“Will you now?” she said. She pointed to the multitudes assembled behind her—a casual gesture. “What do you think they will say to that?” She seemed genuinely interested. “They might not like the idea!”
“It doesn’t matter. You can do whatever you want! You’ve freed them from Tael Riverine. They won’t challenge you now.”
She came closer, and he could hear Mirai hissing at him in warning. “We have to go! Now!”
But Railing only moved ahead a few more steps, bringing him within ten feet of the witch. He was scared out of his wits by the prospect of what this creature could do to them—what she might at any moment choose to do. But he was still hoping he could reason with her.
“What will you do with me once we’ve returned to Mother Tanequil?” she wanted to know.
“Whatever I must to get you back to what you were. I promise.”
“What are you talking about?” Redden hissed, still at his elbow.
There was a long silence as the witch considered. “I think maybe you would try to do as you say,” she said finally. “The problem is that I don’t want you to. I don’t want to go back to being what I was. All I want is what awaits me here.” She gestured behind her to the dragon and the Jarka Ruus. “I want what they want.”
Railing felt his heart sink. In the dual life of Grianne Ohmsford, the part that was Ilse Witch had won and the part that was Ard Rhys had lost. She no longer felt the urge to go back to being an aeriad. She no longer wanted that life, the one he had dragged her away from in order to bring her here.
It was his fault, he knew. All his.
“So you see the problem,” she continued, “because you won’t let that happen, and neither will your brother. Will you?”
“We’re your family!” Railing reminded her frantically.
Within the shadows of the cloak’s cowl, her head gave a small shake. “No, boy, you are not. I have no family.”
The Isle Witch struck out at Railing without warning and without preamble—a fiery strike exploding from a withered limb that she thrust out from her gray robes like a snake. But Redden was quicker. Sensing what was about to happen, acting on his instincts, he flung himself at Railing an instant before the fire was expelled and sent them both tumbling to the ground. Rolling clear of his brother, Railing responded by using the wishsong to fling dagger-sharp particles of rock at the ragged figure before them. The pieces tore into her, shredding her coverings, riddling her through and through.
But still she stood upright, seemingly unaffected, conjuring a torrential gust of wind that picked up both Redden and Railing and threw them backward into Mirai, sending all three crashing to the ground. Redden was stunned, but Railing, quickly rising to a guarded crouch, tried a fresh tactic, using his wishsong to damage her senses, clogging her mouth and nose with dirt, hammering at her ears with shrieking sounds and blinding her with the sun’s own brightness. He went after her relentlessly, holding nothing back, striking out at her with everything he had because he knew he was unlikely to get a second chance.
For a moment, it even looked like he might succeed. Grianne went stumbling away, trying to fend off the unexpected attack. Unable to clear her vision or her hearing, she began choking and gasping. Railing pressed his advantage, using the wishsong to summon roots that wrapped themselves about her like shackles and pulled her down.
But she fought back against what was being done to her. An explosion of light ripped through the air and ended with a concussive boom like thunder following a lightning strike. Railing was flattened instantly, his magic dispersed and his consciousness gone. He lay sprawled on the earth, steam rising from his inert form.
Oriantha attacked the moment Railing went down, coming at the witch from her blind side, moving so fast she was little more than a blur. But the witch saw her anyway, caught her in midair, and threw her away like a scrap of paper. The shape-shifter landed in a heap and didn’t move again.
Mirai was kneeling over Railing as the witch turned on her. “Why don’t you join him?” Grianne asked almost gently, arms extending. “You love him, don’t you? So why don’t you die, too?”
The Highland girl reached for Railing and tried to pull him away, but he was too heavy, so she grabbed on to him and shielded him protectively. “Get away!” she screamed.
It would have been the end of all of them if not for Redden. Still shaken from the blow the witch had given him, he struggled to his feet, clutching the red Elfstones. He ignored the dark flicker of recognition, warning him of what he was about to risk—of the danger and the likely cost. But the threat from the witch was immediate and he had no time to think, only to act.
Combining both forms of magic in the same way he had when facing Tarwick and his hunters in the underground caverns of the Kroat Abyss, he struck out. A brilliant stream of red fire burst from his clenched hands and washed over the witch until she was encapsulated. She fought to break the magic’s casing, but it was thick and strong and refused to be dispelled. Redden could feel her efforts in his own body, the ripples of her power washing back through the stream of scarlet light in wild reverberations. But he held fast, even when he felt the dissipation begin. It was similar to what he had felt when he had drained the Catcher and his creatures down in the Kroat Abyss, yet different because the witch was a singular being. Ever so slowly, the essence of the witch began to drain from her ragged form, siphoned away by the magic of the Elfstones. Some of it was drawn into the Stones themselves and into their user. Redden gasped as the first painful sparks of the magic’s detritus reached him and began to fill his body. Shards of the witch’s shattered emotions and broken power washed through him, slashing like sharpened metal. He felt everything she did, all of her terrible rage and madness and despair, every savage and damaging belief and compromise she had embraced in becoming the Ilse Witch reborn.
For a moment, it seemed to him that it would be too much. But in desperation, he tightened his hold on his fears and reinforced his determination. The power of his Elfstone magic surged, and within the haze he felt from the rawness of the pain assailing him, he heard the witch wraith howl in anguish. She twisted and writhed in an effort to break free, trying to use her own magic to stop what was happening to her.
But Redden held her fast, bleeding her, even as an overpowering sensation of loss and emptiness filtered through him, a feeling of unwelcome invasion filling the void. Though he held himself firm, though he refused to ease back on the power of the crimson Stones, his mind was losing traction. The fury and power of the witch’s substance was filling him up and replacing his sense of identity and self. He tried to grasp something that would hold him in place, but the void was smooth and empty, and he felt himself sliding away.
In the Gardens of Life, Arlingfant Elessedil’s alteration had begun. Aphenglow watched with both horror and amazement as her sister’s slender body began to bend and stretch, arms and body taking on a silvery cast, hair turning crimson. Limbs sprouted and grew long and crooked, arching out in all directions. Her legs merged and sprouted roots that worked their way deep into the earth. Layers of bark covered her skin, and scarlet leaves replaced her hair.
Her face disappeared last, and Aphen could see from her expression that she was feeling no pain or discomfort but instead a kind of euphoria that transcended her fears and doubts, bringing her to her fate unafraid and accepting.
When it was done, a new Ellcrys stood in place of the old at the crest of the rise, perfectly formed and unblemished, its silver bark and crimson leaves shining with sunlight and fluttering slighting in a suddenly fresh morning breeze.
Aphenglow rose and walked up the rise to the Ellcrys reborn, placing her hands on the bark of the trunk and running them slowly across the smooth surface.