Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (13 page)

But she resumed her place at the water’s edge and waited as he had commanded, hopeful that this time she might gain more from their meeting. If he reappeared at all, she added, her doubts nudging at her like a rock in her boot pressing into her sole. The sun slipped below the horizon and a scattering of stars came out. Khyber settled herself to wait, recounting over and over what she knew about Aleia Omarosian and the theft of the Stones.

Doubts plagued her, and for the first time a sense of inadequacy took root. She was Ard Rhys and a proven leader with years of life experience in the study and use of magic. She had survived much during those years and had guided the Druid order with a steady hand. But her followers were few and mostly untested. They were brave and they were committed, but they were also young. Pleysia, at thirty-six, was the oldest, and that was not old at all. Even if Khyber found a way to go and was given a map to follow, how dangerous would it be to make the journey, and how prepared were her Druids
to undertake it? She did not feel easy in her heart at the thought of it; she did not think them much prepared at all.

But then others before her had undertaken equally dangerous challenges and completed them. Others had faced terrible risks and overcome them—many much younger even than Aphenglow. She shouldn’t assume it would be different this time. She shouldn’t be too quick to think that her followers were unequal to what might be demanded of them. They couldn’t know what they were capable of until they were actually tested. None of them.

One day soon, they would find out, and she wasn’t particularly eager for that day to come.

As the twilight deepened and night set in, she prepared herself for the long wait until the hour just before sunrise, when she assumed the Shade of Allanon would come—if it were coming at all. So she was surprised when in the first hour of true night, the waters of the Hadeshorn abruptly began to boil and steam, and the familiar sluggish swirling began its slow, clockwise motion. The voices of the dead lifted and intensified, filling the air and blanketing the valley in a harsh cacophony. The waters heaved in response, and hundreds of white forms rose through the surface and into the air, circling like birds.

She sat up quickly and clambered to her feet, shocked by the unexpectedness of it, wondering why Allanon was coming so soon.

Then his shade was there, a knife blade skimming the waters in a smooth, clean motion, a two-dimensional form that quickly broadened into something more substantial. Soon he dwarfed her once more, grown into a giant, gliding to a halt before her, hanging just above the waters, his black-cloaked form motionless. She could see his dark face and the strange glimmer of his eyes as they fixed on her, and she felt her heart go cold. The eyes held her pinned against the valley’s obsidian floor, and even if she had tried she could not have moved away.

–Ard Rhys. I have spoken with Aleia Omarosian. She hides much from me and what she tells me cannot be entirely trusted. But I will tell it to you anyway. You will judge for yourself and do what you feel you must–

She waited, breathless. The shade seemed to be considering what it would say.

–What was written in the diary is true. It happened as she wrote it. She left the diary for her parents to find, after she was gone. She would not say where she had gone or why. But her early death suggests she knew her life was almost over. She was leaving, and she did not want to leave without telling her parents what she had done–

So it was real. Khyber was strangely exhilarated. “Did she know anything of where the Elfstones were? Or what happened to them after the Darkling boy took them?”

–She said they were lost to people like herself–

“To the dead?”

The shade seemed to hesitate, as if uncertain.

–No. She meant something else–

“Are they destroyed?” She found herself pressing for an answer. “What did she mean by ‘lost’? Lost in what way?”

The waters hissed as if echoing the dark emotions of the shade, and she could see anger and impatience reflected in its face.

–I am telling you what I know, Ard Rhys. It is for you to discover the rest. I will not put words in your mouth or thoughts in your mind that you have not conjured up yourself–

She felt her heart sink. “Then there is nothing more you can tell me? She said nothing that would help our order in its search?”

She knew she sounded every bit as desperate as she felt, but she could not accept that there was nothing more to be learned.

–One thing–

She felt an abrupt surge of hope. “One thing?”

–Aleia Omarosian was a Chosen–

A Chosen? Khyber stared at Allanon’s ghost in confusion. The writer of the diary was a Chosen? Why was there no mention of this anywhere in her writings? For there had not been a single reference to either the Chosen or the Ellcrys in the diary. A young girl in service to the tree would almost certainly have made some mention of it, wouldn’t she?

A fresh hissing filled the night air like a long, slow sigh, and Khyber found the eyes of Allanon’s shade fixed on her anew.

–Listen to me, Ard Rhys. I do not always know things, but I often sense them. It is so here. This quest must happen, and you must lead it. The search will take you to what you seek. I feel this the way I once felt my own future on the currents of the wind and the changes in the season. It was my gift then and is so now–

The shade shifted slightly, black robes billowing. Behind and safely away, lesser ghosts floated on the air, gone strangely silent, as if listening to his words.

–You will need help. Help of a sort that cannot be easily obtained. Your order is too small for what will be required. And it is too inexperienced. Even with the aid and protection of the Druid Guard, you will need others. Trackers and survivalists and hunters—men and women who can live off the land—you will need those. You will need wielders of magic with powers even stronger than those of your Druids. Perhaps even stronger than your own. Find these among the Races and persuade them to your cause. And heed me. You must find an Ohmsford to go with you. The presence of an Ohmsford is crucial. The whisper of that truth is everywhere about me and so strong that it cannot be ignored. Do not be deterred by those who question your choices. Do not be dissuaded by those who dismiss your efforts and denigrate your character–

It was so much for a shade to say, all at one time, that she stood silent in the aftermath, wondering that he should give her so much of himself. She had changed her mind about him. He had not abandoned her as one doomed to failure. He had embraced her cause and her spirit, and he was giving her what he could to help. But he was fearful for her.

“Thank you,” she said to him. “Thank you for everything.”

–You will not thank me later. Later, you will see me differently. But that is as it must be and not within my control. So heed me one last time. If you choose to undertake this quest, many of those who go with you will die. Many will be lost. This, too, I hear in the wind’s whisper and feel in the air’s currents. This quest will be hard, and its toll on lives and souls will be high. No one will come back the same. No one will emerge unscathed. Perhaps, in the end, no one will think it was worth it. Not even you–

“No,” she said, “I will never think that.”

–You will think that and much worse. You will curse me. You will hate what has happened. And you will trace its beginnings to this moment–

He seemed so certain, yet he did not know the particulars of anything he was predicting and was giving voice to words he heard whispered in the air. She could not decide how much of what he was saying was substantive and how much guesswork.

“I hope you are wrong,” she said finally.

–I am Allanon–

He said it as if it were an answer to everything, as if he were possessed of abilities and knowledge denied to others, herself included. She almost replied that who he was did not necessarily dictate what he knew. But she could not quite bring herself to do so.

–We are finished–

His shade was already backing away over the surface of the water, receding toward its distant center, black and forbidding in the light of the stars and a quarter moon just risen to the east. The voices of the dead had begun to wail anew, the white moths of their spirits to circle the giant form of the Druid shade, and the waters to hiss and boil with fresh intensity.

–You will not see me again in this life, Ard Rhys. May you not see me too soon in the next–

The words were a cold spike in her heart, but she held her ground as the winds rose to a howl and whipped about her violently, stirring spray and grit in equal measure from the lake and the surrounding rocks. She ducked her head against their sting, flinching in spite of herself, eyes closed.

When she opened them again, only seconds later, the shades were gone, the waters were quieting, and the voices had gone still.

She was alone, and she was frightened.

8

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
A
PHEUGLOW WOKE BEFORE
sunrise and slipped out of her sleeping chamber on cat’s paws, pondering anew Woostra’s discovery that Aleia Omarosian was one of the Chosen. She went down the empty, silent corridors to the Druid’s Keep and took a seat just outside Woostra’s offices in the Druid Library. She was waiting for him to appear at the start of his workday, intending to question him further about what that odd listing meant, when a shadow passed across her face and caused her to look up.

The Ard Rhys stood before her, clothes rumpled and dusty, graying hair disheveled, face drawn and haggard, brow wrinkled.

She stood at once. “I didn’t know you were back, Mistress.”

Khyber Elessedil nodded. “I just returned. I’ve spoken to no one yet. I came to find Woostra, but here you are, instead. Tell me. Has he found anything in my absence? Have you?”

Aphenglow considered equivocating, but decided it was unwise to do so with the Ard Rhys. “Woostra did. I promised to say nothing until he reported his finding to you, but I will tell you anyway. The Druid records say that Aleia Omarosian was a Chosen.”

Khyber Elessedil nodded calmly and took a seat beside her. “Is there anything else recorded? Anything regarding the circumstances of her choosing or of her service?”

Aphenglow shook her head. “No, nothing.” She paused, considering
the other’s reaction. “You knew this already, didn’t you? You’re not surprised at all.”

“I knew. The spirits of the dead told me. But what does it mean, Aphen? How could she be a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys and make no mention of it in her writings?”

“I’ve thought of that. I think there is only one explanation. She did not become a Chosen until after she stopped making entries in her diary. Until after the Elfstones were stolen by the Darkling boy. The time of her choosing didn’t happen until later.” Aphen shrugged. “Nothing else makes sense.”

“Do you think it was
because
of what happened with the Darkling boy and his theft of the Elfstones?” the Ard Rhys asked.

“I think so, although I don’t understand the connection. But I would like to try to find out. Mistress, I want to go back to Arborlon and look again through the Chosen histories. I wasn’t searching for anything about the Chosen before, only for mentions of Elven magic. The Chosen keep records that are different from the Elven histories. There might be something there that would help us understand.”

The Ard Rhys shook her head. “I don’t like sending you back just now. Not after two attempts have been made on your life already. It might be better to send Pleysia, instead.”

Aphenglow tried to conceal her alarm. This was her discovery, and she did not want to turn it over to someone else, especially Pleysia. “I can ask my uncle to assign an Elven Hunter to keep watch over me, if you wish. But I should do this, Mistress. I have the King’s permission already and have been given access to the records. Pleysia would have to start all over, and there is nothing to say that my grandfather would be favorably disposed toward anyone who is not a member of the royal family.”

The two women faced each other in silence for a moment, each knowing that the other understood perfectly the implications not only of what had just been said, but of what hadn’t, as well.

“I am not happy with the idea,” Khyber Elessedil said at last, “though I recognize the need for it. But you will secure protection, and you will make certain whoever you choose can protect you adequately. Agreed?”

Aphenglow nodded quickly. “I promise. I won’t stay any longer than it takes to complete my search of the Chosen histories. But they suffer from the same deficiencies as the others. There are gaps and omissions throughout, particularly from the early years when record keeping was less meticulous. Some of what was known then was recovered from personal journals and stories passed down from the families who lived in those times. But not all.”

“Do what you can.” The Ard Rhys took Aphenglow’s hands in her own. “I wish I had been awake and able to spend more time with you, Aphen,” she said suddenly. “You have great potential, great promise. You are skilled, and your mind is sharp. But I am troubled by the weight you bear in your heart. Choosing to come here, to leave your people and your city to serve us, left you little better than an exile in the eyes of many. Worse than that, in the eyes of a few. I know this causes you great pain.”