Wards of Faerie

by Terry Brooks

  There were fresh tears in Sarys Ohmsford’s eyes as the women faced each other across the table. “I hate you,” Sarys said softly. “I hate all of you. You Druids, who think you are so special and believe so deeply in your twisted causes. I hate you with every fiber of my being.”

  Khyber nodded. “You are entitled to that.”

  “If the earth opened and swallowed every last one of you, I would not shed a single tear. I would rejoice. Druids, with your magic and your black arts, twisting the lives of others, shaping events to your own purpose. I despise you.”

  Khyber said nothing, waiting.

  Sarys looked away, suddenly defeated. “They are in Bakrabru,” she said quietly.

  “Thank you,” Khyber said.

  The other woman looked back again, a hint of disbelief in her dark eyes. “I don’t know why I am helping you.”

  “Because it is the right thing. Because you trust your sons.”

  “But not you, witch. I don’t trust you.”

  Khyber kept her anger carefully in check. “I will say nothing to them I do not know to be true. I will do nothing to force them to choose. I will leave it to them. Even if I could make the choice for them, I would not. Help of the sort that is required of Redden and Railing can only be useful if it is given freely.”

  Sarys smiled thinly. “If you say so.”

  Khyber hesitated a moment longer before nodding and turning away. She was at the door when the other woman called out to her.

  “If anything happens to my sons,” she said, her words sharp and bitter and coated in ice, “you had better make certain it happens to you first. Otherwise, I will kill you, Khyber Elessedil. Whatever it takes to do so, I will kill you.”

  The Ard Rhys of the Fourth Druid Order remained perfectly still, looking out toward the waters of Rainbow Lake and the dark sweep of storm clouds moving in from the west.

  I believe you, she thought.

  Then she went out the door and down the path that would take her back to her airship and her Troll guard and did not look back.

  12

  APHENGLOW ELESSEDIL HAD PROMISED THE ARD RHYS she would do two things if she were given permission to return to Arborlon. First, she would find someone to protect her, and second, she would speak to her mother to discover what she knew of the relationship between the Elessedils and the Omarosians.

  She had no interest in the former and no stomach for the latter, but a promise was a promise, especially when it was given to the Ard Rhys.

  So as she flew Wend-A-Way into the Elven home city, preparing to set about the business that had brought her back, she was already thinking of how she would fulfill those promises while limiting the amount of inconvenience and discomfort each would entail. On landing, she took her travel bag and walked from the airfield to the cottage she shared with her sister to ask her thoughts. But Arlingfant was not at home, so she dropped her bag and set off for the Gardens of Life to find her.

  Her walk through the city took her past many of the familiar landmarks of her childhood, conjuring up memories of other times, many of them connected to her family and friends, all of them building blocks for the life she now led as a Druid. She had always been different, a stubborn rebellious child who insisted on knowing when others chose to leave well enough alone, a talented magic wielder in training who even at a very young age could already sense things hidden from her sister and friends. She didn’t know how she could do this, why she was born this way, but she knew it set her apart and it would shape the way she grew. What it did was teach her early on about the importance of self-sufficiency and resolve when loneliness was the consequence of being different.

  She had never minded being what she was, even in the worst of times. It was hard when she was forced to endure Arlingfant’s occasional resentment and envy while they were children, but both vanished when her sister was made a Chosen and given special recognition of her own. And Arlingfant had never refused her the way their mother had, not early on when the differences first began to emerge or later when she had gone to Paranor. The competitiveness that had marked much of their childhood never interfered with the trust they felt for each other. Whatever happened in their lives, their commitment to each other remained the same—a foundation for a relationship grounded in love and admiration.

  So she never considered speaking about her purpose in coming back with anyone other than her sister—although she knew Ellich, who was more a father to her than an uncle, would have given her good advice and much-needed support.

  But there was no one as close to her as Arlingfant.

  Not even Bombax, whom she loved so much.

  And especially not her mother.

  She found her sister engaged in planting fresh roses not far from where the Ellcrys shimmered red and silver in the afternoon sunlight, majestic and serene, the centerpiece of the garden. Created by a powerful conjuring of ancient Elven magic and sustained through a sacrifice of Elven lives over the centuries, the tree was a talisman upholding the impenetrable wall of the Forbidding behind which creatures of dark magic had been banished during the last wars of Faerie. The Ellcrys kept the Elves safe from their most ancient enemies; their lives had always been and would forever be directly tied to the life of the tree. Ancient history now, centuries in the past, the story had taken on the trappings of fable. Yet the tree was living proof of the fable’s validity. Not all that long ago, its magic had failed and the wall of the Forbidding had begun to erode and its creatures to escape, and the truth behind the legend had been brought home in the most dramatic of ways.

  She gave the Ellcrys a long look, admiring its radiance, overwhelmed just by being in its presence. Her own magic connected her to that of the tree, a shared origin, a link to something profound and not entirely dissimilar. She knew the story of the tree’s history, especially of its death and rebirth during the reign of the great Elven King Eventine Elessedil. She knew of the sacrifice made by his granddaughter, and no one who knew that could help but feel awed by the power of the magic with which the talisman was imbued. That such a wonder existed—a tree with such power—was overwhelming and magnificent. The Elves might have lost their magic through the centuries, but as long as the Ellcrys existed they would continue to be reminded how impressive and vital such magic could be.

  All of which made it difficult to understand how they could endure their loss with such indifference, with such pointless stoicism, a dedicated refusal to try to change things when the magic was so clearly a part of who they were. She would never understand, if she lived another hundred years, how they could be so willing to let go of what had once been the foundation of their lives and done so much to shape their history.

  She walked over to Arlingfant, tapped her sister on her shoulder, and embraced her when she leapt to her feet in surprise, as happy as she was that they were together again.

  “Oh, I missed you, Aphen! Even for the few days you were gone! I’m so glad you’re back!” Arling was effusive, flushed with pleasure. “Tell me everything that’s happened. Come, sit over here with me where we can talk!”

  She walked them over to a quiet spot away from the other Chosen and sat them down, her expression revealing her eagerness. “Will you stay now? Will you return to your work searching the archives?”

  Aphenglow smiled and shook her head. “I am only back a short time before I return to Paranor.”

  She could not tell Arling the truth, could not mention the diary at all, and must be careful that she said nothing that would reveal what the Druids were about. She could justify evasiveness but not lying openly and so could not say anything that would result in the latter.

  “How long, Aphen?” Her sister’s disappointment was clear.

  “A few days. I need your help. I was allowed to return under two conditions. First, I must find someone to act as my bodyguard. I told the Ard Rhys of the attacks on me, and she is worried that I am in danger. So she insisted I secure a protector. Do you know of someone who might accept the
job? I know so few people now.”

  Her sister hesitated. “Let me think about it. What was the second condition?”

  “That I speak with Mother.”

  “What do you intend to say? Why does the Ard Rhys insist you speak with her?”

  Aphenglow shrugged. “She dislikes it that we are so at odds. She wants me to try to close the breach I created by choosing to become a Druid. She wants the damage repaired.”

  All of which was true. Arlingfant shook her head. “It isn’t you who created the problem. So don’t say that. Mother is the one who is being unreasonable, refusing even to speak with you. She is the one who should take the first step.”

  “But she won’t, so it is up to me. I have to try, at least. I will go to her as soon as I leave you. The Ard Rhys is right. No family should be split as we are.”

  Her sister reached over and touched her shoulder. “I will go with you. It might help if I am there.”

  But Aphenglow shook her head. She couldn’t allow that. Not if she wanted to speak openly to her mother about the connection between the Elessedils and the Omarosians. “I need to do this alone, Arling. It will be enough if you help me with finding a protector.”

  Arling grinned. “It’s hard for me to imagine anyone protecting you. It is easier to see it the other way around. Besides, won’t you be leaving again right away?”

  “Not necessarily. There are a few other things I must do.”

  How much should she tell Arlingfant? Certainly not about the diary or the Omarosians or the missing Elfstones. But what about the request she must make of her grandfather that she be allowed to borrow the blue Elfstones to take them to Paranor and the Druids? Arling would hear about it quickly enough in any case. She would not be able to ask her grandfather privately. He was King before he was her grandfather, and the request she would make must be made both to him and the Elven High Council. Such audiences did not long remain a secret from the general population.

  She got to her feet. “I had better go to Mother while I am still feeling brave. Can we meet and talk later, after you have finished your work here?”

  Arlingfant quickly agreed, rising with her, giving her another hug, telling her she loved her and wished her well on her meeting with their mother. Aphenglow hugged her back and turned away.

  It took her only a few minutes to walk from the Gardens of Life to their mother’s home—her own home once, but that seemed so long ago. When she was close enough to see it through the trees, she stopped in the shadows and watched it for a time, gathering her thoughts and her courage. Standing outside the house like this, waiting to speak with her mother, made her feel like a little girl again. It reminded her of how she had felt when she had done something wrong and been forced to confess it—ashamed, guilty, regretful, and a bit frightened of the consequences.

  Yet she had done nothing wrong here and had no reason to feel any guilt. Nor was she a little girl required to answer to her mother for her life’s choices.

  But still.

  She walked to the door and knocked softly. No one came at first, but then she could hear a stirring on the other side of the door and sense a presence. Still, nothing happened. She waited patiently, tightening her resolve for what she must do.

  When the door opened, she was shocked at how old her mother looked. Once a woman of great beauty, she now appeared haggard and worn, her soft radiance diminished and her familiar smile absent. Instead her expression was empty of life.

  “Mother, please listen to me,” she said quickly, suddenly desperate to hear her mother’s voice, to do what the Ard Rhys had asked of her and repair the relationship. “I don’t want us to …”

  Her mother straightened, lifting one hand quickly to silence her. “Are you still a Druid?” she asked, her voice sounding as if it belonged to someone else.

  Aphenglow hesitated. “Yes, but …”

  “Come back when you’re not.”

  And she closed the door in her daughter’s face, locking it behind her.

  Aphenglow left in something of a daze, head down, stunned by what had just happened even though it wasn’t entirely a surprise. She felt tears come to her eyes and streak her cheeks, and she wiped them away hurriedly.

  This was so unfair, she thought. This was so wrong. Why was her mother being this way? After so long, why wasn’t she willing to talk to her own daughter?

  She couldn’t bear to think on it, couldn’t stand the pain of having to do so, and she chose instead to go visit with her uncle. She found him working in his garden behind the home he shared with Jera, down on his knees, weeding and planting, this big man handling the fragile little plants with such care and affection.

  “Aphen!” he exclaimed on seeing her, and got to his feet with a smile. He saw her face and stopped. “Why so sad, child?”

  “I’ve come from seeing Mother.” The tears came anew. “Once again, she would not speak to me.”

  Ellich took her in his arms. “She cannot get past your decision to become a Druid. She cannot bring herself to accept it. But she is otherwise unhappy, too. She speaks to almost no one these days. Not even to me.”

  “Why will she not speak to you? You were once as close to her as I am now to you.”

  Ellich released her with a shrug, stepping back with a smile. “I have done something to displease her. Does that sound familiar?”

  Jera appeared, coming out of the house and down the veranda stairs to give Aphen a hug and a kiss. The three sat down together in the sun at a small garden table and drank cold ale while Aphen pushed aside the residual pain of having tried and failed to speak with her mother and instead spoke of how things were at Paranor and what she was doing back again so soon. She deflected most of their questions with harmless answers, just as she had done with Arling, saying only that matters went well with the Druids and she was back to do a little more with her research.

  Finally, she got to a place where she was ready to tell Ellich the real reason for her coming.

  “The Ard Rhys has determined to undertake a quest that ultimately will benefit all of the Races, Uncle.” She was speaking now directly to him because he was the one who would have to help her. It didn’t matter that Jera was present, though; Aphen knew that her uncle kept no secrets from his wife, and in this case there was no reason to do so anyway. “It requires use of the Elfstones if the journey is to be made easier, and I would like an opportunity to ask my grandfather to borrow them. How do you think I should go about it?”

  Ellich shook his head and pursed his lips. “He will listen to you, even if you go to him directly and speak to him in private. He loves you that much. But he will not act on such a request unless it is made before the High Council. And with Phaedon present. My nephew will be King soon, perhaps yet this year. My brother grows weary of ruling and may choose to step down. Phaedon senses this and makes it a point to be a part of everything that happens in court.” He gave her a rueful grin. “Do I sound bitter?”

  Aphenglow shook her head. “You sound pragmatic.”

  “Thank you. I don’t resent my nephew’s eagerness to be King. But I do question his ability to govern well. He is ambitious and headstrong. Worse, he sees his own vision as singular and does not listen to others. A bad combination. It worries me.”

  Jera made a shushing sound, and her husband nodded his agreement. “Enough of that. I would suggest you let me arrange an audience with the King and High Council where you can make your plea. If you come before them both, you will not risk embarrassing your grandfather by appearing to try to take advantage of your special relationship. There will be debate, and some—perhaps all—will resist your request because ultimately it is a Druid request. May I ask exactly what it is you need the Elfstones for?”

  She hesitated. “They might show us what it is that we are seeking. They might show us where it is hidden.”

  “Which would be what?”

  “I am forbidden to tell you that, Uncle. I am sorry, but the Ard Rhys feels it should be kep
t secret. I can only say that it will be of immense benefit to the Elves if it is found.”

  Ellich nodded. “Well, I am content not to know. But evasiveness will not sit well with either your grandfather or the High Council. At least you are being direct about it; maybe that will help. I will arrange things. Tell me, have you given any further thought to my suggestion that it might be time to think about coming home for good? Your mother misses you.”

  “Does she?” The words were out before she could stop herself from speaking them. She recovered with a smile. “This isn’t the right time to pursue that particular discussion, Uncle.”

  He studied her a moment and nodded. “No, I suppose not. Can you stay for dinner? Jera and I would like that very much.”

  She begged off, having already decided to spend the evening with Arlingfant. But she agreed to come the following day and have dinner with them then.

  She remained awhile longer, speaking of other things, particularly of the King’s health and the demands of his office. Her grandfather was not particularly old, but he had not been well for the past two years, afflicted with a variety of illnesses and injuries, laid up or slowed by one thing after the other to the point that he had begun to ponder openly the possibility of stepping aside in favor of Phaedon. Indeed, the possibility had become a probability. It was only a question of time.

  Finally, the day wearing on and the conversation dwindling to long pauses, Aphenglow made her excuses and departed for home. She always enjoyed her time with Ellich and Jera. She supposed they had become her surrogate parents, the ones she missed and still needed, substitutes of the best kind. It made her sad to know she was closer to them than to her mother, but there seemed to be no help for it. She no longer had any hope of being able to change their relationship unless she gave up her Druid robes, which she would never do.