Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

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.