Terry Brooks: Witch Wraith

“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 going 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.

The sun was just reaching its zenith when Challa Nand found him sitting forward of the mainmast, his back against the heavy wooden pillar, and sat down next to him. Surprised, the boy glanced over at the giant Troll, but his newly arrived companion simply stared ahead toward the bow and said nothing.

Then, after a few endless minutes of silence, Challa Nand said, “Thinking of your brother, Railing?”

The boy stared at him. “How do you know about Redden?”

The other shrugged. “Men talk. Everyone talks. On a ship this size, there aren’t many secrets. I found out about your brother this morning. I found out a few other things, too.”

Railing reached up and tightened the headband that held back his red hair, which he hadn’t cut in weeks. It had grown long and unruly.

“It seems you haven’t been in the least forthcoming with me,” the Troll added. “Shame on you.”

Railing almost laughed. “What is it that you think you know?”

“That your brother is missing and you want to find him. That he might be someone’s prisoner and you want to free him. That you are twins. That we are going in search of your great-aunt the witch because, for some reason, you think she might be alive after more than a hundred years. And that if she is, she might be able to help your brother.” He paused. “All of which suggests that we might be on a fool’s errand, just as I feared, and therefore I have every right to abandon you at the first sign of trouble.”

No mention of the Forbidding. None of the Ellcrys or the Straken Lord or the danger to the Four Lands. His informants were being selective in their disclosures, it seemed. Railing supposed it was inevitable that some of what he was keeping from Challa Nand would leak out. He was only surprised it wasn’t more.