Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

He paused, steadying himself. “But Farshaun was never someone who let others dictate his choices, and I don’t expect I could have done so here. I take comfort in knowing he died in the place he loved most—in the air, aboard an airship, with airmen he admired and the world at his feet. I imagine he is flying somewhere now, off in the blue, off on another journey. I can’t imagine him doing anything else. I will always think of him this way.”

He stepped back, shaking his head, fighting the tears, drained of words and emotional strength. He stood with his head bowed as the Rovers sang a short, traditional song that was meant to speed the dead on their way to a place of safety and peace and to help the living let them go. Challa Nand closed the proceedings with a pronouncement calling on the forces of nature that inhabited and protected the mountains to take notice of their loss, and include their friend.

Then it was back to the airship, the light failing quickly now, though the air remained warm. Night was coming on, darkness speeding its way out of the east in lengthening shadows and a dimming of the skies, the winged herald of day’s end. Railing trudged back to the airship with the others, walking close to Skint. He was vaguely aware of Mirai walking with Austrum, but he refused to look at her, not wanting to be troubled by their body language or wonder at the nature of their words. He was suddenly exhausted, and felt like he could sleep for a week.

“That was well said back there,” Skint observed, dropping back to walk beside him. “I was right about you and the old Rover; you and he did have a strong connection.”

Railing gave a desultory nod. “Well, it’s gone now.”

The Gnome Tracker snorted. “Oh, I don’t think so. Such things survive death. They live on in the hearts of the living. They help keep the dead from being forgotten. Didn’t you know that?”

He moved away. Railing walked on for another few moments, and then he stopped where he was. He watched the others move ahead of him, so despairing that he no longer wanted to keep their company. Instead, he turned around and started back toward the grave site.

“What are you doing?” Woostra asked as he passed him.

“Just spending a little more time with Farshaun,” he answered, not bothering to slow. “I want to be alone with him. I’ll be along.”

Woostra grunted something, but by then Railing was too far away to hear it. He breathed in the unexpectedly warm air and smelled the meadow flowers and wished for things he couldn’t have. He glanced at the darkening sky, but didn’t mind that the light was going. He preferred it dark. He wanted to disappear.

Moments later, he was standing over Farshaun’s grave. The Rovers had covered it with heavy rocks after the old man was interred, intent on protecting his remains from scavengers. Railing knelt next to it, undid the band that held his red hair off his face, readjusted it, and began to speak.

“I let you down, Farshaun,” he said softly. “I failed you. I’ve failed everyone on this journey, and you and Mirai most of all. I should have told you about the King of the Silver River and the Grimpond. I should have been honest and up front about what I know. At least then a vote could have been taken and, if you had wanted to go back, you could have. But I didn’t do that. I let you think that nothing had changed, but everything had. Everything was different.”

He took a deep breath to steady himself, and now his voice was shaking. “The King of the Silver River told me that it was wrong for me to seek out Grianne Ohmsford. He told me not to try to bring her back from wherever she was, that it wouldn’t happen as I hoped, even if I could manage it. The Grimpond told me she was alive and well, and I could do what I wanted, but there was something in the way he said it that warned me against it. Both creatures gave me the same message, but I ignored them. I didn’t care what they said. I cared about getting Redden back again. I was afraid you and the others wouldn’t go any farther if you knew …”

“What are you doing out here?”

Mirai was standing next to him, staring down questioningly. He felt his stomach lurch. “Nothing. Just talking to Farshaun.”

“It sounded like you were confessing. I heard some of it.” She looked angry. “Does it make you feel better when you tell your secrets to a dead man rather than to me?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t talk to you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

She snorted. “You couldn’t? You didn’t even try!”

“I started to say something, but you just turned away.” He was suddenly feeling threatened. “I didn’t think you wanted me to—”

“If you wanted to talk to me, you should have done so!” she snapped, interrupting him. “The problem with you is you’ve lost all your confidence. You don’t know who you are anymore. You think too much. You talk everything to death. What’s happened to you? ”

She put enough emphasis on this last part to let him know that she was fed up with him.

“You were always the confident one, the reckless one. So much more so than Redden. He might think things over, but not you. You simply charged ahead. You dared anything. It defined who you were, but that’s all been lost. I don’t know who you are, but it certainly isn’t anyone I know!”

“I’m still who I was,” he insisted.

“Then show it!” She dropped to her knees beside him, her face right up against his. “Stop being so pathetic. Go back to acting like you have a spine.”

He glared at her. “Oh, I see. You want me to be more like Austrum, is that it? I saw how he was holding you.”

She shook her head and rocked back on her heels. “Austrum again. You just can’t let that go, can you?” Her brow furrowed. “If you’re so worried about Austrum, why don’t you do something about it?”

He stared. “What do you mean?”

“You’re jealous of him. You can’t stand it when I pay attention to him. You hated it when he kissed me, and you suffer every time he comes near me. You think all sorts of things are happening between us. If you care about this so much, do something to change it.”

“You want me to fight him?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Try to think about this in other terms. This isn’t about you and Austrum, it’s about you and me. Understand, Railing? You and me! Tell me—do you love me or not? Which is it?”

“You know I love you.” He brushed strands of red hair from his eyes. “I told you I did.”

“Well, then, it’s pretty simple, isn’t it? If you love me, why don’t you show it? Stop telling me you love me and do something to show it. You look capable enough.”

“Do something? Do what?”

She glared. “Do I have to tell you everything?” She punched him hard on the shoulder, and then exhaled sharply. “When you want something badly enough, sometimes you just have to take it. So why don’t you do that, Railing ?”

The emphasis again, this time on his name. Bitter and demanding and something else he couldn’t quite define. Urgent, perhaps?

“I don’t …

“Are you listening to me? Why don’t you just take me?”

“What?”

She leaned close enough that he could see the wildness of the emotions roiling in her green eyes. She seized the front of his tunic and yanked hard. “You heard what I said. If you love me, take me!”

“But …”

“Take me, Railing. Your brother did!”

Had he heard her right? A wash of bright anger and shock flooded through him. He skidded from one emotion to another, all in a matter of seconds. He felt all the air go out of him, the weight of her words huge and crushing. He felt everything inside turn suddenly tense and dangerous.