanted to ask something more about the man they were supposed to be meeting—Challa Nand—so that he would have some idea of what he was like. But Skint had said nothing about the prospective guide earlier and he offered nothing now. So at this point, it seemed better to hold his tongue and let matters unfold.
Suddenly Skint straightened in his seat. “Here he comes. Let me do the talking,” he said, the words so soft that Railing almost didn’t hear.
A huge Troll was coming toward them, winding his way through the closely bunched tables as if unconcerned whether he avoided them or knocked them over. The occupants of the tables he passed were quick to move aside, either out of courtesy or to avoid being crushed; it was hard to tell which. Challa Nand wasn’t just big. At three hundred pounds or more, and topping out at just under seven feet, he was huge. The bark-like skin and blunted features were a familiar sight, but it was the man’s build that was more impressive. Railing was willing to bet that there wasn’t an ounce of fat amid all that muscle. Challa Nand looked as if he could pick up any table in the room—occupants and all—and fling it out the door.
He reached them and sat down at the end of the bench next to Skint, who quickly made room for him. He dark gaze passed over all three men before settling on the Gnome Tracker. “What do you need of me?”
He spoke the Southland dialect that had become commonplace during the last century, his voice a deep rumble, harsh and jagged about the edges. Railing tried to stop staring at him and failed.
“We need a guide into the Charnals,” Skint replied. He seemed calm enough sitting next to the Troll, who looked to be three times his size. “Into country not many know or dare to go.”
“Where, exactly?”
“The ruins of Stridegate.”
A rough chuckle. “Urda country. Why would you go there? Never mind, don’t tell me that. I don’t need to know. Stridegate. That’s inside the Inkrim.” He glanced at Railing and Farshaun. “Just the three of you?”
“We have a ship. A crew of Rovers. Two other passengers.”
“A warship?”
“No, but she’s well protected.”
“She’ll need to be. That’s dangerous country even for men who know it, which I’m guessing you don’t. Deep inside the Klu, which are deep inside the Charnals.” He shook his massive head. “An old man, a skinny Gnome, and a boy. Are the rest any better suited to this than you?”
Without waiting for a response, he took Skint’s tankard of ale and drained it. “You should get us another round, don’t you think?”
Skint glared at him but complied. The Troll watched him go, then turned to Railing. “There’s something about you—I sensed it right away—and it troubles me. I can’t put my finger on it, though. You don’t look very impressive, but there’s something there, right enough. Where do you come from, boy? What’s your name?”
Railing flushed at the assessment, his irritation at being addressed so bluntly almost getting the better of him. “Railing Ohmsford. From the village of Patch Run on the Rainbow Lake.”
The Troll studied him. “Never heard of Patch Run, but your name is familiar. Why do I know it?”
Railing met his dark gaze without flinching but said nothing. Why should he tell this creature anything?
Skint returned with the tankards of ale. Challa Nand took all four from him, pushed one at Farshaun, one at the Gnome, and kept the other two for himself. Railing’s face darkened further.
“You think me bold?” Challa Nand shrugged. “Let me tell you something, Railing Ohmsford. I am a big, strong man. You can see as much. I get what I want most of the time because of my size and strength. There’s not much reason for me to worry. But every now and then, something or someone comes along who, for one reason or another, is my match. Early on, I didn’t sense it the way I do now. I’ve learned to look for it, though. I’ve learned not to rely too strongly on size and strength, not to take it for granted that my physical gifts will see me through. Knowing your limitations is important in this world.”
He drank from his tankard of ale. Then he pushed the second tankard toward Railing. “I sense those limitations now, with you. You have magic, don’t you? Magic strong enough that you don’t see any real need to be afraid of me. What form does it take?”
Railing hesitated, then reached out and accepted the tankard. “It’s called a wishsong. I can use my voice to reshape and manipulate physical things. It runs in my family.”
The Troll glanced at Skint for confirmation and got a nod in reply. “Ohmsford,” he repeated, and suddenly his face changed. “Grianne Ohmsford?”
“My great-aunt.”
He nodded slowly. “The Ilse Witch. What’s going on here? Why are you making this journey?”
“You said you didn’t need to know,” Railing shot back.
“I didn’t need to then. I do now. Your name changes everything. If you want my services, you’d better tell me the truth.”
Railing and Skint exchanged glances. “Up to you,” the Tracker said to him.
Railing thought about it a moment. If Skint thought they needed this man as their guide, there wasn’t much choice. Certainly, the Troll looked able enough. Besides, if he were in the other’s shoes, he would want to know, too.
But that didn’t mean he needed to know everything.
So he told Challa Nand that they were searching for Grianne Ohmsford’s remains—that when she left the Druid order she went into the Charnals, carrying with her a powerful talisman the Druids would pay well for if it were recovered and brought to them. He told it all with a straight face, trying to avoid embellishments, knowing that reticence would serve him better in persuading the Troll to their cause. He said nothing of the collapse of the Forbidding or the threat to the Four Lands from the creatures imprisoned within. He said nothing of his brother’s imprisonment. He knew that if he did there would be no stopping, no place where he could cut it off without telling it all. A story based on the promise of money for services rendered would fly better with a man like this.
Except that when he was finished, Challa Nand just laughed, his booming voice causing heads everywhere to turn in surprise. “If even half of that is the truth, I’m a Spider Gnome’s twin!” He shook his head. “But maybe in your place I wouldn’t want to be too open about things, either. Not even to your guide—even though your guide could choose to abandon you somewhere you could never find your way out of if he became displeased.” He paused meaningfully. “So where does that leave us, huh?” He looked at Skint. “What’s my pay for this fool’s errand?”
“A hundred gold pieces and anything you find along the way that catches your fancy save what we are looking for.” The Tracker eyed him. “You get the gold now.”
“A carrot on a stick? I like you, Skint, but I know you too well to trust you. Still, the offer is a good one, even not knowing what I am letting myself in for. So. We can fly in—get through the Charnals, the Klu, the Inkrim, and right up to Stridegate. It won’t be easy and won’t be safe, but you must know that already. There are Urdas and Gnome raiders. There are worse things, too—and if they bring down your ship, that’s probably the end of us. Well, not necessarily for me, but almost certainly for you.”
“You would abandon us if that happened?” Railing demanded.
The big Troll leaned forward. “I might if you fail to tell me the truth somewhere along the way. I’ll risk myself up to a certain point, but not for people who don’t trust me. Are we clear about this?”
Railing took a deep breath and nodded. “If I tell you the truth at some point, will you stick with us to the end?”
“If I decide the truth merits it? Yes. If not, I will ask you to set down a
nd let me off and you will be on your own. Of course, you can ride the back of that particular current as long as you choose. You are master of your own fate in this business, Railing Ohmsford, scion of the Ilse Witch. Just know that I am big and strong but not stupid.”
He brought his tankard to his lips and drained it. “We’re done for now. Come back for me in the morning. Right here. Bring the gold. As soon as I’ve seen to its safety, we’ll set out.”
He set down the tankard and got to his feet. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourselves into, but I doubt it.” He gave a Railing a look. “You’d better be good at using that magic of yours.” He stretched. “I’m off to bed.”
He lumbered across the room and out the door. Railing, still feeling combative from the confrontation, was surprised to find that, in spite of everything, he rather liked Challa Nand.
Though it was hard to explain exactly why.
They were on their way back to the Quickening when the boy remembered the offer Skint had made. “Where did you get a hundred gold pieces?”
Skint’s wizened face tightened further. “From him.”
He pointed at Farshaun, who shrugged. “It’s only coin, and coin can always be replaced. We can’t replace Redden, though.” He put a hand on Railing’s shoulder. “He’s worth it, isn’t he? Your brother? He’s worth more than that to me. You’re family, after all, and we Rovers look out for one another.”
Railing was momentarily speechless. A hundred pieces of gold was a lot of coin. “Thank you, Farshaun. I never even thought about having to pay.”
The old man nodded. “Good thing I’m here, then.” He glanced over at Skint. “That Troll had better be worth it, though.”
The Gnome hunched his shoulders against the rain. “More than worth it. You’ll see.”
Railing kept silent. He was back to thinking about the secrets he was keeping and the deceptions and manipulations he had employed as a result. He felt ashamed of himself, that he could not make himself trust his closest friends. But not ashamed enough that he was persuaded to change his mind and tell them the truth.
Not when it might mean turning back.
They walked the rest of the way with their heads lowered and the rain sheeting down.
Three
That night, Railing dreamed of Mirai.
He wondered afterward why he didn’t dream of Redden. Virtually every waking thought he had was of his brother and what was needed to get him back, so it made little sense that his dreams should be of Mirai. He was troubled by her renewed interest in Austrum, but not as troubled as he was about his twin.
Yet she was the one he dreamed of that night.
They were walking across a field, holding hands and talking. They were deeply in love, and the look in their eyes reflected their commitment to each other. Ahead, a stretch of woods loomed in dark relief against a bright, sunshine-splashed sky. Railing was aware of the forest, but not afraid of it. They would go around it when they got too close. Mirai would know not to go there, and she would steer him away.
But the closer they got, the less certain he became of her intentions. She seemed oblivious to the danger that awaited, her gaze directed solely toward Railing.
Turn back, Railing tried to tell her, but the words would not come. They passed his lips, at first softly and then more insistently, but they made no sound.
As they drew steadily closer to the trees, he began pulling on her arm, trying to turn her aside, but his efforts were futile. He was not strong enough to change her course, and she would not allow herself to be guided. She kept gazing at him with love and adoration, but she would not respond to his entreaties.
They were almost to the woods. Ahead, within layers of shadows, hands were reaching out to seize her. He could just make them out in the gloom, writhing like tentacles. They were going to take her from him and he would never get her back again. He was frantic with fear, riddled with despair. He was shouting at her to turn back, to veer off, to do something to get clear before it was too late.
He screamed her name.
Then hands were shaking him hard and abruptly he was awake, tangled in his blanket, lying in a hammock belowdecks, hot and twisted about, the images of his dream still fresh enough to seem real.
“Quiet down, boy!” Skint hissed in his ear. “You’ll wake the whole ship with your shouting.”
Railing nodded quickly, able to see just enough of the Gnome’s face to recognize the concern mirrored there. “I had a dream,” he whispered.
“I know,” Skint said. “Likely everyone on the ship knows. But it’s over and done. Get back to sleep.”
He moved away, but Railing remained in the hammock, trying to banish the last of the dream. Yet even though he lay there for long minutes waiting for it to happen, his memories of the dream refused to fade. At last he rose and made his way over to the ladder leading up and emerged into a night gone still and deep. The storm had passed and the skies had cleared. Stars filled the dark firmament—thousands upon thousands in a wondrous sweep. He walked to the deck railing and stared, dazzled by the display.
Then, abruptly, he was crying. Tears fell from his eyes unbidden, running down his cheeks, and he couldn’t seem to make them stop. The weight of what he was trying to accomplish bore down on him, and it was immense. What made him believe—even for a moment—that his efforts were going to make any difference? His brother’s fate would, in all likelihood, be decided by forces over which he had no control, and this foolish, reckless effort to bring back a woman lost to all of them since before they were born was stupid beyond words.
He gave in to his misery for a few minutes more, only barely managing to keep the sounds of his weeping silent. Then, very slowly, he began to recover until he had stopped his tears and regained his composure. But the weeping had emptied him out, and he was left bereft of strength of will and sense of direction. It was all he could do to stand there and stare out at the star-swept sky and the sharp-edged darkness.
He wasn’t sure how long he remained at the deck rail before he heard her voice and felt her presence.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Mirai said. She had once again come up on him so quietly that he hadn’t heard her. “It’s as if the storm swept the sky clean of everything but the stars. Look at them shine.”
“I know,” he said.
He felt her hand cover his where it rested on the rail. “Are you all right? You seem lost.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Not sleeping?”
“Sleeping with bad dreams for company.”
“Railing, what is it?”
He didn’t reply, couldn’t make himself give voice to the lie he intended to offer.
She moved around until she was facing him, placing herself between the deck rail and himself, standing so close he could feel the heat of her breath on his face. He tried to move away, but she seized his arms and held him fast.
“I want you to stop this.” She waited for his response, tightening her grip. “Don’t say something you’ll regret. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen the way you watch me—especially when I’m with Austrum. You have to stop it. You and Redden are my best friends, but you don’t own me, either of you. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I know that,” he answered, sounding defensive even to himself.
“You don’t act like you do.”
“I don’t like seeing you with him.”
“That’s more honest, but that doesn’t change things. You need to remember what I just said and stop being jealous. Some things you can’t change. What happens with you and me, or Redden and me—or me and someone else—isn’t set in stone. What happens just happens, on its own.”
She paused, searching his eyes. “But that’s not the worst of it, is it? Something else is bothering you. I’ve sensed it since we started after Grianne Ohmsford. You can’t hide that sort of thing from me; I know you too well. You’re being eaten up inside, and it’s goin
g to destroy you if you keep hiding it. You know something no one else does, don’t you? No, don’t pretend you don’t understand what I’m talking about. You do.”
He tried to say something in response and failed. Suddenly he wanted to tell her everything, to confide it all, to share the burden he was carrying. But confiding in her meant risking everything, and he would not do that.
“I’m just afraid for Redden,” he said instead.
She gave him a look, then released his arms and stepped back. “When you’re ready to tell me the truth, I’ll be there to listen. But don’t wait too long, Railing. I can feel you slipping away from me—in every sense of the word—and I would hate for that to happen.”
He watched her walk away, aching for her, wanting her to turn back, hating that she was right and he could do nothing to change things, knowing that in the end he was going to lose her. The revelation shattered him, and for a moment he sagged back against the deck rail, his strength depleted.
I’m going to lose her.
It was barely an hour after dawn broke that Skint returned with Challa Nand in tow, and the Quickening lifted off and turned north. The big Troll spoke a few words to Farshaun and the other Rovers, discussing the route they would be taking and the dangers that would obstruct their passage. Railing listened to a little of it, but then Mirai called him over to join her in the pilot box where she was manning the helm and working the ship’s controls, and he left off listening for the pleasure of her company. The pleasure wasn’t much, however. As soon as he was standing next to her, she handed off her position at the helm and walked away.
Moments later she was standing amid the Rovers, listening to their conversation with Challa Nand.
The morning passed slowly but uneventfully. They flew northeast along the central corridor that partially bisected the Charnals from north to south and would eventually lead to the Tiderace many days farther on. Railing remained at the helm for the greater part of the time, although both Farshaun and Skint dropped by to chat with him. Mirai pointedly stayed away. Mostly, when he saw her, she was working the lines with the Rovers, joking and laughing and seemingly at ease. He found himself looking for Austrum, but only once did he see the two in close proximity and that was only for a few moments.