Then a dirt-encrusted root snaked out of the ravine like a sea leviathan’s tentacle and wrapped about the leg of the dangling creature, fastening tight. The black-cloaked form twisted and struggled as its grip was loosened. Another yank, and Pen’s attacker was falling into the abyss, down into the blackness. It struck with an audible thud, and then the roots of Mother Tanequil were moving, sliding against each other in rough scrapings. Pen heard the sounds of flesh tearing, bones breaking, and blood exploding out of ruptured limbs.
A final shriek rose out of the ravine’s depths.
And then there was only silence.
THIRTY
Pen sat facing the ravine, breathing so hard he thought his heart would give out. He stared down into the void, half expecting the hooded creature to reemerge, even knowing that this time it was dead and gone and never coming back. Stunned by the suddenness of its demise, not quite certain that he could trust what he had seen, he waited anyway.
When he lifted his gaze, he saw Khyber. She was standing on the other side of the ravine, arms extended, body braced. Her posture and the shocked look on her face revealed her part in what had happened. It was her Druid magic that had knocked him aside. She had used it there, as she had weeks earlier aboard the Skatelow in Anatcherae to sweep their hunter from the decks of the airship and into the waters of the Lazareen. Both times, she had saved his life.
He stared at her in disbelief and gratitude, then lifted his hand in a small wave. She straightened and waved back. They stayed where they were for a moment, looking at each other across the ravine, but from a greater distance, too, one measured by hardships endured and deadly encounters survived. Suddenly it made him feel close to her, enough so that he wanted to call out and tell her so. But the darkness was a curtain between them, and the night seemed poised to steal away his words, so he stayed silent.
She waved once more, pointed in the direction of the ruins, and started off into the darkness.
He watched her go, then gathered his strength, stood, and walked to the edge of the drop. He didn’t want to look down, but he did so anyway. He peered into the blackness, telling himself that it was all right, that he didn’t need to be afraid anymore, that the thing that had hunted him for so long was really dead. He stayed where he was for a long time, waiting for the bad memories and troubling emotions to settle, to lose their edge, to find a resting place inside.
When he had satisfied himself, he exhaled slowly and deliberately and turned away. He wondered if Cinnaminson was at peace with what had happened, as well, asleep in the arms of Mother Tanequil. He hoped she was.
He followed the rim of the ravine once more, stepping carefully along its border through the deepening night, the clouds drifting overhead in tattered dark strips, the stars a sprinkle of silver dust in the firmament. He had no idea what time it was. He scanned the horizon for the moon, hoping to use it to judge the hour, but he failed to find it. He couldn’t seem to remember if it was waxing or waning, full or new. He couldn’t remember when he had seen it last. He was tired, he knew. Too tired to think.
His thoughts scattered, and he found himself wondering if the aeriads had known that Khyber was across the ravine and ready to act to save him. He wondered if Cinnaminson was responsible, and if, being linked to the tanequil, she had asked the tree to aid him, too. Then it occurred to him that for the black-cloaked creature to reach the island to begin hunting him in the first place, the tanequil would have had to let it cross the bridge, thereby inviting it to its own doom.
He looked down at the darkwand. Having given up its limb in exchange for his fingers and Cinnaminson, had the tree become linked to him in a way he did not yet fully understand? It seemed clear that he was being kept safe at least until he was back across the bridge. It was no accident that he had been rescued that night. Khyber had not found him by chance. The aeriads had not led him to the edge of the ravine without knowing that Mother Tanequil was waiting.
How far did the protection of the tree reach?
He stopped and looked back into the darkness of the island forest. He wanted to know so much more than he did. He wanted to return to the tree to ask for the answers to his questions. But there was no point. His road lay ahead, on the other side of the ravine, back in the world of the Druids and Paranor.
And beyond, in the world of the Forbidding.
He began walking again, a steady march. The bridge was not far ahead. He saw a glow in the distance, fires lit within Stridegate’s ruins. Kermadec and his Trolls were waiting. Khyber would be back. He was anxious suddenly to see them. He was tired of being alone. He needed their companionship; he needed the reassurance their numbers would provide.
He pushed through the screen of saplings fronting the bridge supports and stopped short.
Three huge warships hung anchored above the ruins, their massive black hulls reflecting dully in the light of bonfires lit all through Stridegate’s flowered gardens. Shadows cast by the flames danced across through the carpeted beds and vine-covered walls, a swarm of shimmering black moths. Kermadec and his Rock Trolls sat weaponless and ringed by Gnome Hunters, their impassive faces lowered, their huge hands clenched about their knees as they faced away from their captors. Tagwen was crouched in their midst.
Directly across from Pen, on the far side of the bridge, stood a singular figure cloaked and hooded in black. At his appearance, the figure turned to face him.
Pen felt his heart sink and his euphoria fade.
The Druids had found them once more.
In memory of Christina Michelle George and Caleb Alexander Delp
and
in celebration of readers like them everywhere
ONE
“Pen Ohmsford!” The black-cloaked figure called out to him from across the chasm that separated the island of the tanequil from the rest of the world. “We have been waiting for you!”
A male Druid. He came forward a few steps, pulling back his hood to reveal the strong, dark features of his face. Pen had never seen him before.
“Come across the bridge so that we can talk,” the Druid said.
The firelight threw his shadow across the stone archway in a dark stain that spilled into the chasm, and the portent it foreshadowed was unmistakable. Pen wished he hadn’t rushed into the light so quickly, that he had been more careful. But he had thought himself past the worst of it. He had survived his encounter with the tanequil and received the gift of the darkwand, the talisman that would give him access into the Forbidding. He had lost two fingers in doing so, but he had come to believe that they were a small price to pay. Losing Cinnaminson was a much larger price, but he had accepted that there was nothing he could do about it until after his aunt was safely returned, promising himself he would try to come back for her then. Finally, he had escaped the monster that had pursued them all the way from Anatcherae and knew it to be dead at last, pulled down into the chasm and crushed.
But now this.
His fingers tightened possessively around the darkwand, and he scanned the faces of the captive Trolls. All there, he saw. No one missing. No one even appeared hurt. They must have been caught completely by surprise not to have put up any fight. He wondered vaguely how that could have happened, how the Druids had found them at all, for that matter, but he guessed it was a pointless exercise.
A few of the Trolls were looking up now, Kermadec among them. The anger and disappointment on his face were unmistakable. He had failed Pen. They all had. The boy saw Tagwen there as well, almost hidden behind the massive bodies of his companions.
There was no sign of Khyber.
“Cross the bridge, Pen,” the Druid repeated, not unkindly. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself.”
“I think I should stay where I am,” Pen answered.
The Druid nodded, as if understanding him perfectly. “Well, you can do that, if you choose. I’ve read the warning on the stone, and I know better than to try to come across after you.” He paused. “Tell me. If the danger is
real, how did you manage to get over there without being harmed?”
Pen said nothing.
“What are you doing here, anyway? Trying to help your aunt? Did you think you might find her here?” Pen stared back at him silently.
“We have your friends. All of them. You can see for yourself. We have your parents, as well, locked away at Paranor.” His voice was patient, calm. “It doesn’t do you any good to stay over there when those you care about are all over here. You can’t help them by refusing to face up to your responsibilities.”
My responsibilities, Pen repeated silently. What would this man know of his responsibilities? Why would he even care, save that he thought he could stop Pen from carrying them out?
A second Druid appeared beside the first, coming out of the darkness and into the light. This one was slender and small, a ferret-faced Gnome of particularly cunning looks, his eyes shifting swiftly from the first Druid to Pen and then back again. He muttered something, and the first Druid gave him a quick, angry look.
“How do I know you aren’t lying about my parents?” Pen asked suddenly; it wasn’t the first time he had heard the claim. He still didn’t want to believe it.
The first Druid turned back to him. “Well, you don’t. I can tell you that they were flying in a ship called Swift Sure when we brought them into the Keep. They helped us find you. Your father was worried about the disappearance of his sister, but more worried about you. That is how we found you, Pen.”
Gone cold to the bone, the boy stared at him. The explanation made perfect sense. His father would have aided them without realizing what he was doing, thinking it was the right thing, that they were as concerned about his aunt as he was. The King of the Silver River was supposed to have warned his parents of the Druids, but perhaps he had failed. If so, his father wouldn’t have known of their treachery. How could he?
Pen brushed back his tangled red hair while trying to think what to do.
“Let me put this to you another way,” the taller Druid went on, moving slightly in front of the other. “My companion is less patient than I am, although he isn’t volunteering to cross the bridge, either. But when morning comes, we will bring one of the airships across, and then we will have you, one way or the other. There are only so many places you can hide. This is all a big waste of time, given the way things eventually have to turn out.”
Pen suspected that was true. But his freedom, however temporary, was the only bargaining chip he possessed. “Will you set my friends free, if I agree to come over?”
The Druid nodded. “My word on it. All of them. We have no use for them beyond persuading you to come with us. Once you cross over, they are free to go.”
“What about my parents?”
The Druid nodded. “Once you are back at Paranor, they can go, too. In fact, once you’ve told us what we want to know, what your purpose is in coming here, you can go, too.”
He was lying. He made it sound believable, exuding just the right amount of sincerity and reasonableness through his choice of words and tone of voice, but Pen knew the truth of things at once. The Druid would have done better to tell him something less soothing, but he supposed the man saw him as a boy and thought he would respond better to a lie than to the truth.
He paused to consider what he should do next. He had asked the questions that needed asking and gotten the answers he expected. It reconfirmed his suspicions about what would happen if he crossed the bridge to surrender to them. On the other hand, if he stayed where he was, they would capture him sooner or later, even if he went back down into the chasm, something he did not think he could do. Worse, he would be doing nothing to help his family and friends. If he was as concerned about responsibility as he liked to think, he would have to do more than go off and hide.
The decision was easier to make than he would have thought. He had to go to Paranor anyway if he was to use the darkwand to reach his aunt. Rescuing the Ard Rhys was what he had set out to do, and he couldn’t do that if he didn’t get inside the Druid’s Keep. The Druids who had come for him were offering him a chance to do just that. He would have preferred going about it in a different way, but it all ended the same. The trick would be finding a way to keep the darkwand in his possession until he could get inside the chamber of the Ard Rhys.
He had no idea how he was going to do that.
“I want to speak with Tagwen,” he called out. “Send him to the head of the bridge and move back so I can come across safely.”
The Druids exchanged an uncertain glance. “When you surrender yourself, then we will let you talk with Tagwen,” the taller one said.
Pen shook his head. “If you want me to surrender, you have to let me talk with Tagwen first. I want to hear from him what he thinks about your promises. I want to hear from him how good he thinks your word is. If you don’t let me talk to him, I’m staying right here.”
He watched their dark faces bend close and heard them confer in inaudible whispers. He could tell they didn’t like the request and were trying to come up with a way to refuse it.
“If you think I will be so easy to find over here come morning, perhaps you should wait to try it and find out for yourselves,” he said suddenly. “It might not be as easy as you think. That spider creature you sent to hunt me down? Or was it supposed to kill me? You did send it, didn’t you?”
He asked the questions on impulse, not knowing how they would answer, but suspecting. He was not disappointed. Both Druids stared at him in surprise. The one who did all the talking folded his arms into his cloak. “We didn’t send him. But we know who did. We thought he was dead, killed in the Slags.”
Pen shook his head, his eyes shifting to Tagwen, who was watching him alertly now, knowing he was up to something, anxious to find out what it was. “He? Not it?”
“Aphasia Wye. A man, but I grant you he looks more an insect than a human. Are you saying he isn’t dead? Where is he?”
“No, he’s dead. But he didn’t die in the Slags. He tracked us all the way here. Last night, he crossed the bridge. Just as you want to do. Except that he found a way. Then he found me, but something else, too, and it killed him. If you want to see what that something is, fly your airship on over. I’ll wait for you.”
It was a bluff, but it was a bluff worth trying. Aphasia Wye was a predator of the first order—they might be hesitant to go up against something that had dispatched him. It cast Pen in a different light, giving him a more dangerous aspect, since he was alive and his hunter wasn’t. He had to make them stop and think about whether it was worthwhile to refuse his request.
The taller Druid finished conferring with his companion and looked over. “All right, Pen. We’ll let you speak with Tagwen. But no tricks, please. Anything that suggests you are acting in bad faith will put your Troll friends and your parents at risk. Don’t test our limits. Have your talk, and then do what you know you have to do and surrender yourself to us.”
Pen didn’t know if he would do that or not, but it would help if he could talk with Tagwen about it first. He watched the Dwarf rise on the taller Druid’s command and walk to the head of the bridge. He watched the Druids move back, signaling the Gnome Hunters to do the same. Pen waited until the area in front of the bridge was clear of everyone but the Dwarf, then stepped out onto the stone arch and walked across. He used the darkwand like a walking staff, leaning on it as if he were injured, pretending that was its purpose. Maybe they would let him keep it if they thought he had need of it to walk. Maybe pigs would learn to fly. He kept his eyes open for any unexpected movement, for shadows that didn’t belong or sounds that were out of place. He used his small magic to test for warnings that might alert him to dangers he couldn’t see. But nothing revealed itself. He crossed unimpeded, captives and captors staying back, behind the fire, deeper into the gardens, away from the ravine’s edge.
When he was at the far side, he dropped down into a crouch, using the bridge abutments as shelter. He didn’t think they intended to kill hi
m, but he couldn’t be certain.
Tagwen moved close. “They caught us with our pants down, young Pen. We thought we were watching out for you, but we were looking too hard in the wrong direction.” His bluff face wrinkled with distaste. “They had us under spear and arrow before we could mount a defense. Anything we might have done would have gotten us all killed. I’m sorry.”
Pen put his hand on the Dwarf’s stout shoulder. “You did the best you could, Tagwen. We’ve all done the best we could.”
“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound convinced. His eyes searched the boy’s face. “Are you all right? Were you telling the truth about that thing that was tracking us? Was it really over there with you? I thought we’d lost it once and for all when we entered the mountains. Is it finally dead?”
Pen nodded. “The tanequil killed it. It’s a long story. But anything that crosses this bridge is in real danger. I’m alive because of this.”
He nodded down at the darkwand, which was resting next to him on the bridge, flat against the stone, tucked into the shadows.
The Dwarf peered at it, then caught sight of Pen’s damaged hand and looked up again quickly. “What happened to your fingers?”
“The tree took them in exchange for the staff. Blood for sap, flesh for bark, bones for wood. It was necessary. Don’t think on it.”
“Don’t think on it?” Tagwen was appalled. He glanced quickly over Pen’s shoulder into the darkness of the tanequil’s island. “Where is Cinnaminson?”
Pen hesitated. “Staying behind. Safe, for now. Tagwen, listen to me. I have to do what they want. I have to go with them to Paranor.”
Tagwen stared. “No, Penderrin. You won’t come out of there alive. They don’t intend to let you go. Nor your parents, either. You’re being taken to Shadea a’Ru. She’s behind what’s happened to the Ard Rhys, and once she’s questioned you about what you are doing and you tell her—which you will, make no mistake—you and your parents are finished. Don’t doubt me on this.”