Bek recovered himself enough to remember to use the wishsong, but he could not think how to use it effectively. Shape-shifter and caull were so tightly fused that there was no opportunity to bring the magic to bear without striking both. Bek darted right and left at the edge of the battle, enveloped by its sound and fury, desperately seeking a way to intervene, unable to do so.
“Truls!” he screamed helplessly.
Bright fountains of red spurted out of the tangle, the shape-shifter’s human blood released from a wound somewhere beneath the concealing cloak, a wound that Bek could not see. He heard Truls snarl in rage and pain, then tear at the caull with renewed fury, bearing it down against the earth. The caull screeched with a sound like metal tearing, writhing and snapping in a flurry of claws and teeth, but it could not break free.
Then Truls Rohk locked his arms about the caull’s head and hauled back on its long, thick neck, twisting violently. Bek heard cartilage snap and ligaments tear. The caull shrieked with such fury that the sound matched the howl of the worst storm Bek had ever witnessed, of hurricane winds tearing past windows and walls, of funnel clouds ripping at the earth. The caull heaved upward in one last futile effort to dislodge the shape-shifter, then its head separated from its body and exploded into an unrecognizable ruin.
In the ensuing silence, cacophonous and empty both at once, Truls Rohk threw down the remains of the body. Still twitching, it fell to the forest floor, dark blood spreading everywhere. The shape-shifter stood over it a moment, bent to the stream to drink and wash, then strode back up the hill to where Bek waited.
Without pausing for even a second, he reached down and picked up Grianne, lifting her into the cradle of his arms.
“I changed my mind,” he said, his voice harsh and broken, his breathing ragged.
Then he set off walking once more, leaving an astonished Bek to follow.
As the day went on and the trio climbed out of the foothills and onto the lower slopes of the mountains, two things became increasingly clear to Bek Ohmsford.
First, they had moved into shape-shifter territory. He knew this not because there were boundary markers or signposts or anything that would designate it as such. Having come a different way, he couldn’t even be certain he recognized what he was looking at from his previous visit. He knew where he was because he could feel the shape-shifters watching him. He could feel their eyes. It was broad daylight and the sparsely wooded slopes offered few hiding places, so it didn’t appear as if anyone was there. Yet they were, he knew, and not far away. He might have questioned this feeling once, but having experienced it not much more than a week earlier—having felt it so strongly he could barely breathe because the shape-shifters had been right on top of him—he wasn’t questioning it now.
Second, Truls Rohk was failing. He had come away from his battle with the caull winded and clearly hurt, but seemingly not in any real danger. He had walked strongly for several hours, carrying Grianne and setting a quick pace for Bek to follow. But over the last two hours, with the fading of the afternoon and the approach of nightfall, he had begun to slow, then to stagger, his smooth gait turned into an uneven lurch.
“I have to rest,” Bek said finally, in an effort to find out what was going on.
The shape-shifter continued ahead for another fifty yards, then all but collapsed beside a fallen tree trunk, barely managing to set Grianne down before dropping heavily beside her. He wouldn’t have thought to sit close to her before this; now, it seemed he could not find the strength to move away.
Bek walked up next to him and reached down for the water skin. Truls handed it to him without looking up. A ragged gasping came from inside the cowl, and Bek saw the rise and fall of the shape-shifter’s shoulders as he struggled to breathe. Seating himself, he drank from the skin and watched as Truls give a deep, involuntary shudder.
They sat together without speaking for a long time, looking out over the valley below, listening to the silence.
“We can camp here,” Bek said finally.
“We have to keep moving,” Truls said, his voice raspy and weak. It didn’t even sound like Truls. “We need to get higher up on the slopes while there’s still light.”
The cowl lifted, shadowed emptiness facing the boy like a hole dropping away into the earth. “Do you know where we are?”
Bek nodded. “In the land of the shape-shifters.”
A cough racked the other’s body, and he doubled over momentarily before straightening again. “We have to get deep enough in that they’ll have no choice, that they’ll have to come to us.”
“You’ve decided to ask for their help?”
He didn’t answer. Another spasm shook his body.
“Truls, what’s wrong?” Bek asked, leaning close.
“Get away from me!” the shape-shifter snapped angrily.
Bek moved back. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, there was no response. “I don’t know. I don’t feel right. The caull did something to me, but I don’t know what. I didn’t think those cuts and bites were much, but everything feels like it’s breaking down.” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “Wouldn’t it be a joke on me if I died because of your sister? Protecting her when I don’t even like her? The Druid would love that, if he were here!”
He laughed again, the sound weak and broken. Then he struggled back to his feet, picked up Grianne, and set off once more.
They walked on for another hour, the afternoon passing slowly into twilight, the air cooling swiftly to a chill that nipped at Bek’s face. Shadows lengthened on the mountainside, dark fingers stretching, and the moon appeared in the sky, rising out of the hazy distance, half-formed and on the wane. Bek looked back the way they had come to see if anyone was following, an impossible attempt in this light, and quickly gave it up. He glanced at their surroundings, searching for the watchers, but the effort yielded nothing. He listened to the silence and was not reassured.
They reached a shelf of ground that angled back into a deep stand of conifers, and Truls collapsed again. This time he went down without warning, dropping Grianne in a heap, rolling away from her onto his back where he lay gasping for air. Bek rushed over at once, kneeling beside him, but the shape-shifter pushed him away.
“Leave me alone!” he snapped. “See to your sister!”
Grianne lay sprawled to one side, eyes open and unseeing, body limp. She appeared unhurt as Bek helped her back to a sitting position, straightening her clothing and brushing leaves and twigs from her hair before returning to Truls.
“I’m done,” the shape-shifter rasped. “Finished. Build a fire back in the trees to warm yourself. Wait for them to come.”
A fire might attract the attention of those who hunted them, but Bek knew that whatever happened now was in the hands of the shape-shifters. No harm would come to them if the spirit creatures didn’t wish it—not in their habitat and not from caulls or Mwellrets or anything else. Truls Rohk knew this, as well. He was counting on it.
Bek set about gathering wood to build a fire. It wasn’t until he’d set the wood in place that he realized he didn’t have any tinder. When he went back to see if Truls had any, the shape-shifter was unconscious. Bek took Grianne to where he had stacked the wood, then returned for Truls, but found him too heavy to move. All those broken and missing body parts, and he still weighed so much. Bek left him and sat with Grianne by the useless wood. He thought about using the wishsong to trigger a fire, but he didn’t know how to do that. He sat staring into the night, feeling helpless and alone.
Where were the shape-shifters?
Night descended, and darkness closed about. The stars appeared overhead and the silence deepened. Soon it was so cold that Bek was shivering. He pulled Grianne close to him, trying to keep them both warm, wondering if they might freeze to death before morning. They were high up on the mountainside; it was too cold already and it was going to get much colder.
Once, he rose and walked out to where Truls Rohk lay and tried to rous
e him. The shape-shifter was awake and breathing, but he did not appear lucid. A terrible heat radiated from his body, as if he was burning with fever. Bek sat with him for a while, trying to think of something he could do. But Truls Rohk’s physiology was so different that Bek didn’t even know where to begin. In the end, he just spoke quietly to the other, trying to reassure him, to give him some small comfort.
Then Bek returned to Grianne and the waiting.
He must have dozed off finally, because the next thing he knew he awoke to find the fire burning brightly in front of him and the night air grown warm and comforting. He glanced at Grianne, who sat next to him, awake and staring, unresponsive when he spoke her name. He looked around and saw nothing, stood and looked some more, and still saw nothing.
He started to walk out toward the edge of the flat to where Truls lay and stopped. A dozen dark shapes blocked his way, massive forms rising before him like great rocks. As he started to back away, more closed about from both sides, huge and menacing, features hidden by the darkness and a sudden mist.
Bek stopped where he was and stood his ground. He knew what they were; he had been waiting for them. What he didn’t know was why they had waited so long to appear.
Why did you come back?
The voice was thin and hollow, almost a wail, and it came from all around and not from any single source.
“My friend is sick.”
Your friend is dying.
The words were unexpected, spoken without a trace of emotion or interest. For a moment, Bek could not make himself reply. No, he said to himself. No, that’s wrong. That can’t be.
“He’s hurt,” he said. “Can you help him?”
The shadows faded and reappeared in the deep mist like creatures conjured out of imagination. There was that ethereal quality to the shape-shifters, that otherworldliness that defied explanation. They seemed so impermanent that nothing about them was quite real. But Bek remembered how quickly they could change to something hard and deadly.
The caull has poisoned him. Teeth and claws excreted poison and it seeped into his human half, infecting it. The poison leeches away his strength. When his human half dies, his shape-shifter half will die, as well.
“Is there an antidote?” Bek demanded, still trapped in a web of disbelief and shock. “Do you know of one?”
There is no cure.
Bek looked around in despair. “There must be something I can do,” he said finally. “I’m not going to just let him die!”
As soon as he spoke the words, he knew they were what the shape-shifters had been waiting to hear. He could see them move in response, hear their expectant whispers as they did so. He could feel a change in the air. He thought at once to take back the words, but did not know how to do so and could not have made himself, anyway.
You were told that halflings have no place in the world. You said that you would make a place for this one. Would you do so now?
Bek took a deep breath. “What are you asking?”
Would you make a place for your friend? Would you give him a chance to live?
The voice was coldly insistent, uninterested in argument or reason, in anything but a direct answer to its question. The shape-shifters had gone still again, clustered about like stones. Bek could no longer see or feel the fire. He could no longer remember in which direction it lay. He was shrouded in darkness and enclosed by the spirit creatures, and all he could see of the world was the glitter of the stars overhead.
“I want to save him,” he said finally.
He sensed a murmur of approval and, once again, of expectation. It was the answer they were hoping for, yet one that promised results he did not fully comprehend.
He must shed his human skin. He must cast it aside forever. He must become like us, all of one thing and none of the other. If he does this, the poison cannot hurt him. He will live.
Cast off his human skin? Bek was not sure what he was being told, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t dismiss out of hand any offer that might save Truls. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
Give us permission to make him one of us.
Bek shook his head quickly. “I can’t do that. I have to ask him if that’s what he wants. I don’t have the right—”
He cannot hear you. He is lost in his sickness. He will die before he can give you an answer. There is no time. You must decide for him.
“Why do you need my permission?” Bek was suddenly frantic. “What difference does it make what I say?”
The whispers and movement stopped, and the night went completely still. Bek froze in place and held his breath like a man about to jump from a very high place.
A human must make this choice. It is his human side we would destroy. There is no one else but you. You said you were his friend. You said you would give up your life for him and he would give up his life for you. Should we make a place in the world for him? You must decide.
Bek exhaled sharply. “You have to tell me what will become of him. If I tell you to do this, whatever it is, if I give you my permission, what will become of Truls?”
There was a long pause.
He will become one with us, a part of us.
Bek stared. “What does that mean?”
We are one. We are a community. No one of us lives apart from the others. He would be joined.
Bek felt every bit a boy in that instant, a boy who had ventured out into the world and gotten himself into such trouble that he would never see home again. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn’t do this. He was being asked to save Truls, but he was also being asked to change him irrevocably. By saving Truls, he would transform him into something else completely—a communal creature, no longer separate and apart, but a part of a whole. What would that be like? Would Truls want this, even to save his life? How could Bek possibly know?
He stood there, adrift in a sea of profound uncertainty, knowing he was being offered the only choice available and hating that it was his to make. Truls Rohk had never been at peace in the world. He had been an outcast all his life with few friends and no family or home. He was an aberration created through forbidden breeding, a freak of nature that had never belonged. What place there was for him, he had made for himself. Maybe he would be better off changed into one of the spirit creatures, a part of a family and community at last. Maybe he would be happier.
But maybe not.
Bek wanted Truls to live—wanted it desperately—but not if the price was too high. How could he measure that?
Tell us your decision.
Bek closed his eyes. A chance at life was worth any price, too precious to give up for any reason. He could not know how this would turn out; he could not determine what Truls Rohk would do if he were able. He could do for Truls only what Bek would want done for himself in the same situation. He could fall back only on what he believed to be right.
“Save him,” he said quietly.
There was a sudden rush of movement from the shape-shifters, an odd hissing that turned into a sigh. The wall of bodies that had gathered about him opened, and the darkness cleared to reveal the fire still blazing in front of his sister.
Go back to her. Sit with her and wait. When morning comes, take her and go into the mountains. You will find what you are looking for there. Do not fear for your safety. Do not worry about those who follow. They shall not pass.
Dark forms changed into the bristling monsters he had seen once before, terrible apparitions that could smash a life with barely a thought, things that existed in nightmares. They hovered close for an instant, their smell washing over him, their raw presence reinforcing the promise they had made.
Go.
He did as he was told, not yet at peace with himself, unable to gain the reassurance he sought. He could not bear to consider too closely what he had done. He did not want to ponder the result because he was afraid he might recognize something he had not considered and did not want to face. He went back to the warmth and comfort of the fire, s
eating himself next to Grianne, taking her hands in his and holding them while he stared into the flames. He did not look back at the shape-shifters, did not try to see where they went or what they did. He would not have been able to do so anyway, because his eyes could not penetrate the darkness beyond the firelight.
He stared instead at Grianne and tried to make himself believe that she had been worth everything that had happened—that saving her was not a Druid’s whim or a brother’s false hope, but a necessary act that would result in something more important and far-reaching than the losses it had caused.
After a time, he fell asleep. His dreams were vivid and charged with emotion, and they ranged across the length and breadth of his life. In them, Quentin reappeared to him, working on an ash bow, red hair hanging loose and easy, strong face cocky and smiling, laughter bright with reassurance. Coran and Liria looked in on him as he slept, and he could hear them speak of him with ambition and pride. The company of the Jerle Shannara filed past him one by one as he stood at the edge of a forest, and then Rue Meridian stepped away long enough to come over to him and touch his face with cool fingers that swept away thoughts of everything but her.
Finally, Walker stood looking down at him from a castle rampart, from a place that looked vaguely familiar. Truls Rohk stood next to him, then faded into a disembodied voice that whispered to him to be strong, to be steadfast, to remember always how alike they were. He was different than Bek remembered him, and after a moment Bek knew that it was because Truls was no longer a halfling, but a true shape-shifter. He was one with his new family, with his community, with the world that had given him a second chance at life. There was a sense of completion about him, of having found a peace that he had never known before.
Bek watched and listened to a box of empty space, to a wall of darkness, hanging on the other’s words as if to a lifeline, and the peace that Truls had found settled over him, as well.