The Dark Legacy of Shannara Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Terry Brooks

  It would have been the end of all of them if not for Redden. Still shaken from the blow the witch had given him, he struggled to his feet, clutching the red Elfstones. He ignored the dark flicker of recognition, warning him of what he was about to risk—of the danger and the likely cost. The threat from the witch was immediate and he had no time to think, only to act.

  Combining both forms of magic in the same way he had when facing Tarwick and his hunters in the underground caverns of the Kroat Abyss, he struck out. A brilliant stream of red fire burst from his clenched hands and washed over the witch until she was encapsulated. She fought to break the magic’s casing, but it was thick and strong and refused to be dispelled. Redden could feel her efforts in his own body, the ripples of her power washing back through the stream of scarlet light in wild reverberations. But he held fast, even when he felt the dissipation begin. It was similar to what he had felt when he had drained the Catcher and his creatures down in the Kroat Abyss, yet different because the witch was a singular being. Ever so slowly, the essence of the witch began to drain from her ragged form, siphoned away by the magic of the Elfstones. Some of it was drawn into the Stones themselves and into their user. Redden gasped as the first painful sparks of the magic’s detritus reached him and began to fill his body. Shards of the witch’s shattered emotions and broken power washed through him, slashing like sharpened metal. He felt everything she did, all of her terrible rage and madness and despair, every savage and damaging belief and compromise she had embraced in becoming the Ilse Witch reborn.

  For a moment, it seemed to him that it would be too much. But in desperation, he tightened his hold on his fears and reinforced his determination. The power of his Elfstone magic surged, and within the haze he felt from the rawness of the pain assailing him, he heard the witch wraith howl in anguish. She twisted and writhed in an effort to break free, trying to use her own magic to stop what was happening to her.

  Redden remained steadfast, bleeding her, but an overpowering sensation of loss and emptiness filtered through him, a feeling of unwelcome invasion filling the void. Though he refused to ease back on the power of the crimson Stones, his mind was losing traction. The fury and power of the witch’s substance was filling him up and replacing his sense of identity and self. He tried to grasp something that would hold him in place, but the void was smooth and empty, and he felt himself sliding away.

  In the Gardens of Life, Arlingfant Elessedil’s alteration had begun. Aphenglow watched with both horror and amazement as her sister’s slender body began to bend and stretch, arms and body taking on a silvery cast. Limbs sprouted and grew long and crooked, arching out in all directions. Her legs merged and sprouted roots that worked their way deep into the earth. Layers of bark covered her skin, and scarlet leaves replaced her hair.

  Her face disappeared last, and Aphen could see from her expression that she was feeling no pain or discomfort but instead a kind of euphoria that transcended her fears and doubts, bringing her to her fate unafraid and accepting.

  When it was done, a new Ellcrys stood in place of the old at the crest of the rise, perfectly formed and unblemished, its silver bark and crimson leaves shining with sunlight and fluttering slightly in a suddenly fresh morning breeze.

  Aphenglow rose and walked up the rise to the Ellcrys reborn, placing her hands on the bark of the trunk and running them slowly across the smooth surface.

  “Arling, I’m here,” she whispered, her words graced with hope.

  Railing Ohmsford was conscious again. Shaking off the dizzying effects of the blow he had been struck, he pushed himself back to his feet. Mirai was screaming at him, her voice frantic.

  He saw his brother then. He just stood there staring at nothing, his body stilled, his outstretched arm wrapped in crimson light. The witch was on her knees but trying to stagger back to her feet, apparently recovering from whatever damage the Elfstones had done to her. In moments, she would be after them.

  “Run!” he yelled at Redden, grabbing him by the arm and turning him around.

  But Redden didn’t hear him. He didn’t seem even to notice him. He was staring at nothing, completely oblivious to what was happening around him, his face blank and his eyes fixed. The way he held himself let his brother and Mirai know instantly that he couldn’t make himself move. He appeared to be somewhere else entirely, unaware of what was happening. Whatever was wrong with him, it was deep and abiding.

  Railing glanced down to where his brother’s right hand was curled into a fist, still holding the crimson Elfstones.

  “He used them on the witch,” Mirai exclaimed. “In combination with the wishsong!”

  Oriantha stumbled over to them, bloodied and streaked with dirt, but clear-eyed and apparently not seriously damaged. Together the three took Redden by his arms and hastened him back toward the Elven defenses, away from the thrashing, screaming masses of the Jarka Ruus. Already Elves were running from the mouth of the pass to reach them. Railing thought he saw Challa Nand, his huge figure distinctive among the smaller forms of the Elves. He saw Skint, too.

  Then he caught sight of someone else, a wiry creature with elongated arms and legs standing much closer than any of the others. The creature had both arms wrapped about a metal box, clutching it against its chest.

  “Who is that?” Mirai asked before he could get the question out.

  “Tesla Dart,” Oriantha said. They were practically dragging Redden. “An Ulk Bog from the Forbidding. She helped us get free.”

  Behind them, a roar went up from the enemy army, and Railing glanced over his shoulder to see the dragon lifting away. The enraged Jarka Ruus, freed of its presence, had recovered sufficiently to mount an attack and were swarming across the plains after them. The witch was upright, as well, and joining in the hunt.

  Railing and his companions tried to flee more quickly, but Redden’s movements remained wooden and uncoordinated. He was still not responding to them. He’s catatonic, Railing realized. He’s been rendered incapable of speech, movement, sight—of even knowing what is happening around him. He can’t do anything to help himself.

  Impatient and desperate, Oriantha moved in front of Redden and hoisted him onto her back. “I’ll carry him. Hurry!”

  Railing glanced over his shoulder once more. The creatures from the Forbidding were gaining on them. Even with Oriantha shouldering his brother’s weight, they would not be able to reach the pass and the protection of the Elves in time.

  “Get him into the airship!” he shouted.

  They turned toward the transport and the crooked figure of Tesla Dart, who was screaming at them unintelligibly and jumping up and down while holding the metal box.

  “Wait!” snapped Oriantha suddenly. “What’s happening?”

  She stopped where she was and began searching the sky. A hush had settled over the plains, sweeping eastward from out of the mountains warding the Rhenn and across the Streleheim and Tirfing onward into the rest of the Four Lands. It was as if every sound had been muffled and the whole of the world rendered silent. Railing, Mirai, and Oriantha all started talking at once, but their words could not be heard. Tesla Dart was still leaping about and shouting wildly, but they could not hear her, either. It was as if they were all screaming into a massive void. Even the Straken Lord’s army, slowed now in its charge across the plains by what they sensed was happening, had lost its collective voice.

  Then a wind rose from out of nowhere, coming from all directions, filling the silence with an enormous howl. Railing clutched Mirai against him, and they dropped to their knees. Oriantha lowered Redden’s inert form and crouched over him protectively. The wind was still gathering force, becoming a violent, dangerous presence—a whirlwind that turned the air dark and hazy, blew away the clouds, and shut out the sky.

  Seconds later the Jarka Ruus were pulled skyward, disappearing moments after their feet left the ground. One by one, they went into the ether. They ran wildly in all directions to escape what was happening, but there was no pl
ace to go and no time left.

  Railing realized at once what was taking place. He turned to Mirai and screamed it into the silence, but she couldn’t hear him. He watched as the dragon was caught up and carried away. He watched ogres and Furies and Goblins disappear. He witnessed the sudden vanishing of thousands of the creatures of the Straken Lord’s army.

  Even the witch wraith was not immune. Her choice to replace Tael Riverine as the Straken Lord and become one of the creatures of the Forbidding had doomed her, as well. She was snatched up and carried off into the blackness, screaming in fury and despair.

  Near the end of the terrible culling, he caught sight of Tesla Dart futilely trying to reach them. But then she, too, was caught up, still holding on to the metal box. Oriantha leapt up, abandoning Redden to run after the Ulk Bog, but she couldn’t reach her in time. Tesla Dart disappeared with a thrashing of arms and legs, still crying out, still fighting against what was happening, taking the Elfstones with her.

  34

  It was difficult even for those close to him to guess how Redden Ohmsford would have reacted if he had known the missing Elfstones were lost once again. He had suffered terribly during his time trapped within the Forbidding. He had watched his companions die one after another, become a prisoner of the Straken Lord at Kraal Reach, and been hauled back into the Four Lands as Tael Riverine’s pet. That he had gone once more into the Forbidding and thereby found the object of their initial search was a stunning triumph, and it had released him from a darkness of the mind that had threatened to undo him completely. It seemed as if he might be on the road to recovery, free of the past and of the madness that had been steadily overtaking him.

  But all that was rendered moot by what the combined magic of the Elfstones and wishsong had done to him during his battle with the witch wraith. He did not emerge from his catatonia, but remained locked away in a place that no one, not even his brother, could reach. Three days after the conclusion of the terrible struggle against the Jarka Ruus and in spite of the efforts of Elven Healers and the long, quiet pleadings of Railing and Mirai, he remained unchanged. He sat or stood as placed and did not move. He stared into the distance. He never spoke. He neither ate nor slept. He had to be cared for as the smallest baby would, unable to fend for himself. This was the price he had paid for saving them all in those final moments before Arling Elessedil transformed into the Ellcrys, restoring the Forbidding and returning its inhabitants to their prison.

  He would have felt badly about Tesla Dart’s fate, Oriantha said more than once to Railing. Worse about that, she suspected, than about the loss of the Elfstones. He would have hated that he had broken his promise to the Ulk Bog to keep her with them in the Four Lands, even though there had been no chance of doing so once the Forbidding was restored. But it was impossible to know for sure what his response would have been. It was just what she believed.

  Railing knew how he felt about the loss of the metal box and its Elfstones, however. He was glad they were gone. He was devastated by what had happened to his brother, and while he could not escape his own guilt about those events, he found reason to transfer a substantial portion of it to the talismans. After all, it was the search for the Stones that had triggered everything that followed. It was their magic that had brought about Redden’s current condition. They were the source of the power that had damaged him so badly, he might never recover.

  He knew this decisively, convinced himself it was so, and then reluctantly admitted he was lying. The truth was so much worse. He was the one who was responsible for what had happened to his brother. If he hadn’t been so set on bringing back Grianne Ohmsford, if he hadn’t been so convinced she was the answer to their problems, if his courage had been stronger, he would have undertaken Redden’s rescue by himself.

  Then, perhaps, things would have worked out differently.

  Or at least they wouldn’t have worked out as they had.

  He told all this to Mirai, but she brushed his concerns aside. Regret was useless, she declared. There was no way of knowing what would have happened if he had gone after Redden himself. Besides, the past never changed, and dwelling on it was pointless.

  He knew she was right. He told her so, and he promised to let it alone, but he couldn’t. No one was as close to Redden as he was. Everything that happened to one always had a direct impact on the other, and the more so because they were twins. They were inseparable parts of a whole, united in a way other siblings could never be. Having Redden locked down as he was, gone somewhere inside his head, was like becoming lost himself.

  They waited three days before setting out for Patch Run, and during that time Railing kept close watch on his brother, hoping against hope that he might show some sign of improvement. But nothing changed, and in the end he resolved to take Redden home as he was and confront his mother with the truth.

  Some of the others from the expedition had already left. Challa Nand had departed almost immediately, the first to head out.

  “Enough of this madness,” he had announced to the boy. “I don’t belong with you. Give me the wilderness and the mountains and no more searches for dead people who ought to stay dead. You did what you could, but some of it was ill advised.”

  He’d paused then, perhaps deciding he had gone too far, and added, “Take good care of your brother. Don’t give up hope.”

  Skint was a little kinder. “You couldn’t have known she would come back as she did. If your plans had fallen into place as you wanted them to, she would have returned as the Ard Rhys and done what you wished. Don’t waste time blaming yourself for something that was never your fault in the first place. You showed real courage more than once, Railing Ohmsford. I’m proud to have known you.”

  Crace Coram and Woostra stayed on, ostensibly for different reasons, but neither had much to say to Railing or Mirai. Even Aphenglow stayed away, but they understood why she might, given the loss of her sister and the destruction of the Druid order, and they didn’t blame her for being otherwise occupied.

  Yet on the day of their departure, she came to them and took Railing aside. “We’ve both lost someone we loved,” she said, “but that doesn’t have to be the end of it. We are luckier than most. We still have them close. Don’t be so sure your brother doesn’t hear you or realize you are there when you speak to him. Your brother might be in hiding, but he might also be trying to find his way back. Help him do that. Be there for him when he returns.”

  Railing nodded, almost in tears.

  “I wish I could have done more to speed him on his journey back to you, but for now at least it appears he is beyond anywhere my healing skills can reach. But I will come to you and try again soon, if you will let me.”

  “I would like that very much,” he said.

  “Then we have an agreement.”

  He smiled, hesitated. “I forgot to give you this until now, but I think you should have it. Oriantha gave it to me. Redden found it in the case where the Elfstones were hidden. He tucked it away in his pocket, and she remembered it was there when she helped bring him in from the battlefield.”

  He reached into his own pocket and brought out a folded slip of paper. “I tried reading it, but it is written in a language I don’t understand. Oriantha says you might be able to translate it.” He handed it to her. “If you can do so, will you remember to tell me what it says?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “When I come to see Redden, I will bring the note with me.”

  “I’m sorry about Arling,” he said suddenly, looking down at his feet.

  Aphenglow glanced at the note and slipped it into her pocket. “Thank you for saying so.” Then she stepped forward and hugged him. “You’ve been very brave, Railing. You and Redden both. What Allanon’s shade said to Khyber Elessedil proved to be true. We couldn’t have succeeded without your help.”

  She said that even though she wasn’t much older than he was, and her involvement hadn’t been any less crucial. He shook his head. “It doesn’t feel that way.�
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  She smiled. “Give it time.”

  Aphenglow sat with Seersha in her bedroom in the healing center—something she had been doing every day since her return to Arborlon. The Dwarf had drifted in and out of consciousness for the better part of a week, and there were times when it appeared she might not recover. But Seersha was strong of heart and body, and even the grievous wounds that Edinja Orle’s creature had inflicted on her were not enough to end her life.

  By now, a week had passed since the Ohmsford twins and Mirai had departed for home. Ellich Elessedil had been crowned King, and a much-needed stability had been restored to the Elven people. Phaedon was under care in a healing center, and it had become increasingly clear he might remain there for the rest of his days. His breakdown during the struggle between Seersha and the changeling seemed to have permanently unhinged him. Nothing the Elven Healers had done had helped him improve. The High Council had not needed to debate the question of succession once it was determined that Phaedon was not capable of ruling. Ellich, now absolved of any guilt concerning his brother’s death, was named King by rule of law and right of succession.

  “I’ve made a decision,” Aphen declared. “I’m not coming back to Paranor. I’m staying here.”

  “So you can be close to Arling,” Seersha said.

  Aphen nodded. “She gave up everything for me—for all of us. Now I have to give something back.”

  “In spite of what you know the Chosen will do for her?”

  “They can’t talk with her the way I can. Besides, I have to find a way to reconcile with Mother.”

  “Have you spoken with her since Arling’s transformation?”

  Aphen nodded. “Several times.”

  “Does she respond to you?”

  “Not yet. But she will, eventually. It will help if I stay close.”

  “Because that is what she has always wanted you to do. I see.”