“Grianne Ohmsford?” Oriantha was having trouble understanding. “Is that who you are talking about?”
“I know the story,” Redden interrupted. “Grianne was helped by Weka, so she said she would take him with her when she left. But she couldn’t. Penderrin came for her, but the magic he used would only let him take her back with him, not Weka. So she had to leave the Ulk Bog behind. But it wasn’t her fault, Tesla. It wasn’t what she wanted. Penderrin told my father this. She regretted it deeply, but there was nothing she could do.”
The Ulk Bog looked unconvinced. “Hate her for this! Weka never forgot. Betrayed by her! You could do this, too. To me!”
“We already took you out of the Forbidding, didn’t we?” Oriantha snapped. “What more are we supposed to do? We brought you with us and we’ll keep you with us. We know you helped us like Weka helped Grianne, but we are not like her.”
But Tesla shook her head, her jaw set, her eyes fixed on them. “Speak the words. Promise.”
Oriantha looked angry, but Redden quickly stepped forward, setting down the box with the Elfstones, and held out his hands, motioning for the Ulk Bog to take them in her own. She did, watching him closely, her grizzled face scrunched up. “I promise we won’t leave you,” the boy said. “We will keep you with us, no matter what.”
Tesla Dart stared at him for long seconds, then she nodded slowly. “I believe. You don’t lie.”
Redden kept holding the Ulk Bog’s gnarled hands. “Tesla, if you felt like this about Grianne, why were you waiting for her all these years? Why were Lada and the other Chzyks keeping watch when we came through the Forbidding?”
“I tell them to.” She looked sullen once more. “I stay to watch.”
“But why? Why would you do that?”
Tesla Dart’s face darkened further. “Because.”
“Why, Tesla?” he pressed.
Tears appeared unexpectedly at the corners of the Ulk Bog’s dark eyes. “She must say she is sorry! She must tell me so. She must say why she leave Weka behind.” She hissed furiously. “If she doesn’t, I kill her. Kill her for him!”
There was such fury in her voice that Redden was left speechless. Oriantha, standing to one side, shook her head and turned away.
They set out walking across the broad fields and grasslands, heading in the direction Oriantha had indicated earlier. Redden was still trying to absorb the impact of the Ulk Bog’s scorching condemnation of Grianne. He wanted to ask her more, wanted to know how Weka had found her, how long they were together, if she really was his niece, and what had become of him.
But he sensed there was nothing to be gained from this, and after a time he stopped thinking about it and began searching for signs that would tell him they were going the right way. Maybe Oriantha didn’t need such signs, but Redden would have preferred to find one or two if only to give him peace of mind about what they were doing.
Because a little reassurance at this point was something he could sorely use.
His recovery from his ordeal as the Straken Lord’s prisoner continued to be slow. He was emotionally stronger since putting an end to Tarwick and his hunters. After all, he had escaped being captured and returned to the Straken Lord. He had found and gained possession of the missing Elfstones—something no one else had been able to do. He was free of the Forbidding once more and on his way to Arborlon and a reunion with Railing. He had reason to feel good about all of this.
On the other hand, another encounter with the Straken Lord was not out of the question. Even the thought of it caused a shiver to run up his spine, his memories of his previous imprisonment and the prospect of a repeat experience a nightmare.
Nor was he recovered physically. If anything, he was feeling worse than ever. He was keeping it to himself, but something very troubling had happened to him when he had combined the magic of the crimson Elfstones and the wishsong to destroy the Catcher and his minions. His body had been left hollowed out and his strength diminished in a way that suggested he had suffered at least a part of the fate of the creatures he had emptied of their lives. He knew enough of the ways of magic to understand there was always a price exacted for its use. The more powerful and destructive the magic, the higher the cost.
The crimson Elfstones might have stolen away the mortal substance of their victims, but it felt as if they had stolen some of the same from him, as well.