TWENTY-FOUR
APHENGLOW ELESSEDIL WAS TALKING WITH GREHLING IN HER chambers, urging him to tell her what had happened to Chrysallin Leah.
“So when you found her in Mischa’s quarters, she was strapped to a bed in a room that was crisscrossed by glowing lines. But you could walk through these lines and they shredded and disappeared? They didn’t hurt you? You didn’t feel anything?”
The boy thought about it. “They didn’t hurt me, but they did something to me. They made me see images of Chrysallin and a gray-haired Elven woman. Chrys was in trouble; she was in pain. And—”
He stopped suddenly, staring at her. “And what?” she encouraged him. She needed to understand what had happened. “Go on, Grehling. Tell me everything.”
“The gray-haired Elven woman looked like you.” He hesitated. “In fact, it was you.”
“You’re certain about this?”
He nodded. “But then the images went away when I broke enough of the threads. So I got her free and took her out of there. She was in a lot of pain. She kept saying she had been tortured and no one could bear to look at her ever again. She seemed to think that she had broken bones and that there was blood all over her; it was hard to make sense of it all. I couldn’t see anything wrong with her. She looked fine to me. But I didn’t ask her about it. She was too upset. I just wanted to get her away. We bumped into Mischa right outside the door, coming back from wherever she’d gone, but I hit her hard enough to knock her out. We ran then, and I took Chrysallin to Leofur’s house.”
He went on from there, describing how Leofur had taken them in and they had slept until the black creature broke down the door and then Leofur saved them by using her weapon and taking them down into the tunnels. But the creature had followed them, Mischa had appeared, and again they had fled until they were caught by the witch and trapped in an alleyway.
“But then something really strange happened,” he continued, his voice suddenly becoming more intense. “Mischa started taunting Chrysallin. She kept reminding her about the gray-haired woman—the one who looked like you. She asked her if she wanted more torture. Then the gray-haired woman appeared and said something, and Chrysallin went crazy. She started screaming—and I’ve never heard anything like it! It was terrible. I tried covering my ears to shut out the sound, but nothing helped. Then the gray-haired woman exploded. The witch started backing away, but she was thrown against the wall and smashed apart. And all from the screaming! But Chrysallin didn’t seem to know what had happened afterward. She even asked me if I did!”
Aphenglow didn’t say anything in response for a long time, turning away to walk to the window and look out over the walls and towers of the Keep. “Chrysallin didn’t do anything with her hands, didn’t speak any words? She just screamed?”
“That’s what I saw,” Grehling affirmed.
You don’t suppose, Aphenglow thought, an idea occurring to her that was so unexpected she was momentarily startled.
She turned back to the boy. “Why don’t you go have something to eat in the dining hall? Paxon and Leofur might be there. I’ll have Sebec take you.”
The boy started to leave, then turned back. “Do you know what’s wrong with Chrysallin?” he asked her.
She smiled. “I might.”
“Can you help her?”
“I intend to try.”
She watched him depart, closing the door behind him, and then she turned back to the window once more. She would have to see the girl at some point, although she would need to be careful about how she handled it. If Chrysallin thought her responsible for her current condition—if she believed Aphen was the one who had overseen her torture—she would not be very receptive to a visit.
Normally, this wouldn’t be of much concern to an Ard Rhys. The defenses of her magic would be more than enough to protect her from any harm the girl might try to cause her in retaliation. But this tale of screaming that was strong enough to cause a human being to simply disintegrate was disturbing. It could be it was an aberration resulting from a form of wild magic—one either due to a birth defect or attained through exposure or physical contact—or it could be what had occurred to Aphenglow immediately on hearing of it. It could be an indication that Chrysallin Leah had been born with a heretofore-submerged command over the Ohmsford family’s generations-long magic they called the wishsong.
After all, she was the great-grandchild of Mirai Leah and Railing Ohmsford, the product of a mixed bloodline with a very long history of magic use. Paxon Leah possessed the same blood and carried the same history in his genetic mix, but he had shown no trace of having use of the wishsong. It was entirely possible that the sister had it and he did not. There was a history of that within the family—of the magic sometimes skipping entire generations before resurfacing. It was also true that the ability to summon the wishsong did not always appear right away. Sometimes, it took years to reveal its presence.
But it was a magic embedded in the use of the bearer’s voice, the sound capable of achieving almost anything for a practiced user. If not controlled or if released spontaneously, the result would very likely be the one Chrysallin Leah had experienced. Terrified, threatened, and enraged, she would have struck out blindly, giving voice to the mix of feelings roiling inside of her. She would not necessarily have even been aware of what she was doing, and the result would have shocked and confused her.
It all fit. Yet Aphenglow could not be certain unless she revealed to the girl what had happened and then convinced her she needed to find a way to deal with what it meant.
But how best to do that?
She would start by telling Paxon what she suspected. He would have to come to terms with the fact that his sister might have the use of a magic that had not surfaced in the Leah/Ohmsford bloodline for several generations—an incredibly powerful magic that she would need to learn to control. He would probably have to help her do that. It would require that Chrysallin be given time and opportunity to fully recover from the damage she had suffered at the hands of Arcannen and Mischa. It would demand patience and understanding and guidance.
She didn’t know if the young man was up to it. She thought he might be, given the level of maturity and determination he had demonstrated in his efforts to master the skills taught to him by Oost Mondara and the lessons imparted by Sebec, but she couldn’t be sure.
No one could.
She stepped away from the window and started for the chamber door. She had another matter to occupy her attention just now. She had put it off for days, but she could do so no longer. She must go down to the artifact chamber and discover if anything had disturbed the wards she and Sebec had placed over the vault that housed the crimson Elfstones. The Stones themselves were safe enough; she had taken no chances with that.
All that mattered was whether or not another theft had been attempted.
Paxon was still deep in conversation with Leofur about his sister when Sebec reappeared. “They’ve finished with her for now. She’s sleeping, but you can sit with her. Would you like to do that for a few minutes?”
He didn’t have to ask whom the young Druid was talking about and he didn’t hesitate to break off with Leofur. “Can we continue this later?” he asked, already getting to his feet.
She gave him a nod, and he was off. With Sebec leading, he departed the dining room, went down the hall to a set of stairs, climbed one level, went down another hallway, and at the very end entered a large ward sectioned off into a collection of rooms with walls and closed doors and open compartments separated only by curtains. The Healers, whether they were Druids or not—Paxon couldn’t tell for certain—were all dressed in white, men and women alike. There were eight or nine in evidence, all bustling about, going this way and that, some singly and some in small groups. A few glances were directed his way, but no one spoke to him.
He had not spent much time in the healing center during his stay at Paranor and did not know his way around. But Sebec, who was obviously familiar with everything, led him forward to one of the enclosed rooms, knocked softly on the door, turned the latch, and peeked inside.
He turned back to Paxon. “I’ll let you stay with her alone. But not for very long. The Healers will be back shortly. I’ll come for you when they are ready. I’ll knock first. Don’t open it unless I do.”
Paxon went inside and heard the door close behind him. Chrysallin was not, in fact, sleeping, but sitting on a chair staring off into space. She was dressed in a white gown and slippers. She had been washed and her hair had been combed. He walked closer, noting once again that there were no marks on her, no evidence at all of any sort of torture. Whatever had been done to her, it was all in her mind. But she believed the terrible things she spoke of had actually happened, and that was all that mattered.
He knelt beside her and took her hands in his own.
“Chrysallin, can you hear me? It’s Paxon. It’s your brother. Please, look at me. Let me know if you can hear me.” No response. He kept talking. “Chrys, we’re going to help you. You’ve been hurt, but there is no damage to your body. The torture you experienced wasn’t real. It all took place in your mind; you were meant to believe it was happening when it wasn’t. But we are in Paranor now. There are Healers here who can help you. They are working to find a way to make you better. Everything will be all right.”
Then he talked to her about their childhood. He told her stories she would remember of when they had played together as small children. He reminded her of adventures they had gone on in their backyard. He tried kidding her about the time he had chopped off her long hair and made her cry. He talked about the trips they would take together on the airships, freighting cargo from Leah to other cities in the Four Lands. He told her how good she would be at crewing and piloting, how much she had learned, and where they would go and what they would do once she was well.
He asked her to come back for their mother, who loved her and missed her. He told her he wanted to take her home.
He talked to her until he was talked out, and then he held her to him and sang softly, stroking her hair and rocking her. A long time passed. He kept thinking the Healers would come back, but they didn’t. Maybe Sebec had told them to wait a bit, to let Paxon have time with her. Perhaps the Healers believed he might have better luck than they had in bringing her out of her withdrawal.
Then he stopped everything and just held her in the quiet of the room, trying not to cry, holding back the tears that threatened to come with every dark thought about how she might never get better. Eventually, he put her back in her bed and tucked her in, sitting next to her for another long period of time, watching over her. But she just lay there, her eyes open and staring.
He was finally getting ready to leave when a soft knock sounded at the door. Sebec, he thought. Releasing his sister, he rose and walked over. When he opened the door, the Ard Rhys was standing in the opening.
“Sebec said …” she started to whisper, and then she trailed off as she saw the expression of shock on his face as he turned quickly to look over his shoulder. Her gaze shifted past him, and she locked eyes with Chrysallin, who was suddenly sitting up in bed.
Paxon saw the shock and surprise mirrored on his sister’s face an instant before she began to scream. He reacted instinctively, throwing himself in front of the Ard Rhys to protect her, propelling her backward through the door and into the hallway beyond. But he was too slow. Chrysallin’s scream struck him like a hammer blow, slamming into him with such force that it knocked the breath from his lungs and his feet out from under him. Locked together with Aphenglow Elessedil, he was thrown into the wall beyond. They went down in a tangled heap, and Paxon lost consciousness.
When he came awake, Sebec and the Druid Healers were there, pulling him off Aphenglow. The treatment room door had been closed again, and he couldn’t see what was going on with Chrys. But the screaming had stopped, so he knew the attack was over. The Ard Rhys lay next to him, still unconscious, the Healers bent over her. They would both likely be dead now, he thought, if the impact of the attack hadn’t carried them back out the door, beyond where his sister could see them.
Or had she somehow realized who he was and instinctively held back? Or perhaps the Ard Rhys had managed to summon magic in time to protect them both. Would such magic come to her as his did to him when he held the sword—an instantaneous response that required no act or even thought to summon it?
Sebec knelt beside him. “What happened?”
He breathed in deeply and exhaled. “I’m not sure. She came to the door and knocked. I thought it was you or the Healers, so I opened the door. Chrysallin woke and saw the Ard Rhys and reacted at once, screaming …” He closed his eyes at the memory. “The force of it threw both of us out of the room and into the hallway. That was the last thing I remember. I blacked out.”
Sebec looked confused. “Why did your sister scream at the Ard Rhys? They’ve never even met.”
The scribe didn’t know about the possible resemblance between the gray-haired Elven woman of his sister’s torture experience and the Ard Rhys that Grehling had described to Leofur, so Paxon told him. “Perhaps she just attacked as a response to what she thought she was seeing; I’m sure she was terrified she was about to be hauled back for more,” he finished.
“Well, whatever she thought, she hurt my mistress; I don’t know how badly just yet. The Healers will have to spend more time with her before we know. You shouldn’t have opened the door without being sure it was me, Paxon.”
The Highlander cringed at the rebuke, thinking he hadn’t done anything wrong. Sebec had said not to open the door until he knocked, and Paxon had waited until he heard a knock. What was the Ard Rhys thinking, coming to Chrysallin’s room in the first place?
But he said nothing, letting the matter be, anxious to get back into Chrysallin’s room to see how she was. He asked Sebec if he might do this, but the young Druid told him he would have to wait, that the Healers had sedated his sister and would be working on her again as soon as she woke.
So instead, the Highlander went back down to the dining hall to look for Grehling and Leofur. He didn’t find them there, but he was told they were walking in the gardens just outside. When he left the building to have a look around he found them almost immediately, and while the three of them strolled through the flower beds and hedgerows he revealed what had happened.
“She came right to Chrysallin’s room?” Grehling asked when he had finished. “That’s strange.”
Paxon looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“This morning I told her I thought the gray-haired Elven woman looked just like her. She asked all about it, wanted to know everything. She knew exactly how Chrys felt about her.”
Paxon started to reply, but then stopped himself. He needed to think this through before he said anything more. Something about this whole business troubled him, but he couldn’t be sure yet what it was.
So he changed the subject, talking instead about his plans for Chrysallin should the Druids be unable to help her. If that happened, he told them, he would take her to the renowned Gnome Healers of Storlock in the Eastland. If anyone could help his sister, they could.
Then he asked of their plans for returning to Wayford. After a hesitant exchange of glances, Grehling said they were just waiting for someone to offer them a way back. Unless Paxon needed them to stay, of course, which they would be happy to do. The Highlander told them they had both done more than enough, and he would look into helping them find a way home.
Then abruptly he decided, almost before he realized what he was doing, that he had a much better idea.
In point of fact, he was feeling useless sitting around Paranor doing nothing while Arcannen was still out there somewhere. He knew if he asked he would not be allowed to go looking for the sorcerer. But the loss of Starks burned like a hot iron inside him, and he was not going to let his killing go unpunished. He knew the Druids would be content to wait until the right opportunity presented itself, but that was not enough to satisfy him. This was personal; he continued to view Starks’s death as his fault. He could not shake the feeling that he had failed his friend, letting him down when he was needed most. All the arguments as to why this wasn’t so didn’t make a whit’s worth of difference. His own truth was what mattered, and he felt strongly that he had to do something about it.
Then again, the matter of Arcannen notwithstanding, he felt a compelling urge to do something more to help Chrysallin. Dark worries about the deep withdrawal she had embraced rode his shoulders like vultures. She seemed safe enough under the care of the Druid Healers, yet he could not make himself sit around waiting for a recovery that he knew might not happen. He believed he could serve his sister better by returning to Wayford, and Grehling and Leofur had provided him with the excuse and opportunity he needed to act.
It was late in the afternoon when he found Sebec again, and even then it was only by chance. He was scouring the halls looking for the Druid scribe, hoping he would be allowed to visit Chrys, when the other appeared right in front of him.
“How are you?” he asked Paxon, then immediately shook his head, as if dismissing the answer. “A stupid question for me to be asking. I need to apologize for what I said earlier. I was frightened for my mistress and I took it out on you. Please forgive me.”
Paxon shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive. I should have asked who was out there before I opened the door. How is the Ard Rhys?”
“She seems better. She suffered no broken bones, only cuts and bruises. She’s sleeping now.” He shook his head. “But she’s frail at best and not so strong as once. These sorts of injuries are worrisome.”
“I was wondering. Could I see my sister now?”
“You can look in on her, but she’s still sleeping. They want her to rest for as long as possible. They think she suffered quite a shock seeing the Ard Rhys appear unexpectedly like that.” He paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but they gave her a very strong dose of a sleeping potion. They are hoping she sleeps for several more days. They think she might have a better chance of recovery if she does.”
A better chance of recovery. The words felt cold and taunting. It reaffirmed his certainty about what he had decided to do.
“I want to take Grehling and Leofur back to Wayford,” he said abruptly. “They’ve been here long enough. They need to go home.”
Sebec pursed his lips. “I can have Troll guards take them. You don’t need to go.”
“I know I don’t. But I want something to do, something to take my mind off Chrysallin. If she’s to sleep another day or two, this gives me time. I promised them I would see them safely back.”
Sebec studied him carefully. “You don’t intend to go looking for Arcannen, do you?”
“Not unless he’s in Wayford. But after killing Starks, I don’t think we can expect him to come back there anytime soon.”
Sebec clearly didn’t know what to think, so he gave the Highlander a noncommittal nod. “Do what you need to do, Paxon. I’ll tell the Ard Rhys when she wakes.”
Paxon left him there, took time to look in on Chrys and sit with her a short while, watching her sleep, and then found Grehling and Leofur and abruptly announced that he was taking them to Wayford. Neither said anything right away, both leaving wordlessly to gather up their few possessions. Soon they met him back at the airfield by the skiff he had chosen for the journey.
But Leofur, on returning—carrying her flash rip cradled in her arms—said, “Why are you the one doing this? You, personally? Why not someone else? Shouldn’t you be staying here with your sister?”
“I said I would help you find a way back.” Even to himself, he sounded defensive. “Besides, Chrys was given a sleeping potion. They don’t want her awake again for a few days. I might as well do something useful.”
She stepped close. “I don’t know you all that well personally, but I know enough about men in general to know when they aren’t telling me the truth. Suppose you tell me why I have that feeling about you.”
Grehling had moved closer, too. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking from one to the other.
Paxon weighed his choices, and then he made his decision. “I want to have a look inside Mischa’s quarters. Maybe there is something that can help Chrys get better. A potion, an elixir, something written down about what was done and how to undo it. I don’t know. I just want to look around.”
She gave him a long, steady look. “Then you ought to just say as much. Let’s get going.”
They flew through the remainder of the day and all through the night, switching off regularly on the controls in the pilot box, each one taking turns at steering the airship. They were all experienced fliers, even Leofur, and they knew how to navigate by the stars and a steady scanning of the moonlit terrain, staying not far off the ground as they proceeded south across the Dragon’s Teeth and down the length of the Runne River to Rainbow Lake and then on toward Leah and the deep Southland.
Paxon managed to sleep a few hours during their flight, but spent most of his time awake, much of it musing on the direction his life had taken. Only months earlier, his world had revolved around the airfreight business and his mother and sister. Now the business was gone, he was miles from his mother and his Highland home, and his sister was even further away in another sense and in danger of never coming back. He had made a life among the Druids of Paranor, but he wasn’t one of them and they might blame him—as he blamed himself—for the death of one of their order.
He was adrift in a world he didn’t fully understand and wasn’t even sure he believed in, struggling to keep his feet and maintain his determination, trying his best to balance the vicissitudes of a much-changed life. Everything he had done was buttressed as much on faith as on knowledge, and that wasn’t about to change with this current endeavor. His world was a confusing and treacherously shifting ground, and he did not see that he had any better way to deal with it than simply to keep marching on.
It was nearing morning when they arrived in Wayford, the sun a golden haze on the eastern horizon, the sky clear and promising as the night fled west. They landed at the airfield amid receding shadows and splashes of sunrise light, setting down close to the manager’s office so they could arrange to moor the airship. Grehling jumped down and went on ahead to speak to his father, whom he had already spotted inside the office, while Paxon and Leofur tied off the mooring lines, drew down the light sheaths, and coiled the radian draws.
The Highlander and the young woman were just finishing up when the boy hurried back over, clearly excited as he scrambled up the rope ladder and jumped over the railing and onto the decking beside them. “Father just told me,” he whispered, as if caution were advised. “Arcannen flew in late last night.”
Paxon straightened at once. “What time?”
“An hour or so after midnight. He moored his ship, left his crew aboard, and went alone into the city. He hasn’t come back. He told Father he might be gone as long as tonight and not to tell anyone he was here.”
“But your father told you anyway?” Paxon asked, one eyebrow arched.
Grehling gave him a sheepish grin. “He tells me everything.”
Paxon was already buckling on his sword. “I’m going after him.”
“I’m coming with you!” Grehling declared.
Paxon held out both hands to stop him where he was. “No, you’re not. You’re staying here.”
“But you might need help! You can’t face the sorcerer by yourself.”
Paxon only just kept himself from saying, So I should face him with a fourteen-year-old boy? “It’s too dangerous. I won’t let you risk your life for me. You stay right here and keep watch for his return.”
“But I want to—”
“No, Grehling.” Leofur cut him short before he could finish. “Paxon is right. You have to stay behind this time. It is too dangerous.”
“Thank you.” Paxon gave her an appreciative nod.
“Which is why I’ll be going instead,” she finished, hefting the flash rip in the cradle of her arms to emphasize why. She faced down Paxon defiantly. “Don’t say anything stupid. You need someone to watch your back. I can do that for you.”
He saw the determination in her eyes and nodded. “Let’s get going.”