It was his fault, no matter how you looked at it, that Farshaun was dead. It was his insistence on making this journey that was responsible.
He stewed on it for the rest of the morning while going through the motions of whatever his tasks required of him, speaking a few words here and there when necessary, accepting condolences, listening to tributes, all of it a jumble of words that felt more like accusations.
The Rovers had wrapped Farshaun in a section of sailcloth and placed him belowdecks in the cold locker at the stern of the airship. Because they wanted to bury him and mark his grave, they had to fly on for a time to find a spot where this was possible. It might take them until evening, Challa Nand advised. But the body would keep well enough in the cold locker until then.
“You should say something when we lay the old man to rest,” Skint said to Railing at one point. “You were close to him; you meant something to him. He would want you to speak for him. More so, I think, than any of the Rovers.”
Or he would prefer Mirai, Railing had thought at the time. She loved the old man, too—maybe more than Railing did. It seemed to him that she might do the better job of it. At least she wouldn’t be burdened with the guilt he carried. At least she wouldn’t have to speak the words and know she could have done something to prevent the need for them.
But now, having seen her with Austrum, he wasn’t sure he could ask her anything. He wasn’t sure he could even speak to her without finding a way to turn it into an attack. All he could think about—when not dwelling on his guilt for Farshaun’s death—was how much he wished that Austrum had never come into their lives and how badly he wanted Mirai back again, whatever the nature of the accommodation they might be able to find, so long as it didn’t include the big Rover.
But he might as well have wished for time to move backward for all the good it was going to do him. All he had the right to hope for now was a reasonable end to his efforts to save Redden. If he could manage that much, he would have gotten all he was entitled to.
So when the Quickening set down toward sunset, descending to a broad meadow of tall grasses and wildflowers cupped in the valley of a series of massive peaks, high above sea level and well hidden from everything that couldn’t fly, he turned his attention to doing what he had promised both Skint and himself he would do. With the entire company in tow, he left the airship and walked with the big Troll down into the meadow and laid Farshaun Req in his final resting place. The air was sweet and unexpectedly warm; the meadow seemed to be encapsulated in its own climate zone. Birds wheeled overhead and butterflies and bees zipped about through the wildflowers and grasses, oblivious to what those gathered were doing. Farshaun was lowered into the earth still wrapped in the sheeting, a stone marker was set in place at the head of his grave, and Railing stepped forward.
“I’ve never known a better man,” he said, his voice resonating loud and clear in the stillness of the moment. It echoed off the peaks, sounding eerily distant and disconnected. “He was admired by everyone who knew him. He was my friend, and he understood my dream of flying airships and taught me most of what I know. He taught Mirai and my brother, Redden, too. We all loved him, and we will miss him terribly. I wish we had been able to keep him with us a little longer. I wish I had never agreed to let him come on this journey.”
He paused, steadying himself. “But Farshaun was never someone who let others dictate his choices, and I don’t expect I could have done so here. I take comfort in knowing he died in the place he loved most—in the air, aboard an airship, with airmen he admired and the world at his feet. I imagine he is flying somewhere now, off in the blue, off on another journey. I can’t imagine him doing anything else. I will always think of him this way.”
He stepped back, shaking his head, fighting the tears, drained of words and emotional strength. He stood with his head bowed as the Rovers sang a short, traditional song that was meant to speed the dead on their way to a place of safety and peace and to help the living let them go. Challa Nand closed the proceedings with a pronouncement calling on the forces of nature that inhabited and protected the mountains to take notice of their loss, and include their friend.
Then it was back to the airship, the light failing quickly now, though the air remained warm. Night was coming on, darkness speeding its way out of the east in lengthening shadows and a dimming of the skies, the winged herald of day’s end. Railing trudged back to the airship with the others, walking close to Skint. He was vaguely aware of Mirai walking with Austrum, but he refused to look at her, not wanting to be troubled by their body language or wonder at the nature of their words. He was suddenly exhausted, and felt like he could sleep for a week.
“That was well said back there,” Skint observed, dropping back to walk beside him. “I was right about you and the old Rover; you and he did have a strong connection.”
Railing gave a desultory nod. “Well, it’s gone now.”
The Gnome Tracker snorted. “Oh, I don’t think so. Such things survive death. They live on in the hearts of the living. They help keep the dead from being forgotten. Didn’t you know that?”
He moved away. Railing walked on for another few moments, and then he stopped where he was. He watched the others move ahead of him, so despairing that he no longer wanted to keep their company. Instead, he turned around and started back toward the grave site.
“What are you doing?” Woostra asked as he passed him.
“Just spending a little more time with Farshaun,” he answered, not bothering to slow. “I want to be alone with him. I’ll be along.”
Woostra grunted something, but by then Railing was too far away to hear it. He breathed in the unexpectedly warm air and smelled the meadow flowers and wished for things he couldn’t have. He glanced at the darkening sky, but didn’t mind that the light was going. He preferred it dark. He wanted to disappear.
Moments later, he was standing over Farshaun’s grave. The Rovers had covered it with heavy rocks after the old man was interred, intent on protecting his remains from scavengers. Railing knelt next to it, undid the band that held his red hair off his face, readjusted it, and began to speak.
“I let you down, Farshaun,” he said softly. “I failed you. I’ve failed everyone on this journey, and you and Mirai most of all. I should have told you about the King of the Silver River and the Grimpond. I should have been honest and up front about what I know. At least then a vote could have been taken and, if you had wanted to go back, you could have. But I didn’t do that. I let you think that nothing had changed, but everything had. Everything was different.”
He took a deep breath to steady himself, and now his voice was shaking. “The King of the Silver River told me that it was wrong for me to seek out Grianne Ohmsford. He told me not to try to bring her back from wherever she was, that it wouldn’t happen as I hoped, even if I could manage it. The Grimpond told me she was alive and well, and I could do what I wanted, but there was something in the way he said it that warned me against it. Both creatures gave me the same message, but I ignored them. I didn’t care what they said. I cared about getting Redden back again. I was afraid you and the others wouldn’t go any farther if you knew …”
“What are you doing out here?”
Mirai was standing next to him, staring down questioningly. He felt his stomach lurch. “Nothing. Just talking to Farshaun.”
“It sounded like you were confessing. I heard some of it.” She looked angry. “Does it make you feel better when you tell your secrets to a dead man rather than to me?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t talk to you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”
She snorted. “You couldn’t? You didn’t even try!”
“I started to say something, but you just turned away.” He was suddenly feeling threatened. “I didn’t think you wanted me to—”
“If you wanted to talk to me, you should have done so!” she snapped, interrupting him. “The problem with you is you’ve lost all your confidence. You don’t kno
w who you are anymore. You think too much. You talk everything to death. What’s happened to you?”
She put enough emphasis on this last part to let him know that she was fed up with him.
“You were always the confident one, the reckless one. So much more so than Redden. He might think things over, but not you. You simply charged ahead. You dared anything. It defined who you were, but that’s all been lost. I don’t know who you are, but it certainly isn’t anyone I know!”
“I’m still who I was,” he insisted.
“Then show it!” She dropped to her knees beside him, her face right up against his. “Stop being so pathetic. Go back to acting like you have a spine.”
He glared at her. “Oh, I see. You want me to be more like Austrum, is that it? I saw how he was holding you.”
She shook her head and rocked back on her heels. “Austrum again. You just can’t let that go, can you?” Her brow furrowed. “If you’re so worried about Austrum, why don’t you do something about it?”
He stared. “What do you mean?”
“You’re jealous of him. You can’t stand it when I pay attention to him. You hated it when he kissed me, and you suffer every time he comes near me. You think all sorts of things are happening between us. If you care about this so much, do something to change it.”
“You want me to fight him?”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Try to think about this in other terms. This isn’t about you and Austrum, it’s about you and me. Understand, Railing? You and me! Tell me—do you love me or not? Which is it?”
“You know I love you.” He brushed strands of red hair from his eyes. “I told you I did.”
“Well, then, it’s pretty simple, isn’t it? If you love me, why don’t you show it? Stop telling me you love me and do something to show it. You look capable enough.”
“Do something? Do what?”
She glared. “Do I have to tell you everything?” She punched him hard on the shoulder, and then exhaled sharply. “When you want something badly enough, sometimes you just have to take it. So why don’t you do that, Railing?”
The emphasis again, this time on his name. Bitter and demanding and something else he couldn’t quite define. Urgent, perhaps?
“I don’t …
“Are you listening to me? Why don’t you just take me?”
“What?”
She leaned close enough that he could see the wildness of the emotions roiling in her green eyes. She seized the front of his tunic and yanked hard. “You heard what I said. If you love me, take me!”
“But …”
“Take me, Railing. Your brother did!”
Had he heard her right? A wash of bright anger and shock flooded through him. He skidded from one emotion to another, all in a matter of seconds. He felt all the air go out of him, the weight of her words huge and crushing. He felt everything inside turn suddenly tense and dangerous.
She was right in front of him, waiting for him. He reached for her, pulled her into him, and kissed her hard—none of it gentle or sweet, just demanding. He kissed her repeatedly and found suddenly that she was kissing him back.
He forced her down then, onto the ground amid the tall grasses. Except for the sky overhead—now almost completely dark, with the first stars beginning to reveal themselves—the world had disappeared.
She pulled him over her. “Don’t stop,” she said.
And he didn’t.
Afterward, they lay together in the shelter of the meadow grasses, night fully descended, the world silent in the aftermath of what had just happened. They weren’t speaking yet. Railing was still too caught up in his feelings, still lost in a lingering sense of wonder and contentment. He dozed for a time. When he woke, Mirai was pressed back up against him, and he found himself wanting her forever, determined that he would never let her go again, not for a single moment—but wondering at the same time if such a thing were possible.
Then he remembered what she had said about Redden, and some of the joy left him. He knew he should leave the matter alone, but he couldn’t make himself do that.
His hand covered hers. “I always wondered about you and Redden.”
He felt her shrug. “Maybe you should have asked him about it.”
“We never talk about you. Not in that way.”
“You sound like you think I might be shattered if you did. I wouldn’t, you know. I’m pretty strong.”
“I know.” He was silent a moment. “What you said about Redden and you …”
“It never happened.”
He was caught off guard. “But you said …”
“Forget what I said. You needed a little nudge, so I provided it.” She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Sometimes, you just have to know. You have to find out.”
“So you made it up?”
“Have you ever wondered how I can tell the two of you apart so easily?” she asked. “It’s because of the way you act around me. It’s not the same. You probably don’t realize it, but you’re always eager and he’s always restrained. One or two sentences, a few words even, and I know which is which. Sometimes a look is enough. Or the way you move.”
She turned over to face him. Her hand reached up to stroke his face. “You haven’t been right since Redden went into the Forbidding. You lost yourself for a while, lost everything that makes you who you are. The way you fussed about Austrum? We talked; that was all. He’s interesting because he isn’t afraid of me. He lets me know right away what he’s thinking. Kissing me was bold. I liked that. But he’s not for me.”
Railing couldn’t help himself. “And I am?”
She looked away. “I don’t know. I’m not sure about you. You’re still out there somewhere, hiding out, keeping apart. You haven’t come all the way back, even now.”
“But this … what we just …”
“That isn’t enough. Don’t you see? It’s just something that happened. Yes, I wanted it to happen. I did. But it was just what I said before—a finding out.”
He locked down everything he was tempted to say and put it all in a safe place. He breathed in the scent of the grasses and the night air and looked up at the stars.
“I want more of you than you’ve given me,” he said. “I want a lot more. Maybe I want everything. I’m saying this to you straight out because I don’t want you to think I would ever take what just happened lightly. I understand what you’re telling me about myself. I know you’re right. I’ve gone way off into the woods, and I can’t seem to find my way back. But I will.”
She was silent a minute, then she got to her feet. “We shouldn’t be out here like this. We might not be safe. Besides, I’m getting cold.”
He rose with her. He tried not to look at her, but failed miserably and was filled with an aching that worked its way from his exposed skin right down to the deepest part of his heart. He desperately wanted to hold on to her, but he didn’t know if he could.
When they were ready to set out for the airship, Mirai suddenly turned back and faced the grave. “Just a minute.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Good-bye, Farshaun. Thanks for teaching us so much. Thanks for believing in us and always being there. You had a good heart. Railing and Redden and I will miss you every day.”
She paused. “And don’t be offended by what happened between Railing and me. I think it helped us both to cope with your loss. I think if you could tell us, you would say that you approve.”
She turned away again, not bothering to look at Railing. “Come on, let’s go.”
As they walked back toward the Quickening, Railing decided to do what he should have done days earlier—what he knew instinctively she expected him to do if he loved her as much as he claimed. He told her about his meetings with the King of the Silver River and the Grimpond. He told her everything he had been keeping secret from her and held nothing back. He opened himself up and let it all come out. He did it in a clean straightforward way, being as honest as he could about what he thought it al
l meant and how it made him feel.
“I knew what I was doing by hiding all this,” he said when he had finished. “I knew it was wrong, that I was being selfish and arrogant. I just couldn’t accept having to turn back because no one else felt as strongly about finding Redden as I did. But I couldn’t face the prospect of going into the Forbidding after him, either. I can admit that now. The idea terrified me. Finding Grianne Ohmsford seemed the better choice. I convinced myself of it. If I had it to do over, I might make the same choice again. I can’t say I wouldn’t. Redden means everything to me.”
“And you thought I didn’t feel as strongly about him as you do?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know. Well, I guess I did. I didn’t think you would turn back. Not really. But if it was just you and me, how could we manage? We need the airship to carry us and the others to help sail it. I was afraid that, if you knew, you might think you had to tell them. I just couldn’t risk it.”
“But now you’ve changed your mind? Why?”
“You know,” he said.
They reached the ship and climbed the rope ladder, which apparently had been left down for them. One of the Rovers on watch grunted an acknowledgment and pulled the ladder up after they were aboard. They said good night to him, and together they walked to the empty pilot box and sat down in front of it, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring out at the night.
“I don’t much like you for being so self-centered,” she said after a few minutes, “but I understand why you did it. And at least you’re telling me now. I appreciate that.”
He looked into her eyes, forcing himself to meet her steady gaze. “In the morning, I’ll tell the others.”