With muttered apologies thrown back over his shoulder, Paxon hurried off to do as the other had suggested, a sense of anticipation making him light-headed and happy. He was certain a mission awaited him, a chance to travel to another part of the world, an opportunity to use his skills to help someone. It was the reason he had accepted this position in the first place, the end result of the effort Aphenglow Elessedil had expended to bring him to Paranor and abandon his old life hauling airfreight.
He thought momentarily of his mentor and benefactor, dead six weeks now, gone down into the netherworld and the company of Druids past. She had done much more for many others than she had for him, but he treasured the gift of the life she had given him every day. He would never forget what she had meant to him. He could still see her face in his mind as clearly as he had on the last day he had been with her, accompanying her to the Hadeshorn to bear witness as the Shade of Allanon bore her away. He could still hear her voice, encouraging him to believe in himself, telling him there would always be a home for him and for Chrysallin at Paranor.
His sister, he believed, owed Aphenglow even more than he did. It was Aphenglow who had saved her, who had taken her in and helped her to heal. But this reminded him that the Ard Rhys had wanted him to tell Chrys about her magic—something he still had not done. He had not found the right moment or even a way to act on her warning. So he prevaricated, still uncertain. But he did not think he could put it off much longer. Sooner or later, something would happen to cause the wishsong to surface again. The consequences of that happening were unknowable. The Ard Rhys had believed it would help Chrys if she understood what was happening and could better find a way to deal with it. But Paxon continued to worry that telling her would have the opposite effect and send her back into a state of catatonia similar to the one she had been placed in after her first use of the magic.
Since he could not reconcile his fears with hers the debate continued, unresolved.
These were his thoughts as he changed out of his practice clothes, washed himself down, dressed anew, and climbed the stairs to the Ard Rhys’s quarters. It still seemed odd that Isaturin now occupied those rooms and that Aphenglow was really gone. He liked Isaturin well enough, although he would never think about him in the same way he thought about his predecessor. For Paxon, Aphenglow Elessedil would always be the real Ard Rhys of the Druids.
Still, on this occasion he was more than anxious to meet with the new Ard Rhys and find out if there was finally something for him to do besides practice with his sword and sit around waiting.
“Come in, Paxon,” Isaturin said at his knock, looking up from behind a desk as the Highlander entered. “Come sit.”
Paxon did so, noting that Isaturin seemed as consumed by record keeping and paperwork as Aphenglow had, his work space littered with documents and books. Keratrix stood to one side, organizing files, handing things over and taking them away, all without a word being spoken, apparently knowing exactly what it was the Ard Rhys required.
“We’ve registered a disturbance of some significance in the scrye waters.” Isaturin leaned back, locking his fingers behind his head. “It happened late last night and was reported to me this morning. This is of particular interest because the nature of the disturbance closely resembled the one we recorded when Chrysallin used the wishsong.”
Paxon was surprised. “Someone else has use of it?”
“Possibly. The reading of the waters isn’t an exact science. We can tell the general nature of a disturbance. We can tell the extent of the power expended to create it. And we can tell where it came from. The rest we have to guess at, using whatever information we have at our disposal. In this case, the Druid monitoring the waters was the same Druid who was monitoring when your sister used her powers.”
“So we have a solid comparison. Who was the Druid?”
“Avelene.”
An image of her face came immediately to mind—small, slender, dark skin, lavender eyes, sharp features that seemed perfectly suited to her look and temperament. He hadn’t seen much of her in the past few years, busy with his own pursuits, caught up in caring for Chrysallin. But he remembered hearing about her in snatches of conversation. Fiercely intelligent and independent-minded. Always ready to challenge authority if she didn’t agree. A student of magic, her own and others’ no matter the nature.
“Can I speak with her?”
Isaturin cocked an eyebrow. “All you want. She will be your companion for the next few days. I’m sending you both south into Federation territory to try to sort this out. I want the source of the magic found and its nature determined. If you think it advisable, I want it recovered and brought here. Avelene will be in command of the expedition; you will act as her protector.”
Paxon started to rise, anxious to begin preparations. “Wait a minute.” Isaturin held up his hand. “We haven’t finished here yet.”
Paxon sat back down. “There’s more?”
“There is. Tell me about your sister. Have you spoken with her about her condition?”
It was a reasonable question, but Paxon felt himself become irritated anyway. “Aphenglow must have told you she recommended that I tell Chrys. But I’m still not certain that’s the right thing to do.”
“I find myself wondering if there is a right thing, Paxon. This is a difficult situation with no clear path forward. But maybe you should consider the relative risks. If you tell her now, you can be there to talk to her about it. You can make use of the Druid Healers to help her come to terms with it. But if you wait and she discovers it on her own—perhaps in a life-and-death confrontation of the sort she faced before—you will have to hope she isn’t so severely impacted by the unexpectedness of the surfacing of the magic that she is flung into an even deeper catatonia than she was the last time.”
“I am doing what I can!” Paxon snapped back. “A day doesn’t pass when I don’t think about it.”
Isaturin nodded. “Indecision is the enemy. I think you should tell her. I know I am meddling, but I have an obligation to persuade you to what I think is the right course of action. Please give it some thought.”
Paxon forced himself not to say something he would regret later. “I will. I promise.”
Isaturin was already turning back to his paperwork. “Now go find Avelene and make your plans. I have assigned you one of the clippers and a crew of three members of the Druid Guard. You leave at first light.”
Paxon went out the door, still angry about the Ard Rhys’s interference, stomping down the hallway toward his quarters, paying no attention to those he passed on the way. What angered him most, he realized by the time he had reached his room and closed the door behind him, was that he knew Isaturin was right. Just as Aphenglow had been right. He should tell Chrys. He shouldn’t leave it to chance.
The real problem was that he was afraid to tell her. He was afraid of what it would do to her. She had been so good since her recovery. She had become a familiar face in Paranor’s halls and a friend to many who lived there. She had done well with her studies, and she had regained her footing in a way that encouraged him to believe she could find a home here—just as Aphenglow had promised.
He didn’t want to risk all that. He didn’t want to disrupt her life by revealing a truth so startling and immense that it might leave her crippled all over again.
He stood where he was in the middle of the room for a long time, pondering the matter, thinking he should put the matter behind him by going to her now, telling her the truth, getting it over with, and letting them face the consequences together.