“You still don’t know who was responsible for sending those men to steal the diary and perhaps try to kill you. You don’t know another attempt won’t be made, even if you aren’t in Arborlon. I took the job as your protector, and I don’t think it’s time for me to give it up yet. Unless, of course, you are dismissing me.”
“No, no, I wouldn’t do that.” She felt frustrated, trapped by her sense of obligation to him. “It’s just that you’ve done so much already, and I don’t want you to feel you have to do anything more.”
He smiled enigmatically. “What else do I have to do that matters? I’ve done exactly what I wanted to do by becoming your protector. All I’m asking is to be allowed to continue.”
It was impossible to argue with him, so she let it go.
“I’ll feel better knowing he’s with you,” Arling told her later as they walked back together to their cottage. Cymrian had gone, having obtained Aphen’s agreement that he could go with her. “If I can’t go, at least he can.”
Aphen nodded noncommittally. “I suppose.” She thought about it for a minute. “I guess I just don’t understand why he’s so insistent about this. You would think he would be glad not to have to put himself at risk for me any more than he already has.”
Her sister laughed out loud. “You still don’t understand, do you?”
Aphen frowned. “Understand what?”
Arling shook her head. “I can’t tell you. I promised.”
“Tell me what?”
Her sister shook her head. “I can’t talk about it. In fact, I refuse to talk about it. You’ll just have to figure it out on your own.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Aphenglow was awake before sunrise the following morning. She dressed, slipped out of the house, and sat on the veranda steps to wait for Arling to join her. She had promised to walk her down to the Gardens of Life, where Arling would participate in the ritual greeting of the new day in the presence of the Ellcrys. By then, the sun would have risen and the day would have arrived; Aphen would be airborne and winging her way west.
In her head, she had already departed.
It was only a few minutes later before Arling was beside her, dressed and ready. “Sleep well?” her sister asked.
“I dreamed of him,” she answered.
Arling knew who she meant. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.”
Aphen shook her head. “That’s what’s so strange. It isn’t all that hard anymore. It hasn’t been since he died. I can’t explain it. In the dream, he was still there, alive and well, but I couldn’t touch him. He was smiling, laughing, enjoying himself, but I wasn’t with him.” She hesitated. “I think I’ve been losing him for a long time. I think subconsciously I might have known.”
“You’ve been letting go.”
She nodded. “It feels like it. I still hurt thinking of him. I still want him back with me. But …”
She shook her head, unable to finish. Then she added. “It makes me feel disloyal to think like this.”
Arling took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re grieving, Aphen. You’re entitled to do that in the best way you can. There isn’t any right or wrong to how you do it.”
Aphenglow supposed that was so, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Overall, nothing that had happened since she had found Aleia Omarosian’s diary had worked out for the better. Bombax was dead, Paranor was abandoned and lost, the members of the Fourth Druid Order were scattered to the four corners of the earth, and the Federation was hunting for them—all because she had thought it a good idea to find the missing Elfstones. She was beginning to question her judgment about almost everything in her life.
“I want you to be careful,” she told her sister suddenly.
Arling looked at her in surprise and then grinned. “Why would I need to do that? No one is interested in me.”
“I just want you to watch out for yourself. Just promise me. You said you’d feel better knowing Cymrian was watching over me. Fair enough. But I’ll feel better knowing you are watching out for yourself.”
She was serious enough that the smile dropped away from her sister’s face. “All right, Aphen. I’ll be careful.”
When they reached the gardens, they embraced and kissed. None of the other Chosen had arrived yet; Arling was early for the ritual greeting. Dawn was still half an hour away. They stood together for a moment, holding each other.
“Will you come back for me after you’ve found the Ard Rhys?” Arling asked.
“I’ll come back as soon as I can. I promise.”
“Even if it’s only to tell me you are safe.”
“Even if it’s only for that.”
They smiled at each other, cried a little, and parted.
Arling watched Aphenglow walk into the trees, a hundred thoughts tumbling through her head, most of them having to do with going after her sister. But Aphen wouldn’t want that, having already made it clear that Arling would not be allowed to go with her. Further insistence would achieve nothing. It would only make Aphen feel worse. Arling had tried her best to convince her sister to take her along and failed. Because she loved her sister more than anyone in the world, Arling knew when to leave well enough alone—even though it cost her something to do so.
Instead she walked down into the Gardens of Life and sat beneath the Ellcrys, trying to calm herself. Gazing at the tree helped. The brilliant red and silver mix of leaves and bark, the grand sweep of her boughs, the shimmer of her canopy in the starlight, and the calm that seemed to envelop her like a protective mantle were a balm that soothed and comforted. Arlingfant always felt better when she was close to the Ellcrys, and that feeling infused her now, reminding her why she had sought to become one of the Chosen and why her selection had left her feeling so fulfilled.
Her thoughts drifted and she closed her eyes.
“Come back safe, Aphen,” she said softly.
She was still listening to the echo of her words in the ensuing silence when she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder.
Then, as if borne on the momentary breath of wind that blew ever so softly across her face, a voice whispered.
–Child, I have need of you–
HERE ENDS BOOK ONE OF
THE DARK LEGACY OF SHANNARA
THE STORY CONTINUES IN BOOK TWO,
BLOODFIRE QUEST
For Judine
forever in my heart
BY TERRY BROOKS
SHANNARA
SHANNARA
First King of Shannara
The Sword of Shannara
The Elfstones of Shannara
The Wishsong of Shannara
THE HERITAGE OF SHANNARA
The Scions of Shannara
The Druid of Shannara
The Elf Queen of Shannara
The Talismans of Shannara
THE VOYAGE OF THE
JERLE SHANNARA
Ilse Witch
Antrax
Morgawr
HIGH DRUID OF SHANNARA
Jarka Ruus
Tanequil
Straken
PRE-SHANNARA
GENESIS OF SHANNARA
Armageddon’s Children
The Elves of Cintra
The Gypsy Morph
LEGENDS OF SHANNARA
Bearers of the Black Staff
The Measure of the Magic
THE MAGIC KINGDOM OF LANDOVER
Magic Kingdom for Sale—Sold!
The Black Unicorn
Wizard at Large
The Tangle Box
Witches’ Brew
A Princess of Landover
THE WORD AND THE VOID
Running with the Demon
A Knight of the Word
Angel Fire East
Sometimes the Magic Works: Lessons from a Writing Life
The World of Shannara
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TERRY BROOKS is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty books, including
the Dark Legacy of Shannara adventure Wards of Faerie; the Legends of Shannara novels Bearers of the Black Staff and The Measure of the Magic; the Genesis of Shannara trilogy: Armageddon’s Children, The Elves of Cintra, and The Gypsy Morph; The Sword of Shannara; the Voyage of the Jerle Shannara trilogy: Ilse Witch, Antrax, and Morgawr; the High Druid of Shannara trilogy: Jarka Ruus, Tanequil, and Straken; the nonfiction book Sometimes the Magic Works: Lessons from a Writing Life; and the novel based upon the screenplay and story by George Lucas, Star Wars:® Episode I The Phantom Menace.™ His novels Running with the Demon and A Knight of the Word were selected by the Rocky Mountain News as two of the best science fiction/fantasy novels of the twentieth century. The author was a practicing attorney for many years but now writes full-time. He lives with his wife, Judine, in the Pacific Northwest.
www.shannara.com
www.terrybrooks.net
Are you eager for the next book in The Dark Legacy of Shannara?
Well, fear not; you will not have to wait long! Look for:
BLOODFIRE QUEST
Book Two of The Dark Legacy of Shannara
in Spring …
WITCH WRAITH
six months later, in summer 2013
Arlingfant Elessedil sat frozen beneath the broad canopy of the Ellcrys, the words a whisper echoing in her mind.
Child, I have need of you.
Had she actually heard that, or only imagined it? Whose voice was she hearing? Her eyes were still closed, and her presence in the Gardens of Life carried little more impact than the space she occupied and the soft sound of her breathing. Sunrise approached, bringing the new day to life. The world was mostly asleep, and the Elves of Arborlon were just beginning to stir. Dreams still held sway.
She felt again the soft touch and opened her eyes to find its source. A slender silver branch adorned with scarlet leaves rested gently upon her shoulder. It moved slightly, a feather’s touch she could feel through her clothing, strange and reassuring.
—Child, do you hear me—
Heart hammering, a flush of fear and expectation rushing through her, Arling rose to her knees to face the ancient tree, rocking back on her heels and looking up. She was aware of the branch that lay across her shoulder moving with her, maintaining contact as she shifted her position.
“I am here, Mistress,” she whispered.
All around her, the light was changing, darkness giving way to daybreak, blackness turning silvery with the brightening of the eastern sky. And in that strange, in-between time the world seemed to hold still around her.
—Long years have I kept the faith of my calling, strong against the elements and the whimsies and vicissitudes of nature and Man. Long years have I been true to all expectations and challenges, never once regretting what I gave up to be so. But time wears down all living things, and so it is with me—
It was not her imagination, Arling thought. The tree was speaking to her. The voice she was hearing belonged to the Ellcrys. She could feel a connection between the voice and the branch resting on her shoulder. She could feel the link between them.
Could feel the link to herself.
Arling tried to parse this out, to understand what was happening, but now the tree was speaking again.
—It happens slowly, but there is no mistaking its direction. There remains time to do what is needed, but for that to happen I need you first to understand. You are a Chosen in service to me. Many others have been so. Others besides yourself are so now. But you are special to me, child. You bear the blood markings that tell me no other will serve my purpose so well or so long—
Arling blinked rapidly, aware that the Ellcrys was praising her for something the tree found in her that she had not found in others. But Arling had no idea what that something was. Blood markings?
“I don’t understand, Mistress,” she blurted.
She felt a wash of shame when she admitted this. She wanted to be helpful, was anxious to serve in whatever way she could. But the Ellcrys was telling her she was failing, that time was taking its toll, and Arling did not know what it was she was expected to do.
—I am dying—
There it was. The truth of things, the words clear and unmistakable. The Ellcrys was coming to the end of her life. Arlingfant felt tears spring to her eyes and found it suddenly hard to breathe. How could this be happening? The Ellcrys was showing no signs of deterioration—no wilt, no shedding, no loss of color or form. All looked to be as it should, yet the tree was telling her otherwise. Telling her! Arlingfant didn’t want to be the one made responsible by knowing. She had done everything she had been asked to do and more in the course of her time as a Chosen. She did not deserve this!
—Child, you are precious to me—
“Don’t tell me that!” Arling cried out. “I have failed you! I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough. Could you be mistaken? Could you be given medicines and special care to keep you from …?”
She couldn’t finish, her words dying away into a series of hiccupping gasps. She was crying uncontrollably, and she couldn’t seem to make herself stop.
Then the branch shifted against her body, and she felt a strange peace settle through her, bringing an end to the tears. She went still, the sounds of her lamentation ceasing. All around her the air turned soft with the scents of flowers and grasses and leaves, smoothing away the hurt and fear.
—There is much you can do to help me, Arlingfant. My service has been long and successful, and that service must continue. All of the Chosen must care for me in my final days, and you must tell them so. All must band together to keep me safe and comfortable during the time of my passing, but pass I must. Back to where we all one day will go. Back to our birthroots, to our pre-life, to where we await our next appointing. Try to understand—
Arling did not understand. Asking her to bring word of this to the others was unbearable. Why choose her as opposed to another? Why ask this of her when so much else was happening?
But this was selfish thinking, and she would not speak it aloud to her Mistress. She was a Chosen, and the Chosen did not complain—ever—of what was asked of them during the time of their service.
“I will tell the others,” she agreed. Then she hesitated. “And we will do much more than you ask. We will find a way to stave this off, to cure you of what afflicts you and make you well and strong again!”
There was a long pause.
—Oh, child, no. You ignore the truth at your peril. Hear me once again. I have need of you. I have need of your strength and your dedication. I have need of what you are and what you will be when I am gone. Do you not see—
Arling shook her head in despair. “I see only that you need help and I don’t know how to give it.”
—You will give it in the same way that I once did, a long time ago—when I was a girl no older than you are now. When I was one of the Chosen. You will carry my seed to the Bloodfire and immerse it and then return to me, and through you I will be renewed and the Forbidding will hold—
“I will … carry …”
That was as much as she could manage to repeat before the enormity of what the Ellcrys was saying tightened about her throat in an iron grip of such fear that she choked on the rest. She saw it now. She saw what she was being asked to do.
—You are my Chosen one. You are …
Instantly, Arlingfant was up and running, her dark hair flying out behind her in a tangle. She broke away from the touch of the Ellcrys, from the voice in her head, from the realization of what was being asked of her and how her life would be altered forever. She felt cold and hot all at once.
She knew the story. All of the Chosen had known since the time of Amberle Elessedil, who was the last to be called. The tree was said to live forever, and some believed it was so. But the truth was a different matter. The tree had a finite life; centuries long, yes, but finite. When its time was up, the tree always selected one among the Chosen to take from it a seedling, to carry that seedling to the Bloodfire,
to immerse it in the flames and then return to become …
No, I cannot do this! It is too much to ask! I will lose everything. I will have to give up my life!
… to become the next Ellcrys, reborn into the world at the death of the old, and linked forever in an endless line of talismans that would keep the Forbidding intact and the demons imprisoned.
I cannot do this! I am only a girl and nothing special. I was not meant to bear this burden …
Terry Brooks, Wards of Faerie
(Series: # )
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