When his home finally came in sight, he was still well back of it. He worked his way around to where he could see not only the house but also the pathway leading down to the docks where Mirai would rope off the flit once she flew in. Crouched down amid trees and brush so that he was safely hidden, he waited. Memories surfaced unbidden of Redden and himself—of adventures shared, challenges met and overcome, and lessons learned. The longing to go back was so acute that tears filled his eyes. He wanted things to be the way they had been. He wanted his brother back, and he wanted to come home.
He had just taken a deep, steadying breath and cleared his eyes when he saw Mirai appear on the pathway. She never looked in his direction, her eyes turned toward the house, and a moment later his mother appeared, coming out through the door in a rush to embrace Mirai warmly and usher her onto the porch. He could hear snatches of their conversation, but not enough to determine what they were saying. Then they disappeared from view, and for endless minutes he could neither see nor hear them at all.
Long minutes later, they reappeared carrying a pot of tea and cups and a plate of muffins that they took to the table and benches set out on the lawn, seating themselves where they could look out across the broad sweep of Rainbow Lake.
Railing got to his feet at once and moved back through the trees until the house blocked his view of the women; then he hurried for the back door. It was unlocked, and he was inside quickly and moving toward his mother’s bedroom. Her sleeping room was on the first floor because she had ceded the rooms on the second floor to her sons, so he got to it quickly. Kneeling in front of the nightstand, he reached down to open the lowest drawer. It wouldn’t budge. He tried again, thinking it might be stuck. Still nothing. But there wasn’t a keyhole. If there was a lock, where was the keyhole?
He was still in the process of trying to find a way to open the drawer when he heard someone come in from outside.
He had only seconds to hide. He heard the footsteps cross the common room and start down the hall. Dropping flat, he squirmed under the wood-frame bed, remembering as he did how he had done so as a child when playing hide-and-seek with his brother. It was a much tighter fit now, but he managed to squeeze himself in and inch his way toward the far side.
He watched his mother’s legs appear through the doorway. To his surprise, she moved toward the nightstand and knelt before it. He shrank deeper into the shadows of his concealment and stopped breathing, praying she wouldn’t stoop any lower. If she did and glanced beneath the bed, he would be caught.
But instead Sarys did something else, something he couldn’t see. Seconds later he heard a distinct click, the release of a catch, and the lower drawer sprang open several inches. His mother opened it all the way, reached inside, took something out, and closed it again.
He waited until she had left the room and gone back outside, her footsteps indicating she was descending the porch steps, and he was back out of his hiding place and searching the surfaces of the nightstand for the lock release. He found it after only a few experimental pressings—a peg knob located near the back panel, the third in a line of four. It gave at his touch, and the drawer sprang open a second time.
He looked inside. Jewelry, some letters bound in a ribbon, some coins, a few artifacts …
And a trunk key.
He snatched it up, closed the drawer carefully and headed for the steps leading to the second floor and the attic above. He paused as he neared the stairs, aware that if his mother was looking into the house she might see him going up. But Sarys had her back turned, engaged in deep conversation with Mirai. He thought the latter might have glanced his way, but quickly dismissed the idea. Mirai wasn’t stupid.
He went up the stairs, his passage swift and silent. At the top, he rounded the banister and went down the hallway. A second set of steps, enclosed by a wall and shut away behind a door, led up to the attic. He eased the door open, peered upward into the dark, and began to climb.
The attic was deeply shadowed and thick with gloom. A single window set at the front of the house let in what light there was. Dust motes danced on the air where the sun streamed through the glass, and shadows layered furniture and boxes draped in cloth coverings. It had been a long time since Railing had been up here, and he took a moment to orient himself. More memories of childhood flooded his mind—images of Redden and himself as young boys playing games in this storage space—but he set them aside and he began to search for the trunk.
He found it quickly enough. It was tucked back behind some boxes, covered with a sheet and wrapped with cord. He studied the cord for a moment to memorize how it was wrapped before loosening the knots and pulling off the sheet. He knelt in front of the trunk and tried the key in the lock. It turned easily, and the lock fell away.
Carefully, he raised the lid and looked inside. The trunk was stuffed with books and papers of all sorts, some labeled, some not. There were logbooks, journals, maps, charcoal and painted portraits, and other recordings both written and drawn. He glanced at the whole of it momentarily and then began to go through it systematically, again being careful of the order of things so that he could put it all back the way he had found it.
He discovered what he was looking for after only a few minutes. The journal was tucked down by itself against the front wall of the trunk, apart from the rest of the stacks, clearly taken out at some point in the past and then put back again so that it could be easily found. Railing knew at once that his mother had read it, and whatever she had found had caused her to place the journal aside from the rest of the contents.
He opened it to be sure of what he had and found Grianne Ohmsford’s name written on the inside of the cover. He skipped quickly to the back of the diary, to the last few paragraphs written, and began reading.
This will be my final entry as Ard Rhys of the Third Druid Order. It will be my final entry of any kind, as I will leave tomorrow with Penderrin Ohmsford for Stridegate, there to keep the promise I made to myself weeks ago when the boy came for me inside the Forbidding and brought me out again. That he should have come for me, that he should have saved me when all other efforts would surely have failed, that he should have risked so much for someone he knew so little about, cannot go unrewarded.
He has sacrificed much for me; now I must sacrifice for him. I will fly to Stridegate and set free the girl he loves, who was taken from him by the tanequil in exchange for the staff that would provide me my freedom from the Forbidding. I will repay my debt, and by doing so I will step down from my position as Ard Rhys and leave forever my life as a Druid.
There was much more that followed, but no time now to read it all. Railing closed the book, tucked it into his tunic, and began replacing the contents of the trunk in the order in which he had removed them. When he was finished, he closed the lid, draped the sheet back in place, and retied the cords so that everything looked exactly as he had found it. He didn’t think his mother would notice any changes, but there was no point in taking chances. His mind was racing as he worked, excited that he had discovered what he was looking for, already anticipating where it might lead. He could barely concentrate on what he was doing, so anxious was he to get to a place where he could read the entry uninterrupted.
Finished, he departed the attic, returned the key to his mother’s nightstand, and slipped out the back door.
Neither his mother nor Mirai saw him go.
He returned through the woods to where Mirai had left him earlier, having agreed that they would meet back here when both were finished. Mirai would take a while longer with his mother to be certain that he had enough time to find what he was looking for—if it was there to be found. Sitting back against a tree trunk in the shade, where he could escape the heat of the day, he retrieved the journal from his tunic, opened it anew, and began reading through it in detail.