Ilse Witch

by Terry Brooks

  “Quentin Leah?” the stranger asked him.

  The Highlander continued to advance, but his hand had dropped to the long knife at his waist. “Who are you?”

  The stranger let the Highlander come up beside Bek. “I’m called Walker,” he answered. “Do you know of me?”

  “The Druid?” Quentin’s hand was still on the handle of his long knife.

  “The same.” His bearded face came into the light as he pulled back the cowl of his cloak. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you.”

  “A favor?” Quentin sounded openly skeptical, and frown lines creased his brow. “From us?”

  “Well, from you in particular, but since Bek is here, as well, I’ll ask it of you both.” He glanced past them to the fire. “Can we sit while we talk? Do you have something to eat? I’ve come a long way today.”

  As if arrived at a truce, they left the darkness and moved into the light, taking seats on the ground around the fire. Bek studied the Druid carefully, trying to take his measure. Physically, he was forbidding—tall and dark-featured, with long black hair and beard, and a narrow, angular face that was seamed by sun and weather. He looked neither young nor old, but somewhere in between. His right arm was missing from just above the elbow, leaving only a stump within a pinned-up tunic sleeve. Even so, he radiated power and self-assurance, and his strange eyes registered an unmistakable warning to stand clear. Although he said he had come to find them, he did not seem particularly interested now that he had. His gaze was directed toward the darkness beyond the fire, as if he was watching for something.

  But it was his history that intrigued Bek more than his appearance, and the boy found himself digging through his memory for bits and pieces of what he knew. The Druid lived in the Keep at ancient Paranor with the ghosts of his ancestors and companions dead and gone. He was rumored to be Allanon’s successor and direct descendant. It was said he had been alive in the time of Quentin’s great-great-grandfather, Morgan Leah, and the most famous of all the Elf Queens, Wren Elessedil, and that he had fought with them in the war against the Shadowen. If that was true, then the Druid was more than 130 years old. No one else from that time was still alive, and it seemed strange and vaguely chilling that the Druid should have survived what no ordinary man could.

  Bek knew a lot about the Druids. He had made it his business to know about them because of their long-standing connection to the Leah family. There had been a Leah involved in almost every great Druid undertaking since the time of the Warlock Lord. Most people were frightened of the Druids and their legacy of magic, but the Highlanders had always been their advocates. Without the Druids, they believed, the people of the Four Lands would be living much different lives at a cost they would not have cared to pay.

  “You said you came far today?” Quentin broke the momentary silence. “Where did you come from?”

  Walker’s dark gaze shifted. “The Dragon’s Teeth originally. Then from Leah.”

  “That was your Roc,” Bek blurted out, suddenly able to speak again.

  Walker glanced at him. “Not mine. Obsidian belongs to a Wing Rider named Hunter Predd. He should be along in a minute. He’s bedding down his bird first.” He paused. “You saw us, did you?”

  “Saw your shadow, actually,” Quentin said as he worked on laying out strips of smoked fish in a pan. He had coated them with flour and seasonings, and was adding a bit of ale for flavor. “We were boar hunting.”

  The Druid nodded. “Your father told me so.”

  Quentin looked up quickly. “My father?”

  Walker stretched his legs and braced himself with his good arm as he leaned back. “We know each other. Tell me, did you have any luck with the boar?”

  Quentin went back to his fish, shaking his head to himself. “No, he was frightened off by you. The Roc’s shadow spooked him.”

  “Well, my apologies for that. On the other hand, getting you back here to speak with me was of more consequence than seeing you bag that boar.”

  Bek stared. Was he saying that he had spooked the boar deliberately, that the Roc’s passing hadn’t been by chance? He glanced quickly at Quentin to catch his cousin’s reaction, but Quentin’s attention had shifted at the sound of someone else’s approach.

  “Ah, here is our friend, the Wing Rider,” Walker said, rising.

  Hunter Predd trooped into the firelight, a lean, wiry Elf with gnarled hands and sharp eyes. He nodded to the Highlander and his cousin as they were introduced. He took a seat across from the Druid. Walker spent a few minutes talking about Wing Riders and Rocs, explaining their importance to the Elves of the Westland, then asked Quentin for news of his family. The conversation continued as the Highlander prepared the fish, some fry bread, and a clutch of greens. All the while, Bek watched Walker carefully, wondering what the meeting was all about, what sort of favor the Druid could want of them, how he knew Coran Leah, what he was doing with a Wing Rider, and on and on.

  They had eaten their meal, washed it down with cold stream water, and cleaned up the dishes before Walker provided Bek with the answers he was seeking.

  “I want you to come with me on a journey,” the Druid began, sipping at the ale Quentin had poured into his cup. “Both of you. It will be long and dangerous. It may be months before we return, maybe longer. We have to travel across the Blue Divide to a land none of us has ever seen. When we get there, we have to find a treasure. We have a map, and we have instructions written on the map about what we need to do to find this treasure. But someone else is after it, as well, someone very dangerous, and she will do everything she can to prevent us from reaching it first.”

  There were no preliminaries, no buildups, and no small talk to lead into all this. The explanation was casual; they might have been talking about taking a rafting trip down the Rappahalladran. Bek Rowe had never ventured outside the Highlands, and now someone had appeared who wanted him to travel halfway around the world. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

  Hunter Predd was the first to speak. “She?” he asked curiously.

  Walker nodded. “Our nemesis is a very powerful sorceress who calls herself the Ilse Witch. She is the protégé of a warlock known as the Morgawr. The names derive from a language used in the world of Faerie, most of it lost. Hers means singer. His means wraith or something like it. They reside in the Westland, down in the Wilderun, and seldom venture far from there. How the Ilse Witch found out about the map and our journey, I don’t know. But she is responsible for the death of at least two people because of it.” He paused. “Do you know of her?”

  Bek and Quentin glanced at each other blankly, but the Wing Rider was shaking his head in dismay. “Enough to keep clear,” he snapped.

  “We don’t have that option.” Walker crossed his legs in front of him and leaned forward. “One of the dead men is Allardon Elessedil, the Elven King. If the Ilse Witch was willing to kill him to prevent us from seeking out the treasure described by the map, she will certainly not hesitate to kill us, as well. Forewarned is forearmed, I’m afraid.”

  His eyes shifted to Quentin and Bek. “The other dead man is the map’s bearer, a castaway Hunter found floating in the Blue Divide a little more than a week ago. The hunt I’m proposing begins with him. He was Allardon Elessedil’s older brother, Kael, one of a company of Elves that undertook a search similar to ours thirty years ago. All of them disappeared. No trace of them or their ships was ever found. The map our castaway carried suggests their search might have yielded something of great importance. It is up to us to find out what that something is.”

  “So you intend to sail all the way across the Blue Divide to search out this treasure?” Quentin asked dubiously.

  “Not sail, Highlander,” the Druid replied. “Fly.”

  There was a moment’s silence. The wood burning in the fire pit crackled sharply. “On Rocs?” Quentin pressed.

  “On an airship.”

  The silence resumed. Even Hunter Predd seemed surprised. “But why do you want us to c
ome?” Bek asked finally.

  “Several reasons.” Walker fixed the boy with his dark gaze. “Bear with me for a moment. Aside from the three of you, I have told this to no one. Most of it, I have determined only very recently, and I am still in the process of deciphering quite a bit more. I need to have someone with whom I can discuss my thinking, someone I can trust and in whom I can confide. I need someone of sharp mind and willing spirit, of ability and courage. Hunter Predd is one such. I think you and your cousin are two more.”

  Bek felt his excitement growing by leaps and bounds. He leaned forward in response to the Druid’s words.

  “Hunter’s usefulness is obvious,” Walker continued. “He is a seasoned veteran of the skies, and I intend to take a small number of Wing Riders as escorts for our airship. Hunter will be their leader, if he agrees to accept the position. But in doing so, he needs to be confident that he can anticipate my thinking and respond as circumstances and events dictate.”

  He was still looking straight at Bek. “Quentin’s purpose is obvious, as well, although he doesn’t realize it yet. Quentin is a Leah, the oldest of his father’s sons, and heir to a powerful magic. There is no one else I can recruit for this journey who will have such a magic to lend to our cause. Once, we might have relied upon the use of Elfstones, but those in the possession of the Elves were lost with Kael Elessedil. The Ilse Witch will have allies she can turn to who possess magic of their own. Moreover, we are certain to encounter other forms of magic during our quest. It will be difficult for anyone to stand alone against them all. Quentin must support me.”

  The Highlander looked as if the Druid had lost his mind. “You can’t mean that old sword, the one my father gave me several years back when I crossed into manhood? That old relic is symbolic and nothing more! The Sword of Leah, handed down for generations, carried by my great-great-grandfather Morgan against the Federation when he fought for the liberation of the Dwarves in the wake of the Shadowen defeat—everyone knows the tale, but … but …”

  He seemed to run out of words, shaking his head in disbelief and turning to Bek for support.

  But it was Walker who spoke first. “You are familiar with the weapon, Quentin. You’ve held it in your hands, haven’t you? When you took it out of its scabbard to examine it, you must have noticed that it was in perfect condition. The weapon is centuries old. How do you account for that if it is not infused with magic?”

  “But it doesn’t do anything!” Quentin exclaimed in exasperation.

  “Because you tried to summon the magic, and failed?”

  The Highlander sighed. “It feels foolish to admit it. But I knew the stories, and I just wanted to see if there was any truth to them. Honestly, I admire the weapon. Its balance and weight are exceptional. And it does look as if it is new.” He paused, his broad, open Highlander face suffused with a mix of doubt and cautious expectation. “Is it really magic?”

  Walker nodded. “But its magic does not respond to whim; it responds to need. It cannot be called forth simply out of curiosity. There must be a threat to the bearer. The magic originated with Allanon and the shades of the Druids who preceded him in life. No magic of theirs would be wild or arbitrary. The Sword of Leah has value, Highlander, but you will discover that only when you are threatened by the dark things you must help protect against.”

  Quentin Leah kicked at the earth with the heel of his boot. “If I go with you, I’ll get my chance to discover this, won’t I?”

  The Druid stared at him without answering.

  “Thought so.” Quentin studied his boot a moment, then glanced at Bek. “A real adventure, cousin. Something more challenging than boar hunting. What do you think?”

  For a moment, Bek didn’t respond. He didn’t know what he thought about any of it. Quentin was more trusting, more willing to accept what he was told, particularly when what it offered was what he was seeking. For several years he had asked for permission to join the Free-born and fight against the Federation, but his father had forbidden it. Quentin’s obligations were to his family and his home. As the oldest son, he was expected to help in the raising and training of his younger siblings and of Bek. Quentin wanted to travel the whole of the Four Lands, to see what else was out there. So far, he had not been allowed to go much farther than the borders of the Highlands.

  Now, all at once, he was being offered a chance to experience what had been denied him for so long. Bek was excited, too. But he was not so willing as his cousin to jump into the adventure with both feet.

  “Bek is probably wondering why I’m asking him to come, as well,” Walker said suddenly, his gaze fixed once more on the boy.

  Bek nodded. “I guess I am.”

  “I’ll tell you then.” The Druid hunched forward once more. “I need you for an entirely different reason than Hunter or Quentin. It has to do with who you are and how you think. You have displayed a healthy dose of skepticism about what you are hearing. That’s good. You should. You like to think things through carefully before giving credence to them. You like to measure and balance. For what I require of you, such an attitude is essential. I need a cabin boy on this journey, Bek, someone who can be anywhere and everywhere without questions being asked, someone whose presence is taken for granted, but who hears and sees everything. I need someone to keep watch for me, someone to investigate when it is called for and to report back on things I might have missed. I need an extra pair of hands and eyes. A boy like you has the intelligence and instincts to know when and how to put those hands and eyes to work.”

  Bek frowned. “You’ve only just met me; how can you be so sure of all this?”

  The Druid pursed his lips reprovingly. “It is my business to know, Bek. Do you think I’m wrong about you?”

  “You could be. What if you are?”

  The Druid’s smile was slow and easy. “Why don’t we find out?”

  He looked away. “One more thing,” he said, speaking to all of them now. “When we begin this voyage, we shall do so with certain expectations regarding the character of those chosen to go. Over time, those expectations will change. Circumstances and events will touch all of us in ways we cannot foresee. Our company will number close to forty. I would like to believe that all would persevere and endure; they will not. Some will prove out, but some will fail us when we have need of them most. It is in the nature of things. The Ilse Witch will continue to try to stop us from leaving and, when that fails, to prevent us from reaching our goal. Moreover, she may not prove to be the most dangerous enemy we encounter. So we must learn to rely on ourselves and on those we discover we can depend upon. It is a formidable responsibility to shoulder, but I have great confidence in all three of you.”

  He leaned back, his dark face unreadable. “So, then. Are you with me? Will you come?”

  Hunter Predd spoke first. “I’ve been with you from the start, Walker. I guess maybe I’ll stick around for the finish. As for how dependable or trustworthy I’ll turn out to be, all I can say is that I will do my best. One thing I do know—I can find the Wing Riders you need for this expedition.”

  Walker nodded. “I can ask no more.” He looked at the cousins. “And you?”

  Quentin and Bek exchanged a hurried glance. “What do you say, Bek?” Quentin asked. “Let’s do it. Let’s go.”

  Bek shook his head. “I don’t know. Your father might not want us to—”

  “I’ve spoken to him already,” Walker interrupted smoothly. “You have his permission to come if you wish to do so. Both of you. But the choice is yours, and yours alone.”

  In that instant, Bek Rowe could see the future he had been searching for as clearly as if he had already lived it. It wasn’t so much the specific events he would experience or the challenges he would face or the creatures and places he would encounter. These could be imagined, but not yet firmly grasped. It was the changes he would undergo on such a voyage that were discernible and thereby both intimidating and frightening. Many of them would be profound and lasting, affect
ing his life irrevocably. Bek could feel these changes as if they were layers of skin peeled back one at a time to demonstrate his growth. So much would happen on a journey like this one, and no one who returned—for he was honest enough with himself to accept that some would not—would ever be the same.

  “Bek?” Quentin pressed softly.

  He had come from nowhere to be where he was, an outsider accepted into a Highland home, a traveler simply by having come from another place and family. Life was a journey of sorts, and he could travel it by staying put or by going out. For Quentin, the choice had always been easy. For Bek, it was less so, but perhaps just as inevitable.

  He looked at the Druid called Walker and nodded. “All right. I’ll go.”

  TEN

  On the way home the next day, Bek Rowe agonized over his decision. Even though it was made and he was committed, he could not stop second-guessing himself. On the face of things, he had made the right choice. There were lives at stake and responsibilities to be assumed in questing for the mysterious magic, and if the result of his going was to secure for the people of all nations a magic that would further their development and fulfill their needs—a result that Walker had taken great pains to assure him was possible—it was the right thing to do.

  But in the back of his mind a whisper of warning nagged at him. The Druid, he felt, had told the truth. But the Druid was also reticent about giving out information, a tradition among the members of his order, and Bek was quite certain he was keeping something to himself. More than one something, in all likelihood. Bek could sense it in his voice and in the way he presented his cause to them. So careful with his words. So deliberate with his phrasing. Walker knew more than he was saying, and Bek worried that some of his misgivings about how a journey of this sort would influence his and Quentin’s lives had their source in the Druid’s secrets.