Bloodfire Quest (The Dark Legacy of Shannara, #2)(50)

“Wait, I have an idea,” she said finally. “Druids have a way of letting each other know where they are if they are close enough—a quick spurt of Druid Fire launched skyward at regular intervals. If you steer while I go forward, I can give that signal, but I’ll angle it downward into the mist. One of the other Druids might see and signal me back.”

He nodded at once. “Let me take the helm, but use a safety line and give me time to begin circling outward from where we are now. Call back to me if you see anything.”

She hurried to the forward railing, leashed herself to an iron ring embedded in the decking, and set herself in place. As the ship began to ease forward, she sent the first burst of magic into the gloom and shadows below.

They continued their efforts throughout the remainder of the day, hour after hour, easing their airship over the Fangs and sending out signals. Now and again, they heard screams of rage or distress from within the haze or saw sudden bursts of frightened movement, but no return signal appeared. The hours slipped away and with them Aphenglow’s fading hopes that there was anything left to find. If was entirely possible, she knew, that the remainder of the expedition had met with the same fate as those they had found at the crash site. She didn’t like thinking that way, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility.

She pondered the creatures that had attacked them, bothered by the fact that even though she had never seen them before, they reminded her of something. Not Spider Gnomes, but something else. She ruminated on it, left it alone, came back to it again, mulled it over some more, and finally realized.

They were Goblins!

She had seen pictures of them in the Elven histories. They had accompanied descriptions written down in the time of Faerie of the creatures that had been imprisoned within the Forbidding. Even knowing it was impossible, she was certain those were Goblins she had seen.

Except, of course, it wasn’t impossible at all. In fact, it made perfect sense. If the Ellcrys was failing, then the Forbidding was breaking down. That meant any number of imprisoned creatures might be starting to escape, Goblins among them.

And almost certainly there would be others.

A chill ran through her. What else was down there? What else might the missing members of the company have encountered after the crash of the Walker Boh? Had worse things than Goblins escaped? Were they already beginning to spread throughout the Four Lands, freed of their imprisonment and anxious to take revenge on those who had put them there?

An instant later a reddish streak of fire exploded out of the mist—one she recognized at once as having been given in response to her own. Startled by both the suddenness and unexpectedness of it, she nevertheless leapt to her feet and raced back to tell Cymrian.

In seconds Wend-A-Way was descending into the haze, and Aphenglow Elessedil was about to have all of her questions answered.





14





When she woke the first morning following her return to Arborlon, Aphen lay in bed for a long time before rising. In part, it was because there was no rush to do anything else—no immediate crisis to be faced and resolved, no desperate need to be met. In part, it was because it felt so comforting just to lie there and let the last vestiges of sleep drift away. But mostly, it was because she felt the weight of her life bearing down on her and needed to collect her thoughts and marshal her resolve.

Everything had changed.

She still could not believe that the Druid order was decimated. Bombax, Pleysia, and Carrick—all dead. Perhaps the Ard Rhys was dead, too. Of the rest, there was no better news. Almost all of them were dead, as well. It still seemed impossible, three days after finding the handful of survivors and hearing their stories. She could not find a way to make it seem real; she could not come to terms with the enormity of its truth.

But even that paled when her thoughts shifted to what lay ahead. The future she faced was darker and harsher still. The Forbidding was coming down; the demons were breaking out. The Straken Lord—a creature that history had consigned to the past—was alive and well and seeking revenge not only against the Four Lands and its people, but against a woman who was a hundred years gone. The demon was determined to find Grianne Ohmsford and bring her to its bed, to make her its wife and the mother of its child—an image that even now caused Aphen to shudder.

Then, too, there was the matter of finding the Bloodfire, of carrying the seed of the dying Ellcrys to its source, immersing the seed and then returning it so that the tree could be reborn and the magic that protected them all could be restored. Arling’s fate, her sister’s destiny, bequeathed to her by the magical creature she served as a Chosen, was to become the tree’s successor by accepting responsibility for all of this and seeing that it came to pass.

Arling, who was so young and so afraid and so unwilling to be the One.

Arling, who now depended on Aphen to find a way to save her.

She glanced over at her sister’s bed and found it empty. Arling had already gone to begin her day of service to the tree. It was after sunrise, so she would be down in the Gardens of Life with the other Chosen, having welcomed the Ellcrys to the new day and begun her work as its caretaker and provider.

Aphen rolled over and faced the wall. Mirai Leah and Seersha were likely still asleep in the other bedroom. Skint, Crace Coram, and Railing Ohmsford shared guest quarters elsewhere with Woostra in a house Arling had found for them. Cymrian could be anywhere, probably outside her cottage somewhere, keeping watch. Did he ever sleep?