The Wishsong of Shannara

Chapter Thirty–Four

Brin spoke little on the journey back from the Grimpond to Hearthstone. She needed to sort through and decipher the meaning of all that the shade had told to her, for she knew that her confusion would only grow greater with the passage of time. Pressed by her companions to tell all that the Grimpond had told to her, she revealed only that the missing Sword of Leah was in the hands of the Spider Gnomes and that the way to enter the Maelmord without being seen was through Graymark’s sewers. After saying that much, she begged them to forbear from any further questioning until they had returned to the valley, then gave herself over to the task of reconsidering all that she had been told.

The strange image of Jair in that darkened room with the cloaked form advancing so menacingly toward him was foremost in her mind as she began the task of sorting through the puzzle given her. In spite and anger, the Grimpond had conjured up that image, and she could not believe that there was any truth in what she had been shown. The cloaked form was neither Gnome nor Mord Wraith, and those were the enemies that sought the Ohmsfords. It angered her that she had stayed to watch the image play itself out before her, teasing her as the Grimpond had intended that it should. Had she any sense, she would have turned away at once and not let herself be taunted. Jair was safe in the Vale with her parents and their friends. The Grimpond’s image was but a loathsome lie.

And yet she could not be entirely certain.

Unable to do anything further with that concern, she pushed it aside and turned her thoughts to the other mysteries that the Grimpond had given her. There were many. Past and present were joined in some way by the dark magic, the shade had hinted. The power that the Warlock Lord had wielded in the time of Shea Ohmsford was the power wielded in her own time by the Mord Wraiths. But there was more to the Grimpond’s meaning. There was mention of some tie between the Wars of the Races and the more recent war her father and the Westland Elves had fought against the Demons of the faerie world. There was that insidious suggestion that while the Warlock Lord had been destroyed by the magic of the Sword of Shannara, he was not really gone. «Who now gives voice to the magic and sends the Mord Wraiths forth?» the Grimpond had asked. Worst of all was the shade’s sly insistence that Allanon — who through all his years of service to the Four Lands and her people had always foreseen everything — had this time been deceived. Thinking that he saw the truth, he had let his eyes be closed. What was it the Grimpond had said? That Allanon saw only the Warlock Lord come again — that he saw only what was past.

What do you see? the shade had whispered. Are your eyes open?

Frustration welled up within her, but she brought it quickly under control. Frustration would only serve to blind her further, and she needed to keep her vision clear, if she was even to begin to comprehend the Grimpond’s words. Suppose, she reasoned, that Allanon had indeed been deceived — an assumption that was difficult for her to accept, but one that she must accept if she were to puzzle through what she had been told. In what way could that deception have been worked? It was evident enough that the Druid had been deceived in his belief that the Wraiths would not anticipate their coming into the Eastland through the Wolfsktaag or that the Wraiths could not follow them after they left the Vale. Were these deceptions only bits and pieces of some greater deceit?

Are your own eyes open? Do you see?

The words whispered again in her mind, a warning that she did not understand. Was the deception of Allanon in some way her own? She shook her head against her confusion. Reason it through, she told herself. She must assume that Allanon had been deceived somehow in his analysis of the danger that confronted them in the Maelmord. Perhaps the power of the Mord Wraiths was greater than he had supposed. Perhaps some part of the Warlock Lord had survived the Master’s destruction. Perhaps the Druid had underestimated the strength of their enemies or overestimated their own strength.

She thought then of what the Grimpond had said about her. Dark child, he had called her, doomed to die in the Maelmord, the bearer of the seeds of her own destruction. Surely that destruction would come from the — magic of the wishsong — an inadequate and erratic defense against the dark magic of the walkers. The Mord Wraiths were victims of their magic. But so, too, was she, the Grimpond had said. And when she had heatedly replied that she was not like them, that she did not use the dark magic, the shade had laughed and told her that none used the magic — that the magic used them.

«There is the key to what you seek,” he had said.

That was another puzzle. It was certainly true that the magic used her as much as she used it. She remembered her anger against the men from west of Spanning Ridge at the Rooker Line Trading Center and how Allanon had shown her what the magic could do to those trees so closely intertwined. Savior and destroyer — she would be both, the shade of Bremen had warned. And now the Grimpond had warned her, too.

Cogline whispered something at her side, then danced away as Kimber Boh told him to behave. Her thoughts scattered momentarily, and she watched the old man slip into the forest wilderness, laughing and chittering like one half gone into madness. She breathed the cool afternoon air deeply, seeing the shadows of early evening beginning to slip down about the land. She found herself missing Allanon. Odd that she should, for his dark and formidable presence had been small comfort to her in the days that she had traveled with him. But there had been that strange kinship between them, that sense of understanding, and of being in some way similar…

Was it the magic they shared — the wishsong and the Druid power?

She found tears forming in her eyes as she pictured his broken form once again, slumped down within that sunlit glen, bloodied and torn. How terrible he had looked to her, stricken by impending death, his hand lifting to touch her forehead with his blood… A lonely, worn figure in her mind, steeped not so much in Druid power as in Druid guilt, he had bound himself by his father’s oath to purge the Druids of the responsibility they bore for unleashing the dark magic into the world of men.

And now that responsibility had been passed to her.

Afternoon faded into evening, and the little company passed down out of the Anar wilderness into the valley of Hearthstone. Brin ceased to puzzle over the words of the Grimpond and began to think instead of what she was to. tell her companions and what she was to do with the small bit of knowledge that she had gained. Her own lot in this matter was fixed, but not so that of the others — not even Rone. If she were. to tell him all that she had been told by the Grimpond, perhaps he could be persuaded to let her go on alone. If it was predetermined that she must go to her death, perhaps she could at least keep him from going to his.

An hour later they were gathered together before the fireplace in the little cottage, drawn up in covered chairs and on benches — Brin, the old man, the girl, and Rone Leah. The warmth of the flames danced off their faces as the night settled down, cold and still. Whisper slept peacefully upon his rug, his giant body stretched full–length before the fire. Invisible most of the day on their journey to and from the Grimpond, the moor cat had reappeared on their return and promptly curled up in his favorite resting spot.

«The Grimpond appeared to me in my own image,” Brin began quietly as the others listened. «It took my face and taunted me with what it said I was.»

«It plays those games,” Kimber said sympathetically. «You must not be bothered by it.»

«All lies and deceits! It is a dark and twisted thing,” Cogline whispered, his sticklike frame hunched forward. «Locked within its pool since before the loss of the old world, speaking riddles no man could hope to unravel — or woman either.»

«Grandfather,” Kimber Boh cautioned gently.

«What was it that the Grimpond had to say?» Rone wanted to know.

«What I have told you,” Brin replied. «That the Sword of Leah is in the hands of the Spider Gnomes, pulled from the waters of the Chard Rush. That the way into the Maelmord without being seen by the walkers is through the sewers of Graymark.»

«There was no deceit in this?» he pressed.

She shook her head slowly, thinking of the dark way in which she had used the wishsong’s magic. «Not in this.»

Cogline snorted. «Well, the rest was lies, I’ll wager!»

Brin turned to him. «The Grimpond said that death would come to me in the Maelmord — that I could not escape it.»

There was a hushed silence. «Lies, just as the old man says,” Rone muttered finally.

«The Grimpond said that your death awaits you there as well; Rone. It said that we both carry the seeds of that death in the magic we would wield — yours in the Sword of Leah, mine in the wishsong.»

«And you believe that nonsense?» The highlander shook his head. «Well, I don’t. I can look after the both of us.»

Brin smiled sadly. «But what if the Grimpond’s words are not lies? What if that part, too, is truth? Must I bear your death on my conscience, Rone? Will you insist on dying with me?»

Rone flushed at the rebuke. «If I must. Allanon made me your protector when I sought to be so. What manner of protector would I be if I were to abandon you now and let you go on alone? If it is predetermined that we should die, Brin, then let that not be on your conscience. Let it be on mine.

Brin had tears in her eyes again and she swallowed hard against the feelings coursing through her.

«Girl, girl, no crying now, no crying!» Cogline was suddenly on his feet, shuffling over to where she sat. To her surprise, he reached up gently and brushed the tears away. «It’s all games with the Grimpond, all lies and half–truths. The shade predicts everyone’s death as if it were blessed with special insight. Here, here. What can a spirit thing know of death?»

He patted Brin on the shoulder, then scowled inexplicably at Rone, as if the fault were somehow his, and muttered something about dratted trespassers.

«Grandfather, we must help them,” Kimber said suddenly.

Cogline wheeled on her, bristling. «Help them? And just what is it that we’ve been doing, girl? Gathering firewood?»

«No, I don’t think that, grandfather, but…»

«But nothing!» Crooked arms gestured impatiently. «Of course we’re going to help them!»

Valegirl and highlander stared at the old man in astonishment. Cogline cackled shrilly, then kicked at the sleeping Whisper and brought the cat’s whiskered face up with a jerk. «Me and this worthless animal — we’re going to help all we can! Can’t be having tears like those! Can’t be having guests wandering all over the place with no one to show them the way!»

«Grandfather…» the girl started to interrupt, but the old man brushed her aside.

«Haven’t had a run at those Spider Gnomes for some time now, have we? Good idea to let them know that we’re still here in case they think we moved out. Up on Toffer Ridge, they’ll be — no, not this time of year. No, they’ll be down off the ridge to the moor with the season’s change at hand. That’s their ground; that’s where they’d take a sword like that if they pulled it from the river. Whisper will track it for us. Then we’ll turn east, skirt the moor, and cross to the Ravenshorn. Day or two, maybe, all told.»

He wheeled back again. «But not you, Kimber. Can’t have you out and about in that country. Walkers and all are too dangerous. You stay here and keep the home.»

Kimber gave him a hopeless look. «He still thinks of me as a child. I am the one who should worry for him.»

«Ha! You don’t have to worry for me!» Cogline Snapped.

Kimber smiled indulgently, her pixie face calm. «Of course I have to worry for you. I love you.» She turned to Brin. «Brin, you have to understand something. Grandfather never leaves the valley anymore without me. He requires the use of my eyes and my memory from time to time. Grandfather, don’t be angry with what I say, but you know that sometimes you are forgetful. Besides, Whisper will not always do what you tell him. He will disappear on you when you least want him to, if you try to go alone.»

Cogline frowned. «Stupid cat does that, all right.» He glanced down at Whisper, who blinked back at him sleepily. «Waste of my time trying to teach him differently. Very well, I suppose we’ll all have to go. But you keep out of harm’s way, girl. Leave that part to me.»

Brin and Rone exchanged hurried glances.

Kimber turned to them. «It is settled then. We can leave at dawn.»

The Valegirl and the highlander stared at each other in disbelief. What was happening? As if it were the most natural thing in the world, it had just been decided that a girl barely more than Brin’s age, a half–crazed old man, and a sometimes disappearing cat would retrieve for them the missing Sword of Leah from some creatures they had labeled as Spider Gnomes and then afterward guide them into the mountains of the Ravenshorn and Graymark! Gnomes and walkers and other dangerous beings would be all about — beings whose power had destroyed the Druid Allanon — and the old man and the girl were acting as if none of that really made any difference at all.

«Kimber, no,” Brin said finally, not knowing what else to say. «You can’t go with us.»

«She’s right,” Rone agreed. «You can’t even begin to understand what we’ll be up against.»

Kimber Boh look at each of them in turn. «I understand better than you think. I told you before — this land is my home. And grandfather’s. We know its dangers and we understand them.»

«You don’t understand the walkers!» Rone exploded. «What can the two of you do against the walkers?»

Kimber held her ground. «I don’t know. Much the same as you, I’d guess. Avoid them.»

«And what, if you can’t avoid them?» Rone pressed. «What then?»

Cogline snatched a leather bag belted at his waist and held it forth. «Give them a taste of my magic, outlander! Give them a taste of a fire they know nothing about at all!»

The highlander frowned doubtfully and looked at Brin for help. «This is crazy!» he snapped.

«Do not be so quick to dismiss my grandfather’s magic,” Kimber advised, with a reassuring nod to the old man. «He has lived in this wilderness all of his life and survived a great many dangers. He can do things you might not expect of him. He will be of great help to you. As will Whisper and I as well.»

Brin shook her head. «I think this is a very bad idea, Kimber.»

The girl nodded her understanding. «You will change your mind, Brin. In any case, you really don’t have a choice. You need Whisper to track. You need grandfather to guide you. And you need me to help them do that.»

Brin started to object once more, then stopped. What was she thinking? They had come to Hearthstone in the first place because they needed someone to guide them through Darklin Reach. There was only one man who could do that, and that man was Cogline. Without Cogline, they might wander the wilderness country of the Anar for weeks — weeks that they did not have. Now that they had found him and he was offering them the help they so desperately needed, here she was trying to refuse it!

She hesitated. Perhaps she had good reason for doing so. Kimber appeared to her as a girl whose heart was greater than her strength. But the fact remained that Cogline was unlikely to go anywhere without her. Did Brin, then, have the right to put her concern for Kimber above the dictates of the trust which she had been given by Allanon?

She did not think so.

«I believe the matter is decided,” Kimber said softly.

Brin looked at Rone one final time. The highlander shook his head in helpless resignation.

Brin turned back and smiled wearily. «I guess it is,” she agreed and hoped against reason that it had been decided correctly.