Her sister smiled. “I never thought you wouldn’t.”
They ate their dinner seated about the campfire, the sun going down and night’s darkness sliding in to take its place. The skies were clear and bright with stars, and the forest about them was still. They spoke in low voices so as not to disturb the silence, speaking of small, unimportant things. There was no need to talk about what was going to happen on the morrow; what they needed now was to reaffirm the sense of closeness and confidence they had in each other. Talking made them feel better. It helped to chase back fears and doubts; it helped to instill in them a welcome sense of peace.
Yet still, Aphen dreamed of home and of strange images of the Ellcrys tree, its silver branches reaching for her, its scarlet leaves shimmering. She was trying to leave the gardens, to turn away from the tree, but she could not manage it. She struggled as the branches closed around her arms and then abruptly began to change into fingers and hands and arms. The tree became a girl, and the girl became Arlingfant, and she was begging Aphen to stay with her, to keep her company for all time—holding her fast, refusing to let her go, even after she panicked and screamed and was enclosed in an impenetrable black haze …
When she woke, she did not mention the dream to her sister. The day was cloudy and gray as they ate a small breakfast, and Aphen said little as they ate, thinking instead of what they were doing and what it would mean when they were done. She still hadn’t given up hope that a way might be found to absolve Arling from responsibility for the rebirth of the Ellcrys, although by now she had come to see that her hopes were growing dim and Arling’s chances small.
Impulsively, after they finished their meal and began to dispose of its leavings, she went over to her sister and hugged her close, saying softly in her ear, “I love you, little girl.”
The first drops of rain were just beginning to fall as Aphen stood in the center of the clearing with the Elfstones nestled in her hand. She used the images of fire burning underground in rock surroundings and of an arm extending the Ellcrys seed toward the flames to trigger the magic’s release. The response from the Stones was immediate. Sudden brightness surged through the cracks between her fingers with an unexpectedly sharp flaring of blue light—one that caused her makeshift image to shatter instantly and then vanish. In the dark emptiness left, the Elfstone magic formed into a tight line and raced southward through the heavy forests of the Wilderun, carrying Aphenglow with it. Curving through miles of ancient trees and vast patches of grasses and scrub, over fallen logs and broken branches, and across steams and ponds, it continued until it reached the edge of the Hollows and the spindled pinnacle of Spire’s Reach.
Aphen had studied these landmarks on her maps after reading the Druid Histories that revealed the Wilderun as the source of the Bloodfire, so she recognized what she was looking at, even without yet knowing exactly where the magic was taking her.
Where it took her was down into the murky forested depths of the Hollows to the base of Spire’s Reach. An opening in the rock revealed the entrance to a cave, and within that was a maze of tunnels, winding this way and that, crisscrossing and dead-ending all through the riven rock of the tower, until at last she found herself at a set of stairs surrounded not by cavern rock but by stone blocks shaped and set in place by mortal hands. The stairs descended hundreds of feet deeper into the earth, ending at a massive cavern opening. Huge columns braced the ceiling and stone benches, some whole, some broken, spread outward like ripples in a lake from a broad platform positioned at the exact center of the chamber.
Aphen thought the vision would end here, but it didn’t. Instead, the blue light continued on across the room to a huge stone door that stood ajar, and beyond to yet another set of stairs leading farther down.
This time her downward journey ended much more quickly, and the light revealed a fresh passageway, leading to a second great cavern. This one was not constructed of stone blocks and columns, but carved out of the earth by nature and time, its walls and ceiling and floors ragged and broken and cracked. Sweeping across the floor of this chamber, the light illuminated a wall of huge boulders and shattered rock.
At its center, a portal formed of glass glistened in the magic’s bright light, flat and perfectly centered on an opening.
Then the vision was gone.
Aphen took a moment to lower her hand and slip the Elfstones back into their pouch.
“I saw nothing of hidden dangers,” Cymrian announced. His white hair glistened with rain, and his face was water-streaked. “Did you?”
She shook her head. “Which doesn’t mean there aren’t any.”
“Why would anyone make a door out of glass in a cavern deep underground?” Arling wanted to know, looking from one to the other. “What would be the point?”
Aphen didn’t know. “Perhaps this is another instance of us not recognizing what we’re being shown. Like with the waterfall in the Fangs that turned out to be only a screen of light.” She felt uneasy just talking about it, but hid her discomfort with a smile. “Shall we find out?”
They packed up their camp and climbed back aboard the Sprint. Moments later they lifted off, gained sufficient altitude to put them well above the trees, and began flying south into the mist and gloom of the Wilderun.
They set a course that took them toward the center of the valley, and after a few hours they caught sight of Spire’s Reach. Its rock tower was at first no more than a vague outline in the curtains of brume, distant and indistinct. But within the hour, they had drawn near enough that they could make out its rugged features. By then the earlier drizzle had turned into a steady downpour and the day had become black and threatening. Fighting wind and rain, they huddled in the Sprint’s narrow cockpit, their cloaks wrapped close about them, their shoulders hunched and heads lowered.
Aphen was piloting, hands moving swiftly over the controls in an effort to keep their flight smooth and steady. She was thinking it would be nice if she could stop being wet all the time, that it seemed as if she was never dry anymore when she was in the air, only cold and damp.
But it was what it was, and within the next half hour they had reached their destination, sweeping past the craggy heights of Spire’s Reach and then swinging back again while searching the entire base of the pinnacle. It was Cymrian who saw what he believed to be the opening in the rock they were looking for while they were making their second pass, and on bringing the Sprint down for a closer look, Aphen was inclined to agree.
They landed not far away, setting down in a grassy flat at the base of the peak. They took a moment to prepare before disembarking. Cymrian added a few more weapons to his arsenal, Arling handed out waterskins, and then they set out to look for the entrance into the base of Spire’s Reach.
They found it quickly, and it was immediately recognizable to Aphenglow as the opening the Elfstone magic had revealed. Cymrian had brought along a trio of smokeless torches he had found aboard the Sprint; he handed one to each of the sisters and kept the third.
“Let me take the lead,” Aphen said. “That way I can make sure we are going in the right direction.”
Aphen wasn’t entirely sure that she remembered the right direction, but she pretended she did. Cymrian was back in his protector mode, if indeed he had ever left it, the best trained of the three in any case should they encounter trouble. But she had use of the Elfstones, and their magic would prove to be the more formidable weapon in almost any situation.
So they passed through the opening, leaving the rain and the forest behind, and found themselves in chilly darkness. Aphen led with Arling following her and Cymrian acting as rearguard. Their torches cast hazy, narrow beams into the gloom to reveal a rough-hewn entry chamber and a maze of tunnels leading away from it. After brushing the rain from their cloaks and giving Cymrian a moment to search for any sign of hidden traps and snares, Aphen chose the passageway she believed the Elfstones had revealed in their vision and the three companions set out.