Terry Brooks: Witch Wraith

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 and 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.

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.