The Last Druid Read online

  Yet he was still missing.

  She retraced her steps, trying to decide what to do. She was alone now, and a part of her was whispering that enough was enough. How much could she expect to accomplish on her own? How real was the possibility that she could track down Clizia and dispatch her in revenge for all that had happened? Maybe it was time to step away from all this. What chance did she have without Drisker Arc’s leadership and guidance?

  She didn’t know.

  But there was something else to consider. If she walked away now, she would be abandoning Drisker and those who had gone on to Skaarsland to try to save the Four Lands. She would be discarding all of her efforts to make Tavo’s life mean something beyond the madness that had seized him and caused him to hurt so many people. It was bad enough that her brother was dead; it would be worse to abandon the fight that had cost him his life. Also, she knew what Drisker would say if he were there. She had promised to serve him in exchange for the help he had given Tavo. Until she knew definitively that he was gone, she had no right to consider only herself.

  She took a deep breath and put aside her doubts. She couldn’t quit now. She wouldn’t. If she were to do so, she would never recover from the sense of failure she would have to live with.

  But what was she to do now? Where was she to go?

  She returned through the passageways of Cleeg Hold to where Tavo lay and knelt beside him. The storm had passed now, leaving behind remnants of damp, chilly air, rain-slickened stone, and distant rumbles of thunder. For a long time, she didn’t move or even look up at the skies as the clouds separated and marched on in solitary splendor to reveal broad swatches of blue. Sunshine brightened the world anew.

  It was then Tarsha made her decision. She needed to find out what had happened to Drisker. If he was still alive, she must find a way to make contact with him. She had done so before—or, more accurately, he had contacted her. Dreams and visions were a means of communication for Druids removed to other places, so perhaps it would be so here. In the alternative, she must find a magic that would reveal the truth about his fate.

  Such capabilities were beyond her, but help might be found in Drisker’s books of magic—the ones he had retrieved from the ill-fated forest imp, Flinc. She had saved the books from the fire that had destroyed his home, only to have Flinc pretend that he was the one who had saved them. Drisker had discovered the truth, of course, and then had hidden the books again. As yet, even Clizia had been unable to find them, but Tarsha thought she knew where they were and how they could be retrieved. If she was right, she would have a chance to study them and perhaps learn what she needed to know about Drisker and what her own future required of her.

  First, though, she must return to Emberen to discover if she was right.

  She broke from her reverie, retrieved a blanket from the airship, wrapped it about her brother, and secured it tightly with ropes she retrieved from a storage bin. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, she dragged his body to the craft, lifted it over her shoulders to carry up the short ladder, and laid it inside on the floor. It was the best she could do for now. When she reached Emberen, she would bury her brother there. There was nowhere else she could think to take him. He no longer had a home in Backing Fell, and it saddened her to think of how uprooted and isolated he had made himself, how devoid of family and home he had been when he died alone in this far-off place in the deep Westland. She decided that if he belonged anywhere, it was in Emberen, near the home of the man who had done the most to help him.

  It was where Tarsha would hope to end her days, as well, as it was now her only home, too.

  She knew she should sleep before departing. She was already exhausted from the day’s struggles and nightfall was coming on, the skies east already darkening. But she could not bear to spend another moment in this place. She could at least fly to somewhere less forbidding before stopping for the night and giving herself over to sleep.

  Taking a quick look around at the peaks of the Rock Spur and the site of her brother’s last moments—thinking of how it might have been Drisker’s final moments, as well—she climbed into the airship, powered up the diapson crystals nestled within the confines of their parse tubes, and lifted off into the widening blue of the late-afternoon skies.

  * * *

  —

  She flew out of the Rock Spur and into the foothills that formed the western border of Elven country. Finding a sheltered spot along the Mermidon, she set down, wrapped herself in blankets in the cockpit, and promptly fell asleep. Had she been less tired or more concerned for her safety, she might have taken better precautions against unwelcome intrusion or threats of attack, but by then her exhaustion was complete, her need for rest pressing down on her like a great weight and her ability to think impeded.

  Thus she slept without thoughts of safety or care for her fate, and dreamed of Parlindru.

  The seer appeared to her as a shade, a ghost, as she stepped from heavy gloom to greet Tarsha with a smile. Her features were clear and so familiar that Tarsha found herself smiling back, but the rest of her was not much more than a gathering of mist and shadows, shifting endlessly as she approached.

  You have suffered much, Tarsha Kaynin, Parlindru said, speaking the words so that they were no more than thoughts in the girl’s mind. I am sorry. But life deals out unexpected joys and sorrows, and we can but treasure or suffer each. A word, then—after which I will go. You have found my prophecy to be true, have you not?

  Tarsha nodded.

  Do you remember the rule of three? Do you remember what I told you about how it would affect your life?

  Tarsha nodded again. In her mind, she spoke her answer. Three times shall I love and all three shall be true, but only one will endure. Three times shall I die but each death shall see me rise anew. Three times shall I have a chance to make a difference in the lives of others and three times shall I do so. But one time only shall I change the world.

  Some of these prophecies have happened. Some have not. Your tale is not ended, and your life is not complete. All of us live under the promises offered by the rule of three. For you, some of this is now evident, but some has yet to be revealed. For that to happen, much will be asked of you. Some of this, you already know. The rest will reveal itself in time. But this much I can tell you. You may not turn aside. You may not forsake what you have been given to do.

  How will I know what that is? How can I be certain?

  The old woman changed suddenly to one much younger, but clearly the same. Your heart will whisper to you. Your conscience will guide you. Your truth will reveal itself.

  She slowly reverted again, the age lines and depressions returning, the course of her life revealing itself on her face.

  I am so tired, Tarsha confessed.

  So you must rest both mind and body before continuing on.

  But I don’t know if that will be enough. I’ve lost everything. I’ve lost the people I care about. I’ve lost the path I thought I knew. I’ve lost the will to do what I think is expected of me. I am broken, Parlindru. I am weak and unsure and lacking.

  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them and she broke down in tears, ashamed and at the same time relieved to have shared her terrible sense of failure. Without moving, Parlindru seemed to reach out and stroke her cheek.

  All these will come back to you, Tarsha, so long as you do not lose your faith. Hold it close. Believe in its power.

  She withdrew her hand, whispered farewell, and was gone.

  Whereupon Tarsha Kaynin woke to find herself alone.

  THREE

  It took Tarsha another two days of hard traveling to cross east out of the foothills below the Rock Spur Mountains to the Tirfing grasslands, then turn north along the edges of Drey Wood and the Streleheim past the Rhenn and up to where the village of Emberen could be found, nestled in the Elven forests mile
s above the city of Arborlon. Any weather that might have required a longer journey had moved off into the Borderlands and eventually south into the Anar. So the days were sunny, the skies clear, and flying smooth and uneventful.

  It was late in the afternoon of day three of her travels when she sighted her destination, and she set down on the small airfield that serviced the village’s public and private transport, where the field manager was waiting. He observed that she seemed “all tuckered out” and inquired if she needed anything. She asked for a wagon and horse so that she might transport the body of someone she loved whom she had brought home to bury.

  “I can help you with that,” said the man. She had found him before to be somewhat surly, but now he seemed subdued. “In fact, I will drive the wagon myself to wherever you wish to go, and see to it that your loved one is laid to rest.”

  “That isn’t necessary,” she demurred. “I can handle it myself.”

  “Of course you can, young lady. But I made a bargain with your father to help you anytime you might show yourself in the village. He asked that I look after you and aid you in every way I could. He gave me credits to bind our bargain, so please don’t make it impossible for me to hold up my end. Let me help.”

  She objected once more to this extra effort—skipping over his mistaken assumption that Drisker and she were related—but he refused to hear of it. He would leave the airfield temporarily in the care of his eldest son until his return. Her craft would be cleaned and put away safe until she needed it. There was no point in arguing; his mind was made up.

  “Your father and I, we weren’t friends, really. But we were men who treated each other as worthy. Your father, you know, was a man to be reckoned with and admired.”

  My father. Drisker. She nearly broke down again, tears welling up in her eyes at the idea of it. At how close it was to the truth.

  “This is a hard time for you. I understand that. I lost my wife a year ago and am still getting over it. You and I, we may not know each other as well as your father and I did, but we have a community to share and common decency to bind us. Come, now.”

  She nodded her agreement and began the process of unloading supplies and clothing while waiting for the other to procure a wagon. When he returned, he helped her take Tavo’s body from the cockpit of the airship and place it in the wagon bed, surrounded by the rest of what she would take with her. They rode in silence toward the cottage Drisker had arranged to be built for him two months ago, following the destruction of the old one. Tarsha was told she could set up house and await her father’s return, happy to have a place that could be hers for as long as she needed it.

  As they neared the cottage, she asked her companion to pull his wagon to the side of the road while she walked on ahead alone. He asked for an explanation, but she told him this was something private and that she would only be a minute. She climbed down and walked until she was almost to the cottage, then used her magic to search the house and grounds for any signs of life. It was not unreasonable to wonder if perhaps Clizia—who had taken up residence here before—might have chosen to return. She did not expect her to, but caution was necessary wherever Tarsha might go from now on.

  Her search yielded nothing. The cottage was vacant and the land surrounding it empty. She turned away, satisfied, and walked back to the wagon.

  Once arrived, and with the field manager providing company, she walked the grounds until she had selected a place filled with sunshine and wildflowers in which Tavo could be laid to rest. Her companion immediately set about digging a grave, insisting he would do the work on his own and she was not to involve herself but to sit with her loved one. She had not told the man who it was she was burying, and he had not asked. So she had forsaken conversation for a final few moments with her brother, sitting close to his wrapped form, lost in her memories.

  When the grave was dug, the two picked up Tavo and lowered his blanket-wrapped body, still tightly secured by the ropes, into the ground. The airfield manager then filled in the hole and tamped down the loose earth.

  “There now, all done,” he said with a final pat of the spade handle. “Laid to rest close at hand, where you can visit him. He’ll be at peace now, knowing you’ll be watching over him.” He paused. “I’ll arrange a headstone, if you wish, tomorrow.”

  “No, let me take care of that,” she replied. “I want to craft it myself.”

  She thanked him profusely and waited until he was gone to kneel in front of her brother’s grave and speak softly to him.

  “I failed you, Tavo, and I am sorry beyond words. I should have found a way to be with you, to protect you from what happened. I should have done better. All I can do now is tell you that I loved you always. If forgiveness is needed for the acts of madness you committed, I am offering it. You were not responsible for what happened to Mother and Father. How could you be when you did not understand what you were doing? Anyone who had been locked away and mistreated as you were might easily have done the same. Nor can you be held accountable for all the others who suffered at your hands while you were trying to protect yourself. All that must be forgiven. Not just by me, but by yourself, as well. Give yourself that forgiveness. Wherever you are now, rest easy.”

  She was crying again, sobbing hard, so she stopped for a moment to compose herself. Then she began whispering once more.

  “Clizia Porse will not escape punishment for what she has done. It may not be me who administers that punishment—or even Drisker—but it will be delivered in full. There shall be no peace in this evil woman’s life from this moment forward. She shall be a hunted thing: a creature deserving of no mercy and no forgiveness and no respite. And all that we set out to do together—you and I and Drisker—will be done. I will do my part, just as Drisker and the others will do theirs.”

  She caught herself, realizing that she was assuming a great deal by including Drisker Arc, who might not even still be alive. But she could not make herself think otherwise if she wished to keep him alive in her heart.

  She reached down and smoothed over a rough spot in the earthen fill that covered her brother. She took her time, using her palm. She let herself grieve as she did so, knowing it would not be the last time—that there would be no end to her grieving until the life was gone out of her.

  Shards of fading daylight played off her white-blond hair as she sat back quietly, staring down at the grave. It was all so unfair. It was all so final and arbitrary and unacceptable. She would have done anything to change it. Anything.

  A moment later, she looked up and found Fade sitting across from her. The big moor cat was as still as stone, and her coming had escaped Tarsha entirely. How could anything so big move so quietly? She wiped away a few tears and smiled. “Well met, Fade.”

  The cat said nothing, of course, and made no movement.

  “Are you here to watch over me? Or just to keep me company?”

  Nothing.

  Fade held her position a moment longer, then rose and walked back into the trees. Gone for now, it seemed, but Tarsha was certain the cat would not go far.

  She rose and stood looking down at the fresh patch of earth. “I want you to remember me, Tavo. I want you to remember that I will always be thinking of you. I will always miss you and love you.”

  She went back into the house to put away her clothing and supplies, goods and weapons, then made herself dinner. The darkness was complete by the time she sat down to eat, the last of the daylight vanished, and the sky was filled with a scattering of stars above a slender crescent moon just visible through the treetops to the east. She took her time with her meal, not tasting much as she ate, washing it down with several glasses of ale. She was no longer crying, and the food and drink helped ease her hunger and thirst. But she was not sleepy, and the thought of taking to bed right away was not attractive. Too keyed up, too distraught, she needed to fill the time in some other way.
r />   So she wrapped herself in her cloak to stay warm against the night’s chill and walked back out to Tavo’s grave. Once settled, she simply sat there, listening to the night sounds and looking about for reassurance she was alone. Finally, she began to whisper to her brother, recounting the memories of their life, one after another, describing them in full. She took her time, and let her thoughts wander and her words carry her where they wished. She avoided the harsh and unpleasant recollections and confined herself to the ones that made her smile. She hoped it might ease her mind and her grief—and, to her surprise, it did. She lost herself in those memories, pausing now and again to recall details, her smiles frequent and genuine. She did not cry this time—not once—but simply gave herself over to the recounting of all she remembered about her early years with Tavo and how much he had meant to her.

  She spent a long time confessing how she had discovered the wishsong within herself and how uncertain it had left her, the magic a force she could not deny and one she needed to understand and master. She admitted how Tavo’s discovery of his own magic had worried her, because by then he was beginning to exhibit signs of instability. But she kept her words soft and light and positive, and did not assign blame or infuse her narrative with negative feelings. She told him how much she had always loved and admired him; told him, too, how she missed him when he was gone and how hard it had been not to be able to see him. If there were holes in their love for each other, they came mostly because of their parents’ decision to send him away and keep her at home.

  Was it all true? Perhaps. And perhaps not. It didn’t matter. She just needed to talk about it with him. Even if he could not hear her—though she liked thinking he could—the words needed to be spoken if she was ever to find peace.