The Darkling Child

by Terry Brooks

  “She did well.”

  “Did she tell you who I am?”

  “Arcannen. You’re a sorcerer.”

  “I am a practitioner of magic. Which is why I wish to speak with you. It’s very important that I do. I thought I made it clear that you should remain at the tavern until I returned. Apparently, you lost faith in me.”

  Reyn shook his head. “A pair of Druids came to find me. Gammon told them I had already left, but he thought I should get away before they could find out the truth. So I tried to sneak out the back door, but they were waiting. One of them attacked me. What was I supposed to do? I ran; I tried to get away from them. But the Fortrens found me.” He paused. “Why did you set them on fire?”

  Arcannen gave him a look. “I warned them to leave you alone.” He shrugged. “They were trash, anyway. And trash should be burned.”

  Reyn almost said something critical in response, but decided against it. He didn’t know Arcannen well enough to question him too closely, and he couldn’t ignore the fact that the man had saved his life. How he had managed it wasn’t something Reyn cared to look into too deeply.

  “Did you tell Lariana about yourself?” the sorcerer asked.

  “We talked about a lot of things.”

  “Why don’t you tell me a little of what you told her? When did you first find out about your magic? About what your singing could do? Tell me that, and I’ll tell you what you don’t know about both.”

  So Reyn told him of his past, relating pretty much the same details he had revealed to Lariana. He wanted to discover what Arcannen knew about his magic, thinking that this might be his one chance to learn something useful about its origins. He took his time, pausing now and then to see if the other had questions. But the sorcerer said nothing, letting him do the talking.

  “Have you tried using this magic in other ways?” he asked when Reyn finished. “Besides singing? Have you attempted to do other things with it? Experimented with it?”

  Reyn was confused. “No. What sorts of other things?”

  The sorcerer ignored him. “Has anyone ever instructed you on how to use your magic? Have you been taught by anyone?”

  “Is that what you want to do? Teach me to use my magic? Is that why you’ve been after me?”

  Arcannen looked at him as if he were an idiot. “I would be interested in teaching you to use magic, yes. But I am much more interested in finding a way to help you stay alive. Or did you miss that part?”

  Reyn flushed. “I know what you did for me. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening.”

  “All right.” Arcannen gave him a long look. “Let me keep my part of the bargain and tell you what I know about your magic. Then you can decide for yourself what you want to do about it. But first we need to leave this airfield. I’ve been here too long already.”

  He signaled to Lariana, who was just finishing up with loading their supplies, and she moved immediately to begin the process of attaching the radian draws and raising the light sheaths. Because the Sprint was small, the work went quickly, and within short minutes they were lifting off, turning east from Sterne. Arcannen was at the helm and Lariana was sitting aft with Reyn. Sprints were small; the three of them pretty much filled up the cockpit.

  Reyn, left to his own devices for the moment, began conversing with the girl once more. “Do you know where we are going?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t say. Why don’t you ask him?”

  But Reyn didn’t want to do that. He didn’t care where they were going; he just wanted an excuse to talk to her. “I can wait,” he said.

  The wind swept back her caramel hair, and the streaks of gold that ran through it flashed brightly in the sun. She lifted her head and closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of it. She was, in that moment, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

  “I love flying,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

  He smiled. “I’ll tell you a secret, if you want.”

  She opened her eyes again and looked over. “Of course I want. Tell me.”

  “Until last night and now, I had never flown in an airship. Not once.”

  She held his gaze. “Aren’t you glad your first time was with me?”

  Finding the right words to answer her proved impossible.

  —

  Farther north, within the ragged cradle of the Dragon’s Teeth, Paxon and the Rock Trolls who had accompanied him to Portlow in search of the bearer of the wishsong bore the black cylinder in which Avelene was imprisoned down off the clipper and into the recesses of Paranor. There were other members of the Druid Guard there to meet them, and within minutes Isaturin had come down from his tower quarters for a look.

  It was nearing midday by now, the journey home again having taken the travelers the remainder of the night and most of the following morning. Paxon had managed a few hours sleep aboard ship, but had spent most of his time keeping watch over Avelene. It wasn’t as if he could do anything further to help her, but with the edge of the Sword of Leah placed against the hard side of her prison, he could banish the darkness long enough to look inside and let her look out at him and know that he was there.

  In truth, she seemed calmed by his presence, aware that he was taking her somewhere, trying to do something to help. They could not hear each other—though they had both tried speaking through the cylinder walls—but they could find reassurance in knowing that there was a link between them and both were handling the situation in the best way they could.

  Isaturin examined the cylinder, spent a few minutes touching it and bending close to listen, then used his own magic to turn the enclosure clear enough to see the Druid inside and to give her a few quick signs with his fingers that she seemed to understand.

  When the cylinder went dark again, he had it picked up and carried to one of the workrooms. “It’s magic-generated,” he told Paxon as they followed in the cylinder’s wake. “Likely this is Arcannen’s work. It is sophisticated and, as you had assumed, a trap. Any forcible effort to free Avelene would cause the walls imprisoning her to collapse, crushing and suffocating her.”

  “He would have been counting on that,” Paxon said angrily. “He would see tricking me into killing one of the Druids I am sworn to protect as a fitting punishment for what I did to him five years ago.”

  Isaturin smiled. “But his plan didn’t work. You’ve grown less impulsive over the years. Now let’s see about getting Avelene free without harming her.”

  The big man moved ahead, speaking now to another pair of Druids he had summoned, presumably to help with the unlocking of the cylinder. Paxon hung back, content to let them take the lead. Isaturin appeared to know what he was doing, and since Paxon’s fears about using his sword were confirmed, it was best to let the Ard Rhys find a way through Arcannen’s magic.

  Once within the work area, the door was closed and barred by Druid Guards. Isaturin had the cylinder placed on a workbench. Stationing the two Druids who had accompanied him on the far side of the bench, he stood across from them. Together, the three began to weave separate spells, using fingers and voices, each deep in concentration. Paxon stood back, watching carefully. The air began to thicken, turning misty and dark, taking on a substantive appearance. Streaks of color emerged and then vanished again. Smells were emitted—some like burning, some like oiled metal. The cylinder began to pulse softly, its opaque appearance lessening, Avelene’s frightened face coming into sharper focus within.

  It took them a long time to accomplish what they were attempting, and at more than one point Paxon began to worry that they couldn’t manage it. But finally the surface of the cylinder began to split apart, a jagged seam opening vertically down its middle. A rush of foul air exploded from within, turning black as it did so, morphing into dozens of insects. Isaturin sprang backward, warding his face and gesturing heatedly. One of the other Druids collapsed into the arms of the second. For a few moments, everything was in chaos.

  Then Isaturin’s countermagic too
k hold of Arcannen’s, scooping it up and shrinking it down to nothing. The insects disappeared, the air cleared, and the black cylinder melted away, leaving Avelene lying wide-eyed and shaking atop the workbench.

  Without being asked, Paxon rushed forward and covered her with his cloak. He lifted her off the bench, cradling her in his arms. He could feel her trembling.

  “I thought I was dead,” she whispered, clutching him to her. “I was certain of it.”

  “Paxon,” Isaturin said, coming up beside him. “Carry her to her room and put her to bed. She needs rest. Give her as much liquid as she can hold before you leave her. Just water, nothing stronger—nothing to stimulate her system. Wrap her in blankets. She’s shaking as much from the cold she’s feeling as from what she’s been through. Hurry now.”

  Without a word, Paxon carried the young woman from the room and down the hallways of the keep to where she slept. He had to ask her how to get there because he had never been to her chambers, but she managed to direct him without once looking up from where she nestled her face against his shoulder.

  “He caught me by surprise, Paxon.” He could hear the bitterness in her voice. “That never should have happened. I was so intent on watching you cross the roadway and then disappear behind the tavern—so certain you would call for my help…”

  She trailed off, her voice breaking. “You aren’t the first to have that happen,” he said quietly. “I’m just grateful you’re alive. I was scared to death for you.”

  “What happened to the boy?”

  Paxon grimaced. “He got away in the confusion. We’ll find him later. First, we have to get you well again.”

  She was silent for a long time. “I don’t know if that’s possible,” she whispered. “You can’t imagine what it was like inside that container, everything dark and no way to get free. If you hadn’t—”

  “But I did,” he said, interrupting her with a hushing sound. “Just try to forget about it. Just think about sleeping now.”

  When they were inside her room, he laid her on the bed and poured water from a pitcher on the dresser into a glass, holding it for her while she drank it down. He stayed with her while she finished it, then brought her a second glass and held her while she drank that one, too.

  “So thirsty,” she mumbled.

  He put the glass on the bedside table, took off her boots, and pulled back the bedding, easing her beneath the covers. He rose and walked toward the door. “Go to sleep now. I’ll see you when you wake.”

  “Paxon!” She called his name with some urgency, bringing him back around. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me just yet. Please.”

  He came back over and sat down beside her. He could see the fear in her eyes. “I’ll stay if you want.”

  “I just don’t want to be alone right now. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Would you lie down beside me? Would you just hold me for a little while? Until I stop shaking?”

  He did as she asked, snuggling close to her and putting his arm across her so that she could feel his warmth. She scooted back against him, burrowing close. “Thanks,” she said so softly he almost missed it.

  She was asleep before long, and the shaking stopped. He stayed with her anyway, wanting to make sure. But he also stayed because he liked holding her, liked being close. And for the first time since Leofur, he found that he needed the comfort of another body.

  THIRTEEN

  “The magic you possess is very old,” Arcannen explained. “Centuries old. And only members of a single family inherit it. When it first surfaced, it was called a wishsong, and the name has stuck.”

  Reyn was sitting with the sorcerer in the stern of the Sprint, shoulder-to-shoulder in the small space, both of them looking ahead at where Lariana stood behind the controls of the two-man, guiding the airship east. She had taken over at Arcannen’s request a short while ago, and he had given her a heading and a set of landmarks by which to navigate. Now she watched the land ahead as they flew, but Reyn noticed her intense expression. She was clearly listening to every word.

  This did not seem to bother Arcannen, who continued his explanation. “Your family surname is Ohmsford. Frosch is either a given name or perhaps a name taken in marriage and passed down to you. But the name that matters where the wishsong is concerned is Ohmsford. The magic surfaced three generations after Shea Ohmsford used the Sword of Shannara to destroy the Warlock Lord. It was passed down from his grandson Wil to Wil’s two children, Brin and Jair. Wil Ohmsford had gone with the Chosen Amberle to save the Forbidding when it failed, and in the process had used Elfstones once given to his grandfather by the Druid Allanon. Shea was a Halfling, but Wil was less an Elf than a human. Use of Elfstone magic is dangerous if you are not a full-blooded Elf, the more so if you are not even a Halfling. So Wil risked much in using the Stones, but he did so to save the Chosen’s life. As a result, his body was changed by the magic, which infused his blood. This infected blood, in turn, was passed to his children.

  “But it was a different sort of magic that emerged. Singing generated the magic of the wishsong, creating a fresh reality, changing and enhancing or diminishing in the process. The girl, Brin, had the stronger magic at first. Whenever she wanted to impact the world around her in a physical way, she needed only to imagine it and sing it into being. She was an extremely powerful magic wielder, and she nearly lost her life to her own magic. Her brother, Jair, had the use of the wishsong, too, but for him, it wasn’t real. He could only create the impression of something happening, not the reality. Smoke and mirrors were his stock-in-trade—although that changed for him later in life—but it proved to be enough to save his sister.”

  Arcannen paused. “Do you recognize the similarities with your own magic? By singing songs, you affect your listeners. They see in their own minds what they wish to see. You sing lyrics and music that create impressions or recall memories or simply stir emotions that make them want more of what you are giving them. I don’t think you do this consciously. I don’t sense a singular purpose in your singing. I think you just offer it for them to sample. Am I right?”

  Reyn nodded. “I guess so. I know I can make them feel things, but I don’t necessarily set out to make them feel anything in particular. I just want the music to reach them.” He hesitated. “But stirring up emotions and recalling memories is only part of it. The magic kills people, too.”

  “Yes, but that’s not peculiar to you. All of the Ohmsfords who inherited use of the wishsong had that power. And almost all of them killed someone, intentionally or not. They were all faced with life-and-death situations in which either they fought back using their magic or they died. Hasn’t it been like that for you?”

  Reyn glanced at Lariana, not wanting her to hear this part. But even though she was not looking right at him, he knew she was waiting to hear his answer. There was nothing he could do to avoid it unless he refused to continue.

  “I haven’t tried to kill anyone. But when I defend myself, I can’t seem to control it. I become so emotionally distraught that the magic gets away from me. It lashes out with such power I can’t seem to stop it. Then people die. That’s what happened with the Fortrens when they attacked me. It’s happened in other places, too.”

  For just an instant, he thought about explaining how he would become temporarily catatonic afterward. But he did not feel comfortable revealing that he suffered from such a debilitating and dangerous weakness.

  Instead, he kept his gaze steady and said, “Can you teach me how to stop this? Can you help me do better about controlling the magic of this wishsong?”

  Arcannen smiled. “I can do that and much more. I can teach you to use it in dozens of new ways. I can show you how it can be applied to do things you haven’t even thought about. The wishsong is a powerful and dangerous magic, Reyn, but it is a versatile magic, as well. Give me the chance, and I will open the door to its secrets. I will give you the knowledge you need to stay safe.”

  Reyn gla
nced at Lariana, but she was looking out onto the horizon again. He waited a moment, hoping her gaze would shift, but she remained steadily focused on the way forward, as if no longer listening. “What do I have to do for you in return?” he asked Arcannen absently.

  “Nothing! I want to do this. I want to help you. Do you think I haven’t been subject to the same misgivings and fears that have haunted you? Do you think that mastering my magic was any less traumatizing or difficult? No, Reyn. It is like this for all of us who possess such gifts. And you do possess a gift of great worth. You will come to see.”

  The boy nodded and found himself suddenly eager to start with his lessons. “When can we begin?”

  “Very soon, but I have a prior obligation I must satisfy first. We travel now to make that happen. I am hopeful you will come with me. Perhaps you can even help. It would be your choice, of course. But, in fact, I can set you down and leave you wherever you like and come back to find you another time.”

  “No!” Reyn was shocked at the vehemence of his response. The thought of becoming separated from Arcannen now, when he was so close to finding out secrets that would change his life, was unthinkable. He steadied himself. “I think it would be better if I stayed with you.”

  “Then stay with me you shall.” Arcannen rose, clapping the boy on his back and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Now rest yourself. We have much to do in the days ahead. I have more to tell you, but it can wait. You know the gist of things, and that’s what matters. Lariana! Come sit with our young friend and keep him company. Let me have the helm back for a time. I feel rested enough to manage.”

  The girl waited until her mentor reached her, then stepped away as he whispered something and came back to sit once more with Reyn.

  “What did he say to you?” the boy asked.

  She grinned. “He said I should think about considering a future with you. He apparently thinks you and I would make a good match.”

  Reyn blushed. “We haven’t known each other that long.”