by Terry Brooks
“That would be enough …” Brin started to reply.
“Enough?” Cogline exclaimed, cutting her short. “Not nearly so, girl! Cliffs rise up before you like a wall, hundreds of feet high. Barren rock for miles. Gnomes everywhere. What happens then? What do you do then?” The finger shifted like a dagger to point at her. “No way in, girl! There’s no way in! You cannot go all that distance unless you know a way in!”
“We will find a way,” Brin assured him firmly.
“Bah!” The old man spit, grimacing. “Walkers would have you in a moment! They’ll see you coming halfway up the climb—if you can find a place to make the climb, that is! Or can the magic make you invisible? Can it do that?”
Brin set her jaw. “We will find a way,” she repeated.
“Maybe and maybe not,” Rone spoke up suddenly. “I don’t like the sound of it, Brin. The old man knows the country and if he says it’s all open ground, then we ought to take that into account before we go charging in.” He glanced at Cogline as if to reassure himself that the old man did in fact know what he was talking about. “Besides, first things first. Before we start off on this trek through the Eastland, we have to recover the sword. It’s the only real protection we have against the walkers.”
“There is no protection against the walkers!” Cogline snorted.
Brin stared at the highlander for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Rone, we have to forget about the sword,” she told him gently. “It’s gone and we have no way of finding what’s become of it. Allanon said it would find its way again into human hands, but he did not say whose hands those would be nor did he say how long it would take for this to happen. We cannot …”
“Without a sword to protect us, we don’t take another step!” Rone’s jaw tightened as he cut short the rest of what Brin was about to say.
There was a long silence. “We have no choice,” Brin said. “At least, I don’t.”
“On your way, then.” Cogline brushed them both aside with a wave of his hand. “On your way and leave us in peace—you with your foolish plans of scaling the pit and destroying the walkers; foolish, foolish plans! Go on, fly on out of our home, dratted … Whisper, where have you got to, you worthless … Show yourself or I’ll … Yiiii!”
He shrieked in surprise as the big cat’s head appeared from out of the darkness at his shoulder, luminous eyes blinking, cold muzzle pressed right up against his bare arm. Furious at being surprised like that, Cogline swatted at the cat and stalked a dozen yards away beneath the willow boughs, swearing as he went. Whisper stared after him, then walked about the bench to lie down next to Kimber.
“I think that grandfather can be persuaded to show you the way east—at least as far as the Ravenshorn,” Kimber Boh mused thoughtfully. “As to what you will do after that …”
“Wait a minute—just … let’s think this through a moment.” Rone held up his hands imploringly. He turned to Brin. “I know you have decided to complete this quest that Allanon has given you. I understand that you must. And I’m going with you, right to the end of it. But we have to have the sword, Brin. Don’t you see that? We have to! We have no other weapons with which to stand against the Mord Wraiths!” His face tightened with frustration. “For cat’s sake, how can I protect you without the sword?”
Brin hesitated then, thinking suddenly of the power of the wishsong and of what she had seen that power do to those men from west of Spanning Ridge at the Rooker Line Trading Center. Rone did not know, nor did she want him to, but power such as that was more weapon than she cared to think—and she loathed the very idea that it could live within her. Rone was so certain that he must regain the use of the power of the Sword of Leah. But she sensed somehow that, as with the magic of the wishsong and the magic of the Elfstones before it, the magic of the Sword of Leah was both light and dark at once—that it could cause harm to the user as well as give him aid.
She looked at Rone, seeing in his gray eyes the love he bore for her mingled with the certainty that he could not help her without the magic that Allanon had given him. That look was desperate—yet without understanding of what he asked.
“There is no way for us to find the sword, Rone,” she said softly.
They faced each other wordlessly, seated close upon the wooden bench, lost in the shadowed dark of the old willow. Let it go, Brin prayed silently. Please, let it go. Cogline shambled back to join them, still muttering at Whisper as he squatted warily on one end of the bench and began fiddling with his pipe.
“There might be a way,” Kimber said suddenly, her small voice breaking through the silence. All eyes turned toward her. “We could ask the Grimpond.”
“Ha!” Cogline snorted. “Might as well ask a hole in the ground!”
But Rone sat forward at once. “What is the Grimpond?”
“An avatar,” the girl answered quietly. “A shade that lives in a pool of water north of Hearthstone where the high ridges part. It has always lived there, it tells me—since before the destruction of the old world, since the time of the world of faerie. It has the magic of the old world in its touch and the sight to see secrets hidden from living people.”
“It could tell me where to find the Sword of Leah?” Rone pressed anxiously, ignoring the restraining hand that Brin placed upon his arm.
“Ha-ha, look at him!” Cogline cackled gleefully. “Thinks he has the answer now, doesn’t he? Thinks he’s found the way! The Grimpond has the secrets of the earth all bound up in a pretty package ready to give to him! Just a little problem of telling truth from lie, that’s all! Ha-ha!”
“What’s he talking about?” Rone demanded angrily. “What does he mean, truth from lie?”
Kimber gave her grandfather a stern look to quiet him, then turned back to the highlander. “He means that the avatar doesn’t always tell the truth. It lies much of the time or tells riddles that no one can figure out. It makes a game out of it, twisting what is real and what is not so that the listener cannot decide what to believe.”
“But why does it do that?” Brin asked, bewildered.
The girl shrugged. “Shades are like that. They drift between the world that was and the one that will be and have no real place in either.”
She said it with such authority that the Valegirl accepted what she said without questioning it further. Besides, it had been that way with the shade of Bremen as well—in part, at least. There was a sense of commitment in the shade of Bremen lacking perhaps in the Grimpond; but the shade of Bremen did not tell all of what it knew or speak clearly of what would be. Some of the truth could never be told. The whole of the future was never unalterably fixed, and the telling of it must always be shaded by what might yet be.
“Grandfather prefers that I have nothing to do with the Grimpond,” Kimber Boh was explaining to Rone. “He does not approve of the way the avatar lies. Still, its conversation is amusing sometimes, and it becomes an interesting game for me when I choose to play it.” She assumed a stern look. “Of course, it is a different kind of game entirely when you try to commit the avatar to telling you the truth of what it knows when it is really important to you. I never ask it of the future or listen to what it has to say if it offers to tell me. It is a cruel thing, sometimes.”
Rone looked down momentarily, then up again at the girl. “Do you think it could be made to tell me what has happened to my sword?”
Kimber’s eyebrows lifted. “Not made. Persuaded, perhaps. Tricked, maybe.” She looked at Brin. “But I was not just thinking of finding the sword. I was thinking as well of finding a way into the Ravenshorn and into the Maelmord. If there were a way by which the walkers could not see you coming, the Grimpond would know it.”
There was a long, anxious silence. Brin Ohmsford’s mind raced. A way into the Maelmord that would hide them from the Mord Wraiths—it was the key that she needed in order to complete the quest for the Ildatch. She would have preferred that the Sword of Leah, with its magic and its power, remain lost. But what matter that
it was found again if it need not be used? She glanced at Rone and saw the determination in his eyes. The matter was already decided for him.
“We must try it, Brin,” he said softly.
Cogline’s wrinkled face split wide in a leering grin. “Go on, Southlander—try it!” His soft laughter echoed through the night stillness.
Brin hesitated. At her feet, stretched between the benches, his gray-black body curled close to his mistress, Whisper raised his massive head and blinked curiously. The Valegirl stared deep into the cat’s saucer blue eyes. How desperate she had become that she must turn to the aid of a woods girl, a half-crazed old man, and a cat that disappeared.
But Allanon was gone…
“Will you speak to the Grimpond for us?” she asked Kimber.
The girl smiled brightly. “Oh, I was thinking, Brin, that it might be better if it were you who spoke to the Grimpond.”
And it was then that Cogline really began to cackle.
32
Cogline was still cackling on the morning following when the strange little company set forth on their journey to find the Grimpond. Muttering gleefully to himself, he skittered about through the leaf-strewn forest with careless disinterest for what he was about, lost in the shadowed, half-crazed world of his own mind. Yet the sharp old eyes strayed often to Brin’s worried face, and there was cunning and shrewdness in their gaze. And there was always a sly, secretive mirth that whispered in his voice.
“Try it, Southland girl—you must try it, indeed! Ha-ha! Speak with the Grimpond and ask it what you will! Secrets of all that is and all that will be! For a thousand thousand years the Grimpond has seen all of what human life has done with itself, watched with eyes that no other can have! Ask, Southland girl—touch the spirit thing and learn!”
Then the cackle came and he danced away again. Time and again, Kimber Boh chastised him for his behavior with a quick word here, a hard look of disapproval there. The girl found the old man’s behavior silly and embarrassing. But this had no effect on the old man and he kept on teasing and taunting.
It was an iron gray, misted autumn day. The sky was packed with banks of clouds from the dark stretch of the Wolfsktaag west to the fading tips of the forest trees east. A cool breeze wafted down from out of the north, carrying in its wake dust and crumbling leaves that swirled and stung the face and eyes. The color of the woodlands was faded and worn in the morning light, and the first hint of winter’s coming seemed to reflect in their gray cast.
The tiny company traveled north out of Hearthstone with Kimber Boh in the lead, somber and determined; Brin and Rone Leah following close behind; old Cogline danced all about them as they walked; and Whisper ranged far afield through the dark tangle of the trees. They passed beneath the shadow of the towering rock that gave to the valley its name and on from the broad, scrub-free clearings of the sheltered hollow into the wilderness beyond. Deadwood and brush choked the forestland into which they journeyed, a thick and twisted mass of woods. As midday approached, the pace slowed to a crawl. Cogline no longer flitted about like a wild bird, for the wilderness hemmed them all close. They worked their way carefully ahead in a line. Only Whisper continued to roam free, passing like a shadow through the dark mass of the woods, soundless and sleek.
The terrain had grown even more rugged by noontime, and in the distance the dark edge of a series of ridgelines lifted above the trees. Boulders and craggy drops cut apart the land through which they passed, and much of their progress now required that they climb. The wind was blocked away as the ridgelines drew nearer, and the forest smelled of rot and must.
Then, at last, they climbed free of a long, deep ravine and stood upon the crest of a narrow valley, angling downward through a pair of towering ridgelines that ran north until they were lost in a wall of mist.
“There.” Kimber pointed into the valley. A thick stand of pine surrounded a lake, its waters only partially visible within a blanket of mist that swirled and shifted with the currents of the wind.
“The Grimpond!” Cogline cackled, his fingers stroking Brin’s arm lightly, then slipping away.
They passed through the maze of pine trees that choked the valley’s broken slopes, winding their way steadily downward to where the mist stirred sluggishly above the little lake. No wind seemed to reach them here; the air had gone still, and the woodland was quiet. Whisper had disappeared entirely. Broken rock and pine needles lay scattered over the ground on which they walked, and their leather boots scraped and crunched with their passing. Though it was midday still, the clouds and mist screened away the light so completely that it appeared as if nightfall had set in. As she followed after the slight figure of Kimber Boh, Brin found herself listening to the silence of the forest, searching through the shadows for some sign of life. As she listened and searched, an uneasiness grew within her. There was indeed something here—something foul, something hidden. She could sense it waiting.
Deep within the pines, the mist began to descend about them. Still they went on. When it seemed they must surely disappear into it completely, they stepped suddenly from the trees into a small clearing where aged stone benches ringed an open fire pit, its charred logs and ash black with the dampness.
On the far side of the clearing, a rutted trail led away again into the mist.
Kimber turned to Brin. “You must go alone from here. Follow the trail until you reach the edge of the lake. The Grimpond will come to you there.”
“And whisper secrets in your ear!” Cogline chortled, crouching next to her.
“Grandfather,” the girl admonished.
“Truth and lies, but which is which?” Cogline cackled defiantly and skipped away to the edge of the pines.
“Do not be frightened by grandfather,” Kimber advised, her pixie face a mask of concern as she saw Brin’s troubled eyes. “No harm can come to you from the Grimpond. It is only a shade.”
“Maybe one of us should go with you,” Rone suggested uneasily, but Kimber Boh immediately shook her head.
“The Grimpond will only speak with one person, never more. It will not even appear if there is more than one.” The girl smiled encouragingly. “Brin must go alone.”
Brin nodded. “I guess that settles it.”
“Remember my warning,” Kimber cautioned. “Be wary of what you are told. Much of it will be false or twisted.”
“But how am I to know what is false and what is true?” Brin asked her.
Kimber shook her head once more. “You will have to decide that for yourself. The Grimpond will play games with you. It will appear to you and speak as it chooses. It will tease you. That is the way of the creature. It will play games. But perhaps you can play the games better than it can.” She touched Brin’s arm. “This is why I think you should speak to the Grimpond rather than I. You have the magic. Use it if you can. Perhaps you can find a way to make the wishsong help you.”
Cogline’s laughter rang from the edge of the little clearing. Brin ignored it, pulled her forest cloak tightly about her, and nodded. “Perhaps. I will try.”
Kimber smiled, her freckled face wrinkling. Then she hugged the Valegirl impulsively. “Good luck, Brin.”
Surprised, Brin hugged her back, one hand coming up to stroke the long dark hair.
Rone came forward awkwardly, then bent to kiss Brin. “Watch yourself.”
She smiled her promise to do so; then, gathering her cloak about her once more, she turned and walked into the trees.
Shadows and mist closed about her almost at once, so utterly that she was lost a dozen yards into the stretch of pine. It happened so quickly that she was still moving forward when she realized that she could no longer see anything about her. She hesitated then, peering rather hopelessly into the darkness, waiting for her sight to adjust. The air had gone cold again, and the mist from the lake penetrated her clothing with a chill, wet touch. A few moments passed, long and anxious, and then she discovered that she could discern vaguely the slender shapes of the pines closest a
t hand, fading and reappearing phantomlike through the swirling mist. It was not likely to get any better than it was, she decided. Shrugging off her discomfort and uncertainty, she walked cautiously ahead, groping with her outstretched hands, sensing rather than seeing the passage of the trail through the trees as it wound steadily downward toward the lake.
The minutes slipped by, and she could hear the gentle lapping of water on a shoreline in the silence of the mist and the forest. She slowed and peered guardedly into the mist, searching for the thing she knew waited for her. But there was nothing to be seen except the gray haze. Carefully, she went forward.
Then suddenly the trees and the mist thinned and parted before her, and she found herself standing on a narrow, rock-strewn shoreline looking out across the gray, clouded waters of the lake. Emptiness stretched away into the haze, and clouds of mist walled her about, closing her in…
A chill slipped through her, hollowing out her body and leaving it a frozen shell. She glanced quickly about, frightened. What was there? Then anger welled up within, sharp, bitter, and hard as iron as it rose in retaliation. A fire burned away the cold, flaring through her with ferocious purpose, thrusting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. Standing on the shoreline of that little lake, alone within the concealing mist, she felt a strange power surge through her, strong enough, it seemed in that instant, to destroy anything that came against her.
There was a sudden stirring from within the mist. Instantly, the strange sense of power was gone, fled like a thief, back into her soul. She did not understand what had happened to her in those few brief moments, and now there was no time to think on it; there was movement within the mist. A shadow drew together and took shape, dark drawn from the grayness. Risen and formed above the lake’s waters, it began to advance.