She was also forced to reconsider using the Elfstones before they departed to get a sense of where they were going. Any use of magic would alert other magic users, and those alerted might be the very ones hunting her. She could not be sure this would happen, but there was no point in taking chances. She already knew that what they were hunting was hidden somewhere in the Wilderun. So all they needed to do was to fly there and then use the Elfstones to pinpoint their destination. By then, they would be far enough away that they wouldn’t be as likely to be identified.
An air of suspense and expectation infused her efforts during the assembling and loading of supplies and equipment. Time and fate seemed to press down on her in equal measure, urging her to move faster, to perform more quickly, to finish and be off. She worked steadily throughout the day, and more than once caught Cymrian staring at her, a mixture of surprise and disbelief reflected on his lean features.
Once, he said to her in passing, “This isn’t a race, you know.”
To which she had replied. “You’re wrong. That’s exactly what it is.”
Late in the afternoon, the ship almost ready, she told the other two that she intended to say good-bye to Ellich and Jera. She had thought at first she might forgo the visit; it might be better not to speak to anyone before leaving. But she needed to believe that someone cared enough to see her before she left.
Cymrian immediately announced that he was coming with her, but she told him that it would be better if he stayed with Arling and kept watch over her. She didn’t say so—she didn’t need to—but she was better able to protect herself, and leaving Arling alone with the Ellcrys seed was not a good idea. She promised she would be careful and, after a short visit, would come right back.
She made her way from the airfield and took the roadways that led to her aunt and uncle’s home, skirting her own cottage, where Cymrian and Arling had promised to wait for her, and her mother’s, where only disdain and disappointment could be found. She turned down smaller roads and finally pathways, and in short order she was standing at the front door, knocking hopefully.
Ellich and Jera provided the succor she needed. Warm and welcoming, they sat her down in their kitchen, fed her hot tea and muffins, and said they would miss her terribly and she must do everything she could to stay safe and well until her return. No mention was made of her sister, and Aphen could not be certain if her uncle had told his wife that Arling was going, too. So Aphen said nothing about her sister’s plans, including the fact that Arling now carried the Ellcrys seed and was entrusted with the future not only of the Elven nation but also of the other Races. It was a secret charged with dangerous possibilities, and it made Aphenglow want to bury it so deeply that it could never even be glimpsed.
Throughout their conversation, Aphen was reminded of her own carefully kept secret. The Elfstones were buried deep in a pocket of her cloak, and she found her hand straying to them frequently—an involuntary reflex generated by the need to reassure herself that they were still safely tucked away.
But her visit went well, her self-indulgence in gaining their farewell was satisfied, and she departed with a feeling of contentment.
Twilight was falling by then, and she was reminded of another visit she had made to her aunt and uncle not so very long ago. She had been attacked on her way home on that occasion and forced to kill a man. Almost without thinking about it, she began looking around, peering into the deeper shadows, angling as she walked to parts of the pathway that were still light. Her hand strayed again to the pocket where she hid the Elfstones. Foolish of her to obsess like this, she told herself as soon as she realized what she was doing. But she took the Elfstones out of her cloak pocket and put them inside her tunic, where she could feel them pressed close against her body.
She mulled over the details of the departure they had planned for the following day. Their journey would take them out through the Valley of Rhenn and then south past Drey Wood and the swamps below to the Rock Spur and from there to the Wilderun and the peak known as Spire’s Reach. The time required would be less than three days by airship. She had not been down into that part of the world, but she knew Cymrian had. She relied on his experience to see them there safely.
She found herself thinking again about Arling and the enormous struggle she was undergoing. Her sister would be carrying the Ellcrys seed, but with no clear intent of what she would do with it once it was immersed and quickened. If she did not intend to use it herself—and it seemed clear at this point that she did not—she would have to find another Chosen willing to take her place.
A failure by Arling or any of the others to make the sacrifice required to renew the Ellcrys would doom the Elven people and likely the whole of the Four Lands to a fresh war with the demonkind—a war that might never find a resolution. It would betray the heritage of the Elves as protectors of the talisman that had kept the evil creatures of Faerie locked away for all these centuries and return the world to the chaos that had existed before.
Would Arling permit that to happen?
She didn’t think so.
But she didn’t think her sister would sacrifice her life, either. She didn’t think she was capable of it.
She sensed another presence then, her instincts warning her this time, and was quick to respond. Her wards came up at once, and she turned toward the source of the danger. But nothing happened. She listened and stared into the darkness, searching.
Nothing.
Yet she was not mistaken. Something was out there.
She started toward home again, suddenly furious. She was sick of being stalked and attacked and made to feel that she wasn’t safe anywhere. She was tired of not knowing who was behind it, always suspicious that it was someone she knew, someone from Arborlon. A secret enemy, a creature with plans about which she knew nothing specific. It wanted the diary and the Elfstones and probably the Ellcrys seedling. It wanted to hurt her and already had. Maybe it wanted her dead. But why was it doing all this? What did it hope to gain?
Then her thoughts flashed again to Arlingfant, waiting in the cottage for her return, and she broke into a frightened run.
She had never run so hard and at the same time taken so long to reach a destination. She imagined a hundred terrible results, a hundred horrific scenes, and she was all but exhausted by the time she tore up the front walkway and burst through the door into their tiny common room with its reading chairs and its small table for eating.
Arling, stepping out from the kitchen, stopped in surprise. “Aphen? What’s wrong?”
Aphenglow stopped where she was and scanned the room quickly to reassure herself. “Nothing. Are you all right?”
Her sister stared at her. “Of course I’m all right. You can see that for yourself. But you don’t look so good.”
Cymrian appeared behind her and took one look at Aphenglow. “What’s happened?”
“Something was tracking me—just now—after I left Ellich and Jera. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “It was there, and then it was gone. I was afraid it was coming here.”
Cymrian stalked to the windows and peered out, his face grim. “This is the second time you’ve had something like this happen right after visiting your uncle. That’s a big coincidence.”
“Wait a minute,” Aphen objected. She could see where this was going. “Ellich wouldn’t be a part of something like this. I’ve known him all my life. He’s been my friend and supporter and champion the entire time. Even when my mother refused to have anything to do with me, he was always there for me.”
“Aphen’s right,” Arling spoke up. “Uncle Ellich is our best friend—even closer to us than Grandfather.”
Cymrian started to say something more, then just nodded. “Whatever the case, we can’t stay here any longer. We have to leave. Right now.”