by Terry Brooks
She brushed back loose strands of her white-blond hair where the wind had blown them across her face. “I wish that for him. I wish he could be made to understand.”
“Then go, Tarsha. Leave me to do what I must to begin his healing, and come back only when you are summoned. Will you do that?”
She was already turning away. “That and much more, if it will help my brother. Thank you, Drisker, for all you are doing for him. But I will not hold you to more than that. I will not blame you if you fail.”
She walked from the clearing and into the shadows of the trees beyond, fading into the mist.
But I will blame myself, Drisker thought, keeping the words to himself.
TWO
DRISKER ARC WAS NOT at all sure he was making the right decision, but having settled on it, he was determined to follow through. He moved back over to Tavo Kaynin, who had slumped to the ground, head lowered, shoulders hunched. He knelt next to Tarsha’s brother and lifted his head by his chin so that their eyes met.
“You know what I should do with you, don’t you?” he asked softly.
Tavo nodded, his gaze averted.
“Look at me!” Drisker demanded.
He waited until the other did, letting Tavo see the cold fury that burned in his eyes.
“But that isn’t what’s going to happen, Tavo. You are going to live because your sister loves you—and because she has pleaded for your life. She thinks you are a good man somewhere deep inside, and that, with time and effort, you can rid yourself of the creature you have become. I am more doubtful, but I think Tarsha deserves the chance she seeks. So no one is going to hurt you.”
He paused. “On the other hand, you are not going to be allowed to hurt anyone else. So what shall we do with you? We must keep you with us, but we must watch you constantly. We will allow you to be a part of our company and share in our efforts to save the Four Lands—not that you care about any of this just now, but you will.”
“She…left me,” Tavo croaked weakly, his voice carrying no more than a glimmer of the strength it had possessed earlier. “She abandoned me.”
Drisker bent close. “If you mean Tarsha, you are mistaken. She left to find help for you, and she succeeded. I am that help. If you mean that poisonous witch Clizia Porse, you are correct. She cast you away the moment you became useless to her. You have been her tool all along. She crafted you into a killing weapon using the dark magic of that blade, and sent you to kill your sister for reasons…”
He paused. Tavo was shaking his head in disagreement. “She…told me to…kill you. You were the one…she wanted dead. I disobeyed. I wanted…to kill Tarsha…not you. That’s…what I meant.”
Drisker nodded slowly. There was hope yet, if Tavo was seeing that much clearly. “Now you know, then, what you were worth to her. She would never have helped you unless it served her own interests. But your sister? Tarsha would help you in any way she could. She believes in you. Are you worth believing in?”
Tavo shook his head once more. “I…don’t think so.”
“Are you willing to help her prove you wrong?”
A nod, but no further words.
“Then this is what is going to happen. I am going to restore your voice, but you are not going to be able to use your magic again without my permission. You will have to prove yourself in order for that permission to be granted—and that may not happen for a long time. You will be one of us, but you will be given no weapons. You will travel where we decide and do only what we tell you to do. If you try to run away, you will be returned. If you try to hurt any of us, you can expect to be punished. No exceptions. You will talk with Tarsha when she asks you to, and if she chooses to speak to you about what happened when you were sent to your uncle, you will answer. And you will listen to what she says. You will be her patient and she will try to heal you.”
Tavo’s eyes were blank, and his expression was vacant. It was difficult for Drisker to tell if he understood what he was being told or not. But he did not harbor a great deal of hope that Tavo, once he was feeling stronger, would remain this docile.
Drisker pulled him up so that their faces were only inches apart. “If I find that you are deceiving me—even in the smallest of matters—the kindness I am extending you will end. You can imagine the rest. Do we have an understanding?”
A nod.
“Say the words. Make the promise.”
“I…understand.”
Drisker studied his face carefully, and then set him back on the ground. “If you are lying to me, I will kill you.”
He pulled from his pocket a long strand of polished wire and began to burnish it with his fingers, whispering words and chanting softly as he did so. The wire began to glow with a soft bluish light, and heat began to radiate from its surface. Magic filled the air—a pungent smell that caused Tavo to shrink back and squeeze his eyes closed in response. The Druid ignored him, working the wire, smoothing and polishing it until it shone a brilliant silver and small markings began to appear.
“Come alive, precious thing,” he whispered. And the wire began to writhe and twist in his fingers.
He worked it for almost an hour—a slow and arduous effort that left him sweating within his robes. But he did not desist or slacken, keeping a steady pace. To Tavo, he gave no thought, unworried that he might bolt or attack him or otherwise misbehave; he had seen it in Tavo’s eyes when he had warned him. For now, there would be no foolish acts.
The time crept by, but Tarsha and the others stayed away as he had directed, leaving him alone with his work. The fine wire—part of a string drawn from a metal created centuries ago and housed in the Druid archives—continued to gain strength and brilliance, lengthening now as well as softening, steadily becoming close to a living presence. The day was advancing, but a wintry gloom persisted and the air did not warm. All around him lay the snowfall, a white covering over limbs and trunks, over ground and brush, soft and feathery. The forest was still. No animals asserted their presence, and no birds flew or sang.
The world felt hushed and waiting, invisible eyes watching.
When he had finished working the wire to his satisfaction, it had become less round and more flat. The runes he had summoned earlier had become deeply etched on both sides and still glowed with silvery light. He wound it twice about itself, then turned to Tavo.
“Lean forward,” he ordered.
The young man did, with no hesitation or reluctance, either too beaten down to resist or perhaps sensing in some way that the Druid meant to help him, after all. Drisker placed the doubled length of metal about Tavo’s neck and pressed with his fingers to seal the ends together. Magic flared briefly as the bonding was achieved, and then it was done.
Drisker sat back and nodded approvingly. “Sit up straight and look at me.”
Tavo did so—his eyes focused now, his gaze clear. He started to reach for the band about his neck, but Drisker stopped him with a word.
“No.”
Tavo drew back his hands instantly, waiting on the Druid. “The collar remains on, Tavo,” Drisker said. “It is an inhibitor. It will prevent you from attempting to use your voice to summon the wishsong’s magic. If you violate that prohibition, the pain you will experience will be an excruciating reminder to not try again. That said, you now have your voice back and can speak in a normal way.”
Drisker rose, leaving him where he was, and summoned the others with a quick call. When he glanced back at Tavo, the young man was still sitting where Drisker had left him.
“Get up,” Drisker ordered. “There’s nothing wrong with you now. Say something. Let’s see if I am right about your voice.”
“I can feel the difference. My voice is fine.”
Drisker was already turning away. Easy to fix his voice, but his mind was another thing entirely.
* * *
—
&n
bsp; Tarsha had walked from the clearing in a state of uncertainty, leaving her brother behind with Drisker Arc. It was difficult to do so, imagining what sorts of things the Druid might have planned once she was out of sight. She was aware that Drisker did not think it a good idea to keep her brother around, even given her insistence that she must do something to help him. She was also aware that all three men would have preferred Tavo out of the picture completely. (She could not bring herself to use the word dead.) None of them liked or trusted her brother, and she could hardly blame them for it. Nevertheless, he was her brother and the only family she had left. And she couldn’t help seeing him as the older brother she’d looked up to in their early years, before the wishsong had begun to manifest in either of them.
But she trusted Drisker, and if he said no harm would come to Tavo while she was gone, she would take him at his word.
She took her time finding Dar and Brecon, slowing noticeably as a new realization dawned on her—one unrelated to her concerns about her brother. It had been days since she had given any thought to Parlindru and her strange predictions of Tarsha’s future. The seer had made a strong impression on her, coming and going as she did without anyone seeing her. She was a calming presence, and her words were burned deep into Tarsha’s memory—especially those three predictions about the future.
But it was this one that returned to her now: Three times shall you die, but each death shall see you rise anew.
Was this not what had just happened? Tavo had come to kill her and he had thought his efforts successful until he discovered that Drisker had tricked him, moving Tarsha aside while leaving a clear image for her brother to attack. In essence, she had died and risen anew. If not in the literal sense, then surely in the abstract.
Oddly, this didn’t trouble her any more than did the prediction that she would love three times but only one would last. She had given little thought to any of Parlindru’s predictions because, after all, what good would it do? If the predictions were to come true, they were inevitable events and all she could do was await their coming. Perhaps her love for Tavo was one of three. Perhaps her deep affection for Drisker was a second. The third remained a mystery, but not a troubling one. She did pause to think what it meant that she might die twice more and rise each time, but she still thought it best to let this be. Better to let go of what you could not control and worry about what you could.
Stealing through the forest shadows, she picked up her pace and quickly found her companions, arms full of firewood as they continued to gather fuel for their fire. She was reminded again of how cold she was, and she hoped Drisker would summon them back soon so they could get warm. The day was brightening further now, the gloom pushed back a bit even within the heavy old growth, so a bit of the chill had gone out of the air.
She told Dar and Brecon what Drisker had asked of them and why, and after a quick exchange of glances, both set down their wood and stood with her as they waited for the Druid’s summons.
“So he thinks to keep your brother with us?” Brecon asked after a moment, the disbelief in his voice evident.
Tarsha nodded. “He is committed to it. I suggested it might be best if he leaves Tavo with me and goes on with the rest of you, but I think he worries that Tavo would be too much for me—even though he says the reason has more to do with Clizia Porse.”
“It might be some of each,” Dar said. He was rubbing his arms to generate some warmth within his heavy cloak. “Or even something we haven’t thought about. He is a Druid, remember, even now. And Druids are all the same in that they dissemble and conceal as a matter of course. His reasons are his own, and he will keep them that way.”
“But what can he do if he keeps Tavo with us?” Brecon asked, stamping his feet, his breath clouding the air. “How will he protect you, Tarsha, when he must reason with a twisted mind?”
She winced inwardly at those last words but kept her expression neutral. The Elven prince was simply expressing a concern for her safety, not making a judgment. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But he seemed to have something specific in mind.”
Brecon made a disgruntled sound. “Doesn’t he always?”
Dar Leah shook his head slowly. “Not always. And perhaps not so much now as before he went into Paranor. He does not seem quite the same man to me as he was before being trapped inside.”
“I sense that, too,” Tarsha said. “I know it might be odd, but it feels to me as if he has been softened by whatever happened to him in there. His edges seem blunted, his temper and his darkness less severe.”
“But he is more intense, too. More focused on his commitment to the Druid order. Before, he walked away from the Druids, gave up his position as Ard Rhys, and retired to Emberen without once looking back. If not for the Skaar invasion, he would still be in self-imposed exile. But now I sense a renewed purpose in him, a determination to embrace his role as Druid once more. When there is time, I want to ask him what exactly he endured in exile and how he finally managed to bring Paranor back into the Four Lands.”
“It could not have been a simple thing,” Tarsha agreed quickly. “He must have gone through some sort of catharsis to bring about the Keep’s return. When he first came to me while I was with Clizia and not yet aware of what she intended for me, he was distraught and despairing of his future. He did not seem to know what to do to escape his fate. There was a sadness to him then that is now gone. Something happened to him in Paranor, and I think it was more than finding a way to get free.”
They stood silently for a time, trying various ways to stay warm, thinking over the mystery of Drisker and Paranor’s emergence from limbo. Tarsha believed that the Druid was clearly a stronger person now, and that whatever was to happen to him, it would not include running away once again to Emberen. That part of his life was over.
She hoped that this new commitment she sensed in him included a renewed dedication to teaching her how to use her magic. He had reminded her that she was still his student, and still beholden to serve him for the time she had promised, so she had reason to hope her lessons would continue even in the face of all else that was happening.
“You should return to Arborlon, Brec,” Dar said suddenly. “None of this is your problem. You’ve done your part by using the Elfstones to get us this far. You don’t owe us anything more.”
Brecon nodded. “You could make that argument. But maybe I do owe something to the Elves and to myself when it comes to Ajin d’Amphere and the Skaar. They aren’t going to vanish on their own, and we both know that the Four Lands remain in danger as a result. I’m not my father. I’m not interested in sitting back in the safe haven of Arborlon while the rest of the Four Lands falls to pieces.”
“No one is suggesting that you should,” the Blade assured him quickly. “But your mother is going to wonder what has become of you, and sooner or later your father is going to find out the Elfstones are missing and know who took them. You could put all that right by leaving now and going home.”
“What, and abandon my duties as a protector of Tarsha Kaynin?” He feigned indignation. “I think not! She may need me to carry her to safety again before things are fully settled.”
For a second, Tarsha was furious at the idea she needed looking after in any way at all, but then she realized she had heard something unexpected in the Elf’s voice. He wasn’t complaining. He was expressing an unexpected interest in her—one that hinted of attraction. Within the covering of her cloak’s cowl, she blushed in spite of herself.
“You are rather good at spiriting beautiful maidens from danger,” Dar Leah acknowledged with a laugh. “Maybe that’s your real calling. You seem up to the task.”
“Enough already,” Tarsha interjected, frowning at them. “I am already in Brecon’s debt and do not think to impose further. I can look after myself.”
After that, the conversation died away. Tarsha was still getting used
to the idea that the Elven prince might find her attractive when Drisker’s call reached them. Foolishness, she thought. Attraction has no place in my life. Joining the other two in picking up the fallen firewood, she hurried back through the forest to see what had become of her brother.
THREE
SHEA OHMSFORD WAS SWIFTLY coming to terms with how hard it was going to be to rescue Tindall from Assidian Deep. It was somewhere after midnight, but he could not be certain of how much. He had been maneuvering his way through the sewage ducts of the prison for what felt like hours. Inside those metal tunnels, it was impossible to tell if it was day or night.
It was a prison all its own.
Shea was not happy about his role—and less so once Rocan Arneas had advised him of what he was going to have to do even to reach the cell where Tindall was imprisoned. Assidian Deep was a dark, monstrous tomb, a Federation disposal system for those who had transgressed in the worst of ways or fallen so far out of favor with those in power that there was no coming back. Entering it under any circumstances was bad, but entering it through the sewage ducts was almost unbearable.
Still, Shea had reached the nineteenth floor, where Tindall was supposedly held, before real trouble surfaced.
He had just removed an iron grate that barred his way down the duct he needed to follow when he heard something approaching. It was a mechanical sound—a whisking, whirring, scraping sound—so it wasn’t difficult to guess that it was a scrubber. Rocan had said that they would all be shut down for the night. But given the way everything connected with this endeavor had gone so far, Shea was not surprised to discover that someone had apparently forgotten to hit the off switch on at least one of the things. He hesitated a moment, debating whether to go back. Perhaps if he retreated down the ladder to the next level, the scrubber would turn around and go back the other way. But as he needed to be in this very tunnel to find Tindall, he’d then be left following behind a live scrubber, and that idea certainly held little appeal.