by Terry Brooks
When they were finished, Tagwen rocked back in his seat, glanced across the table at Ahren to be certain he was listening, and said, “I’ll tell you why we’ve come now, but it might not be something you want to share with Khyber.” He gave her a pointed look. “No offense is meant, young lady, but the truth is you might be better off not knowing what we have to say. There is some danger involved.”
The girl looked at her uncle, who shrugged. “I am not much good at keeping secrets from Khyber,” he said, smiling. “In any case, she would have it out of me before the sun was down. If you don’t mind, I’ll let her stay to hear your story.”
Tagwen nodded. “She can quit listening when she decides she doesn’t want to hear any more. I’ll leave it at that.”
Leaning forward, arms resting on the tabletop, bearded face scrunched up so that he looked as if he was about to undertake the most difficult task of his life, he began his story. He related the events surrounding the disappearance of the Ard Rhys, the dismissal of Kermadec and his Rock Trolls, his own decision to seek help from Grianne’s brother, his arrival at Patch Run and meeting with Pen, and their subsequent flight from Terek Molt and the crew of the Druid airship Galaphile. He ended with the unexpected appearance of the King of the Silver River, come out of nowhere to save them from Terek Molt and to tell them of what they must do.
The longer Tagwen’s story went on, the more ridiculous it sounded to Pen and the more foolish he felt for coming even that far. What the King of the Silver River expected him to do—even if you accepted that it really was the King of the Silver River and not some malevolent shade—was patently impossible. For a boy with no practical magic to go alone into the Forbidding was so arrogant and pigheaded that no right-thinking person would even consider it. Pen didn’t have to know the particulars of what lay behind the Faerie magic that closed away the creatures of the Forbidding to know that he had virtually no chance of surviving a journey inside. He might be able to find and secure the darkwand from the tanequil—though that was debatable, as well—but he saw no way he could reasonably expect to rescue the Ard Rhys once he had done so.
By the time Tagwen had concluded, Pen could not bring himself to look at Ahren Elessedil. He imagined himself in the other’s shoes, thinking that he would dismiss this whole business in a heartbeat. The Dwarf had been so certain Ahren would help them, but looking at it now, Pen couldn’t see any reason why.
He glanced over at the Druid in spite of himself and found the other staring back.
“This is a terrible responsibility you have been given, Penderrin,” Ahren Elessedil said quietly. “I am surprised you found the courage to accept it.”
Pen stared. It was not what he had expected the Druid to say. “I was just thinking that it might have been a good idea to think it through a little more.”
“Are you worried that you acted in haste? Or that you might have been tricked in some way because it all sounds so incredible?” The Elf nodded. “I remember feeling that way more than once during my time on the Jerle Shannara. I don’t think you can avoid such feelings. Maybe second-guessing what you choose to do in difficult situations is necessary if you are to find peace of mind. Blind acceptance of what you believe to be the dictates of fate and circumstance is dangerous.”
“Do you think it really was the King of the Silver River?” Pen asked impulsively.
The Druid pursed his lips. “Your father met him years ago, on his way to Arborlon. He told me of the meeting later; he described it. Not so much how the King of the Silver River looked—that wouldn’t matter anyway because he can change his appearance. He described how it happened and how it made him feel. Your experience sounds as if it was the same. Yes, Pen, I think it was him.”
He glanced at Khyber, who was staring at Pen with rapt attention. “Khyber believes it was, don’t you, Khyber?”
She nodded at once. “I believe it all. But what are we going to do about it, Uncle Ahren? Sorry, what are you going to do about it?” she corrected herself.
“I told the boy to come here,” Tagwen confessed, straightening. “It’s my fault we have involved you in this. But I know how you feel about the Ard Rhys, and I couldn’t think of anyone else to turn to. I don’t think we can do this on our own. We managed to get this far on grit and luck.” He grimaced. “I can’t imagine how we will get all the way into the Charnals alone.”
“But we can if we have to,” Pen added quickly.
Tagwen shot him a withering glance. “You have more confidence in what we can accomplish than I do, Penderrin.”
Ahren Elessedil smiled ruefully. “Confidence isn’t to be discouraged, Tagwen. Nor overrated, Penderrin. Remember—we seek a balance in all things.”
“But you will help them, won’t you?” Khyber pressed eagerly.
“Of course, I will help. The Ard Rhys has been both mentor and friend to me; I would never abandon her or those who feel about her as I do.” He paused, looking again at Tagwen. “But much of what you have told me is troublesome. I think there is still a great deal about this business that we don’t know. Shadea a’Ru, Terek Molt, and those others are dangerous, but they lack sufficient power to imprison the Ard Rhys within the Forbidding. It took the magic of an entire Elven nation to create the Forbidding in the first place. Nothing passes through the barrier except when the Ellcrys fails. She doesn’t do so now, so far as I know.”
He glanced at Khyber for confirmation. “She was well when I departed Arborlon a week ago,” she said.
“She wouldn’t have declined so precipitously without our hearing about it,” Ahren continued. “No, some other force is at work here—something hidden from us. We may not find out what it is until we reach the Ard Rhys, but we must be wary of it.”
He paused. “A more immediate problem is that those who have worked against the Ard Rhys will be searching for Pen. They will not stop simply because he has escaped them once. Perhaps they realize that he has the potential to help her. Perhaps they are simply looking to tie up loose ends. The King of the Silver River helped you escape once, Pen, but he will not be able to help you a second time. You are beyond his reach now.”
“They were searching for my father when they came to Patch Run,” Pen pointed out. “Maybe they will forget about me and go after him.”
The Druid shook his head. “They will keep looking. Eventually, they will find you. So we must act quickly. Do you have any idea at all where in the Charnals the tanequil can be found?”
Pen shook his head. “Only what the King of the Silver River told us—that it grows on an island beyond the ruins of a city called Stridegate and that Urdas and Trolls might help us find the way. Nothing more than that.”
“I can use earth magic to try to seek it out through lines of power and air currents,” the Druid mused, looking off into the woods, as if he might find the answer in the trees. “But that approach is uncertain. We need something more definite.”
“What you need,” Khyber declared suddenly, “are the Elfstones, the seeking stones.”
Pen knew the stories of the Elfstones, which had been given by the Druid Allanon to Shea Ohmsford to aid him in his search for the Sword of Shannara and then had been held for many years by other members of the Ohmsford family. They had been returned to the Elven people during the reign of Wren Elessedil, an Ohmsford cousin, and remained there until they disappeared with Kael Elessedil fifty years earlier. Ahren Elessedil had recovered them on the voyage of the Jerle Shannara and given them to his brother in exchange for help in forming the Third Druid Council.
Ahren frowned. “What do you know of the Elfstones, Khyber?”
“Enough, from listening to my father and brother. They spoke of them often, before my father’s death, usually when they thought I couldn’t hear. They believed the Stones could be used as a weapon against the Federation.”
The Druid thought about it a moment. “Well, I won’t deny that the Elfstones would help us. But I don’t have possession of them or any reasonable hope of
persuading your brother to lend them to me. We will have to find another way.”
“Maybe not.” Khyber reached in her tunic and produced a small pouch. With a determined, almost defiant look, she held it out. “I took them from their hiding place because I wanted you to teach me how to use them. I was going to tell you later, when I found the right way to do so, because I knew you would be angry with me. But I guess I can’t wait any longer, so here they are. If you want to be angry, go ahead.”
She thrust them at her startled uncle, who immediately said, “Khyber, you have gone too far.”
Her lips compressed defiantly. “My brother refuses even to look at them since our father died. They serve no purpose being locked away. Besides, I have as much right to use them as any other member of the family. The Elfstones belong to all the Elves. The Elessedils are caretakers and nothing more. Someone has to learn to use them. Why not me?”
“Because you are not King of the Elves and do not have his permission!” Ahren snapped, balancing the pouch in his palm as if weighing the option of throwing it into the trees. “What will happen when Kellen finds out what you have done? You won’t be making any more trips to Emberen!”
Khyber shrugged. “He won’t find out. I replaced the Elfstones with pebbles. As I said, he never even looks at them. In any case, that’s not what’s important. What’s important is the Ard Rhys. Uncle Ahren, we can use the Elfstones! We can find the tanequil with their magic! You know we can! Don’t you want to help Pen and Tagwen?”
Ahren Elessedil flushed angrily, his composure beginning to slip. “Don’t twist my words, Khyber. I know what matters. I also know a great deal more about the use of the Elfstones than you do. They are a dangerous magic. Using them has consequences you know nothing about. Ask Penderrin about his family history. Why in the world did you think I would agree to this? What makes you think you should be the one who knows how to use them?”
“Because no one else dares!” she snapped. “No one but me! If I am to be a Druid, I should know how magic works in all its forms. You teach me earth magic, and that can have consequences, as well. Aren’t I careful with the earth magic? Don’t you think I would be careful with the Elfstones, too? Don’t you trust me? Anyway, things have changed. I have given you the Stones so that you can help Pen and Tagwen. Are you going to do so or not?”
She glared at him, and Pen found himself holding his breath in astonishment. He would never have dared to talk to the Druid that way. Whatever bond she shared with her uncle, it was much stronger than he had imagined. She wasn’t afraid of him at all—not intimidated in the least. He risked a quick glance at Tagwen, who seemed equally surprised.
“If you use the Elfstones, you can discover if what the King of the Silver River told Pen is true,” she continued insistently. “You can see whether or not there is even a tanequil to be found. Then we can at least know whether there is a chance of helping the Ard Rhys by looking for it.”
It was hard to argue with logic like that, and Ahren Elessedil didn’t even try. He gave his niece a final look of reproof, then opened the pouch and poured the contents into his hands. The Elfstones glimmered a deep blue in the midday sun, their facets mirroring the world about them in prismatic colors. There were three of them, perfectly formed, flawless, and beautiful. Pen remembered the legends. One Elfstone each for the heart, mind, and body, together forming a whole that responded to the strength of the user. Only those born of Elven blood could use them, and only if they were freely given or claimed by the user. Once, they had belonged to the Ohmsfords, and it was Wil Ohmsford’s inadvisable but necessary use of them to help the Elven girl Amberle that had altered his body and passed on to his scions the magic that was dying out with Pen.
“I will use the Stones, Khyber,” Ahren Elessedil said, “because you are right in believing that only by using them can we be certain that the tanequil is real. If the Elfstones reveal it to us, then we know the journey to reach it should be made. But understand something else. I spoke of consequences. By using the Stones, I risk revealing our intentions to Shadea a’Ru and her allies. The Elfstones are a powerful magic, and its release will be detected. When that happens, those we seek to escape will come looking.”
“They will come anyway, Uncle Ahren,” Khyber pointed out defensively. “You just said so.”
Ahren nodded. “But now they will come sooner. By nightfall, in all probability. We will no longer have time to think about what we are going to do. The decision will have been made. We will have to leave Emberen—Penderrin, Tagwen, and myself in search of the tanequil, and you back to Arborlon.”
Khyber Elessedil shook her head at once. “I’m going with you. I have no other choice. Uncle Ahren, please, let me finish before you say anything! You are going to take the Elfstones with you because you know you will need them again. Since I can’t return home without them, I will have to go, as well. But there is another reason, an even better one. If something happens to you, neither Pen nor Tagwen can use the Stones because they aren’t Elves. That leaves me, if you teach me how. I know it isn’t what you want. I know you don’t like the idea. But you know it’s necessary. Finding and rescuing the Ard Rhys is what matters.”
She paused. “I want this, Uncle Ahren. I want to help. I want to do something besides sit around in Arborlon and wait for my family to marry me off. I want my life to matter. Please. Let me come.”
He studied her for a moment, then turned to Tagwen. “Is there any other Druid at Paranor that we can trust to come with us?”
Tagwen frowned and pulled absently at his beard. “If you’re asking me if there is anyone I can be sure of, the answer is no. I trust some more than others, but at this point I don’t know how deep the conspiracy goes. You know how things are as well as I do.” He squared his shoulders. “I think we ought to take her with us. She’s older than this boy and she’s able. We might need her. I don’t like to think about it, but something could happen to any of us. The rest have to be able to carry on.”
Ahren Elessedil shook his head in dismay. “I regret agreeing to let you listen to this conversation in the first place, Khyber. This isn’t something you should be involved in.”
“It isn’t something any of us should be involved in,” she replied. “But we all are, aren’t we? Let me come.”
He took a long time making up his mind, and Pen was certain that he was going to say no. Pen’s parents would have said no to him, had they been in a position to do so. Parents didn’t want their children taking the sort of risks involved here. Parents wanted their children safe at home. He didn’t think it was any different with uncles and nieces.
“All right,” Ahren said finally, surprising them all. “You can come with us—mostly because I can’t think of what else to do with you. Sending you home will just get you in worse trouble, and whatever trouble comes of this ought to be mine. But you must agree to do as I say, Khyber. Whatever I tell you to do on this journey, you do it. No arguments, no excuses. I know you; I know how you think. Give me your word.”
She nodded eagerly. “You have it.”
Ahren sighed, tightened his fingers about the Elfstones, rose from the table, and stretched out his arm. His eyes closed in concentration, but his face remained calm. “Stand back from me,” he said softly. “Watch carefully what the magic shows. Remember it well.”
Not certain what to expect, they backed away from him, eyes riveted on his outstretched hand. Slowly his fingers opened to the light. His concentration deepened. The seconds crawled past.
Then abruptly, light exploded from the crystals in a deep cerulean starburst, brightened until the sun itself disappeared behind the enveloping blue, then shot away into the distance in a blinding flare. It arced away through the trees and beyond, through mountains and hills and the curve of the earth itself. Some of what they saw was recognizable—the Dragon’s Teeth and the Charnals, the Mermidon and the Chard Rush, even the sweep of the Streleheim and the dismal emptiness of the Malg. Forests came and went, on
e a shelter for gardens that eclipsed in beauty and complexity anything they had ever seen, a profusion of flowers and silvery waterfalls painted against a shimmering backdrop of green.
When the light finally came to rest, somewhere so far away that the distance could barely be calculated, it was illuminating a strange tree. The tree was huge, larger than the black oaks of Callahorn, broad-limbed and wide-leafed. Its bark was smooth, a mottled black and gray. Its leaves were deepest green with an orange border. The tree was bathed in dappled sunlight and surrounded by a dense forest of more familiar trees—oaks, elms, hickories, maples, and the like. Beyond the trees, nothing was visible. The tree seemed incredibly old, even in the wash of the Elfstones’ light, and Pen felt certain as he looked upon it that it was as old as Faerie. He could feel its intelligence, even in what was no more than a vision. He could sense its life force, slow and rhythmic as a quiet heartbeat.
The blue light held steady for a moment, then flared once and was gone, leaving the watchers staring at nothing, half-blind and stunned by the suddenness and intensity of the experience. They blinked at each other in the ensuing silence, the image of the tree and it surroundings still vivid in their minds.
Ahren Elessedil closed his fingers about the Elfstones. “Now we know,” he said.
“Or think we do,” Tagwen grumbled.
Pen swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. He was dizzy at what seeing the tree had made him feel, deep inside where instincts governed thought. “No, Tagwen, that was it,” he said softly. “I could feel it. That was the tanequil.”
Ahren Elessedil nodded. “We are settled on what we must do.” He dumped the Elfstones back into their pouch and tucked the pouch into his tunic. “Time slips away, and it doesn’t favor us by doing so. Let’s move quickly.”
Fourteen
Midday at Paranor was dark and forbidding, the skies gone black with storm clouds and the air as still as death. There had been no sunlight all day, only a hazy glow at sunrise before the enveloping clouds screened even that away. Birds had long since gone to roost in sheltering havens, and the winds had died away to nothing. The world was hushed and waiting in expectation of thunder and lightning and fury.