by Terry Brooks
“But you think they’re dead, don’t you? Crace Coram and Oriantha. What’s going to happen when she finds out?”
“I’m not so sure either of them is dead, Redden. But knowing is necessary before she will agree to give up the search.” She gave him a long look. “I know you want to go back. I know you worry for your brother. I worry for him and for the others, too. But until we know there is nothing more we can do for our missing friends, we can’t quit looking. We owe them that.”
They marched on through the twilight until Khyber Elessedil brought them to a halt on a broad, open rise that gave them a clear view of everything approaching from all directions.
“We’ll spend the night here. Three on watch, three asleep in four-hour shifts. We won’t be caught by surprise again. Pleysia, I can see by your face that you want to continue on. But it is too dangerous to go farther this day. We don’t know enough about what’s hunting out there. We’ll wait until morning.”
“Waiting is a mistake,” Pleysia snapped. “Morning may come too late for us to be of any use to my daughter or the Dwarf.”
“We won’t be of much use if we are dead or crippled, either.”
Pleysia stared out at the sweep of the land south. “I could go on alone. You could catch up to me in the morning.”
The Ard Rhys shook her head. “We agreed to stay together. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
They sat down on the rise and ate their meager dinner, their eyes scanning the horizon, watchful of shadows, uneasy with the growing dark. In the lengthy silences, they tightened their resolve and prepared themselves for how they would confront the hours ahead. No one had put the events of the previous night entirely in the past, and no one expected to sleep well.
When the meal was finished and the darkness was complete—the sky so overcast with haze you could barely see in front of your nose—Pleysia and two of the Trolls rolled into their blankets while the Ard Rhys, Redden, and the other Troll took the first watch.
In the distance, something cried out—a long and mournful wail—and the echo seemed to linger through the hours that followed. Time drifted. Redden’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and he found he could see better than he had imagined as he sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his blanket wrapped about him to ward off the chill. Once, a small creature approached, getting close enough to him that he could just make out its features. It looked like a lizard—maybe a foot long, covered with spikes. Its body was supple and lean, its eyes gleaming as it studied him. It was there and then gone again, vanished as if it were a ghost. He stared at the space it had occupied for a long time afterward, waiting for it to reappear. He had a faint memory of having seen it—or one just like it—the night before. He had caught a glimpse of it just after the attack by the giant insects, and then it had skittered away, a flash of movement in the darkness. He remembered it now and was certain his memory was not playing games with him.
When his watch ended and he lay down to sleep, he knew the effort was a waste of time. He was too awake, too nervous. He could not possibly sleep this night.
But then he did, and when he woke it was morning and something was prodding his leg. He glanced down and found the lizard nudging him with its horn-encrusted head. It would move close, poke at him once or twice, and then withdraw, waiting a moment before repeating the action. When it saw it had succeeded in getting his attention, it backed off just a little farther than he could reach and crouched down, watching him.
That was when he saw the second creature. This one was bigger and had the look of a Spider Gnome, although it was clearly something else. It was sitting cross-legged about a dozen yards away, its elongated arms folded in like wings, its body hunched forward with its head cocked. Patches of coarse black hair sprouted from leathery skin, and its face was crisscrossed with wrinkles. It wore plain clothing decorated with colored thread; clusters of feathers and knots of what appeared to be bones were sewn to the fabric. Even sitting, it seemed disproportionate, as if its arms and legs were too long for its body and its head too small.
Redden raised himself up on his elbow and looked around. The others were all asleep—even those who were supposed to be on watch.
Except for Pleysia. She wasn’t even there.
The Spider Gnome look-alike made a short hissing sound and the lizard prodding Redden bolted away—a blur of motion until it reappeared at the watcher’s side. The creature reached down with bony fingers to pet the lizard, then looked up at the boy and smiled, revealing a mouthful of sharp white teeth.
Redden sat all the way up, eyes locked on the creature and its pet lizard. The creature didn’t appear threatening, and a quick look around revealed that it was alone. Redden didn’t miss the curved, serrated blades it carried—two shoved in a leather belt at its waist and a third, much longer knife slung over one shoulder on a strap—but it showed no interest in using either.
“Mistress,” Redden called softly to the Ard Rhys.
She came awake at once, pulling off her blanket and sitting up, her eyes looking where he was pointing. She took a moment to count heads, obviously noting the absence of Pleysia, and then she moved over to sit next to him.
The creature said something to them, but it was in a language the boy didn’t recognize. She shook her head at it, and the creature’s smile broadened.
“You are not Jarka Ruus?” it asked her in broken Elfish. “You are not of the free peoples, the ca’rel orren pu’u?”
Jarka Ruus. The name given to those imprisoned by the Forbidding. She shook her head. “No.”
“Then you don’t belong here. Why are you come?”
“We came by mistake. Through the wall of the Forbidding. What are you?”
The creature shrugged. “An Ulk Bog. What do you think I am?” The sharp eyes brightened. “Do you know of us?”
Khyber Elessedil nodded slowly. “I knew of another Ulk Bog. One from a long time ago. His name was Weka Dart.”
“Ha!” The creature clapped its hands in glee. “At last! You are the one I have been waiting for.”
“No, I don’t …”
“For very long. For years. I wait for so long!” The Ulk Bog talked right over her. “All through years after my uncle passes to other side, long since. I have wait and wait. Now you return, finally! You! I know of you! Your story, your name, your history, I know all!” It released a deep, explosive breath. “You are Straken Queen!”
For long seconds, there was a shocked silence. Then Khyber Elessedil held up her hands in a gesture of denial. “Wait. Your uncle was Weka Dart?”
The Ulk Bog danced to its feet, quick and lively. “Yes, yes! Do you remember him?”
“Only from the stories I was told. I am not the one who came here before. I am not the one your uncle knew. That was a different woman, one who served as Ard Rhys before me. Not a Straken or a Straken Queen, but an Ard Rhys. We are not witches. We are Druids. This other woman, the one your uncle knew. Her name was Grianne Ohmsford?”
“That was her name!” The Ulk Bog darted closer, crouched, and cocked its head. “Why do you say it isn’t you?”
The Trolls were awake now, standing behind Khyber and Redden and staring at this strange creature. Since they didn’t speak much Elfish, they had no idea what was going on.
“Grianne Ohmsford is gone. I am her successor. I have never been inside the Forbidding before now. I have never met Weka Dart.”
The Ulk Bog looked unconvinced. “You are described to me. It must be you! You have Straken magic. You know of Weka Dart. Of the Jarka Ruus. Why do you lie?”
“No, she isn’t Grianne Ohmsford,” Redden interjected impulsively. “I would know. Grianne Ohmsford was my great-grandfather’s sister. We are family. This isn’t her.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Redden Ohmsford knew he had made a mistake. The look that flashed across the Ulk Bog’s face was of anger as black as demon’s blood. It appeared and was instantly gone again. The boy saw it—or maybe he just thought he sa
w it because he felt it so strongly—reflected in the creature’s eyes and in a twisting of its features.
“Who are you?” the Ulk Bog asked, the words a soft hiss. “What is your name?”
“Redden Ohmsford.”
“Ohmsford. Of the family of the Straken Queen?”
“Of the …” He stopped himself, angered he was suddenly feeling so intimidated. “Who are you?”
The creature smiled, revealing all its teeth. “Tesla Dart is my name.” The smile vanished. “What are you doing in the land of Jarka Ruus?”
“Trying to get out!” Redden snapped.
“Trying to find two of our friends,” the Ard Rhys corrected, putting a warning hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We are here by accident. I told you before. We came through a breach in the wall we didn’t know was there, and it closed behind us. Now we are trapped.”
The Ulk Bog scooted back a few feet, his eyes darting left and right. “I think you lie. There are no others. Only the woman who left during the night.”
Pleysia. “Did you see which way she went?” the Ard Rhys asked.
Tesla Dart pointed south. Of course, Redden thought. Still searching for Oriantha. Going it alone.
“How long have you been tracking us?” the Ard Rhys pressed.
The Ulk Bog looked angry. He yanked on a patch of black hair in irritation. “Why do you ask stupid questions? I don’t track you. I don’t have to. My Chzyks do so for me. This one”—he gestured to the lizard—“is called Lada. He tracks you. He was there last night when you fought the Mantis Styx.” He gestured at Redden. “This one saw him.”
The boy glanced at the Ard Rhys. “He’s right. I did see him. Right after we were attacked. I forgot about it until I woke just now and found him poking at me.”
Tesla Dart nodded. “He watches you fight. Sees you and comes to tell me of it. Brings me here so we can talk.” He scrunched up his face. “But you are not who I thought? You are sure?”
“You’ve never seen Grianne Ohmsford, have you?”
“No. But I hear the stories. From Weka Dart. He tells me. You have magic like hers. You can do what she could. You are a Straken. Perhaps a Straken Queen, even if you say you are not. Lada knows this. So he tells me.”
“Wait,” Redden said, jumping in. “You can speak with Lada? But how did Lada find us? How did he even know we were here?”
Tesla Dart looked confused. “The Chzyks are a community. The community shares. One knows, all know.”
“And communicate with you,” the Ard Rhys surmised. “How many Chzyks are there?”
“Many. Everywhere. One saw you come through the wall and told me. Lada went to find you and told me. I am looking for you a long time, but now you are not the right one.”
“You were looking for Grianne Ohmsford? How long were you looking?”
Tesla Dart’s wizened face turned away in disgust. “Forever.”
“Why would you do that?”
The Ulk Bog jumped to his feet and danced away. “I can help you, if you want. Like Weka, I track. Nothing escapes once I begin to search. You want to find your friends? Missing friends? Ask me!”
His dark face was bright and animated; he appeared eager to demonstrate his worth. He hissed at Lada, and the Chzyk raced over, leapt onto his arm, and scurried up to his shoulder. Together Ulk Bog and Chzyk waited for a response.
Khyber Elessedil hesitated. “You can find them for us?”
“Ha!” the Ulk Bog shrilled, dropping once more into a crouch. “Tesla Dart can find anything! Lada!”
He made a series of hissing sounds to the lizard creature, and Lada responded in kind. Then the Chzyk flashed away, tearing out across the flats south and disappearing from view.
“You see? Lada goes to find them. When he does, he will return to tell me. We can start walking now.”
He turned and began to follow the Chzyk, not bothering to look back at them. Redden and the Ard Rhys exchanged a look, and then Khyber called after the Ulk Bog to wait long enough to let them gather up their things. She spoke to her Druid Guard, who hastened to do as she asked. It took the members of the little company only minutes before they were ready.
But then Tesla Dart returned to them, leached of animation and excitement, suddenly serious. “What we do is very dangerous,” he said quietly. “In the land of the Jarka Ruus, you are trespassers and not welcome. You understand, do you?”
Khyber nodded. “This country is treacherous …”
“No! No! Not this country!” The Ulk Bog was suddenly angry. “Not to an Ulk Bog. Not to a tracker of my skill.” He took a step closer. “Tael Riverine!”
The Straken Lord. Khyber Elessedil had heard the stories from Grianne Ohmsford. Redden had heard them from his grandfather Pen when he was only five or six. The land of the Jarka Ruus was ruled by Tael Riverine, and all of its creatures, great and small, were his subjects. He had captured and imprisoned Grianne Ohmsford more than a century ago when she was trapped in the Forbidding, and he had very nearly killed her before she managed to escape.
“If he finds out you are here …” Tesla Dart trailed off, making a curious twisting motion with one finger pressed up against his neck. It was hard to mistake what he meant by it.
“Then we must be careful,” the Ard Rhys finished.
“You must be quick!” the Ulk Bog hissed. “Ar kallen rus’ta!”
“We still have to find a way out again. We have to get back to where we came from. Can you help us?”
The Ulk Bog shrugged. “A way out is no problem. Not to me. I know many ways out.”
Redden stared. Was this so? Was the Forbidding eroded so badly they could cross through it anywhere? He glanced at the Ard Rhys and could tell she was wondering the same thing. For the Forbidding to fail, the magic that sustained it must be completely compromised. But that happened only when the Ellcrys was dying and in need of rebirth. It had been hundreds of years since the last time, and there had been no word of a diminishment in the Elven magic, no word of the Ellcrys showing signs of sickness. Wouldn’t the Druids have heard about this before setting out? Yet the Ard Rhys seemed as surprised and confused as he was. Something was wrong with all of this.
“Stand around long enough,” Tesla Dart snapped, “and the Straken Lord will have no trouble finding you. Everything that lives in the land of the Jarka Ruus will want to tell him. Will you help them?”
The Ard Rhys shook her head. “Take us to our friends, Tesla Dart.”
The Ulk Bog smiled, and all those sharp teeth reappeared.
7
With Tesla Dart leading the way, the little company set off south in search of Crace Coram and Oriantha. They kept an eye out for the missing Pleysia, as well, thinking they might at least cross her trail. But they lacked a true Tracker to read whatever sign had been left, and while they searched diligently they found no trace of her passing. The country remained barren and wasted, a combination of hardpan and scrub interspersed with groves of withered trees and patches of swamp. At times, they skirted fissures in the ground that disappeared into darkness and stretches of broken rock that looked to have been pushed up through the earth in cataclysmic upheavals. There were no signs of life save for things distant and indistinct that the Ulk Bog mostly ignored.
That changed when, several hours into their march, he brought them to a hurried halt and ordered them all to crouch down and remain perfectly still. Redden peered out from the cover of the broken rise behind which they all hid and watched a swarm of creatures with cat faces and sleek, supple bodies lope across the plains west, dozens moving together in an undulating mass. Separately, they seemed small and vulnerable. But as a pack they had a dangerous look to them.
When the boy asked Tesla Dart afterward what they were, he smiled his toothy smile and said, “Furies.”
They spied many other creatures after that: ogres, Goblins, Wights, Harpies, and things that Redden had never even heard mentioned before. Everything seemed to be hunting, and none of them seemed too part
icular about what they found. Some scoured the land alone and some did so in packs. Now and then, the company came upon hunters absorbed in eating prey they had caught. Twice, they watched killings take place. Much of their traveling time was spent hiding in plain sight, crouching down and not moving until the danger was past. All of it was vaguely surreal, backdropped by a setting in which everything already seemed half dead and flattened by a sky that was hazy and dark and pressed down upon the earth like an anvil. The stench of death was everywhere, animal and vegetable alike—the world a giant cairn in which everything born into it was already on its way to dying.
As he walked through this grim wilderness, Redden found himself repeating the same words over and over.
I just want to get out of here. I just want to go home.
“They are called the Jarka Ruus, but the meaning for them is not the same as it is for us,” Khyber offered at one point while they were walking together. Tesla Dart had scurried on ahead and was out of hearing. “Jarka Ruus for them means ‘the free peoples.’ For us, as recorded in the Druid Histories, it means ‘the banished peoples.’ They have never accepted that they are anything but creatures tragically wronged by us, put here in this prison of magic for no reason other than being different. Grianne told me of this when she returned. She said no one would ever be able to persuade them otherwise.”
“How did she manage to survive this place?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “She wouldn’t talk of it.”
“I wouldn’t either, I guess.”
“She was aided by Weka Dart after she was taken prisoner by the Straken Lord. He helped her get free and find a way back to where she had come into the Forbidding. He probably saved her life by doing so. I seem to remember that he wanted her to do something for him in return, but I don’t know what it was. In the end, she left him behind and returned with your grandfather, then took Paranor back from Shadea a’Ru and the rebel Druids who had aided her in seizing control.”
“And then she disappeared,” he finished.
“She entrusted the Druid order to me and those who had survived the war with me. She abdicated her position as Ard Rhys and went away with Penderrin, and no one ever saw her again.” Khyber Elessedil glanced over. “Did your grandfather ever tell you what became of her?”
