So now they were on their way, and the enormity of what they were undertaking was blocking out other concerns. Its weight pressed down anew every time he considered the odds against finding Grianne Ohmsford. Since he was already riddled with guilt for not going after his brother directly, the weight seemed even heavier.
At one point, he left Farshaun and went back to talk with Woostra, who was huddled in a niche between crates of light sheaths lined up along the stern railing. The gawky, angular scribe looked very out of place. Railing walked over to him and sat down.
“What happens when we get to Paranor?” he asked.
Woostra cocked his head and stared off into space as though he had not considered the matter and needed a moment to think it through. Then he shrugged. “We go inside.”
“But then what?”
“We look around.”
“But isn’t there magic that protects the Druid’s Keep?”
Woostra gave him a look. “Don’t overthink this. When we get there, you and I will go into the Keep and study the readings. No one else—just the two of us. Only Druids are allowed within, and I can’t have a bunch of Rovers and such tramping through the halls. I’m only taking you because you’re an Ohmsford and you might see or recognize the importance of something that I would miss. You’ll bring fresh eyes to the effort, and you share a family history with Grianne. Don’t worry about the Keep’s magic; it’s no longer warding against entry. Aphen took care of that.” He paused. “At least, I hope she did. I guess we’ll find out. In any case, you and I will go in alone.”
Railing wasn’t reassured in the least by any of this, but he wasn’t in a position to argue. Woostra was the only one of them who could access Paranor, and he would just have to hope the scribe was right about the Keep’s magic being back under lock and key.
Toward midday, after spending the morning alternating between conversations with Farshaun and taking his turn at the helm, he found a moment to be alone with Mirai in the pilot box. They had almost completed their crossing of the Streleheim Plains by then, and the peaks of the Dragon’s Teeth had come into view—a jagged, broken line that stretched across the eastern horizon.
He stood beside her as she worked the steering and for a moment didn’t say anything. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “It will be all right, Railing. We’ll get him back.”
“I can’t stop thinking that this might all be a waste of time,” he confessed. “I’m flying away from Redden, not toward him, and it might all be for nothing. I know rationally what we’re doing. I understand the reasons for it. I even believe it has value. But it just feels so …”
He trailed off, unable to find the words.
She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and that alone was worth anything she might have said to try to comfort him. They stood in silence for a while longer before she spoke again.
“If we don’t find anything at Paranor, if you don’t feel right about what we’re doing at that point, we can go back and find Seersha. We can travel all the way to the Breakline, if you want. I’ll go with you. I’m not giving up, either.”
“I know that. I never thought you would.”
She smiled at him. She was so pretty, he thought. He wanted to tell her so. He wanted to lean over and kiss her. But they were standing out on the open deck with people all around them, and he couldn’t make himself do it. He loved her, but he wasn’t sure enough of himself to risk finding out that she didn’t love him in return. At least, not in that way.
He stared off into the distance. If he were Austrum, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have just done it.
But instead he made up an excuse about needing to talk to Woostra and left her there alone. Conflicting thoughts jumbled together in his head. How can I even be thinking about Mirai like that when Redden’s life is at stake? How can I be so selfish? Why didn’t I go ahead and kiss her? She wouldn’t have minded. She didn’t mind Austrum doing it. But it doesn’t matter about Austrum. What matters is Redden, and I can’t let myself think about anything else.
He raved on for a few moments more and then angrily swept everything aside and went down into the hold to sleep.
He was awake again when they reached the Dragon’s Teeth, and then all the way through the peaks and across the Forbidden Forest to the spires of Paranor. By then the day was easing toward sunset, and the sky to the east was darkening. Woostra had them set down in the same clearing where he had landed with the Elessedil sisters and Cymrian weeks ago when returning to discover information about the Bloodfire.
Then, leaving the others to keep watch, the Druid scribe departed with Railing for the tunnels that led into the Keep.
It took them little time to find the hidden entrance and make the underground journey into the fortress. Torches helped them navigate their way through the darkness, and no obstacles appeared to hinder their progress. Although Woostra proceeded with no apparent concern for what might be lying in wait, Railing couldn’t help listening for noises and searching for movement. He couldn’t seem to help himself, even though he knew that if anything were hiding in these tunnels, it would be on them before he could do anything about it.
But nothing happened, and once inside the walls of the Keep and aboveground, Woostra started directly for the tower where the Druid Histories and accompanying papers were concealed and where Khyber kept her sleeping chamber. Evidence of the Federation’s attack on the Keep had not been removed. Debris from broken walls and parapets still littered the courtyards through which they passed, and damage from fire launchers and rail slings still scarred the buildings surrounding them. Bodies lay everywhere, picked apart by birds of prey and other scavengers. The Keep itself was silent and devoid of life, and it was clear that the Federation had made no further attempt to occupy it.
“Guess the scavengers decided they could feast on the dead after all,” Woostra muttered. He glanced over. “Stay close to me. Don’t wander off.”
Fat chance of that, the boy thought. The heaped bodies and the extent of the carnage inflicted by whatever magic warded the Keep unnerved him. In the best of times, Paranor would be an intimidating place—cold and cavernous and filled with strange sounds. But turned into a charnal house, it was terrifying. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and as they passed down the lifeless corridors he could feel cold spots that froze his blood.
“Why isn’t the Federation army anywhere about if the magic’s gone back to wherever it came from?” he whispered.
Woostra glanced over. “They don’t know that Aphen has locked the magic away again. And they have no way of knowing what’s here without coming back inside the walls. They’re not about to do that after what happened to their fellows.” He paused. “Besides, Drust Chazhul is dead. Without his insistence on pursuing the attack, they’ve retreated to Arishaig. Edinja Orle will have a different take on things.”
Railing listened to the silence, unbroken save for the sound of their footsteps as they climbed flights of stairs and traveled down empty, echoing passageways crisscrossing the building. Rooms came and went, all of them deserted. Paranor felt as if it had been abandoned for centuries and not weeks. He tried to imagine what it would be like to live here, to be a Druid in residence, and he could not do so. It felt too closed away, too claustrophobic. He was a creature of open air and sunlight, and walls felt unnatural and unfriendly. He thought of his great-aunt living here, of her days as Ard Rhys, but any image he could form was incomplete and tinged with what he knew of her dark life, and it felt forced and unreal.
“Here,” Woostra said, many floors and passageways later, standing at a set of heavy doors that were closed and locked. “We begin our search in these rooms.”