He knew this decisively, convinced himself it was so, and then reluctantly admitted he was lying. The truth was so much worse. He was the one who was responsible for what had happened to his brother. If he hadn’t been so set on bringing back Grianne Ohmsford, if he hadn’t been so convinced she was the answer to their problems, if his courage had been stronger, he would have undertaken Redden’s rescue by himself.
Then, perhaps, things would have worked out differently.
Or at least they wouldn’t have worked out as they had.
He told all this to Mirai, but she brushed his concerns aside. Regret was useless, she declared. There was no way of knowing what would have happened if he had gone after Redden himself. Besides, the past never changed, and dwelling on it was pointless.
He knew she was right. He told her so, and he promised to let it alone, but he couldn’t. No one was as close to Redden as he was. Everything that happened to one always had a direct impact on the other, and the more so because they were twins. They were inseparable parts of a whole, united in a way other siblings could never be. Having Redden locked down as he was, gone somewhere inside his head, was like becoming lost himself.
They waited three days before setting out for Patch Run, and during that time Railing kept close watch on his brother, hoping against hope that he might show some sign of improvement. But nothing changed, and in the end he resolved to take Redden home as he was and confront his mother with the truth.
Some of the others from the expedition had already left. Challa Nand had departed almost immediately, the first to head out.
“Enough of this madness,” he had announced to the boy. “I don’t belong with you. Give me the wilderness and the mountains and no more searches for dead people who ought to stay dead. You did what you could, but some of it was ill advised.”
He’d paused then, perhaps deciding he had gone too far, and added, “Take good care of your brother. Don’t give up hope.”
Skint was a little kinder. “You couldn’t have known she would come back as she did. If your plans had fallen into place as you wanted them to, she would have returned as the Ard Rhys and done what you wished. Don’t waste time blaming yourself for something that was never your fault in the first place. You showed real courage more than once, Railing Ohmsford. I’m proud to have known you.”
Crace Coram and Woostra stayed on, ostensibly for different reasons, but neither had much to say to Railing or Mirai. Even Aphenglow stayed away, but they understood why she might, given the loss of her sister and the destruction of the Druid order, and they didn’t blame her for being otherwise occupied.
Yet on the day of their departure, she came to them and took Railing aside. “We’ve both lost someone we loved,” she said, “but that doesn’t have to be the end of it. We are luckier than most. We still have them close. Don’t be so sure your brother doesn’t hear you or realize you are there when you speak to him. Your brother might be in hiding, but he might also be trying to find his way back. Help him do that. Be there for him when he returns.”
Railing nodded, almost in tears.
“I wish I could have done more to speed him on his journey back to you, but for now at least it appears he is beyond anywhere my healing skills can reach. But I will come to you and try again soon, if you will let me.”
“I would like that very much,” he said.
“Then we have an agreement.”
He smiled, hesitated. “I forgot to give you this until now, but I think you should have it. Oriantha gave it to me. Redden found it in the case where the Elfstones were hidden. He tucked it away in his pocket, and she remembered it was there when she helped bring him in from the battlefield.”
He reached into his own pocket and brought out a folded slip of paper. “I tried reading it, but it is written in a language I don’t understand. Oriantha says you might be able to translate it.” He handed it to her. “If you can do so, will you remember to tell me what it says?”
“Of course,” she replied. “When I come to see Redden, I will bring the note with me.”
“I’m sorry about Arling,” he said suddenly, looking down at his feet.
Aphenglow glanced down at the note and slipped it into her pocket. “Thank you for saying so.” Then she stepped forward and hugged him. “You’ve been very brave, Railing. You and Redden both. What Allanon’s shade said to Khyber Elessedil proved to be true. We couldn’t have succeeded without your help.”
She said that even though she wasn’t much older than he was, and her involvement hadn’t been any less crucial. He shook his head. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
She smiled. “Give it time.”
Aphenglow sat with Seersha in her bedroom in the healing center—something she had been doing every day since her return to Arborlon. The Dwarf had drifted in and out of consciousness for the better part of a week, and there were times when it appeared she might not recover. But Seersha was strong of heart and body, and even the grievous wounds that Edinja Orle’s creature had inflicted on her were not enough to end her life.
By now, a week had passed since the Ohmsford twins and Mirai had departed for home. Ellich Elessedil had been crowned King, and a much-needed stability had been restored to the Elven people. Phaedon was under care in a healing center, and it had become increasingly clear he might remain there for the rest of his days. His breakdown during the struggle between Seersha and the changeling seemed to have permanently unhinged him. Nothing the Elven Healers had done had helped him improve. The High Council had not needed to debate the question of succession once it was determined that Phaedon was not capable of ruling. Ellich, now absolved of any guilt concerning his brother’s death, was named King by rule of law and right of succession.
“I’ve made a decision,” Aphen declared. “I’m not coming back to Paranor. I’m staying here.”
“So you can be close to Arling,” Seersha said.
Aphen nodded. “She gave up everything for me—for all of us. Now I have to give something back.”
“In spite of what you know the Chosen will do for her?”
“They can’t talk with her the way I can. Besides, I have to find a way to reconcile with Mother.”
“Have you spoken with her since Arling’s transformation?”
Aphen nodded. “Several times.”
“Does she respond to you?”
“Not yet. But she will, eventually. It will help if I stay close.”
“Because that is what she has always wanted you to do. I see.”
Aphen nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Seersha studied her friend out of her one good eye. Her face was crisscrossed with slash wounds and bandages, but her gaze was steady. “I will miss you. It will be lonely being the only Druid left in the order.”
“Oriantha will come, if you will have her. She’s already asked if we would take her. Her mother intended that for her, and if she wants it, why not? She would be a good companion for you, and a good addition to the order. Besides, others will come to join, as well. It won’t always be you.”
Seersha pursed her lips. “I think you are making a mistake. You don’t belong here. You belong in Paranor. Can I tell you why?”
“You can tell me anything.”
“You are the best of us, Aphen. You were always meant to be the Ard Rhys after Khyber. She wanted it that way. I know. I’m not the right choice. I lack the necessary balance. I don’t have the necessary skills. Mostly, I’m a fighter, a weapons master. I’m not a diplomat. I don’t have the patience. I would match my use of magic against anyone or anything in combat, but it takes more than that to be the Ard Rhys.”