“I think you made the right choice. I spoke to her earlier today.” She smiled at the look on his face. “The Healers told me she was fully recovered. But I had to see for myself. I had to know how she would react to me. It was all done carefully and with an eye toward her safety. She did not attack me. She didn’t even know who I was.”
“So Arcannen was telling the truth after all?”
“It seems so. She remembers almost nothing of what happened to her. Certainly nothing of her torture and her suffering. Not even much about Mischa–just a vague memory of an old woman.”
“She doesn’t remember any of it? Not the black creature or the gray–haired woman? Not the escape with Grehling?”
“She remembers the boy helping her. She just doesn’t remember any of the things related to the nightmares and the pain. I didn’t want to ask her too much all at once. There will be time for that later. There is one thing, though. And I wanted to ask you before pursuing it. She doesn’t remember anything about using the wishsong.”
“I wasn’t there when it happened,” he said, “but I guessed that was what it was from the description Grehling gave. Chrys had never used it before then; there was never anything to indicate she had inherited it. I don’t think she knew.”
Aphenglow nodded, her brow wrinkling, her face thoughtful. “There is a history of it surfacing in various members of the Ohmsford family after they have reached a certain age. It doesn’t always manifest itself right away. In Chrysallin’s case, I would guess the shock of what she experienced at the hands of Mischa and the threat of having to go through it again brought it out. Chrys just reacted to her fears by voicing them, and the magic came alive.”
“But she doesn’t remember it now?”
“Not a bit of it. My dilemma is what to do about that. She harbors a powerful magic. She’s locked it away inside, but it could surface again at any point. What do we do? Do we let it be or do we find a way to reveal it to her and teach her to master its use?”
“If she doesn’t remember now, maybe she won’t remember at all. I don’t think she should be reminded of anything that happened.” His voice tightened. “I don’t want her put through anything else right away, Mistress.”
“Nor do I,” she said. “I think we should let her be. But I wanted to hear you say it. For the time being, at least, while she is still healing, we should keep it to ourselves. Maybe she will remember at some point, and when she does we will have to be ready to tell her the truth. Now, tell me how you are.”
He said he was fine, a bit battered and bruised, some scrapes and burns, but no broken bones. He had been to the healing center before coming to her and was treated for his injuries. Mostly, it was feeling good about Chrys that strengthened him.
“She’ll remain with us for as long as she wishes–certainly until we know there are no aftereffects from what she went through.” She paused. “One thing more. Are you well enough to undertake a short journey?”
The way she said it told him she was expecting him to say yes. It also told him this was important, and she wanted him to be a part of whatever was going to happen.
“I can travel,” he answered.
“I have something I need to do, and it isn’t going to be very pleasant. But as protector of the Druids–officially now, your trial period is over–I need you to bear witness. We leave in the morning.”
She dismissed him then, leaving him to wonder at the nature and purpose of her mysterious outing.
TWENTY‑EIGHT
HE MANAGED TO STAY AWAKE UNTIL SUNSET, TRYING TO SET his internal clock back on a regular schedule so he would sleep well that night. While still awake, he spent his time alone, thinking about what Aphenglow Elessedil had told him. He was no longer in training to be a Druid protector; he now was one. Hearing her pronouncement had generated a mix of emotions. He was excited to be a part of the Druid order, feeling that in spite of everything that had happened, he had found the home and the life he was looking for. He knew he wasn’t as proficient or skilled as he should be, but he believed that he would become so in time. But it felt strange and vaguely disconcerting to be making such a drastic shift away from everything familiar and reliable. Gone was his Leah home and its familiar surroundings; gone his life as a shipper and flier of freight. Gone, too, for all intents and purposes, were his family and friends. Now he was a swordsman in service to the Druids. He would be asked to shoulder much greater responsibilities and challenges, and his family and friends would be found in Paranor.
He did not regret this change in his life; after all, he had sought it out willingly. He did not now wish it reversed. But having it actually come to pass, no longer only a possibility but a full–blown reality, was a bit unsettling. So he took time to consider its ramifications. He turned it about and examined it. He pictured himself in his new role and tried to envision how he would behave given what he believed would be required of him.
He sat where he could watch the Druids pass by on their way to engage in and complete assignments. He caught sight of Sebec a number of times but the young Druid always appeared to be in a great hurry, and Paxon didn’t want to interrupt his work even though he was anxious to share his good news. Of all the Druids he had met, Sebec was the one he liked best and felt closest to. He imagined it would be fun having him as a daily companion.
He ate an early dinner, sitting with Avelene and a couple of the other Druids he had come to know, talking about his elevation to Druid protector, exchanging jokes and laughter about the job’s exaggerated demands on his skills and intellect. Afterward, he went to visit Chrysallin and spent more than an hour talking with her about everything that had happened to them, staying until she grew so tired she was falling asleep.
Then he went off to bed himself, exhausted and happy, and slept undisturbed until morning.
He was at breakfast the following day when Sebec came for him. “The Ard Rhys is ready for you,” he announced.
Paxon followed the Druid along the corridors of the Keep toward the landing platform attached to the north tower where they would find the Ard Rhys waiting.
“Do you know what this is about?” he asked Sebec at one point.
The other shook his head. “But I’m to go with you.”
This was unexpected. The Ard Rhys hadn’t said anything about Sebec accompanying them. He wondered what other surprises awaited him.
The Ard Rhys greeted them when they reached the landing platform, waiting for them beside her personal cruiser with Captain of her Druid Guard Dajoo Rees and two of his men. Apparently, there was no one else accompanying them; when they boarded, they were alone. The Ard Rhys did not offer an explanation for what they were doing or even speak to them again once they had released the mooring ropes and set out. Instead, she indicated a bench astern and had them sit there while she stood in the pilot box and set their course. The Trolls worked the lines and light sheaths, and no one said much of anything.
The day was bright and clear and beautiful, and Paxon soon forgot about her reticent behavior and air of mystery and spent his time looking out over the countryside and exchanging comments with Sebec. He was tracking their course as they went, familiar with the countryside they were passing over–coming down out of the forests surrounding Paranor to the Dragon’s Teeth, from there proceeding through the Kennon Pass to the Borderlands, and then turning west to follow the Mermidon River as it ran on toward Arborlon and the Westland.