Terry Brooks: Witch Wraith

Summer passed into fall. The days shortened, but were filled with softer light and the changing of the colors of the leaves on the trees, green giving way to gold and yellow, orange and red.

Then one day, solely on impulse, he decided to try once again. He sat alone near the woods in back of their home, close to his brother, facing him, and he pulled out one of the three remaining threads. He placed one end between Redden’s fingers and the other between his own. The thread disappeared, the tugging ensued, and he waited.

Nothing happened.

For the first time, he began to think nothing ever would. He stood and looked off into the trees, wishing things could be different, even if just a little.

“How long have I been asleep?” he heard Redden ask suddenly. He wheeled back in shock. His brother was looking at him, blinking his eyes. “It must have been awhile.”

Railing couldn’t make himself move, afraid if he did it would turn out this wasn’t happening. “A long while,” he said.

Redden nodded and stretched his arms, yawning. “Can you tell me what happened? I can’t seem to remember anything. Is everybody safe?”

Breaking free of his paralysis, Railing knelt in front of his brother and embraced him, holding him as if he would never let go. There were tears in his eyes, and it felt as if his heart was breaking. But there was joy, too.

“Yes, Redden,” he whispered. “Everybody is safe.”