Jerle Shannara 03 - Morgaw

by Brooks, Terry

  "She cannot harm us unless she uses her magic," he said quietly, not looking over at the other as they walked. He picked his way carefully through collapsed cables and chunks of concrete that had been shaken loose from the ceiling by an enormous blast and a quake that they had felt even aboveground. "She cannot use her magic unless she can use her voice. If we stop her from speaking or singing or making any sound whatsoever, we can take her prisoner."

  Truls Rohk slid through the shadows and flickering lights like a massive cat. "We can accomplish what's needed by just killing her. Give this up, boy. She isn't going to become your sister again. She isn't going to accept what she is."

  "If I can distract her, then you can get behind her," Bek continued, ignoring him. "Put your hands over her mouth and muffle her voice. You can do this if we can keep her from discovering you are there. I think it is possible. She will be intent on finding the Druid and dealing with me. She won't be looking for you."

  "You dream big dreams." Truls Rohk did not sound convinced. "If this fails, we won't get a second chance. Either one of us."

  Something heavy crashed to the floor of the passageway ahead, adding to the mounds of debris already collected. Steam hissed out of broken pipes, and strange smells gathered in niches and slid through cracks in the walls. Within the catacombs, every passageway looked exactly the same. It was a maze, and if they hadn't had Grianne's distinctive aura to track, they would have long since become lost.

  Bek kept his voice even. "Walker would want us to do this," he ventured. He glanced over at the shape-shifter's dark form. "You know that to be true."

  "What the Druid wants is anyone's guess. Nor is it necessarily the right thing. It hasn't gotten us much of anywhere so far."

  "Which is why you chose to come with him on this quest," Bek offered quietly. "Which is why you have gone with him so many times before. Is that right?"

  Truls Rohk said nothing, disappearing back inside himself so that all that remained was his cloaked shadow passing along in the near darkness, more presence than substance, so faint it seemed he might disappear in the blink of an eye.

  Ahead, the tunnel widened. The damage here was more severe than anything they had encountered so far. Whole chunks of ceiling and wall had fallen away. Shattered glass and twisted metal lay in heaps. Though flameless lamps lit the passageway with pale luminescence, their light barely penetrated the heavy shadows.

  A vast and cavernous chamber at the end of the corridor opened onto a pair of massive cylinders whose metal skin was split like overripe fruit. Steam hissed through the wounds like blood leaking from a body. The ends of severed wires flashed and snapped in small explosions.

  Struts and girders wrenched free of their fastenings with long, slow groans.

  "There," Bek said softly, reaching out to touch the other's cloak. "She's there."

  No movement or sound reached out to them, no indication that anyone living waited at the end of the passage amid the massive destruction.

  Truls Rohk froze momentarily, listening. Then he started ahead, this time leading the way, no longer trusting Bek, taking charge of what might become a deadly situation. The boy followed wordlessly, knowing he was no longer in control, that the best he could hope for was a chance to make things work out the way he thought they should.

  A sudden hissing shattered the stillness, the sibilance punctuated by popping and cracking. The sounds reminded Bek of animals feeding on the bones of a carcass.

  As they reached the opening, Truls Rohk moved swiftly into the shadows of one wall, motioning for Bek to stay back. Unwilling to lose contact, Bek retreated perhaps a pace, no more. Flattening himself against the smooth wall, he strained to hear something above the mechanical noises.

  Then the shape-shifter faded into a patch of shadow and simply disappeared. Bek knew at once that he was trying to get to Grianne first. Bek charged after him, frightened that he had lost all chance of saving his sister. He breached the rubble at the entrance to the chamber in a rush and stopped.

  The chamber was in ruins, a scrap heap of metal and glass, of shattered creepers and broken machines. Grianne knelt at its center beside a fallen Walker, her head lifting out of the shadow of her dark hair, her pale face caught in a slow flicker of light from a tangle of ruptured wires that sparked and fizzed. Her eyes were open as she stared toward the ceiling, but they did not see. Her hands were fastened securely about the handle of the Sword of Shannara, which rested blade downward against the smooth metal of the floor.

  There was blood on those hands and on that handle and blade. There was blood all over her clothing and on Walker's, as well. There was blood on the floor, pooled in a crimson lake that trickled off into thin rivulets winding their way through the wreckage.

  Bek stared at the scene in horror. He could not help what he was thinking. Walker was dead and Grianne had killed him.

  To one side, a blade's sharp edge flashed momentarily in the shadows, and from the gathered gloom a deeper darkness eased silently forward.

  Truls Rohk had reached the same conclusion.

  V

  Hugging each other like frightened children, Ahren Elessedil and Ryer Ord Star made their way through the silent, dust-choked passageways of Castledown toward the city ruins above. The seer was still sobbing uncontrollably, her head bent into the Elven Prince's shoulder, her arms clinging as if she was afraid she might lose him.

  Leaving Walker had undone her completely, and though Ahren whispered reassurances to her as they went, trying to bring her back to herself, she seemed not to hear him. It was as if by leaving the Druid, she had left the better part of herself. The only indication she gave that she was still present was in the way she flinched when fresh chunks of wall or ceiling gave way or something exploded in the darkening recesses through which they fled.

  "It will be all right, Ryer," Ahren kept repeating, even long after it was clear the words had no meaning for her.

  Stirred by the events of the past few hours, his thoughts were jumbled and uncertain. The effects of the Elfstone magic had worn off, leaving him quieted and at peace again, no longer filled with fire and white rage. He had tucked the stones safely away inside his tunic pocket for when they would be needed again. A part of him anticipated such use, but another part hoped it might never happen. He felt vindicated and satisfied at having recovered them, having successfully summoned up their magic, and having used the blue fire against the hateful machines that had destroyed so many of his friends and companions from the Jerle Shannara. He felt renewed within, as if he had undergone a rite of passage and survived. He had come on this journey not much more than a boy, and now he was a man. It was his odyssey in gaining possession of the Elfstones that lent him this feeling of fresh identity, of new confidence. The experience had been horrific but empowering.

  None of which made him feel any better about what had happened to Walker or what was likely to happen now to them. That Walker was dying when they left him was indisputable. Not even a Druid could survive the sort of wounds he had received. He might last a few minutes more, but there was no chance for him. So now the company, or what remained of it, must continue on without him. But continue to where? Continue for what reason? Walker himself had said that with the death of Antrax the knowledge of the books of magic was lost to them. He had made a choice in destroying the machine, and the choice had cost them any chance of recovering what they had come to find. It was an admission of failure. It was an acknowledgment that their journey had been for nothing.

  Yet he could not help feeling that somehow this wasn't so, that there was something more to what had transpired than what was immediately obvious.

  He wondered about the others of the company. He knew Bek had been alive when Ryer had fled the Isle Witch and come back into the ruins to find Walker. The Given Tracker Tamis had escaped, too. There would be others, somewhere. What must he do to find them? Find them he must, he knew, because without an airship and a crew, they were stranded indefinitely. With the Ilse
Witch and her Mwellrets hunting them.

  But he knew what he could do to gain help. He could use the Elfstones, the seeking stones of legend, to find a way to the others. The problem was that using the magic would alert the Ilse Witch to their presence. It would tell her exactly where they were, and she would come for them at once. They couldn't afford to have that happen. Ahren didn't think for a moment that he was a match for the Witch, even with the magic of the Elfstones to aid him. Stealth and secrecy were better weapons to employ just now. But he wasn't sure that stealth and secrecy would be enough.

  He had been navigating the passageways for several hours, lost in his thoughts, when he became aware of the fact that Ryer had stopped crying. He glanced down at her in surprise, but she kept her face buried in his shoulder, pressed against his chest, concealed in the curtain of her long silvery hair. He thought that she might be working her way through her grief and should not be disturbed. He let her be. Instead, he concentrated anew on regaining the surface. The debris that had clogged the lower corridors was not so much in evidence here, as if the explosions had been centered more deeply. The air seemed fresher, and he thought they must be close to breaking free.

  He found he was right. Within only minutes they passed through a pair of metal doors that stood unhinged and ajar, ducked under the collapsed framework, and stepped out into the open. They emerged from the tower into which Walker had disappeared days earlier, there in the center of the deadly maze that had ravaged the remainder of the company. It was night still, but dawn's approach was signaled by a faint lightening along the eastern horizon. Overhead, moonlight flooded out of a cloudless, starlit sky.

  Ahren stopped just outside the tower entry and looked around cautiously. He could trace the outline of the walls of the maze and discern the clutter of broken creepers and weapons. Beyond, the ruins of the city spread away in a jumble of shattered buildings. No sounds came from that wasteland. It felt as if they were the only living creatures in the world.

  But that was deceptive, he knew. The Mwellrets were still out there, searching for them. He must be very careful.

  With Ryer still clinging to him, he knelt and put his mouth to her ear. "Listen to me," he whispered.

  She went still, then nodded slowly. "We have to try to find the others—Bek and Tamis and Quentin. But we have to be very quiet. The Mwellrets and the Isle Witch will be hunting us. At least, that's what we have to assume. We can't afford to let them catch us. We have to get out of these ruins and into the cover of the trees. Quickly. Can you help me?"

  "We shouldn't have left him," she replied so softly he could barely make out the words. Her fingers tightened on his arms. "We should have stayed."

  "No, Ryer," he said. "He told us to go. He told us there was nothing else we could do for him. He told us to find the others. Remember?"

  She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. We should have stayed. He was dying."

  "If we fail to do what he asked of us, if we allow ourselves to be captured or killed, we will have failed him. That makes his dying an even bigger waste." His voice was low, but fierce. "That isn't what he expects of us. That isn't why he sent us away."

  "I betrayed him." She sobbed.

  "We all betrayed each other at some point on this voyage." He forced her head out from his shoulder and lifted her chin so that she was looking at him. "He isn't dying because of anything we did or failed to do. He is dying because he chose to give up his life to destroy

  Antrax. He made that choice."

  He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Listen to me. We serve him best now by honoring his last wishes. I don't know what he intended for us, what he thought would happen now that he is gone. I don't know what we've accomplished. But there's nothing more we can do for him beyond getting ourselves out of here and back to the Four Lands."

  Her pale, drawn face tightened at the harshness of his words, then crumpled like old parchment. "I cannot survive without him, Ahren. I don't want to."

  The Elven Prince reached out impulsively and stroked her fine hair. "He said he would see you again. He promised. Maybe you should give him the chance to keep that promise." He paused, then bent forward and kissed her forehead. "You say you can't survive without him. If it makes any difference, I don't think I can survive without you. I wouldn't have gotten this far if it hadn't been for you. Don't abandon me now."

  He rested his cheek against her temple and held her, waiting for a response. It was a long time coming, but at last she lifted away and placed her small hands against his cheeks.

  "All right," she said quietly. She gave him a small, sad smile. "I won't."

  They rose and walked out of the shadow of the black tower and into the maze, then back through the ruins. They kept to the shadows and did not hurry, stopping frequently to listen for sounds that would warn them of danger. Ahren led, holding Ryer Ord Star's hand, the link between them oddly empowering. He had not lied when he told her he still needed her. Despite his recovery of the Elfstones and his successful battle against the creepers, he did not yet feel confident about himself. He had passed out of boyhood, but he was still inexperienced and callow. There were lessons still to be learned, and some of them would be hard. He did not want to face them alone. Having Ryer there to face them with him gave him a confidence he could not entirely explain but knew better than to ignore.

  Yet he thought he understood at least a part of it. What he felt for the girl was close to love. It had grown slowly, and he was only just beginning to recognize it for what it was. He was not certain how it would resolve itself or even if it would survive another day. But in a world of turmoil and uncertainty, of monsters and terrible danger, it was reassuring to have her close, to be able to ask her advice, just to touch her hand. He drew strength from her that was both powerful and mysterious—not in the way of magic, but in the way of spirit. Maybe it was as simple as not being entirely alone, of having another person with whom to share whatever happened. But maybe, too, it was as mystical as life and death.

  They walked a long time through the ruins without hearing or seeing anything or anyone. They moved in a southerly direction, back the way they had come, toward the bay in which the Jerle Shannara had once anchored. She was in the hands of the Ilse Witch now, of course—unless things had changed, which was possible. Things changed quickly in this land. Things changed without warning. Maybe this time they would change in a way that would favor Walker's company rather than the Witch's.

  Suddenly Ryer Ord Star drew up short, her slim body rigid and trembling. Ahren turned back to her at once. She was staring into space, into some place he could not see, and her face reflected such dismay that he found himself quickly scanning his surroundings to find its cause.

  "He's dead, Ahren," she said in a small, grief-stricken whisper.

  She sank to the ground, crying. Her hand still clutched his, as if that were all that held her together. He knelt beside her, putting his arms about her, holding her close.

  "Maybe he's at peace," he said, wondering if that was possible for Walker Boh.

  "I saw him," she said. "In my vision, just now. I saw him being carried by a shade into a green light over an underground lake. He wasn't alone. On the shore were three people. One was Bek, the second a cloaked form I didn't recognize. The third was the Ilse Witch."

  "The Ilse Witch was with Bek?"

  Her hand tightened on his. "But she wasn't doing anything threatening. She wasn't even seeing him. She was just there, physically present, but at the same time she wasn't. She looked lost. Wait! No, that isn't right. She didn't look lost; she looked stunned. But that isn't all, Ahren. The vision changed, and she was holding Bek and he was holding her. They were somewhere else, somewhere in the future, I think. I don't know how to explain this, but they were the same person. They were joined."

  Ahren tried to make sense of this. "One body and one face? The same in that way?"

  She shook her head. "It didn't look like that, but it felt like that. Something happened t
o connect them. But it was as much a spiritual as a physical joining. There was such pain! I could feel it. I don't know whom it was coming from, who had generated it. Maybe both. But it was released through the connection they formed, and it was a trigger for something else, something that was going to happen after. But I didn't see that; I wasn't permitted."

  Ahren thought. "Well, maybe it has something to do with them being brother and sister. Maybe that was the connection you sensed. Maybe the Ilse Witch discovered it was true, and that was what released all this pain you felt."

  Her eyes were huge and liquid in the moonlight "Maybe."

  "Do you think Bek and the Ilse Witch are down in Castledown with Walker?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know."

  "Should we go back and look for them?"

  She just stared at him, wide-eyed, frightened.

  There was no way to know, of course. It was a vision, and visions were subject to misleading and false interpretations. They revealed truths, but not in terms that were immediately apparent. That was their nature. Ryer Ord Star saw the future better than most. But even she was not permitted to catch more than a glimpse of it, and that glimpse might mean something other than what it suggested.

  Going back for any reason suddenly seemed unthinkable to Ahren, and he abandoned the idea. Instead, they rose and walked on. Frustrated and troubled by the seer's words, Ahren found himself hoping that when she had another vision, she would have one they could do something about. Like finding a way out of their present dilemma, for instance. Visions of other people in other places were of precious little use just now. It was a selfish attitude, and he was immediately ashamed of it. But he couldn't help thinking it nonetheless.

  They continued on. It would be morning soon. If they hadn't reached the shelter of the trees by then, they would be in trouble. They had the remnants of buildings to hide in, but if they were detected, they would be easily trapped. If they kept on after it grew light, they would be left exposed on the open roadways. Ahren didn't know if it made any difference what he did at this point since they were without a destination or a plan for rescue. All he knew to do was to try to find a way to keep out of the hands of the Ilse Witch and the Mwellrets. Or maybe only the latter, if Ryer's vision proved prophetic. Was it possible that Bek had made the witch a prisoner, had found some way to subdue her? He had magic, after all, magic strong enough to shatter creepers. Was it sufficient to overcome the witch, as well?