The Last Druid

by Terry Brooks

  They flew north into the Streleheim, swung down below the River Lethe and then northeast along the borders of the Charnals until they reached the broad spreading waters of the Lazareen and the Rock Troll city of Taupo Rough. It was a journey that required the better part of a week to complete, but it gave the girl and the old woman time to talk further about their lives and how they had been shaped by history and been impacted by forces beyond their control. For her part, Grianne was pleased to be able to open up to someone for the first time since her imprisonment. She liked Tarsha, and she understood what the girl did not as yet—that she was the linchpin for the future of the Druids and Paranor. Once Grianne had returned to Mother Tanequil, Tarsha would become the last of the Druids. It wasn’t a sentence, but it was a responsibility she would have to face.

  But for now she was content to tell her story and let Tarsha tell hers, and they both did so willingly and without reservation, opening up as two old friends might after a long absence. For Grianne, it was a final chance to tell someone who could understand what it had been like for her to lose and find so many different lives over the course of centuries. For Tarsha, it seemed to help unburden the guilt and sadness she carried for the loss of her family and so many of her friends and companions.

  The time and the journey both passed away, and on the sixth day they found themselves flying into the Charnals and, more specifically, into the Klu. They passed through the towering peaks of the sprawling mountain range without incident, the good weather and mood helping to speed them along.

  By sunset’s approach, they had arrived at the Inkrim and were setting down before the ruins of the ancient city of Stridegate. Once there had been a people called the Urdas living here—creatures of another time that considered the ruins sacred and worshipped the ghosts of their ancestors. But they were all gone, and no one remained to challenge the intruders.

  “We have only a short distance to go now,” Grianne informed her companion. “I would like to do so today, before dark.”

  She caught the flash of regret on the girl’s young face and moved quickly to embrace her. She would not have done so before—in her old life, inside the Forbidding—but the change in her on being free again was so complete that even intimacy had become possible again.

  “I will miss you,” she told Tarsha, hugging her. “I will think of you always as family. But I cannot wait any longer. It is almost as if I know that, by waiting, I will lose whatever chance I have of getting back what was stolen from me.”

  The girl nodded. “I know. I understand. We can go now.”

  They walked through the ruins, the sun sinking west, lingering on the horizon, its warm glow falling across their shoulders, its light showing them the way. Soon enough they came to the crevasse that eons ago had split the earth apart and left a forested island at its center, where the tanequil had taken root. A footbridge of stones that were interlinked and seemed to float on the air gave access to the island. They crossed the narrow bridge and stood together at their destination.

  “I wish I could come with you,” Tarsha told her. “I feel so close to you—as if you were my mother, and I’d found you again. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Grianne placed her aged hands on the girl’s shoulders. “You have your whole life ahead of you, Tarsha. This place is not for you. One day, maybe, but much still awaits you in your own life, and much remains to be done. I think you will find others to replace those you have lost. What was it Parlindru told you? Three times shall you love another, but only one of those loves will endure. Your family and your mentor are gone, but I think there is another love still out there, waiting for you.”

  She reached into her pocket and brought out a small leather pouch. “This is for you. I found it in Drisker Arc’s possession after he died. He would have wanted it to come to you. You are now the one to whom it belongs.”

  She handed it to the girl, who accepted it reluctantly. “Open it,” Grianne told her.

  Tarsha did so, and the Black Elfstone dropped into her palm, gleaming onyx fire in the fading light.

  “What am I to do with it?” the girl asked, genuinely confused.

  “Indeed,” Grianne said, smiling. “Now, then. I have one thing more for you.” She reached into the same pocket and produced an envelope. “This, too, is from Drisker. He would not tell me what it was he had written, and I did not presume to look. You will do so when you are ready. Or you will leave it unread, if that is your wish. The choice is up to you.” She handed over the envelope. “Take it and keep it for later.”

  Then she gave Tarsha a final hug and turned away. “Go back across the bridge and wait for me to come to you. I will do so, one way or the other.” Only steps away, she turned and looked back. “Goodbye, Tarsha Kaynin. Be well. Be strong. And be at peace.”

  She disappeared into the trees, her eyes on the way forward, her long journey almost at an end.

  * * *

  —

  Tarsha crossed back over the stone bridge to the ruins of Stridegate and sat down to wait. The sun had set, taking the light with it, and the clear skies were filling with stars and a moon that issued their own white brightness. The world around her was mostly silent, but she was aware of night birds and small ground animals that flew and darted through the ancient stones of the fallen city. She watched the island of the tanequil for any indication of Grianne’s promised return but saw nothing.

  She looked at the envelope several times more before putting it away for good. She was not ready for what might have been Drisker’s final thoughts. She was not ready to imagine his voice speaking them. She would need to grieve further, and to heal more completely.

  Eventually, she fell asleep sitting up.

  When she woke, she was aware of another presence. When she looked, she could not find it. But she was not mistaken in what she had sensed; she knew that much.

  –Tarsha. I am here–

  She straightened at once, knowing it was Grianne. “Are you all right?”

  –Perfect. I am perfect! Go home now–

  “I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I can.”

  –You can do anything you set your mind to, Tarsha Kaynin. Anything at all. Go home–

  And then her voice went silent. Tarsha felt the void her departure left, the sudden feeling of being alone. She waited, but nothing more came.

  Grianne Ohmsford was gone for good.

  She waited for her tears to stop and her emotions to settle before rising. This was what Grianne wanted—what she had been searching for, hoping for, desperate to find again after so many years. No one had the right to feel sad because she had finally found it—especially Tarsha.

  She rose then, walked back through the ruins to her two-man, climbed aboard with no thought of eating or sleeping, and flew home.

  FORTY

  Far to the south in the Dwarf village of Crackenrood, Lakodan and Battenhyle were sitting on Battenhyle’s front porch with their feet up, sharing a pitcher of ale and discussing the events of the last few weeks. They had returned to Crackenrood with the rest of their little company of Dwarves ten days ago, and the simple pleasure of being back among their own people had not yet worn off.

  After Belladrin Rish had been sent back to the Skaar, the Federation had dug in for the expected attack, but it had never come. The return home to Arishaig had been delayed for another week until scouting reports confirmed that the Skaar army had decamped. Further investigation revealed that the invaders had gone from the Four Lands entirely.

  The war with the Skaar was apparently over.

  The Dwarves had exchanged a knowing glance when Oberion advised them of this unexpected change in matters. “What do you think?” Lakodan asked his friend.

  Battenhyle shrugged. “We know her to be a resourceful young lady. Perhaps we should try to think better of her.”

  “I wouldn’t be
that optimistic,” Lakodan growled, looking very deliberately at the lieutenant commander. “I’d keep a wary eye to the north, were I you.”

  Over the next few days, Oberion took the precaution of dispatching scouts all up and down the Mermidon’s north shores. Then he sent flits to scan the entirety of the surrounding countryside. Neither effort produced anything; there was no sign of the Skaar. Once he was sufficiently persuaded that the invaders were truly gone, he released the Dwarves from any further service, telling them he now felt the Federation could manage on its own and promising he would see to it that the agreement regarding the conscription exemption was honored.

  He wished them well, and they wished him the same—even though he did not return the Reveals. But as Battenhyle remarked later to Lakodan, “Not everything works out the way we think it should in this world.”

  The Dwarves were in a good mood when they set out, and even took time to say goodbye to various members of the Federation army with whom they had become friendly. The issues that separated their countries were created by politicians, and most saw no point in any of it. Most believed politics did more to hurt than to help in creating good relations between their peoples.

  “One day, there will be a genuine understanding between us,” Battenhyle told his old friend now, as the two sipped their ale. “All this conscription nonsense will stop, and we’ll be friends.”

  Lakodan shook his head. “It will never happen.”

  “Oh, I think it will. The law of averages says, sooner or later, our chieftains and their Prime Ministers and Coalition Council will be of a similar mindset. We might not live to see it, but others will.”

  A brief silence followed before Lakodan said quietly, “I wonder what happened to her? If her king was sufficiently displeased with her failure to carry out his plans, wouldn’t he have had her executed?”

  Battenhyle looked at him speculatively. “Do you think maybe she was successful in persuading him not to?

  “As you said, she was a very resourceful young woman.”

  “Do you think we will ever find out the truth?”

  Lakodan laughed. “Do you really want to?” Then he laughed harder still.

  * * *

  —

  Sometimes, you just get lucky. It happened that way with Belladrin Rish. She slipped out of Cor d’Amphere’s private chambers after ending his life and no one saw her go. Reenergized by what she recognized as an unbelievable stroke of good fortune, she took a risk and commandeered an airship while the inhabitants of the camp were engaged in other pursuits, then boarded and flew far enough off that she could watch the Skaar camp unobserved—just to make sure they would not attack the Federation in retaliation for their king’s death. Because, if they did, she felt compelled to warn the Dwarves.

  But instead, to her relief, the Skaar struck camp over the next two days and moved to a more distant location, where they seemed intent on going into hiding while they presumably dispatched a messenger back to Skaarsland to inform the queen of her husband’s death.

  Knowing she had bought the Federation what time she could, Belladrin boarded her airship and departed.

  She was through with being anyone’s pawn. There would be no more bowing to the needs and dictates of the Skaar throne. No more playing at being someone she wasn’t.

  Still, she had no idea what she was going to do or where she was going to go. She had come to love this new land, but she had not seen enough of it yet to know if she wanted to remain here or go home. And now that she had a ship and all the time in the world on her hands, there was no need to rush the decision. She would stay far away from Paranor in the event that Clizia still lived, but she would love to see the Elven nation, and Rainbow Lake. There were wonders aplenty to explore, and time to do it—even if she would occasionally be keeping quiet tabs on the Skaar.

  Maybe, eventually, she would go visit the Dwarves in Crackenrood. She liked them in spite of their having exposed her. Admired them, really. It would be fun to see them again, spend a little time talking everything over. Lakodan and Battenhyle. Just a quick visit. Just a few days.

  Wouldn’t they be surprised!

  She smiled at the prospect.

  * * *

  —

  Dar Leah, Brecon Elessedil, and Shea Ohmsford had stayed on in Skaarsland for Ajin’s coronation, which had been delayed until the Skaar army had returned from the Four Lands to their remade world and been given time to reunite with family and comrades. The advisers to the throne—those old men and women whose duty it was to guide the Skaarsland rulers in carrying out their obligations and making their decisions—would have held the coronation the minute word came of the king’s death, anxious to have the matter settled. But Ajin, who was to be their queen, had more on her mind than orchestrating a quick conclusion to the question of succession. She thought it highly improper to proceed until all of her people were reunited in their homeland—especially those comrades she had once led on the field of battle and who would have considered it a betrayal if they were not included.

  It was an excruciating time for Dar—a time of deep misgiving. Ajin was ensconced in the royal palace, which was now her new home, while her guests were placed in a distant wing. Gone were the days and nights the two had spent together, their liaison forbidden by the prospective queen’s advisers on what they saw as very sound grounds. The people wanted to see their queen fully focused on her investiture, they said. The people did not want to imagine her sleeping with an outlander, or considering his needs ahead of those of her people. Best they stay apart until after the coronation, and then the matter of living conditions could be reviewed.

  Very sound grounds, they repeated.

  And Ajin, to Dar’s chagrin, went along with this nonsense.

  “Don’t rush things,” she said to him when they were alone. “Give this time. We have time to spare, and I need to work on convincing them of the importance of accepting our relationship. Let them have their few weeks while I make them understand I am not going to tolerate anyone’s interference in making decisions that are mine alone to make. If they think they will be able to control my life, they haven’t been paying close attention for the last twenty years.”

  But Dar didn’t like it. In spite of her promises, he was not reassured. He didn’t like being away from her, and he didn’t like where he believed this was heading.

  “What’s to say they won’t continue to take this stand even after you are crowned? They won’t give up on forcing you into what they think is best for you, and I’m not it. They will seek to make you a better match. They will string you along until everything you and I have is buried by time and separation. Don’t do this, Ajin.”

  But she did, and he was left with the option of seeing her only when she could manage to slip away. Which, he quickly discovered, was infrequently. The advisers and their preparations for her coronation kept her occupied almost the entire time.

  “I know something of coronations and their protocols,” Brecon tried to explain. “I was raised in the Elven court, so I am very familiar with how these things work. And rules and prohibitions are the name of the game. Remember, appearances are everything. Nothing must seem out of place or untoward, even if it feels unnatural to you. But Ajin loves you. She would never abandon you, and she would never attempt to replace you. You have to see that, Dar. Use your common sense!”

  But Dar wasn’t interested in common sense or patience or anything else that would further his separation from Ajin. He began to worry as her absences grew longer and the time remaining until the coronation grew closer. Somehow, he knew, she was going to be taken away from him. He had always thought it would happen in battle; that she would die by the sword. That was bad enough. But this? This was much worse. It was all dark expectations and nagging uncertainties. It was death by small cuts.

  He chaffed and he worried. He spent as much time as he co
uld trying to persuade himself that matters would work out as Brecon believed, while at the same time finding reasons why they wouldn’t. He considered ways he could stop Ajin from falling victim to the manipulations and wiles of her advisers and their allies. Wild, crazy plans formed—harebrained schemes and impossible happenings—all of them involving either spiriting Ajin away by night, or demanding she give up the throne so there could be no one else controlling their future.

  All of it was impossible, and all of it was hopeless. It always came down to the same reality. The past was over, and the future was taking them in different directions. Ajin had agreed to assume the throne because her people wanted her to and she knew it would be wrong to turn her back on them. Her mother, too, had spent long hours convincing her of the importance of recognizing her duty to her country. Dar had been there for some of it, and he had not objected or tried to argue her out of it. It wasn’t his place to do so. If she wanted this, he had to stand aside and let her have it.

  He had to support her—even if it was destroying him to do so.

  * * *

  —

  On the night before her coronation, she came to his bedchamber, stealing away from her mother and her well-meaning caretakers to throw herself into his arms and tell him anew how much she loved him. But right away, he was on his guard. Trust was no longer an issue. Necessity now governed everything, and his ideas of what constituted the right course of action were no longer the same as hers.

  So even as he hugged her back, pressing her against him with such ferocity he feared she might cry out, he resolved that no matter what she said or did, he would not do anything to stand in her way.

  “I missed you,” she breathed into his ear.

  “Not as much as I missed you.”

  “I would have come sooner if I could have.”

  “I know. Are you ready for tomorrow?”