by Terry Brooks
But on a whim he decided not to give way and continued toward the other traveler until they were face-to-face. Then he asked the same two questions he had been asking everyone he spoke to. Have you seen a girl with white-blond hair and lavender eyes? And when he saw the hesitation in the other’s eyes, he felt a surge of excitement and pressed on. Did she say where she was going?
“Who are you?” the man asked. Not unfriendly, but clearly wary. “You don’t mean her harm, do you?”
Tavo could barely contain himself. “She is my sister!” he exclaimed. “I am searching for her because I think she needs my help. Please, tell me if you know anything.”
His words were persuasive and his voice filled with desperation. He was clever, and he knew how to pretend. His skill at deception was improving, and he was paying close attention by now to the advice offered by his friend and companion, Fluken, who was standing just off to one side.
Make him believe, Fluken urged him wordlessly. Do not anger or frighten him like you did those others. Give him a reason to want to help.
So Tavo did as he said, and avoided calling on the magic that roiled within him, eager to be unleashed so that it might crush this stranger and force the words from his dying tongue. Instead, he remained outwardly calm, but concerned in what he believed to be a brotherly way.
The stranger looked at him doubtfully. “You look all done in.”
“I have traveled a long way to find her,” Tavo continued when he sensed the hesitation. “I have no credits or means of transportation. But I continue on, anyway. I won’t let anything stop me. I must find her.”
The young man hesitated a moment more, then nodded. “You look like her. I can see the resemblance. So, yes. I did meet and speak with her maybe a month ago. I gave her food and water, too. She was all alone and looked very tired.”
“That was kind of you.” Tavo made a show of gratitude, forcing a smile. “Do you know where she was going? Did she say?”
“She did. To a small village, but the name escapes me. North, somewhere, in the Westland. I think she was looking for someone.” He shook his head. “I just can’t seem to remember.”
“Please take a moment to think about it. Maybe it will come to you. Anything at all will help…”
They stood together in silence for long minutes, the man with his head lowered and his eyes fixed on the ground while Tavo stared at him impatiently.
Finally, the man sighed and lifted his head, smiling. “No use. I just can’t seem to remember it.”
Tavo was enraged. His face reddened and his neck muscles corded. “Then I’ll help you!”
Ten minutes later he had the answers he wanted. Tarsha was headed for the village of Emberen to find a man named Drisker Arc. She had not said why she was looking for him. She did not say what she intended to do when she found him. She did not say anything about who he was. Not that it mattered; he would find all that out eventually. What he’d learned was enough to give him a fresh start.
He would have thanked the man if he had told him all this willingly, but then maybe he really couldn’t remember. In any case, it was too late. The magic of the wishsong had destroyed his mind and left him a babbling idiot standing in the road mumbling and jerking like a puppet hitched to invisible strings. Tavo did not laugh. It wasn’t funny. The magic was serious business, and he took it that way. He could use it for anything if he was prepared to accept the consequences, and by now he was. He saw it as necessary, and that was sufficient to give him license to do what he had just done. The man would never be the same, but he had served his purpose.
Tavo considered leaving him as he was, but then thought it would be a kindness simply to put an end to him.
So he did.
A single note, high and haunting, and it was done.
He went on alone, completely unaware that his sister was now tracking him as he was tracking her. He would have found it ironic, had he known. He could have stopped where he was and waited for her to catch up to him, but he thought her arrived and settled in Emberen by now and had no reason to believe anything else. Least of all that she had returned to Backing Fell, had discovered what he had done to their parents and uncle, and had gone off to look for him as a result.
He had no reason to know that she was simply trying to help him and had never intended to abandon him. But maybe it didn’t matter. By now he was well past complex rational thinking, and he could only manage situations as they happened. Being in the moment was simple, uncomplicated, real. He could handle what that required of him, but not much more. Thinking beyond the moment was no longer possible.
The trek went on for several more days, taking him along the shores of the Mermidon and onto the grasslands that spread east toward the distant mountains of the Dragon’s Teeth. He wasn’t entirely sure where Emberen was, but he took time to ask people now and again so he could continue. Most were happy to provide him with the help he needed. Only one or two turned away, but he let them go.
He stole a horse to help him with his search. He didn’t have to hurt anyone to take the horse, and so he didn’t.
He was trying to be good now.
Or at least to go unnoticed.
Fluken walked with him, singing and reciting poetry and offering words of advice. His voice was comforting, his presence reassuring. It was good to have a loyal friend. Fluken was always there for him.
And he always would be.
* * *
—
When the Elfstones went dark, Brecon Elessedil and Dar Leah hurried back to their airship, powered up the diapson crystals, and flew south in the direction of the vision the magic had shown them. Neither talked about it; neither questioned the decision to begin searching. They were simply doing what needed to be done in order to find Tarsha Kaynin. Dar was piloting the airship now, while Brecon used the Elfstones to help set their direction. But the Elfstones, after projecting a few final faint images of Tarsha, went dark.
Brecon shook his head as he lowered the Stones and turned to his companion. “I remember my father saying something once about movement disrupting the search power of the Stones. If either the searcher or the object of the search is moving too quickly—in an airship, for example—the Stones have difficulty tracking. Maybe that’s so with Tarsha. We need to go to where we saw her with those men, in any case. Just to see what happened. We can try to find out more when we get there.”
But it took them the rest of that day and the following two before they located the place they were looking for on the morning of the third day, and when they got there Tarsha was nowhere to be found. They walked the entirety of the area where the airship had landed, searching. After several minutes, Dar knelt in what seemed to be a patch of scorched earth. His hands moved across the damaged ground. “Look at this.”
Brecon walked over. “Magic has been used here,” Dar announced. “I can smell its residue.”
He rose. “Tarsha defended herself against someone or something, then got back in her airship and set out again.” He thought a moment. “I’m guessing, but maybe she’s gone back to Emberen.”
“But Drisker isn’t there,” Brecon pointed out. “You said so yourself. He can’t be there. He’s trapped in Paranor.”
“She doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know anything about Paranor. Whatever happened with the search for her brother, it doesn’t involve Backing Fell anymore or she wouldn’t be flying the other way. Maybe she found him and maybe she didn’t. Maybe she decided to go back to Drisker to see if he’s returned. Maybe to ask his help, if she didn’t find Tavo.”
Brecon looked doubtful. “Awful lot of maybes. Let’s try using the Elfstones again. Maybe this time we’ll have better luck.”
He retrieved the pouch from his pocket and dumped the Stones into the palm of his hand. Tightening his grip on them, he lifted his arm and pointed north, eyes closing. Moments passed,
but there was no response.
Then, abruptly, an image of Tarsha sleeping in a bed surfaced once and was gone. Dar and Brecon exchanged glances. “Did you recognize anything?” the latter asked.
Dar nodded slowly. “The room was too dark to be sure, but it might have been the cottage Drisker moved to when his own was burned down.”
“Burned down?”
“Long story. His house was attacked and burned not too long ago. He told me the story while we were flying back to Paranor. I didn’t see much of the inside, but that might have been a bedroom.”
Brecon clapped him on the shoulder. “So let’s you and I go there and find out.”
He nodded, but the expression on his face indicated he remained dissatisfied. His friend put the Elfstones away and walked back to the airship.
Moments later, they reboarded their airship and set out once more.
* * *
—
Tarsha was deep in slumber when the dream came. She felt its approach—a kind of tingling in the air, a drop in the temperature. A presence nudged up against her, and she was aware of someone standing next to her bed. She lacked any interest in knowing who it was and did not allow the dream to wake her. It was unobtrusive and only vaguely interesting and the simple fact of it was not enough to trouble her.
Then a voice spoke.
Wake up, Tarsha.
She ignored the command—and it was a command because there was considerable force behind it. But dreams are insubstantial, and she felt no urgency to respond.
Tarsha, you must wake!
Forceful now, more insistent and sharp-edged with concern. She felt a shift in the nature of its intent, and she wondered in a vague sort of way if this was a dream, after all.
Tarsha! Now! Look at me!
Definitely not a dream. She rose from the depths of her slumber, finding her way to consciousness even as the sleeping potion sought to hold her down.
Her eyes opened, and she was looking at Drisker Arc. Which, of course, was impossible. According to Clizia, he was imprisoned in banished Paranor. He didn’t even look like himself, but rather appeared as a sort of insubstantial, ghostly version of the man he had been, his features shifting as if formed of mist, threatening to evaporate at any second. There was no weight to him. There was nothing to suggest he was anything but a wraith.
“Drisker?” she said, disbelieving.
Her voice was sluggish, weary. She was awake, but struggling to stay there. She took note of her darkened room; night had clearly fallen in Emberen. The sole light was provided by Drisker’s ghost, its body radiating a strange whiteness that suggested glimmerings of movement seen most often from the corners of one’s eyes.
With great effort, she raised herself on one elbow. “Drisker? What happened to you?”
The wraith knelt by her bedside but made no move to touch her. It seemed likely that he couldn’t, that his form would not permit it. There was a shimmer to his body, and its smallest movements cast shadows across the walls and floor of the darkened bedroom.
I am trapped inside Paranor. Even his voice sounded otherworldly, a faint echo skidding off each word before trailing away. I cannot stay long. The spell won’t let me. But I have information you need to know.
She stared at him. “How can you be here if you are trapped inside Paranor?”
Magic. This happened to a Druid once before, hundreds of years ago. His name was Cogline. He was a failed Druid, and his story is too long to tell. What matters is that magic placed him inside Paranor after the Druid Allanon had consigned it to limbo. While he was there, he could not escape on his own. But he discovered he could send an image of himself anywhere he wanted to—just as I am doing.
She nodded slowly. “So you’re not really here. But this isn’t your shade, either. You aren’t dead.”
I’m not dead. Clizia Porse wishes I were. It was she who did this to me. She tricked me while we were inside the Keep summoning its Guardian, and left me for dead while she fled. Once clear of Paranor’s walls, she used her magic to send the Keep out of the Four Lands in order to keep it safe for her personal use later. She betrayed Paranor to the invaders, and the Druids are no more. She plans to rebuild the Druid order with herself as Ard Rhys. Listen to me now. Clizia is playing a game, and you are her pawn. She is not your friend.
“I don’t understand. It was Clizia who helped me recover when I returned from searching for—”
She is not your friend! She is pretending. While you have been sleeping, she has been busy trying to use you against me. You will remember she has a scrye orb, just as I do. Well, she used it to contact me and offer me my freedom if I would bring her a powerful magic called a Black Elfstone. She showed me an image of you sleeping and hinted that you would be safe only so long as she got what she wanted. She keeps you with her to use as a bargaining tool. As long as she thinks I will bring her the magic she wants, she won’t hurt you. But she won’t wait long. I need you to get out of there as soon as you can, any way that you can.
Tarsha was fully awake now, sitting up and facing Drisker. “What about you?”
Do not worry for me. I will find a way out on my own. Go to Dar Leah, if you can find him. If not, go to the Elves and ask for sanctuary. Do it right away! But be very careful. If she finds out what you are trying to do, she will bind you so securely you will never get free! You will likely only have one chance, so wait until you find it. Then run and don’t look back. She will come after you, but you must hide yourself.
“Not very comforting.” Tarsha was struggling to accept that she had been wrong about Clizia, even given Drisker’s earlier warnings and her own suspicions when the old woman had asked about the books of magic. She was angry for allowing herself to be deceived. “I don’t know where Dar Leah is. Can you help me find him? Can you go to him as you’ve come to me and ask him to help?”
Coming to you wasn’t as easy as it might seem. It don’t know how many more times I can do so. I wouldn’t have known I could do it at all if not for the Druid Histories. In their recordings, it told of how Cogline was trapped within Paranor. But he found he could leave by projecting his spirit self, his almost-shade, out into the world. He only needed direction and knowledge of his destination. He used it to search out Walker Boh, the Druid of his time. But there was a price for doing so. Each time he projected himself as a spirit, it took something from his corporeal form. He became further weakened and diminished. If he were to continue, he would disappear altogether. That is the risk I run, as well.
“Then you must go now. Don’t stay any longer. I can manage well enough now that I know the truth about Clizia.”
He rose and stood looking down at her, his face a mask of worry. Be wary, Tarsha. Clizia Porse is extremely dangerous, and she would snuff out your life without a second’s hesitation if she thought it necessary. You must not reveal I was here. You must not reveal what you have learned from me. You must not let her discover what you intend. This is asking a lot, but your life depends on how well you are able to manage the charade I am asking of you.
She nodded. “I understand. Just try to find a way out quickly. I need you. Tavo has killed all my family, and it may be that he intends to kill me, as well. He was coming to Emberen, so I came back here to find him. But now I don’t know what to do.”
Do only what I told you for now. That is enough. I will find a way to reach you. Look for me.
And he was gone, vanished from her sleeping chamber as if he had never been there, the room gone dark again, the air gone still and empty. Tarsha stayed propped up on one elbow for a moment, struggling with what she had been told, still not entirely sure it was real. If she hadn’t been a wielder of magic herself and aware of the strangeness that magic could perform, she would have doubted her senses. But she knew Drisker had been there, even if in diminished form, and had spoken to her. She knew everything he h
ad said was true, and now she must do what she could to save herself.
She lay back slowly, eyes peering upward into the darkness. So much had happened in so short a time. She had made the journey to find Drisker and ask him to train her, and the Druid had taken her in. The Skaar had invaded the Four Lands and taken Paranor, killing all the Druids. Drisker’s home had been burned. Someone was trying to kill him, and now it appeared it was as he suspected—a fellow member of the fallen Druid order. Yet he had gone to Paranor, anyway, to try to save those he had once led. And she had gone in search of Tavo and found only the horrific death of her parents, the destruction of her home, and the enmity of her friends and neighbors.
What had she accomplished in all this?
Not much, she decided. Mostly, she had been struggling to find her way in the world, and her way remained a mystery. She remembered the old woman Parlindru, and her prophecies. The rule of three would be her fate, she had told her. Three times she would love, but only one would endure. Three times she would die, but each death would see her rise anew. And three times she would have a chance to make a difference in the lives of others and three times would do so, but once only would her actions change the world. So the old woman had told her—an old woman no one else saw, even though they had shared glasses of ale openly in a public house.
Tarsha’s thoughts shifted away from the prophecies and returned to her present predicament. There was no time for worrying about something so abstract and distant. She had to deal with the problem at hand. She had to get herself beyond Clizia Porse’s reach, but she had to plan carefully how to do so. She had to fool the old woman into believing nothing had changed while she prepared to slip away. She had to be smart. She had to be wary.