Images of what had happened flashed through Tarsha’s mind, raw and ugly. Everything she was hearing about her brother suggested that he had passed beyond her reach.
“Do you know where he went afterward?” she asked.
The woman nodded. “Funny about that. There’s an old woman who lives up the road a ways, just at the east edge of this village. She found him and took him in. Crazy thing to do, you know. He’s all covered in blood when he comes up to her door, and she takes him in, anyway. He stays the night with her, leaves in the morning, and the woman’s none the wiser about what he’s done. Calla Lily, she calls herself. For the flower, you know. Lucky she’s still alive, but she is.”
So perhaps Tavo isn’t beyond helping after all, Tarsha thought, allowing herself a small shred of momentary hope. “Did you speak to her?”
“Of course I spoke to her. How else would I know all this?”
“Did she say where the boy went after he left her?”
“Didn’t say ’cause she didn’t know. He just left. Hardly spoke to her at all. He went east, I think she said. Just walked away.” A pause. “You got to be going now, girl. Like I said—we’re closed. But take some good advice. Turn around and go back to wherever it is you come from. Don’t waste your time on that young man. He’s just marking time until someone does for him.”
Tarsha went back to her airship and flew on. She thought about visiting Calla Lily, but decided there was little else she would learn from her. She needed to keep moving, to keep trying to find him before he did any further damage. And there was every reason to believe he would. His mental state had deteriorated beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. The danger of him harming anyone who crossed him in even the smallest way was now undeniable.
Even if it happens to be me.
But she had made up her mind. She would take her chances.
She slept that night in fields beyond the forest regions that surrounded Backing Fell and the unfortunate hamlet where Tavo had done so much damage, unwilling to stay anywhere that reminded her of what she had come home to. She curled up in the cockpit of her aircraft and wrapped herself in blankets against the cold of the night air. But there was nothing she could do about the chill that had settled into her bones with this day’s discoveries. She wondered if she would ever rid herself of the horror that was consuming her every time she thought of her brother.
As a result, she slept hardly at all and woke worn and dismayed.
From there, she continued eastward, conducting a leapfrogging search of the countryside, following the shores of the Rill Song toward the Tirfing, stopping frequently to ask the same questions, over and over again. There were a few who had seen a young man such as she described, a solitary bedraggled figure passing close by homes and towns but never entering. There were one or two who had talked to him. They remembered him as hollow-eyed and withdrawn, barely able to voice the two questions he asked each of them.
Do you know a girl named Tarsha?
Do you know where she might have gone?
Until finally, toward the end of the day, she found someone who remembered the questions differently.
Do you know a Druid named Drisker Arc?
Do you know where he lives?
She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach when she heard this. Somehow, Tavo had found out where she had gone and was tracking her. Somehow, he must have stumbled on one of the people she had talked to on her way to Emberen while searching for Drisker, and she had been remembered. It wouldn’t have been difficult for them to recall; her physical appearance was distinctive enough. And there would have been no reason for them not to reveal what they knew.
So now he had a specific destination.
But what did he intend to do once he reached it?
She thought of her parents, torn to pieces, bloodied beyond recognition, victims of his fury and his vengeance. Did he plan to do the same to her? Or did he seek her because she was all he had left, and he was desperate to find her so that she could help him?
“Oh, Tavo, why?” she whispered to herself, saddened by both possibilities.
She turned northeast to fly back to Emberen. She might as well return there and face him.
She was reminded of Drisker Arc’s journey to Paranor with the highlander Dar Leah, and she wondered what had happened to them and if they had returned yet. Drisker’s mission to reach the Druids had been so urgent, and there was reason to be afraid for him. She hoped he had settled things by now. But even so, she did not care for the prospect of his returning only to find her brother waiting for him. Even with the Blade to help protect him, he could be facing a serious threat.
And the thought of Drisker being forced to hurt or kill Tavo because she wasn’t there to intercede was even more troubling.
So she pressed ahead, flying deep into the night, sleeping poorly once more to rise early and continue on the second day in the same fashion. It was arduous and debilitating, her time spent turning over and over the possibilities of what she might find when she reached Emberen, of what sort of disaster awaited her there. None, she kept telling herself, but she didn’t believe it. She understood how unlikely it was. There was no point in pretending otherwise, and she knew it, even if she couldn’t help herself.
Then, well into the afternoon of that second day, her airship broke down. She felt it begin to lose power, and she was quick to land on a barren stretch of plains not far from the juncture of the Matted Brakes and Drey Wood. Once on the ground, she began an examination of the vessel’s workings, her knowledge minimal enough to cause her to wonder if she would even recognize the problem once she found it.
She was in the midst of her investigation when she caught sight of three ragged figures approaching from the north. She stopped what she was doing and moved away from her craft to watch them. They were ragged, soiled creatures—hard men with hungry looks and little kindness in their faces. She was in trouble, although not the sort she couldn’t handle.
And then—suddenly, unexpectedly—she sensed someone else watching her. No one she could see—just eyes watching from a place far away by a means she could sense but not identify. Magic, she thought at once. But whose?
A few moments later, the sensation faded. Whoever had been watching her had ceased to do so. She wondered at once if it was Drisker. He would be the one most likely to use magic. He could have returned, found her gone, and decided to come after her.
“Troubles, little lady?” one of the men approaching asked in a harsh whisper.
It sounded to her as if his vocal cords had been damaged in some way, as if speaking was difficult for him. His companions said nothing, but she caught a glimpse of a knife beneath one’s tattered clothing, the blade held close to his body.
She faced them squarely. “Do you know anything of airships?” she asked them pointedly. “You don’t look like you do.”