Antrax

3

Arms of iron clutched Bek Ohmsford close to a body that smelled vaguely fetid and loamy, of earth and chemicals mixed. The body moved with the swiftness of thought, sliding through trees and brush, shedding layers of itself like skin, shadows that hung dark and empty on the air and then faded away completely. Some exploded into bits of night as the magic of the Ilse Witch caught up to them, but always Bek and his rescuer were one skin ahead.

Then they were beyond the clearing and into the concealing trees, still running hard, but cloaked in shadows and screens of brush and limbs. Bek began to struggle then, frightened suddenly of the unknown, of anything powerful and mysterious enough to challenge the Ilse Witch’s magic.

“Be still, boy!” Truls Rohk hissed, giving him a sharp squeeze of warning with those powerful arms, never once slowing his pace.

They ran for a long time, Bek crumpled nearly into a ball in the other’s grip, until the clearing and the witch were far behind them. Then they stopped, and the shape-shifter dropped to one knee and released the boy with a nudge of hands and shoulders, letting him roll to the earth in a crumpled heap, there to uncoil and straighten himself again. Bek heard Truls Rohk breathing hard, winded and spent, bent over within his concealing cloak while he waited for his strength to return. Bek climbed to his hands and knees, nerve endings tingling with new life as fresh blood finally reached his cramped limbs. They were in a place grown so thick with trees and brush that the light of moon and stars did not penetrate, where everything was cloaked in deepest silence.

“Keeping you alive is turning into a full-time job,” the shape-shifter muttered irritably.

Bek thought of his lost opportunity to persuade the Ilse Witch of who he was. “No one asked you to interfere! I was that close to convincing her! I was just about—”

“You were just about to get yourself killed,” the other said with a quick, harsh laugh. “You weren’t paying close enough attention to the effect you were having on her, you were so caught up in the righteousness and certainty of your argument. Hah! Convincing her? Couldn’t you feel what was happening? She was getting ready to use her magic on you!”

“That’s not true!” Bek was suddenly furious. He leapt to his feet in challenge. “You don’t know that!”

Now the shape-shifter was really laughing, a low and steady howl that he worked hard to suppress. “Can’t afford to laugh as loud as I’d like, boy. Not here. Not this close still.” He stood up, confronting the boy. “You listen to me. Your arguments were good. They were sound and they were true. But she wasn’t ready for them. She wanted to believe some of it, I think. She might have believed all of it in other circumstances, maybe will after time spent thinking it over. But she wasn’t ready for it then and there. Especially not at the end, when you let your own magic get away from you again. Not your fault, I know, that you’re still learning. But you have to be aware of your limitations.”

Bek stared. “I was using the wishsong?”

“Not consciously, but it was slipping out of you even while you tried to tell her about it.” Truls Rohk paused. “When she sensed its presence, she felt threatened. She thought you were about to attack her. Or she just decided it was all too much to deal with and she should put an end to you.”

He turned and walked away a few steps, looking back the way they had come. “All quiet for now. But I don’t know that it’s finished yet.” He turned back. “You surprised her, boy, and that’s dangerous with someone so powerful. You gave her too much all at once, too much she didn’t want to hear, that would impact her in ways she couldn’t manage so quickly.” He grunted. “It couldn’t be helped, I imagine. She appeared and found you. What were you supposed to do?”

Bek stood silently before him, thinking it through. Truls Rohk was right. He had been so caught up in persuading Grianne he was her brother that he had paid almost no attention to what she was doing. It was possible she had not believed him, could not have for that matter, given the suddenness and surprise of it. Just because he believed didn’t mean she would. She’d had much longer to live with the lie than he’d had to live with the truth. She was less likely to be swayed as easily.

“Sit down, boy,” Truls Rohk said, and moved over to join him. “Time for a few more revelations. You were wrong about how well you were doing convincing your sister of who you were. You’re wrong about no one asking me to interfere in your life, as well.”

Bek looked at him. “Walker?”

“What I told you before, on Mephitic, was true. I pulled you from the ashes of your parents’ home. Aware that your family was in danger, I was keeping watch at the Druid’s request. The Morgawr’s Mwellrets, shape-shifters of a sort, were prowling about your home in Jentsen Close. You lived not far from the Wolfsktaag, there at a corner of the Rainbow Lake, amid a community of isolated homes occupied mostly by farmers. You were vulnerable, and Walker was looking for a way to keep you safe.”

He shook his head within its cowl, his face layered in shadow. “I warned him to act quickly, but he was too slow. Or perhaps he tried, and your father would not listen to him. They talked infrequently and were not close friends. Your father was a scholar and did not believe in violence. In his mind, the Druids represented violence. But violence doesn’t care anything about whether or not you believe in it. It comes looking for you regardless. It came for your family just before dawn on a day when I was absent. Mwellrets, there on the orders of the Morgawr. They killed your parents and burned your home to the ground, making it appear as if it were the work of Gnome raiders. They thought you had perished in the blaze, not realizing your sister had hidden you in the cold cellar. They were in a hurry, having taken her, whom the Morgawr coveted most, and so did not search as carefully as I did when I came later. I found you in the cellar, tucked carefully away, crying, hungry, chilled, and frightened. I took you from the ashes and gave you to Walker.”

Bek looked away from him, thinking it through. “Why didn’t he tell me any of this before he sent me to you with Quentin?”

The other laughed. “Why doesn’t he ever tell any of us anything? He told me a boy and his cousin were coming, that I should look for them, that I should test them to see if they had merit and heart.” He shook his head. “He left it to me to realize that it was you, the boy I had saved all those years ago. He left it to me to determine what I was meant to do. Do you see?”

Bek shook his head, not entirely certain he did.

“You were told to ask me to come with you on this voyage. You were given a message to deliver, one that I was to interpret in whatever way I chose. I realized what he hadn’t told you, what he was asking of me. It was clear enough. He wanted me to be your protector, your defender when danger threatened. But I was to monitor the progress of your magic’s development, as well. He knew it would begin to surface, and when it did you would have to be told the truth about who you really were. He did not want to rush things, though; he wanted to keep you in the dark as long as possible so that you would not be overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. But I knew that the sooner you discovered you had the use of magic, the sooner you could find a way to come to terms with it. We differ in our approach to things, the Druid and I, and I imagine he was not happy at all with what I did to you on Mephitic.”

“He was furious.” Bek hesitated. “But I’m glad you took a chance on me. That you showed me what I could do. That you gave me a chance to prove myself.”

The shape-shifter nodded, eyes a flicker of brightness in the shadows. “You saved us in those ruins. You have heart and strength of mind and body, boy—tools you need to manage the wishsong’s power. But your skills are still raw and untried. You need time and experience before you will be the equal of your sister.”

Bek studied him a moment in the ensuing silence. “Tell me the truth. You’re not deceiving me about any of this, are you? Because I’ve been deceived more than once already on this journey.”

The other grunted. “By the Druid. Not by me.”

“Grianne really is my sister, isn’t she? The Ilse Witch is my sister? I need to hear you say it.”

The bright eyes glimmered fierce and sharp within the cowl, all that was visible of the other’s face. “She is your sister. Why would I tell you otherwise? Do you think I am the Druid’s tool, as the witch would have you be?”

Bek shook his head. “I had to ask.”

The shape-shifter grunted, not entirely mollified. “Don’t ask such questions again. Not of me.” He folded his arms into his cloak. “Enough of this. What’s happened to the others who went ashore with you? I’ve had no chance to search for them. I boarded the witch’s airship during the collision off Mephitic because I thought I would be more useful there and might learn something that would help us gain an advantage. But she almost found me out, and I was forced to hide myself carefully, to wait for a chance to make my escape. She came alone in search of Walker, so I followed. She led me to that clearing and to you. But not to Walker. What’s become of him?”

Swiftly, Bek filled him in on the disastrous events of the past day, of the attempt to penetrate the ruins, of the traps found waiting, of the company’s decimation and the scattering of its members. With Ryer Ord Star and the Elven Tracker Tamis he had fled to the clearing where the Ilse Witch had found him. Of the fates of Quentin, Panax, Ahren Elessedil, and Ard Patrinell, he could not be certain. Tamis had gone looking for them, but she had not come back. Walker had disappeared into the black tower that dominated the center of the ruins and had not come out.

“We’ll need help to search for them,” Bek said. “Especially if the Ilse Witch and the Mwellrets are looking, too.”

Truls Rohk rocked back slightly on his heels and gave an audible sigh. “We’ll have some difficulty finding any. There’s bad news everywhere in this business. Your sister used her magic to immobilize the Jerle Shannara’s crew. She boarded the ship and took them all prisoner. She has locked them belowdecks, and she controls both ships. Black Moclips is anchored in the bay, where you went ashore. The Jerle Shannara is downriver, closer to the ice gates. There’s no help to be had from either.”

Bek felt as if the ground had fallen away beneath his feet. Whatever else had been taken from them, at least they’d had the Jerle Shannara to retreat to. Now that haven was lost, as well. They were trapped on Ice Henge. They couldn’t even get word of where they were to the Wing Riders.

He thought suddenly of Rue Meridian and felt a sharp pang of terror, one much sharper than he would have expected. He took a steadying breath. “Are the Rovers unharmed and well?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

The shape-shifter shrugged. “No one was hurt in the boarding. I don’t know what’s happened since, but probably nothing.”

“Shades! We’ve lost everything, Truls. You and I and maybe one or two more are all that’s left, alive and free.” He heard a hint of desperation creep into his voice and tried to block it away. “We have to do something. At least we have to go back and face Grianne, find a way to convince her that she’s an Ohmsford, make her see that she’s been—”

“Slow down, boy,” Truls Rohk said. “Let’s take a deep breath and think this through. There’s no going back to face the Ilse Witch just yet. What’s already happened is still too fresh in her mind. We need a way to reach her besides what you’ve already tried. Something she can’t brush aside as easily as your words.”

He glanced meaningfully over Bek’s shoulder. The boy glanced with him and found himself staring at the pommel of the Sword of Shannara still strapped across his back. In the excitement of his encounter with his sister, he had forgotten he was carrying it.

He looked back at the shape-shifter. “You mean, I should try using this?”

“I mean, find a way to use it.” The other’s voice was ironic. “Not so easy to do, I’d think. Your sister isn’t just going to stand there and let you use the magic on her. But if you can find a way to catch her off guard, surprise her maybe, she might not have a choice. Like it or not, she might have to face up to the truth of things. It’s the best chance we have of persuading her.”

Bek shook his head doubtfully. “She’ll never give us the chance. Never.”

Truls Rohk said nothing, waiting.

“She’ll fight us!” Bek reached back to touch the handle of the Sword of Shannara, then let his hand fall away helplessly. “Besides, I don’t know if I can make it work against her.”

“Not against her,” the shape-shifter advised quietly. “For her.”

Bek nodded slowly. “For her. For both of us.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to discount our chances,” Truls Rohk continued. “We’ve lost the ship and crew, but we don’t know about Panax and that Highlander and the others. And I wouldn’t put finished to the Druid if I saw him dropped six feet underground; he has more lives than a cat. He won’t have gone into the tower without a plan for getting out. I know him, boy. I’ve known him a long time. He thinks everything through. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was already free and looking for us.”

Bek looked doubtful, but nodded anyway. “What do we do next? Where do we go from here?”

Truls Rohk climbed to his feet, cloak falling about his wide shoulders, shadowing him from the ground up, leaving him a wraith, even in the growing dawn light.

“I need to backtrack far enough to make certain we aren’t being followed by the witch or her rets. You wait here for my return. Don’t move from this spot.” He paused. “Unless you’re in danger. In that case, hide yourself the best way you can. But if that becomes necessary, don’t use your magic. You’re not ready yet, not without me.”

He gave the boy a hard stare in warning, then turned and disappeared into the trees.

Bek sat with his back against an aging shagbark hickory and watched the eastern sky brighten with the dawn’s coming. Darkness gave way to first light, then first light to morning, the sky changing colors in gaps through the trees that were invisible in the darkness and could be discerned only now. He sat thinking of where he was, of the journey that had brought him to this place and time, and of the changes he had gone through. He remembered thinking, on the evening that Walker had first appeared in the Highlands months earlier and asked him to come on this voyage, that if he went with the Druid, nothing in his life would ever be the same again. He hadn’t realized how right he would prove to be.

He closed his eyes momentarily and tried to imagine what it had been like back in Leah, in the Highlands, in his home. He couldn’t do it. It was so far away, so removed from the present, that it was little more than a memory, fading with a past that seemed lost in another lifetime.

He gave up on the Highlands and instead tried to imagine what it would be like to have Grianne as his sister. Not just in name, but in fact. To have her accept that it was so. To have her call him Bek. He failed in this effort, as well. As the Ilse Witch, Grianne had taken lives and destroyed dreams. She had done things that he might never be able to accept, no matter how mistaken she had been or how much contrition she exhibited. Her life was wrapped in deception and trickery, in a misdirected search for revenge, in isolation and bitterness. It was not as if she could simply wipe away her past and begin fresh. She could not become someone different all at once simply because he wanted it to be so. That was asking for a child’s-fable ending of a kind that had long since ceased to be possible. Whatever he expected of her, it was probably too much. The best he could hope for was that she would come to realize the truth.

He pictured her in his mind, standing before him in her gray robes, austere and imperious. He could not imagine her being happy. Had she laughed even once since she had been stolen away? Had she ever smiled?

Yet he had to find a way to bring her back to herself, to something of the girl she had been fifteen years ago, to a little part of the world she had abandoned and disdained as meant for lesser creatures. He had to help her, even if by helping he should cause her greater pain.

How could he manage this, when their next encounter would likely result in her trying her very best to kill him?

He wished he had Quentin with him—Quentin, with his sensible, straightforward approach to things, always able to see with such clarity the right way to proceed, the best thing to do. Had Quentin survived the battle at Castledown’s ruins? Tears filled his eyes at the thought that his cousin might be dead. Even thinking such a thing seemed a betrayal. He could not imagine life without his cousin—his confidant, his best friend. Quentin had been so eager to come on this voyage, so anxious to see some other part of the world, to learn something new of life. What if it had cost him his own?

Bek knotted his hands together in frustration and stared out into the trees, into the growing sunlight, the new day, and his determination hardened into certainty. He must find Quentin. Maybe even before he found Walker, because the fact of the matter was that Quentin was the more important of the two. If they were stranded in this strange land, if their airships were lost to them and their companions dead, at least they would have each other to see the worst of it through. To face what lay ahead, however bad, in any other way was inconceivable to him.

Look after each other, Coran Leah had urged them. They had promised each other as much—long ago, in Arborlon, when there had still been a chance to turn back.

He sighed wearily. At least he had Truls Rohk to help him. As strange and frightening as the shape-shifter was, he had shown himself to be a friend. As conflicted as his life had been, he was perhaps the most dependable and capable of the ship’s company. There was a measure of reassurance in that, and Bek embraced it eagerly.

Because he had nothing else to embrace, he admitted. Because sometimes you took comfort where you found it.

Truls Rohk was not gone long. The light had not yet chased away the last of the night when he reappeared through the trees, his cloaked form crouched low, his movements quick and furtive.

“On your feet,” he hissed roughly, pulling the boy up. “Your sister’s on our trail and coming fast.”

Bek tried to keep the fear from his eyes and throat, tried to breathe normally as he glanced in the direction from which the shape-shifter had come. Then they were running into the trees and gone.