The Darkling Child

TEN

WHILE ARCANNEN AND LARIANA WERE DEPARTING RARE FLOWERS in preparation for the return to Portlow, Paxon Leah and Avelene were flying toward the same destination. As planned, they had left at dawn, passengers on a clipper piloted and crewed by three members of the Druid Guard–huge Rock Trolls with flying skills and no–nonsense attitudes. The trip would take most of the day, so the Druid and the Highlander had settled down on padding built into the front of the pilot box where they could speak in private or read the books they had brought with them detailing portions of the history of the wishsong copied down from the Druid Histories.

Paxon already knew a little of this history because of his heritage. The intermarriage of the Leah and Ohmsford families had brought their recent pasts together through shared memories and writings that had been in Paxon’s family since before he was born. This history was neither deep nor complete, but it provided a clear look at how the magic had influenced various members of the two lineages from the time of Grianne Ohmsford forward. So he was well versed in the voyage of the Jerle Shannara to Parkasia, where Grianne and Bek had been revealed to be not only members of the Ohmsford family, but also sister and brother. He also knew of Pen Ohmsford’s subsequent involvement in putting a stop to the attempt by Shadea a’Ru to overthrow the Druid Order and reform it under her leadership.

But it was Avelene who knew the details of the older history of the wishsong better–of its origins, of the beginning of the magic as it became integrated into the Ohmsford bloodline in the years following Wil Ohmsford’s terrible quest to aid Amberle Elessedil in finding the source of the Bloodfire to renew the Ellcrys and repair the walls of the Forbidding that imprisoned the demons.

“It’s fascinating to read how the wishsong has evolved over the centuries,” she told him. Her dark eyes looked introspective, fixing on his face as she spoke. “Wil Ohmsford didn’t realize what was happening when he used the Elfstones to save Amberle. He was not even half Elf, and no one whose blood wasn’t pure Elf was ever supposed to use Elven magic. But he did it anyway because it was his only choice. And maybe because he loved her. But it infused his blood with a deviant form of its magic, and that form in turn underwent a change when it was passed from him to his children.”

“To Brin and Jair Ohmsford,” Paxon interjected. “A familiar story in my family. Rone Leah went with Brin on her quest to find the Ildatch. Allanon led them, but it was Brin’s use of the wishsong that was key to their success. Although, I believe, her brother’s lesser magic turned out to be just as important.”

“It did. Neither could have succeeded without the other. She had the real magic; he had the illusion of real magic. But in the end, she needed him to save her. Here’s what’s interesting, though. His illusory magic changed as he grew older and eventually became the real thing. He became her equal in use of the wishsong. There were stories of what happened to them later on in life, when both had use of the wishsong magic.”

“And that was only the beginning of its presence in the Ohmsford line, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Didn’t it reappear in the time of Morgan Leah?”

Avelene nodded, tapping the notes she was reading. “It says so right here. Keratrix has done a thorough job of compiling the information. The Ohmsford brothers, Par and Coll, inherited it several hundred years later, at a time when magic was outlawed throughout most of the Four Lands. Only Par had it in the beginning, but then it surfaced in Coll, as well. It was similar to what happened with Brin and her brother Jair, though the effect and the extent of its presence differed. But together they found a way to use it to help defeat the Shadowen, who were seeking to drain all the elemental magic that lies within the earth and use it for their own purposes. Hard to imagine anyone being able to do such a thing, but apparently the Shadowen had found a way. Walker Boh played a central role in the effort to stop them. He was Allanon’s successor, and each was the only Druid of his time.”

“It must have been incredibly difficult for a single Druid to stand alone against all the terrible creatures of dark magic that tried to destroy the Four Lands.” Paxon shook his head. “How much it must have cost them.”

Avelene gave him a look. “It cost them everything. It cost them their lives. Walker Boh died on the journey to Parkasia. Allanon died on the journey to find the Ildatch. Since then, we’ve always had more than one Druid in the order.”

“Still, even now, with Aphenglow gone forever from Paranor,” Paxon said, “the order feels fragile. Arcannen is still out there, and I don’t expect he’s forgotten what the Druids did to him. He’s not finished with us. I wish we had Aphenglow back.”

“Don’t be too quick to write off Isaturin,” Avelene said quickly, her eyes narrowing. “He might just surprise you.”

Paxon blushed. “I didn’t mean to imply that he is the lesser person. I don’t have that right. But I knew her so well, and I don’t really know him. She gave me my chance as Blade. She helped me find something that mattered. When my sister was threatened, she brought her to Paranor and helped her heal. She was the one who recognized that Chrys had use of the wishsong. I guess I am in debt to her so deeply that I see her as superior.”

Avelene grinned, her smile making her suddenly look beautiful. “Listen to you, opening up at last about your sister. I was wondering how long it would take. When you admitted you knew we were going in search of someone who apparently has used the wishsong, I waited for you to mention her. It was Aphenglow who told me, months before she left us. Did you know that?”

He shook his head. “I assumed she told only Isaturin.”

“She told me, as well. Do you know why?”

“I don’t. She must have trusted you.”

Avelene laughed. “I suppose, but I think she had no choice. She knew the end was approaching, and she had to pass along the things she knew that would otherwise be lost. Most of these, she imparted to Isaturin because she had selected him as her successor. But when it came to your sister, she found herself in a bind. Isaturin knew, but what if something happened to him? That left you. You hadn’t shown any inclination to tell Chrysallin what might happen to her. She didn’t approve of your decision, but she also wanted to give you time to come to terms with the problem.”

“So she told you?”

“Yes, but there’s more to the story. Two years ago, she selected me for a special task. She wanted someone to research the evolution of the wishsong magic in the Four Lands, beginning with Wil Ohmsford’s transformation as a result of using the Elfstones improperly. She chose me to do this. She didn’t tell me why exactly; she didn’t say anything about your sister. She was more circumspect than that. But the wishsong was the most powerful Elven magic in the Four Lands, and it was essentially a wild magic. It could not be contained; its appearance could never be determined in advance. It resided in the Ohmsford bloodline, but it didn’t manifest itself in every generation, and no one had ever been able to determine in which members of the family it would surface. It’s been gone since the time of Redden and Railing Ohmsford, so far as anyone knows. But she believed that at some point the wishsong would reappear, and when it did she wanted someone in the order to be prepared to deal with it. She wanted one of us to be an authoritative source. I became that person.”

“Then, six months ago, she told you about Chrys,” he finished.

“Right before she died. I wasn’t to do anything to persuade you. I was to monitor your sister and observe. Obviously, I would have counseled you if she had agreed to let me. But she didn’t.”

“Yet you choose to tell me all this now?”

“It’s past time I did, Paxon. Like you with Chrys, I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, or when I should say it. But this journey has given me a reason to decide. Besides, you’re not a boy. You’re a grown man. You need to hear how other people think about the things you’re not sure about. Not in a critical way, but constructively. So I’m telling you everything. Maybe it will help. Maybe I can offer insight. But it is pointless for me not to be honest with you about what I know and how I know it.” Her sharp features softened. “I know you’ve struggled with this.”

“More deeply than you can imagine. I juggle my choices like live coals and burn all the while. I live with the possibility that Chrys will become catatonic again. I wish I had a better sense of what to do.” He paused. “Maybe what happens on this search will help me decide. Maybe when we discover what this magic we’re looking for really is and who is using it, the solution to my own situation will become clearer.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. Then, with an ironic smile, she added, “Or more complicated.”

They didn’t talk much after that. Avelene began reading through her notes again, pursing her lips and wrinkling her forehead as she did so. It gave her an odd look, but Paxon understood. She was intense and fully engaged in what she was doing. That look pretty much defined her; that was how she had seemed to him every time he had encountered her since his arrival at Paranor. She didn’t do things in a casual manner; she gave herself over to her efforts entirely. Like himself, she had found her life here. Perhaps not so dramatically, but she had found it all the same.

He leaned back against the wall of the pilot box and stared out into the blue of the morning sky. He remembered another journey like this one on a similar quest, and he started thinking about Leofur, the woman he had met–Arcannen’s estranged daughter.

She was smart and resourceful and accomplished, and she had dazzled him at the time. He had felt so intensely about her, but somewhere along the way he had lost that. She had given him the time and space to consider his feelings. She had told him to think about whether or not she was one of the things in his life he needed to leave behind.

It hadn’t helped that he had devoted so much of his time to serving the needs of the Druids and looking after his sister. Free time barely existed for him, and when he found a chunk of it here and there, he chose to use it doing things that didn’t require him to fly all day to another city.

The one time he threw caution to the winds–months after he knew he should have gone to see her–she wasn’t there when he arrived. Her little house was locked and no one within responded when he pounded on the door. He asked a few people who lived nearby if they knew where she was, but they only shook their heads or shrugged.

He left without finding her and hadn’t been back since.

Five years.

Now he found himself uncertain about how he felt. Did he still care for her as much as he had before? Perhaps his infatuation was peculiar to that time and place and the events surrounding both, and couldn’t sustain itself. He still thought of her, but it seemed impossible now that he could go back and find things between them the same. Or even find her waiting. She would have found someone else by now. She was independent–minded and practical. She would have decided long ago that he wasn’t coming back.

Perhaps she had seen things more clearly than he had.

Besides, here he was stealing glances at Avelene, finding her attractive and interesting, thinking of what it would be like to be with her. If he was thinking such thoughts, how could he expect to begin a fresh relationship with Leofur?

He was lonely; he could admit it to himself if not to anyone else. He wanted to share his life with someone, wanted to be in love, wanted to have more than what he had gained by becoming the Ard Rhys’s Blade. Perhaps that was selfish and greedy. Wasn’t being a part of the Druid Order what he had worked so hard to attain? Did he really need to have someone to love, too? If so, wasn’t it easier to find someone already close to him, someone who could share his life’s work?

He was still mulling this over when his eyes grew heavy from the fresh air and sun, and he fell asleep.

When they reached the village of Portlow it was late afternoon, and the sun was already slipping toward the horizon. The village was small, barely filling a wide space in the forests surrounding it. A single road wound through its center; the businesses on either side–many of them taverns–stood shoulder–to–shoulder for perhaps four hundred yards. Several clusters of residences bracketed the town north and south. There were fenced pastures with horses and cows and a scattering of crop fields that looked small and unproductive and more on the order of private gardens. There were a few sheds and isolated barns, and not much of anything else. This was a poor community, and neither Paxon nor Avelene could understand exactly why it was even here.

It struck the Highlander that if you wanted to disappear off the face of the earth, this would be a good place to do it. Because anyone who had use of magic in the Southland, where it had been outlawed for decades, would not want to make it public knowledge, and he imagined very little attention was paid to whatever happened here.

The village was too small for a regular airfield, so they had the Trolls land the clipper at the edge of a plowed field near the north end of the village. While the crew unhooked the radian draws and pulled down the light sheaths, Paxon turned to Avelene.

“You need to take off your robes,” he said.

She gave him a look. “I do?”

“If you go into a Southland village as a Druid, no one will talk to you. No one will have anything to do with you. We need to look like other travelers passing through. Starks taught me that. So take off your robes.”

She went belowdecks and changed, appearing again wearing pants and a tunic with a long knife belted at her waist. She touched the hilt of the knife. “This is just for appearances. I don’t know anything about using blades.”

“You don’t have to know anything,” he said. He reached for the Sword of Leah and strapped it across his back. “That’s why I’m here.”

After giving brief instructions to the Druid Guards, they climbed down from the airship and began walking toward the village.

“I’ve never done this sort of thing before,” Avelene admitted as they neared the first of the residences. “I’ve never been on a search. All my work has been at Paranor. Can you tell me what to expect?”

“It’s not complicated,” he assured her. “We’ll go into the village and find a tavern that serves food. It’s almost dinnertime, so we should eat. We’ll listen; maybe we’ll exchange a few words with the residents. Perhaps we can learn something about the magic. The use was recent. You said yourself it was noticeable. Someone must have seen something.”

She nodded. “All right. What do we tell people if they ask about us?”

He thought about it a moment. “These are rural people. They won’t be open to anything that seems out of the ordinary. So we tell them we are newlyweds traveling to visit your aunt and uncle in Sterne. We’ll have to spend the night here unless we get very lucky, so we’ll take a room. I don’t want you sleeping alone–in a separate room, I mean–where I can’t protect you if you need it.”

“Is this the story you usually use on these outings?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Usually I don’t have the pleasure of a woman’s company.” He grinned. “Especially not one with your talents.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away. “I was right. You really are a silver–tongued fellow.”

They reached what was clearly a popular inn, with tables and chairs set outside along the front wall as well inside. They went into the building, found the innkeeper, asked for a room, and went up to drop what little gear they had brought. The room had a single large bed, a chair, a table, a closet, and that was it. Without comment, they left their belongings and went back down to the tavern. Sitting in a corner near the bar, they ordered food and ale, and sat quietly eating and drinking as they listened to the conversations taking place around them.

For a long time, no one said anything about unusual occurrences or the presence of an unexpected magic. But after the first hour, Avelene reached across the table and said quietly, “Table to my left.”

Two men were sitting there, workingmen and friends by the look of them, nursing tankards of ale as they leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones. Paxon listened carefully, but he only caught snatches of what they were saying.

“ … no sign of any of them!” the first insisted, shaking his head.

“I thought sure … come in to make the boy … disappear … like he did Borry.”

“Not enough left … that he was human. Explosion … earth burned all around. Torn apart, Rab! Did you … mess … ?”

“ … just pieces, all’s I saw.” The man drank deeply, shuddered. “How could … happen? What creature …”

“What I been saying! Fortrens got to come for him! You know … will sooner or later.”

“Gammon … won’t allow … so there’s no one who … you wait, something …”

They went silent then, brooding over their drink, eyes lowered to the tabletop.

Paxon leaned across the table. “Stay here.”

She grabbed him by the wrist and held him fast. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “No, let me do this. You get up first and walk up to the bar and order us two more tankards. Stay there until I signal you.

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. He had misgivings, but she seemed confident. Besides, as a Druid, she was in charge. He rose, walked to the serving counter, and stood there until he got the barkeeper’s attention. After giving his order, he glanced back to see Avelene seated at the table with the two men, deep in conversation.

“You never know,” he muttered to himself.

He waited patiently. The fresh tankards were delivered and he paid. Avelene was still talking to the men. He waited some more. Finally, she stood up, spoke a few final words, and returned to the table, glancing over at him as she did. He picked up the ale and went back to join her, sitting down and scooting his chair close.

“What did … ?”

“Not here,” she said quickly. She pushed his tankard at him. “Drink some of this. Look happy. You’ve just been given good news. I am your new wife, and you love me.”

He went through the motions, and they played their parts for a while longer before she reached over playfully, took him by his arm, and led him from the room and up the stairs to the sleeping chambers. In the darkness of the hallway at the top, she moved him back against the wall, her hands fastening on his arms to hold him there.

“Two nights ago, when the disturbance to the scrye waters was recorded, there was an incident at a tavern several doors down called the Boar’s Head. There is a family that lives here called Fortren. No one likes them. They bully everyone, intimidate and steal, pretty much cause all sorts of trouble. A couple of them have been harassing a boy who works at the tavern as a musician. He sings and plays the elleryn. They say he is very good. They cornered him out back of the tavern and attacked him with an iron bar. Smashed his instrument.”

She paused, her grip on his arms tightening. “He must have retaliated as a result, they say. He tore them apart. No weapon, no indication of how he did this. But by the time he was done, they were barely recognizable as human. Gammon is the tavern owner. They say he looks after the boy. But no one has seen the boy now for maybe a day or so. These men I was talking to think he is in hiding because sooner or later the Fortren family will try to come after him. They take care of their own, and pay back whatever debts they think are owed harshly.”

Paxon grinned at her. “How did you manage to learn all that?”

“Easy,” she said. “I told them I overheard snatches of their conversation, and I was frightened. You and I are traveling on, but not for a few days. We’re newly married, and I didn’t want anything to happen to us if it wasn’t safe here. Maybe other travelers ought to be warned. They couldn’t tell me fast enough how safe things were in spite of what I might have assumed.”

Now it was her turn to grin at him. “A lady in distress always brings out the protective side in men. Didn’t you know that?” She released her grip and stepped back. “Let’s go find this boy.”

They slipped down the back stairs and continued down Portlow’s only road, walking on until they saw a sign for the Boar’s Head. It was a big, sprawling building with dozens of windows that allowed the light from inside to spill out onto the surrounding grounds. Shouts and laughter came from inside, their intensity a clear indicator of the tavern’s popularity.

“Wait here,” Paxon told her, slowing as they neared the front door. “Let me see if I can find this fellow Gammon and persuade him to come outside to talk so we can hear each other.”

When she didn’t object, he moved quickly to the door and stepped inside. The tavern was crammed wall–to–wall with people and thick with smoke. The sound was deafening. He waited a moment until a serving girl came by and caught her arm. She gave him an annoyed look, but didn’t pull away.

He leaned close. “Gammon?”

She nodded toward a man working behind the service counter, took her arm back, and moved on.

Paxon squeezed his way over to the counter, waited until he caught the man’s eye, and beckoned him over. Gammon was burley and bluff; his face reflected an enthusiasm for his work. Or perhaps it was just the credits it generated. “Help you?”

Paxon smiled and bent close. “There’s someone waiting outside who needs to talk to you about the boy. She knows quite a bit about his history and is here to help him. Can you come talk to her?”

Gammon studied him. “Who are you?”

“A man in her service. Please. We mean no harm. We just need a few minutes of your time.”

Gammon studied him some more, and then he shrugged. “Why not? I’ve talked to everyone else under the sun.”

He came out from behind the bar, and together they made their way to the front door and outside where Avelene was waiting for them. She offered her hand to Gammon and introduced herself. All around them, patrons of the Boar’s Head were coming and going, some of them singing loudly and shouting, so Avelene took Gammon by the arm and led him all the way across the roadway to a quiet space between two shuttered buildings.

“How do you know Reyn?” he asked her.

“I don’t know him personally,” she answered. “Is that his name? Reyn?”

Gammon bristled, glaring at Paxon. “You tricked me into coming out here. You aren’t friends. You have some other …”

“We might be his best friends,” Avelene interrupted him. “I’m a member of the Druid Order, and I’ve been sent by the Ard Rhys to find this boy and warn him about what’s happening. His magic is an old one that has been in his family for centuries. I’m not sure he knows this, but he needs to, because using magic as he does is dangerous. I don’t want anything from him; I just want to warn him.”

Gammon looked suspicious. “His family, you say? He doesn’t know who his family is. He told me so. A couple took him in when he was young and raised him. How can you be sure about what you’re telling me?”

“We can track the use of magic from Paranor. We can identify it. This magic matches one we already know, one that is linked to singing. And the match tells us he comes from a particular family that has had the use of that magic for a very long time. We need to speak with him.”

Gammon shook his head. “You and a few others. But no one can speak to him anymore. He’s gone. Set out this morning. Said he couldn’t stay around here any longer with the Fortrens looking for him. Didn’t matter what he promised that black–cloaked stranger.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. Just said he had to find a new place, far away from here. Those Fortrens don’t ever quit coming for you if you hurt one of them. He knew that.”

“Wait a minute,” Paxon said. “You said there was a stranger?”

“Wanted the boy to wait here for him. Wanted to talk to him about his singing. Was he another Druid?”

“No.” Paxon didn’t bother to hide his consternation. “Can you describe him?”

Gammon did so. “I didn’t much like him.”

“Your instincts aren’t lying to you. He’s very dangerous. If he comes back here, keep away from him. His name is Arcannen. He is not a good man. The Federation and the Druid Order both have been hunting him for years.”

“Well, then, maybe it’s a good thing the boy is gone.” Gammon turned away. “Anyway, that’s all I know. I have to get back to work.”

“Do you know which way he went when he left?” Avelene called after him.

Gammon made a dismissive gesture and disappeared back through the tavern entry.

“He’s lying,” she said. “Or, at best, shading the truth.”

Paxon nodded slowly. “Should we go back in there and confront him?”

She thought about it a moment. “No,” she said finally, “let’s wait and see what happens. Why don’t you go around and watch the back door? I’ll remain here. I have a feeling about this.”

She moved farther back into the shadows and followed Paxon’s progress as he made his way back across the roadway and around the tavern. Intent on what she had decided to do, she missed noticing the black–cloaked form coming up behind her.

Reyn Frosch was sleeping when Gammon knocked on the door.

“Open up! Hurry! Something’s happened!”

Still sleepy–eyed and muddle–headed, the boy climbed from the bed and walked over to the door. “Gammon?”

“Yes, it’s Gammon! Open the door!”

It sounded urgent enough that Reyn did so, stepping back quickly as the innkeeper pushed his way in and closed the door behind him. “You’ve got to leave now! Right now!”

The boy found himself waking up more quickly. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“There’s two people downstairs asking for you. They say they are Druids. Or at least the young woman does. Don’t know about the other. They lured me out to talk to them by saying they knew you, then said they didn’t know you personally, but knew about your singing. Said it was a magic that ran in your family. They said that black–cloaked stranger you’re waiting for is a sorcerer and too dangerous for you to be getting involved with. I don’t know if I believe them or not, but I think you should get as far away from here as you can. Are you listening to me?”

Reyn nodded. “Of course I’m listening. You’re shouting right in my ear! If all they want to do is talk …”

“That’s what they say, but how can you know? I can’t even be sure if they’re Druids! They could be anyone. I don’t like it. You should get away. Besides, the Fortrens are back, hanging around at the edge of town, watching. They know you’re still here. It’s too risky for you to stay any longer. Go away for a while. Get to someplace safe. But go!”

He was intense and frantic enough that Reyn decided maybe he should pay attention. He gathered up his clothing and personal items, stuffed them in a pack, and slung it over his shoulder along with the new elleryn.

Gammon clasped his hand. “Get a message to me when you’re settled. Let me know how to find you. If I have any news, I’ll pass it on. I’m sorry about this, Reyn. I wish you could stay.”

The boy shrugged. “I’m used to quick departures. Good–bye, Gammon. Thank you for the elleryn. And for everything else.”

He shook hands with the tavern owner and went out of the room and down the back stairs to the rear door, where he spent a long time peering out into the darkness.

Just like that, he was cutting ties again, leaving for a new home.

He closed his eyes against the despair that filled him.

Finally, satisfied no one was watching, he went out the door and hurried toward the woods behind the tavern.