Having Mirai living with them helped. His mother had always loved her, and this didn’t seem to change with the Highland girl’s complicity in hiding what the twins were up to. Mirai was partnered with him, and they would be married, when Redden was better. But for now they let things be as they concentrated on looking after Redden and waiting for his condition to change.
But Redden refused to wake up. He was deep in his catatonia, unimproved since the battle with the witch wraith at the Valley of Rhenn. Nothing any of them said or did seemed to get through to him. Wherever he had gone inside himself, it was far distant from the real world and he remained unreachable. Sarys cried less over him with the passing of every new day, but still she cried. Railing saw it and hated it. Mostly, he hated that he was seen as the cause.
“She doesn’t feel like that,” Mirai argued when they were in bed together at night, whispering in the dark. “You have to let her grieve and not make it personal. No one could have done more than you did to try to save him.”
But her words didn’t help. Nothing did. In spite of everything she said, in spite of patience and faith, Railing could feel his brother slip a little farther away with the passing of every day. He couldn’t sense any possibility of Redden getting well again.
He was sitting alone with his brother at the edge of the woods behind their home on a gray summer day months later, talking to him and staring off into the trees by turns. He wasn’t saying anything particularly important or looking for his brother to respond, even though that was always at the back of his mind. He was just passing time while Mirai and his mother prepared dinner inside. Redden sat slack-faced and as still as stone, just as he always did. They kept him alive by hand-feeding him and seeing to his personal needs, and Railing hated all of it. It was undignified and it was demeaning. This was his brother, his twin, and it felt like it was happening to him. Redden never got sick and he never wanted for anything, but he also never seemed much more than a stuffed toy.
He bit his lip as the thought slipped into his mind like a snake. It felt like betrayal of how much he loved his brother.
One hand drifted down to his pocket and the ring given him by the King of the Silver River. He carried it all the time, even though he had sworn off magic and had not used the wishsong once since his return. This forsaking, at least, was something his mother appreciated. He carried the ring mostly because it reminded him of the warning the King of the Silver River had given about what might happen if he persisted in his search for Grianne Ohmsford. It was his own, private form of punishment—and one that he felt he deserved. He wasn’t sure what else he should do with the talisman even if he quit carrying it. Should he cast it away or give it to the Druids as he had the crimson Elfstones, as they were now being called. Aphenglow might like to have it, as well, for the new Druid order. Maybe he would give it to her on her next visit from Paranor. She was overdue for taking a fresh stab at using her Druid magic to heal Redden. Her other attempts had failed, but she had insisted she would not give up.
He brought the ring out and studied it for what must have been the thousandth time, and as he did so something occurred to him—something so preposterous that for a moment he just sat there staring. The ring had been given to help him find his way out of the darkest places, to show him how to work his way clear when he was lost. Each thread was a link in a chain that would lead to a safe haven.
But what if …?
He stopped himself mid-thought, afraid to go farther. Then he relented.
What if it could help me find my brother?
He had used it only twice during the search for Grianne, and in retrospect those usages didn’t seem particularly important. Now he found himself wondering if it might have a further use, one he had somehow failed to consider until this moment. Go to your brother, the King of the Silver River had urged. Save him yourself. Could the Faerie creature have given the ring to him for that very reason? Could he have foreseen the future?
The possibility was so wild it left him breathless. He stared at Redden, his mind racing. “Are you in there?” he whispered to his brother. “Are you waiting for me to come find you?”
No reaction. But, then, there wouldn’t be, would there?
He slipped on the ring, and then took a deep breath and gently extracted one of the malleable threads. He was terrified he would fail. He was even more terrified he wouldn’t, but that his effort to bring back his brother would end the same way as his effort to bring back Grianne. He couldn’t bear the thought of that happening. But he couldn’t let this chance slip away, either.
He placed one end of the thread between the fingers of Redden’s right hand to hold it in place. Then he took the other end in his own. He didn’t know exactly how this might work; he was operating solely on instinct. He sat very close to his brother, their faces only inches apart, and looked into his eyes. I’m here, Redden. I’m right next to you. Don’t be afraid. Don’t hide. Come back to me.
He waited for a response from his brother. There was none. He experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.