The Wishsong of Shannara

Chapter Five

It was still summer where the Mermidon flowed down out of Callahorn and emptied into the vast expanse of the Rainbow Lake. It was green and fresh, a mix of grassland and forest, foothill and mountain. Water from the river and its dozens of tributaries fed the earth and kept it moist. Mist from the lake drifted north with each sunrise, dissipated, and settled into the land, giving life beyond the summer season. Sweet, damp smells permeated the air, and autumn was yet a stranger.

Brin Ohmsford sat alone on a rise overlooking the juncture of lake and river and was at peace. The day was almost gone, and the sun was a brilliant reddish gold flare on the western horizon, its light staining crimson the silver waters that stretched away before her. No wind broke the calm of the coming evening, and the lake’s surface was mirrorlike and still. High overhead, its bands of color a sharper hue against the coming gray of night where the eastern sky darkened, the wondrous rainbow from which the lake took its name arched from shoreline to shoreline. Cranes and geese glided gracefully through the fading light, their cries haunting in the deep silence.

Brin’s thoughts drifted. It had been four days since she had left her home and come eastward on a journey that would take her to the deep Anar, farther than she had ever gone before. It seemed odd that she knew so little about the journey, even now. Four days had gone, and she, was still little more than a child who gripped a mother’s hand, trusting blindly. From Shady Vale they had gone north through the Duln, east along the banks of the Rappahalladran, north again, and then east, following the shoreline of the Rainbow Lake to where the Mermidon emptied down. Never once had Allanon offered a word of explanation.

Both Rone and she had asked the Druid to explain, of course. They had asked their questions time and again, but the Druid had brushed them aside. Later, he would tell them. Your questions will be answered later. For now, simply follow after me. So they had followed as he had bidden them, wary and increasingly distrustful, promising themselves that they would have their explanations before the Eastland was reached.

Yet the Druid gave them little cause to believe that their promise would be fulfilled. Enigmatic and withdrawn, he kept them from him. In the daytime, when they traveled, he rode before them, and it was clear that he preferred to ride alone. At night, when they camped, he left them and moved into the shadows. He neither ate nor slept, behavior that seemed to emphasize the differences between them and thereby widen the distance. He watched over them like a hawk over its prey, never leaving them alone to stray.

Until now, she corrected. On this evening of the fourth day, Allanon unexpectedly had left them. They had encamped here, where the Mermidon fed into the Rainbow Lake, and the Druid had stalked off into the woodlands bordering the river’s waters and disappeared without a word of explanation. Valegirl and highlander had watched him go, staring after in disbelief. At last, when it became apparent that he had indeed left them — for how long, they could only guess — they resolved to waste no further time worrying about him and turned their attention to preparing the evening meal. Three days of eating fish pulled first from the waters of the Rappahalladran and then from the waters of the Rainbow Lake had blunted temporarily their enthusiasm for fish. So armed with ash bow and arrows, a weapon Menion Leah had favored, Rone had gone in search of different fare. Brin had taken a few minutes to gather wood for a cooking fire, then settled herself on this rise and let the solitude of the moment slip over her.

Allanon! He was an enigma that defied resolution. Committed to the preservation of the land, he was a friend to her people, a benefactor to the races, and a protector against evil they could not alone withstand. Yet what friend used people as Allanon did? Why keep so carefully concealed the reasons for all he did? He seemed at times as much enemy, malefactor, and destroyer as that which he claimed to stand against.

The Druid himself had told her father the story of the old world of faerie from which all the magic had come along with creatures who wielded it. Good or bad, black or white, the magic was the same in the sense that its power was rooted in the strength, wisdom, and purpose of the user. After all, what had been the true difference between Allanon and the Warlock Lord in their struggle to secure mastery over the Sword of Shannara? Each had been a Druid, learning the magic from the books of the old world. The difference was in the character of the user, for where one had been corrupted by the power, the other had stayed pure.

Perhaps. And perhaps not. Her father would argue the matter, she knew, maintaining that the Druid had been corrupted by the power as surely as the Dark Lord, if only in a different way. For Allanon was also governed in his life by the power he wielded and by the secrets of its use. If his sense of responsibility was of a higher sort and his purpose less selfish, he was nevertheless as much its victim. Indeed, there was something strangely sad about Allanon, despite his harsh, almost threatening demeanor. She thought for a time about the sense of sadness that the Druid invoked in her — a sadness her father had surely never felt — and she wondered how it was that she felt it so keenly.

«I’m back!»

She turned, startled. But it was only Rone, calling up to her from the campsite in the pine grove below the rise. She climbed to her feet and started down.

«I see that the Druid hasn’t returned yet,” the highlander said as she came up to him. He had a pair of wild hens slung over one shoulder and dropped them to the ground. «Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t come back at all.»

She stared at him. «Maybe that wouldn’t be so lucky.»

He shrugged. «Depends on how you look at it.»

«Tell me how you look at it, Rone.»

He frowned. «All right. I don’t trust him.»

«And why is it that you don’t?»

«Because of what he pretends to be: protector against the Warlock Lord and the Bearers of the Skull; protector against the Demons released from the old world of faerie; and now protector against the Mord Wraiths. But always, it’s with the aid of the Ohmsford family and their friends, take note. I know the history, too, Brin. It’s always the same. He appears unexpectedly, warning of a danger that threatens the races, which only a member of the Ohmsford family can help put an end to. Heirs to the Elven house of Shannara and to the magics that belong to it — those are the Ohmsfords. First the Sword of Shannara, then the Elfstones and now the wishsong. But somehow things are never quite what they seem, are they?»

Brin shook her head slowly. «What are you saying, Rone?»

«I’m saying that the Druid comes out of nowhere with a story designed to secure Shea or Wil Ohmsford’s aid — and now your aid — and each time it’s the same. He tells only what he must. He gives away only as much as he needs give away. He keeps back the rest; he hides a part of the truth. I don’t trust him. He plays games with people’s lives!»

«And you believe that he’s doing that with us?»

Rone took a deep breath. «Don’t you?»

Brin was silent a moment before answering. «I’m not sure.»

«Then you don’t trust him either?»

«I didn’t say that.»

The highlander stared at her a moment, they slowly settled himself on the ground across from her, folding his long legs before him. «Well, which way is it, Brin? Do you trust him or don’t you?»

She sat down as well. «I guess I haven’t really decided.»

«Then what are you doing here, for cat’s sake?»

She smiled at his obvious disgust. «I’m here, Rone, because he needs me — I believe that much of what I have been told. The rest I’m not sure about. The part he keeps hidden, I have to discover for myself.»

«If you can.»

«I’ll find a way.»

«It’s too dangerous,” he said flatly.

She smiled, rose, and came over to where he sat. Gently she kissed his forehead. «That’s why I wanted you here with me, Rone Leah — to be my protector. Isn’t that why you came?» He flushed bright scarlet and muttered something unintelligible, and she laughed in spite of herself. «Why don’t we leave this discussion until later and do something with those hens. I’m starved.»

She built a small cooking fire while Rone cleaned the hens. Then they cooked and ate the birds together with a small portion of cheese and ale. They ate their meal in silence, seated back atop the small rise, watching the night sky darken and the stars and gibbous moon cast their pale silver light on the waters of the lake.

By the time they had finished, night had fallen and Allanon still had not returned.

«Brin, you remember what you said before, about my being here to protect you?» Rone asked her after they had returned to the fire. She nodded. «Well, it’s true — I am here to protect you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you — not ever. I guess you know that.»

He hesitated, and she smiled through the dark. «I know.»

«Well.» He shifted about uneasily, his hands lifting the battered scabbard that housed the Sword of Leah. «There’s another reason I’m here, too. I hope you can understand this. I’m here to prove something to myself.» He hesitated again, groping for the words to explain. «I am a Prince of Leah, but that’s just a title. I was born into it, just like my brothers — and they’re all older. And this sword, Brin.» He held up the scabbard and its weapon. «It isn’t really mine; it’s my great–grandfather’s. It’s Menion Leah’s sword. It always has been, ever since he carried it in search of the Sword of Shannara. I carry it — the ash bow, too — because Menion carried them and I’d like to be what he was. But I’m not.»

«You don’t know that,” she said quickly.

«That’s just the point,” he continued. «I’ve never done anything to find out what I could be. And that’s partly why I’m here. I want to know. This is how Menion found out — by going on a quest, as protector to Shea Ohmsford. Maybe I can do it this way, too.»

Brin smiled. «Maybe you can. In any case, I’m glad you told me.» She paused. «Now I’ll tell you a secret. I came for the same reason. I have something to prove to myself, too. I don’t know if I can do what Allanon expects of me; I don’t know if I am strong enough. I was born with the wishsong, but I have never known what I was meant to do with it. I believe there is a reason for my having the magic. Maybe I will learn that reason from Allanon.»

She put her hand on his arm. «So you see, we’re not so different after all, are we, Rone?»

They talked a while longer, growing drowsy as the evening lengthened and the weariness of the day’s travel overcame them. Then at last their talk gave way to silence, and they spread their bedding. Clear and cool, the autumn night wrapped them in its solitude and peace as they stretched out next to the dark embers of the fire and pulled their blankets close.

They were asleep in moments.

Neither saw the tall, black–robed figure who stood in the shadow of the pines just beyond the fire’s light.

When they awoke the following morning, Allanon was there. He was seated only a few yards away from them on a hollow log, his tall, spare form wraithlike in the gray light of early dawn. He watched silently as they rose, washed, and ate a light breakfast, offering no explanation as to where he had been. More than once the Valegirl and the highlander glanced openly in his direction, but he seemed to take no notice. It was not until they had packed their bedrolls and cooking gear and brought the horses in to be saddled that he finally rose and came over to them.

«There has been a change of plans,” he announced. They stared at him silently. «We are no longer going east. We are going north into the Dragon’s Teeth.»

«The Dragon’s Teeth?» Rone’s jaw tightened. «Why?»

«Because it is necessary.»

«Necessary for whom?» Rone snapped.

«It will only be for a day or so.» Allanon turned his attention to Brin now, ignoring the angry highlander. «I have a visit to make. When it is finished, we will turn east again and complete our journey.»

«Allanon.» Brin spoke his name softly. «Tell us why we must go north.»

The Druid hesitated, his face darkening. Then he nodded. «Very well. Last night I received a summons from my father. He bids me come to him, and I am bound to do so. In life, he was the Druid Bremen. Now his shade surfaces from the netherworld through the waters of the Hadeshorn in the Valley of Shale. In three days time, before daybreak, he will speak with me there.»

Bremen — the Druid who had escaped the massacre of the Council at Paranor, when the Warlock Lord swept down out of the Northland in the Second War of the Races, and who had forged the Sword of Shannara. So long ago, Brin though, the legendary tale recalling itself in her memory. Then, seventy–odd years ago, Shea Ohmsford had gone with Allanon into the Valley of Shale and seen the shade of Bremen rise from the Hadeshorn to converse with his son, to warn of what lay ahead, to prophesy…

«He can see the future, can’t he?» Brin asked suddenly, remembering now how the shade had warned of Shea’s fate. «Will he speak of that?»

Allanon shook his head doubtfully. «Perhaps. Even so, he would reveal only fragments of what is to be, for the future is not yet formed in its entirety and must of necessity remain in doubt. Only certain things can be known. Even they are not always clear to our understanding.» He shrugged. «In any case, he calls. He would not do so if it were not of grave importance.»

«I don’t like it,” Rone announced. «It’s another three days or more gone — time that could be spent getting into and out of the Anar. The Wraiths are already searching for you. You told us that much yourself. We’re just giving them that much more time to find you — and Brin.»

The Druid’s eyes fixed on him, cold and hard. «I take no unnecessary risks with the girl’s safety, Prince of Leah. Nor with your own.»

Rone flushed angrily, and Brin stepped forward, seizing his hand. «Wait, Rone. Perhaps going to the Hadeshorn is a good idea. Perhaps we will learn something of what the future holds that will aid us.»

The highlander kept his gaze locked on Allanon. «What would aid us most is a bit more of the truth of what we’re about!» he snapped.

«So.» The word was a soft, quick whisper, and Allanon’s tall form seemed to suddenly grow taller. «What part of the truth would you have me reveal, Prince of Leah?»

Rone held his ground. «This much, Druid. You tell Brin that she must come with you into the Eastland because you lack the power necessary to penetrate the barrier that protects the book of dark magic — you, who are the keeper of the secrets of the Druids, who possess power enough to destroy Skull Bearers and Demons alike! Yet you need her. And what does she have that you don’t? The wishsong. Nothing more, just that. It lacks even the power of the Elfstones! It is a magic toy that changes the colors of leaves and causes flowers to bloom! What kind of protection is that?»

Allanon stared at him silently for a moment and then smiled, a faint, sad smile. «What kind of power, indeed?» he murmured. He looked suddenly at Brin. «Do you, too, harbor these doubts the highlander voices? Do you seek a better understanding of the wishsong? Shall I show you something of its use?»

It was cold the way he said it, but Brin nodded. «Yes.»

The Druid strode past her, seized the reins of his horse and mounted. «Come then, and I will show you, Valegirl,” he said.

They rode north in silence along the Mermidon, winding their way through the rocky forestland, the light of the sunrise breaking through the trees on their left, the shadow of the Runne Mountains a dark wall on their right. They rode for more than an hour, a grim, voiceless procession. Then at last the Druid signaled a halt, and they dismounted.

«Leave the horses,” he instructed.

They walked west into the forest, the Druid leading the Valegirl and the highlander across a ridge and down into a heavily wooded hollow. After several minutes of fighting their way through the tangled undergrowth, Allanon stopped and turned.

«Now then, Brin.» He pointed ahead into the brush. «Pretend that this hollow is the barrier of dark magic through which you must pass. How would you use the wishsong to gain passage?»

She glanced about uncertainly. «I’m not sure…»

«Not sure?» He shook his head. «Think of the uses to which you have put the magic. Have you used it as the Prince of Leah suggests to bring autumn color to the leaves of a tree? Have you used it to bring flowers to bloom, leaves to bud, plants to grow?» She nodded. «You have used it, then, to change color and shape and behavior. Do so here. Make the brush part for you.»

She looked at him a moment and then nodded. This was more than she had ever asked of herself, and she was not convinced she had the power. Moreover, it had been a long time since she had used the magic. But she would try. Softly, she began to sing. Her voice was low and even, the song blending with the sounds of the forest. Then slowly she changed its pitch, and it rose until all else had faded into stillness. Words came, unrehearsed, spontaneous and somehow intuitively felt as she reached out. to the brush that blocked her passage. Slowly the tangle drew back, leaves and branches withdrawing in winding ribbons of sleek green.

A moment later, the way forward lay open to the center of the hollow.

«Simple enough, don’t you agree?» But the Druid wasn’t really asking. «Let’s see where your path takes us.»

He started ahead again, black robes drawn close. Brin glanced quickly at Rone, who shrugged his lack of understanding. They followed after the Druid. Seconds later he stopped again, this time pointing to an elm, its trunk bent and stunted within the shadow of a taller, broader oak. The elm’s limbs had grown into those of the oak, twisting upward in a futile effort to reach the sunlight.

«A bit harder task this time, Brin,” Allanon said suddenly. «That elm would be much better off if the sun could reach it. I want you to straighten it, bring it upright, and disentangle it from the oak.»

Brin looked at the two trees doubtfully. They seemed to closely entwined. «I don’t think I can do that,” she told him quietly.

«Try.»

«The magic is not strong enough…»

«Try anyway,” he cut her short.

So she sang, the wishsong enfolding the other sounds of the forest until there was nothing else, rising brightly into the morning air. The elm shuddered, limbs quaking in response. Brin lifted the pitch of her song, sensing the tree’s resistance, and the words formed a harder edge. The stunted trunk of the elm drew back from the oak, its limbs scraping and tearing and its leaves ripped violently from their stems.

Then, with shocking suddenness, the entire tree seemed to heave upward and explode in a shower of fragmented limbs, twigs, and leaves that rained down across the length of the hollow. Astonished, Brin stumbled back, shielding her face with her hands, the wishsong dying into instant stillness. She would have fallen but for Allanon, who caught her in his arms, held her protectively until the shower had subsided, then turned her to face him.

«What happened… ?» she began, but he quickly put a finger to her lips.

«Power, Valegirl,” he whispered. «Power in your wishsong far greater than what you have imagined. That elm could not disentangle itself from the oak. Its limbs were far too stiff, far too heavily entwined. Yet it could not refuse your song. It had no choice but to pull free — even when the result meant destroying itself!“

«Allanon!» She shook her head in disbelief.

«You have that power, Brin Ohmsford. As with all things magic, there is a dark side — as well as a light.» The Druid’s face came closer. «You have played with changing the colors of a tree’s leaves. Think what would happen if you carried the seasonal change you wrought to its logical conclusion. The tree would pass from autumn into winter, from winter into spring, from seasonal change to seasonal change. At last it would have passed through the entire cycle of its life. It would die.»

«Druid…» Rone warned and started forward, but a single dark glance from the other’s eyes froze him in his tracks.

«Stand, Prince of Leah. Let her hear the truth.» The black eyes again found Brin’s. «You have played with the wishsong as you would a curious toy because that is all the use you saw for it. Yet you knew that it was more than that, Valegirl — always, deep inside, you knew. Elven magic has always been more than that. Yours is the magic of the Elfstones, born into new form in its passage from your father’s blood to your own. There is power in you of a sort that transcends any that has gone before — latent perhaps, yet the potential is unmistakable. Consider for a moment the nature of this magic you wield. The wishsong can change the behavior of any living thing! Can you not see what that means? Supple brush can be made to part for you, giving you access where there was none before. Unbending trees can be made to part as well, though they shatter with the effort. If you can bring color to leaves, you can also drain it away. If you can cause flowers to bloom, you can also cause them to wilt. If you can give life, Brin, you can also take it away.»

She stared at him, horrified. «What are you saying?» she whispered harshly. «That the wishsong can kill? That I would use it to kill? Do you think… ?»

«You asked to be shown something of its use,” Allanon cut short her protestations. «I have simply done as you wished. But I think now you will no longer doubt that the magic is much more than you thought it was.»

Brin’s dusky face burned with anger. «I no longer doubt, Allanon. Nor should you doubt this — that even so, I would never use the wishsong to kill! Never!»

The Druid held her gaze, yet the hard features softened slightly. «Not even to save your own life? Or perhaps the life of the highlander? Not even then?»

She did not look away. «Never.»

The Druid stared at the Valegirl a moment longer — as if to measure in some way the depth of her commitment. Then abruptly he wheeled away and started back toward the slope of the hollow.

«You have seen enough, Brin. We have to get on with our journey. Think about what you have learned.»

His black form disappeared into the brush. Brin stood where he had left her, aware suddenly that her hands were shaking. That tree! The way it had simply shattered, torn apart…

«Brin.» Rone was standing before her, and his hands came up to grip her shoulders. She winced at their touch. «We can’t go on with him — not anymore. He plays games with us as he has done with all the others. Leave him and his foolish quest and come back with me now to the Vale.»

She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. «No. It was necessary that I see this.»

«None of this is necessary, for cat’s sake!» His big hands drew back and fastened about the pommel of the Sword of Leah. «If he does something like that again, I’ll not think twice…»

«No, Rone.» She put her hands over his. She was calm once more, realizing suddenly that she had missed something. «What he did was not done simply to frighten or intimidate me. It was done to teach me, and it was done out of a need for haste. It was in his eyes. Could you not see it?»

He shook his head. «I saw nothing. What need for haste?»

She looked to where the Druid had gone. «Something is wrong. Something.»

Then she thought again of the destruction of the tree, of the Druid’s words of warning, and of her vow. Never! She looked quickly back at Rone. «Do you think I could use the wishsong to kill?» she asked softly.

For just an instant he hesitated. «No.»

Even to save your life? she thought. And what if it were not a tree that threatened, but a living creature? Would I destroy it to save you? Oh, Rone, what if it were a human being?

«Will you still come with me on this journey?» she asked him.

He gave her his most rakish smile. «Right up to the moment when we take that confounded book and shred it.»

Then he bent to kiss her lightly on the mouth, and her arms came up to hold him close. «We’ll be all right;” she heard him say.

And she answered, «I know.»

But she was no longer sure.