by Terry Brooks
Her father studied her face without speaking for a moment, then rose and walked to the window. With his back to her, he said, “I know you pretty well, Phryne, and I think maybe there is something else at work here. Is there?”
She hesitated, her mind racing. He expected an answer, but she couldn’t give him the one he was looking for. “You’re right, Father,” she said, making it sound like a reluctant admission. “There is something more. I thought I might not have to tell you everything; some things I like to keep to myself. But in this case maybe that’s not best. So I will tell you. It is this boy, the one from Glensk Wood.”
Her father turned back from the window. “What about him?”
“There’s something different about him. I don’t know what it is, but I want to find out. This is the best way. Here, in the city, that’s difficult. He is aware that he is an outsider. He sees how everyone treats me. But in the mountains, I think it will be different. I think I will be able to tell more about him. I want to do that.”
It was a game she had played with him all of her life. When she didn’t want him to know her reasons exactly, she would give him a variation that contained just enough truth to make him believe.
“You’ve met him before this, haven’t you?”
“Once, some time back.” She was making it all up as she went, enjoying the game. “Don’t you think I’m old enough for this?”
“A father never thinks a daughter is old enough for anything,” he said. “Nor do I want to know what you mean when you ask that question.” He shook his head. “You’ve grown up so quickly. I didn’t really see it. I think I was somewhere else when it happened. If your mother were here …”
He trailed off, then suddenly smiled at her. “She would be very proud at the way you’ve turned out. All right, Phryne. You’re old enough that you don’t need me to tell you how to live your life. Go with your cousins and this boy.”
She walked over to him and gave him a hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” She hesitated. “I’ve got one more request of you. I would like you to promise me that you won’t speak of this to anyone until we return. Not even Isoeld.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her back from him so he could look her in the eye. “Why do you mention Isoeld, Phryne?”
“Not Isoeld, especially. I didn’t say that. I said ‘not even Isoeld’ because she is closest to you. I’m asking that you speak of it to no one at all. The boy and the girl from Glensk Wood are here in spite of their own people. You know of the Children of the Hawk? Well, their Seraphic has forbidden them from coming here. But they came anyway. Their friendship with my cousins means something to them. Do you understand?”
“I think so. You would keep their presence a secret from those who would object to it?”
“Exactly. I don’t want to be the one responsible for revealing the extent of their defiance of the leader of the sect. I’ve told you because I trust your discretion.”
“But not Isoeld’s?”
“You are my father.”
He studied her face a moment, and she could read nothing in his dark eyes. Slowly, he nodded. “Fair enough. You have my word.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “This expedition—it isn’t dangerous, is it? You aren’t keeping anything from me? I wouldn’t agree to this if I thought there might be any risk involved.”
She had no idea if there was risk of any sort, but she hoped so. A little bit, at least. Of course, she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’ll be safe. The twins will look after me.”
He nodded. “I’ll leave it at that, then. But be certain you tell them I intend to hold them accountable if anything bad happens. Sometimes those two can be reckless, and I don’t want them being so here.”
She gave him her most reassuring smile. “You know I wouldn’t do anything reckless.”
A bigger lie had never been told, but her father wanted to believe her so it was left at that.
THIRTEEN
THE LITTLE COMPANY FROM ARBORLON SET OUT shortly after dawn on the following morning, heading west and north toward the towering peaks that cradled Aphalion Pass. They traveled down off the heights and back onto the lowland lake country of Eldemere that Pan and Prue had traversed on their way to the Elves, angling north across the upper stretches of the meres. The weather had changed during the night, clouds moving back in from the rim of the valley, leaving the sky overcast and the light gray and hazy. A thin mist was falling as they set out, and their clothing was soon layered in damp droplets that sparkled like tiny gemstones.
Panterra Qu breathed in the clear, sweet smell of the early-morning air, fresh with the taste of earth and plants pungent with the ripeness of new life. He was clearheaded and well rested after a good night’s sleep, excited by the prospect of exploring the pass and encouraged by Phryne Amarantyne’s success with her father. She walked beside him now, her angular face bright with expectation, her eyes shifting from place to place, taking everything in. She had an economical gait, a measured way of walking that demonstrated she had hiked long distances before and knew how to conserve her energy. He liked the way she had refused to allow anyone to help her with her backpack, but insisted on carrying it herself. She had also made it clear that she would share in all the chores and tasks, would stand watch when it was needed, and would appreciate it if they called her by her first name and not her royal title. She had also advised that she expected to stand with them before her father when they returned with whatever information they were able to cull from their investigation, good or bad.
Clearly, she meant to be an equal member of their company and to do her own heavy lifting, figuratively and metaphorically.
He caught her smiling at him. “What?” he asked, smiling back.
“I was just thinking of what I told my father to persuade him to allow me to make this trip with you.”
“Tell me. You haven’t said a word to anyone about how you managed it.”
She shrugged. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
“I would,” he insisted. “I think you must have been very clever.”
She gave him a look that suggested she thought he might be making fun of her. Then she seemed to decide otherwise. “All right. I told him I wanted to come because of you. I said I wanted to know more about you, that you were interesting. But I said you were not comfortable among the Elves and would reveal little while in Arborlon. Away from the city, up in the mountains with just the five of us, you might be more relaxed.”
It was his turn to study her. “You told him I was interesting? He must have been curious about me after that. What else did you say to him?”
She laughed. “Not much. I just told him you were interesting. I hope it turns out to be true. It would be a shame if I had to admit I was wrong.”
He couldn’t quite read how she meant that, but he felt the gentle nudge of her teasing. She was testing him. Why would she do that? “I guess I don’t want to be the one to prove you wrong. But I don’t think I’m the best judge of whether or not I’m interesting.”
“No, of course not,” she agreed. “I have to decide that for myself. Oh, I also told him you were here in spite of express orders not to come. I told him the Children of the Hawk did not approve of Elves, but that you cared more for your friendship with Tasha and Tenerife than you did for the disapproval of the sect.”
“That much is certainly true.” He wondered if she actually knew about his problems with Skeal Eile and the sect. Tasha might have said something, but that wasn’t like Tasha. “I’m not really in any trouble.”
“Well, my father doesn’t need to know that. He just needs to know not to say or do anything that will cause you some.”
They walked on in silence for a time, heads lowered against a gusting wind that had begun blowing down out of the mountains. Tasha was in the lead, his broad frame acting as a windbreak for the rest of them as they wound their way through the tangle of the meres. Tenerife walked beside Prue, talking to her in low tones, his
eyes on his brother’s back. Both Elves were heavily armed with javelins, longbows, hunting knives, and short swords. They carried small bags of throwing stars, as well, and daggers stuffed in their boots. He and Prue, on the other hand, carried only their longbows and knives. Phryne didn’t seem to be carrying any sort of weapon. All five shouldered bedrolls, food, extra clothing, and medicines stuffed in backpacks.
The Elven Princess dropped back momentarily, apparently having lost interest in their conversation, but then suddenly she moved up next to him again, closer now than before, her eyes on his face. “Tell me something interesting about yourself.”
He looked over at her to see if she was joking. “What sort of something?”
“Something I might not learn on my own without knowing you better than I do. Something no one else knows. Something about the sort of person you are. Maybe about why you’re a Tracker and not a mushroom hunter or a farmer.”
She looked at him expectantly, and he laughed. “If I were a mushroom hunter or a farmer, I would starve to death.” He furrowed his brow. “Besides, there’s not much of anything about me that Prue doesn’t know already. So you might have to live with sharing any insights I offer.”
“How did the two of you become so close, Pan? She’s not related to you, is she?”
He shook his head. “No, we just grew up together, played together when we were little because we lived next door to each other. Our families were friends. We had the same interests, liked the same things. Being outside and exploring was what mattered to us.” He smiled, thinking back on it. “She was special.”
“Tasha says she can sense danger before she sees it. Before anyone sees it. Is that so?”
“It is. She’s always had that gift.”
“A useful gift. What’s yours?”
“Maybe I don’t have one.” He shrugged. “I’m not anyone special, Phryne. I’m just someone who likes being a Tracker.”
She linked her arm in his, pulling them close. “I don’t think that’s so, and I’m not usually wrong about these things. There is something different about you; I sensed it right away. I see the way my cousins defer to you at times, how they look to see what your response might be. I see how they talk to you. They think you’re special. Tell me why.”
He gave her a grin. “There isn’t anything to tell.”
“Tell me, Pan.”
She wasn’t going to give up. He sighed. “I’m good at tracking.”
“Better than good, perhaps?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Better than good. I can find sign where no one else can. I can sense it sometimes. I don’t know why it is, but just like Prue knows of danger she can’t see, I know of sign I can’t see. I guess it’s instinct.”
She released his arm and went back to walking at his side without touching him. He missed it right away. “Tasha was right about you,” she said. “You are more Elf than human. You should be one of us.”
They walked on, stopping finally at midday for lunch at the edge of one of the larger meres, sitting on a grassy patch and watching the big fishing birds swoop and glide above the surface of the waters. They talked a little about what they were going to do when they got up into the mountains and reached Aphalion Pass, but mostly Tasha told stories, although Tenerife, who had heard them all before, was less enthralled than the others.
“Everyone knows about Kirisin Belloruus,” Tasha said, beginning a fresh story as lunch was ending and the last of the ale was being consumed. “At least, everyone who is an Elf or has made even a cursory study of Elven history. He was the spiritual leader of the Elves when they came into this valley, the founder of the practice of accepting a commitment from birth on to maintaining and healing the land, and dedicated to the restoration of ancient magic lost sometime after the end of Faerie. He was the seminal force behind the Elven nation’s evolution for many years. They say he’d made a pact with the shades of our ancestors to recover the lost arts and practices, which in large part had been forgotten. But who present knows of his sister?”
Tenerife raised his hand. “Besides you, enlightened one,” Tasha amended. “And Phryne, of course. Who else?”
Neither Panterra nor Prue knew anything at all about a sister, although both had heard the story of Kirisin Belloruus countless times.
“Her name was Simralin, wasn’t it?” Phryne offered.
“It was.” Tasha beamed at her as a teacher might an exceptionally bright student, although Pan suspected that as the daughter of the King, she was at least as well versed as Tasha in Elven history. “A forgotten figure to some extent, but an equally important one. She was older than he was and something of a warrior. She fought against the demons and their minions countless times and helped in the recovery of what up until then had been the missing Elfstones.”
“Aren’t they still missing?” Phryne interrupted.
“The blue ones, the seeking-Stones, yes,” Tasha agreed. “Although the Loden Elfstone remains in the possession of the royal family, as you well know.” He gave her a look. “Can I finish my story now? Because it deals with that very subject.”
He waited for her nod, and then continued. “She fell in love with a Knight of the Word, from the old order, one of the last. When they found their way here, she bound herself to him in the Elven way, and they lived together until he died. She took his staff then and gave it to his son. It was said that he instructed her to do so when he was gone, and so she did. His son, in turn, passed it on, and so things proceeded for generations until it was destroyed. Do you know how it was destroyed?”
Tenerife, who had poured himself a second cup of ale, shook his head in dismay. “Just tell the story and get on with things, Tasha,” he admonished. “We have to be going.”
Tasha ignored him. “It was destroyed in a struggle between the descendants of the only two Knights of the Word known to have survived the Great Wars and made it safely into the valley. One was an Elf, the other a human. Apparently, they knew each other well and had even liked each other. But something triggered a deep-seated and long-lasting dispute between the descendants, the source of which has been forgotten over time. In the ensuing battle, the human prevailed. The Elf was killed and his staff shattered in the bargain.”
He paused. “The Gray Man now carries the remaining staff. It was his predecessor who fought the Elf who bore the other.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” Panterra said, thinking anew of his encounter with Sider Ament. “How long ago was this?”
“Twenty years, at least.” Tasha Orullian shrugged. “It’s not well known outside the Elven royal family. Even they never talk about it. It’s rumored that Sider Ament witnessed the struggle and took the last staff from the hands of his predecessor, who died in the battle, as well.”
There was a long silence as his listeners mulled over the details of his story. “What about the blue Elfstones?” Prue asked.
“The blue Elfstones were in the possession of the descendants of Kirisin and Simralin Belloruus and could be traced through the first four centuries of our time in this valley. But a hundred years ago, they disappeared again. Someone took them.”
“Supposedly,” Phryne interrupted suddenly. “No one knows for sure. Isn’t that so, Tasha?”
“It is. So you’ve heard the story?”
She shrugged, made a dismissive gesture. “It’s just a story, a myth. Except for the parts about the Elfstones being missing and the last staff being in the hands of Sider Ament, which everyone knows, it’s all speculation. No one was there to witness the battle between the bearers of the staffs, or when the Elfstones disappeared.”
“Tasha and I heard the story from our grandfather years ago, but admittedly he wasn’t the most reliable source,” Tenerife cut in. “Tasha just likes it because it’s strange.”
His brother got to his feet abruptly. “As you say, it’s just a story, Phryne. No need to question it. Anyway, it’s time to be going. Enough of stories for now.”
They packed up their gea
r and set out anew, striding off into the mistiness of Eldemere, heading toward the mountains north and Aphalion Pass.
XAC WEN WAS TRYING for what must have been the thousandth time to restring a bow that was several sizes too big for him, an effort that was generating new levels of frustration, when the old lady hobbled into view. Xac was sitting outside his cottage home, propped up on a stool, the bow clutched between his knees as he struggled to bring the loose end of the bowstring to the notch. He wouldn’t have put so much into doing this if the bow hadn’t belonged to his father, who had been killed when Xac was only four. The bow had been given to him by his mother as a gift to remember his father by. The boy remembered his father well enough anyway, a tall, kindly man with great patience and a decided lack of good sense, which was the reason he had gotten himself killed, choosing a thunderstorm to go looking for his missing dog. He found the dog, but a bolt of lightning found him. He died instantly, they said, didn’t suffer, an unfortunate accident, but all Xac knew was that once you were dead you weren’t coming back, so what did it matter how you died?
The old woman drew his attention immediately. She was stooped over and shuffling like she might not be too far off from joining his father in the world of shades. She was clothed in layers of blouses and skirts and scarves and such, a woman who apparently dressed without knowing when to stop. A cloth sack bundled full of something loose and soft was clutched under one arm, a change of clothes, perhaps. He stopped trying to do anything with the bow when he saw that she was making directly for him and instead set down his work and stood up.
“Good day, young man,” the old lady greeted him, her voice high and querulous. “Is your name Xac Wen?”
Xac almost said no. The old lady was just this side of scary, a crone all the way from the frizzled tips of her thick black hair, where it escaped the scarf that was trying futilely to bind it, to the tips of her worn boots, the leather cracked and the iron-shod tips scuffed and worn. She barely looked at him as she spoke, her head lowered like a supplicant’s, her eyes flicking up just momentarily to take him in before shifting away again. One mottled hand gestured at him like a claw.
