by Terry Brooks
They passed down pathways that skirted the city proper, avoiding the main roadways, the palace, the Gardens of Life, everything that might bring them into contact with anyone who would want to stop them and talk. They used the dawn as a shield, keeping to the shadowy, less traveled byways until they had reached the cottage at the edge of the gardens where the Chosen records were housed.
There was no one inside when they entered. The Chosen were performing the ritual dawn greeting, a welcoming of the Ellcrys to the new day. They would be missing Arling, but several had already seen her fleeing, and they would not come looking for her until their duties as Chosen were fulfilled. The sisters and Cymrian had at least several hours to complete their search.
Aphen had never examined the Chosen records. These were unofficial writings that belonged solely to the order and consisted of everything from personal diaries to catalogs and lists of those who had served. Even Arling, who had never had reason to consult them, wasn’t certain what they contained. But she knew where they were kept and how to open their keyless locks, and she went to them immediately upon entering the cottage and brought them out for her sister and Cymrian to examine with her.
Together they sat down at the communal dining table and began to read backward through the paperwork, beginning by searching for references to Amberle Elessedil, the last Chosen to become an Ellcrys. Most of the serious record keeping had begun with her transformation, hundreds of years ago. If there was anything to be found, it would most likely be found there.
As she perused the records, Aphenglow was consumed by a fresh wave of despair. Having come to terms with losing both Bombax and Paranor—and needing to seek out the rest of the Druids to let them know of it—she was now sidetracked by the possibility of another, even more terrible loss. She felt pulled two ways at once, and the combination generated an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. Dealing with one only made her more certain she should be dealing with the other, and she felt as if the fabric of the world had been pulled apart beneath her and she had been left hanging in midair, unable to move and waiting to fall.
She forced herself to read the diaries—still more diaries!—in their entirety, hating every minute she was giving up to do this. She was searching, but what was she searching for? What was it she expected to discover that would change anything? Something more about Aleia Omarosian, which she had once intended to seek out in these pages? How would that help? It all seemed so futile.
“Here,” Cymrian said suddenly. “Read this.”
She had no idea how much time had passed. But when he handed her the logbook he had been reading, she took it and began to read aloud.
After resuming her role as a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys and thereafter accepting her mission to carry the seed of the tree to the Bloodfire, Amberle Elessedil left Arborlon in the company of the Valeman Wil Ohmsford and a contingent of Elven Hunters under the command of Captain of the Home Guard Crispin Islanbor. Traveling south toward the Wilderun, they were tracked and set upon by a demon that had broken free of the Forbidding, and all were killed but the Chosen and the Valeman.
Within the Wilderun, the Chosen immersed the seed of the Ellcrys in the Bloodfire as she had been commanded to do by the Ellcrys, and thereby quickened the process of transformation. The demon found them engaged in the process, but was killed by the Valeman. On returning to Arborlon, the Chosen found the city besieged by demon hordes, but completed the transformation and restored the wall of the Forbidding in time to save the city and its Elves.
Written and recorded in the days immediately following the death of the Elven King Eventine Elessedil. Peace and long life be ours now and forever.
There was no signature and no indication of who had made the entry.
“That’s all?” she asked, glancing at Cymrian. “Isn’t there anything more of this business?”
“Only records compiled from various sources of what happened during some of the preceding centuries. I didn’t read them all. That was the last entry, the only one dealing with Amberle Elessedil. There’s more. About her childhood, her family, her choosing, her …”
He gestured at the logbook. “Why don’t you study it for yourself? I only wanted you to read the last part first because there doesn’t appear to be any mention of where the Bloodfire can be found.”
While the other two went back to searching the remainder of the records, Aphenglow did as Cymrian had suggested. What she found was either disturbing or heartening, depending on your point of view. Amberle had begun communicating with the Ellcrys early on in her service, very much like Arling. As a consequence of what she had begun to understand from the tree, she had rejected her choosing and had fled Arborlon for the wilds of the Eastland, where she had remained until the Druid Allanon had found and persuaded her to return to her Elven homeland. But the implication of what this must have meant to the young girl—though not expressly stated—was heart wrenching. She had given up everything, lost everything, in order to fulfill her service as a Chosen. It was impossible not to wonder whether Amberle had ever been able to come to terms with her fate in a way that provided her peace of mind.
Aphen looked up, gazing at Arlingfant, barely able to stop the tears from coming as she envisioned this fate for her sister. She closed the book and set it aside. There would be plenty of time later for Arling to read it.
She picked up a fresh logbook, one compiled more recently, but one that had exhumed bits and pieces of records from the times before the destruction of the Old World. It was the third of three volumes, and she dug around until she found the first and second, as well, and began reading the former. It was a mess. There were various references to the Chosen and their service, but they were haphazard and there was a noticeable lack of continuity. Obviously, much had been omitted or lost from the chronology, leaving gaps of dozens of years. She read through it all dutifully, one volume after another. But there was nothing personal, no stories that would help explain why one Chosen was selected and another was not.
Nor were there any stories of those who had become transformed into an Ellcrys in the years before Amberle Elessedil.
Aphenglow set the books aside with a sigh. Neither Arling nor Cymrian had said a word in some time, so she knew they had failed to unearth anything useful, either. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. What they had discovered of Amberle Elessedil was of no help at all in deciding what to do about Arling. It was one thing to promise her sister that she would help her find a way through this. It was another to actually make that happen.
She was shoveling the stack of books, diaries, and loose-leaf notes closest to her back into a pile when she caught sight of a slim, leather-bound booklet bound in copper that had oxidized to a dark greenish color. She pulled it free and read the letters carved into the leather front of the casing.
LIVES OF THE SPECIAL CHOSEN
Holding her breath, she opened the cover and skimmed the pages quickly. It was a recitation of all the Chosen who had become the Ellcrys since back in the time of Faerie when she was first created. Names, dates of birth and death and rebirth, family and history, the ways in which they were selected, and how they came to accept their choosing.
She went quickly to the last entry. There was Amberle Elessedil’s name along with everything about her life.
She skipped back to the front and caught her breath in shock and disbelief.
The first name entered was printed in bold, black letters:
Aleia Omarosian
Aphen stared at the name, and suddenly the pieces of the puzzle that was Aleia began to fall into place. Aleia wasn’t just another Chosen serving in the order or even one of the few who had sacrificed themselves to become an Ellcrys; she was the very first Chosen ever. She was the original Elf to become the Ellcrys, the one whom all the others had followed.
Aphen read the tiny print just below Aleia’s name, print that was smaller even than the dates of her life and her heritage.
Forgiven; embraced; remembered.
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Aleia’s final entry in the diary had referred to a chance for redemption that she knew she must take. It suggested she had found a way to make up for her foolish assignation with the Darkling boy—one that would restore her good standing in the eyes of her parents and the Elven people. Her reckless infatuation had cost her people possession of the powerful magic of the Elfstones and placed them in further danger from the dark creatures of Faerie. But what if there was a way to imprison those creatures so they could do no harm to the Elves ever again—even if they somehow found a way to use the Elfstones? Offered a choice to transform herself into the Ellcrys, create the Forbidding, and thereby save her people and all of Faerie, wouldn’t she have jumped at the chance, even if it meant sacrificing herself?
Aphen checked the dates recorded in the book next to Aleia’s name, then pulled out Aleia’s diary, which Bombax had reminded her to take just before they had departed Paranor. Then she rifled through the pockets of her backpack until she found the notes she had made on the rule of Pathke and Meresch Omarosian.
All the dates matched.
By now both Arling and Cymrian had stopped what they were doing and were looking over at her. She started to say something and stopped. Neither one could appreciate what she had just discovered. They did not know of Aleia Omarosian or her diary, or how it had instigated a search for the missing Elfstones. They knew nothing of what the Druids sought and why it was so important—not only to the Druids, but to the whole of the Four Lands. She had kept that secret from them, following the dictates of the Ard Rhys and her own conscience.
To explain it now would require that she reveal the truth of everything that was happening, and that would violate the trust bestowed on her by Khyber Elessedil.
Yet hadn’t these two, who had stuck by her through everything, saving her life, healing her body, and providing reassurance and strength, earned the right to know? If they were to continue to support one another in their efforts, surely it was necessary that she stop keeping the secret of the diary and Aleia and the missing Elfstones and make them both privy to what was at stake.
It all came down to Aleia Omarosian—the first of the Chosen, the original Ellcrys, but also the one responsible for the theft of the missing Elfstones.
Forgiven; embraced; remembered.
She put her questions and doubts aside and forced a smile. “I have something to tell you,” she began.
3
After she finished telling Arlingfant and Cymrian of her discovery of Aleia Omarosian’s diary and how it had triggered the search for the missing Elfstones and all the attendant consequences—including the attack on Paranor—Aphenglow apologized.
“I should have told you sooner. But I was following the dictates of the Ard Rhys, who made me promise to keep everything a secret, even from you. There wasn’t really a reason to reveal it before. But now there is.”
She gave them the slender logbook that chronicled the names of the Chosen who had transformed into the Ellcrys. Arling went white at the sight of those names, clearly envisioning her own being added to the list, but somehow she managed to tamp down her fear.
“What does all this mean?” she asked.
“There is more to the connection between yourself and Aleia than the fact that both of you served as Chosen. More than that she transformed into the Ellcrys centuries ago and now you are being asked to do the same. It has to do with the fact that she was the first to become the tree, the one who established the Forbidding and locked away the demonkind of Faerie.”
“And what is it?”
Aphen took a deep breath. “After finding the diary, I made it a point to search out the details of the Omarosian family tree. I found a direct connection to the Elessedils. The surnames of the various generations of the two families clearly link them intimately. And those surnames appear again and again in the list of Chosen that appear in the logbook you are holding.”
“Wait a minute!” Cymrian jumped in. His bewilderment was obvious. “Are you saying that this girl and Arling are related?”
“I’m saying more than that. I’m saying that by becoming the first of the Chosen, the original flesh-and-blood Elf transformed by magic to become the tree, Aleia apparently set in place the genetic blueprint for all those who followed in her footsteps. Without checking the lineages thoroughly, I can’t be certain, but what little I’ve seen suggests I am right. I think every new generation of Chosen contained at least one who bore the blood of the Omarosian line—which includes the Elessedils—so that the tree could be assured of a successor should the need arise.”
“The Special Chosen are all a part of the same bloodline?” Arling demanded. “My choosing as a bearer of the seed was preordained?”
“In a sense, yes.”
There was a stunned silence as Arling and Cymrian exchanged a quick, uncertain look.
“But what does this have to do with the missing Elfstones?” Arling pressed. “Aleia and I might both be Chosen, but even if I must …” She paused, the words too bitter to speak. “Even it turns out I must take her path, what does this have to do with the Stones?”
“Does it go beyond the fact that she sacrificed herself to make up for losing the Elfstones to that boy?” Cymrian pressed. “That she became the Ellcrys so her people would be protected?”
“I don’t know,” Aphen admitted. “I’m not sure the two have any connection beyond the fact that Aleia Omarosian was responsible for both.”
In truth, she hadn’t been able to give enough thought to any of this to understand all the ramifications. What she needed to do was to get word to the Ard Rhys and the other Druids so that they could puzzle it through. By now, perhaps, they had found the missing Elfstones and would have answers to these questions. But before going after them, she had to help her sister absorb the immediate impact of what the Ellcrys was demanding of her. What was happening with Arling and the tree that maintained the Forbidding took precedence over everything else.
“Have we searched everywhere we can think of to learn about the transformation of those Chosen who became the Ellcrys?” Cymrian asked.
That was when Aphen remembered Woostra.
“Maybe not,” she answered. She got to her feet quickly. “I want you to finish up here. Keep the Chosen logbook; take it with you. Wait for me back at the cottage.”
Leaving Arling and Cymrian to put away the Chosen records, she raced off to speak with the keeper of the Druid Histories. Perhaps he had encountered something in his years of study of the Druid writings that would help them. Or at least he might know where else they might look.
She found Woostra at the inn where they had agreed he would await her return from her now-aborted search for the Ard Rhys. She knew that if she were too obvious in asking the necessary questions about the Ellcrys and the transformation, she would risk involving Arling, so she decided to approach the matter from another angle, leaving Arling out altogether.
“Aren’t you supposed to be flying west by now?” he asked, setting aside a book as she approached.
She sat next to him, smiling. “Something’s happened, and I’ve decided to delay for a day or two. I had Arling gain access to the records of the Chosen, and I discovered that Aleia Omarosian was not just one of them, but the very first. She was the one who originally agreed to sacrifice herself to create the Ellcrys. She would have done so to help make up for losing the Elfstones and shaming her parents. So I need to know more about the history of the Chosen. I have searched the whole of the Elven records, but there is little on the actual transformation process. Do you think there might be something more on this in the Druid Histories?”
He stared at her. “Are you telling me you want to return to Paranor? After having just barely escaped with your life?”
“I’m telling you I will do whatever is necessary to find a way to help the Ard Rhys.”
He admitted then that there were places in the Histories where the purpose of the Ellcrys was documented. Including, he believed, a descrip
tion of how to reach the Bloodfire, the magic of which would quicken an Ellcrys seedling and allow the transformation to take place.
“So I’ll have to go there to find out,” she finished.
He snorted. “You mean we’ll have to go. It would take you days to find what you needed without me.”
She returned to Arling and Cymrian to tell them what she intended to do. Both would go with her, the latter because an additional pair of hands were needed to fly Wend-A-Way, the former because Aphen wanted to keep her close.
“I don’t know what we’ll find,” she hastened to add. “I don’t know if we’ll find anything. But I think we have to try. As things stand, we know almost nothing about what’s needed if we’re to save the Ellcrys.”
“We know it wants Arling to be her successor,” Cymrian pointed out bluntly. “And we know Arling’s not happy about it. How are we going to resolve that?”
“We’ll find a way,” Aphen snapped back, and immediately regretted the sharpness in her tone. “I don’t know,” she added.
They departed the next morning for Paranor, a company of four. Admittedly, there were real concerns about taking Arling away from her Chosen duties. She was conflicted about it herself and had already told them so. But in the end it was agreed she was better off coming with them than being left alone in Arborlon. She would stay aboard ship during the incursions into Paranor and whisked away quickly if threatened.
Aphenglow didn’t attempt to minimize the danger of what she was doing. Getting back into the Druid’s Keep meant circumventing whatever forces the Federation had left behind to guard it and then, once that was accomplished, eluding or banishing altogether the dark magic she had released from the Keep’s lower reaches. It was a formidable challenge under the best of circumstances, but she couldn’t convince herself that delaying the attempt until she had found the Ard Rhys and the others and brought them back into the Midlands was a good idea, either. There were too many variables that might prevent this, and just knowing the location of the Bloodfire was crucial. It might not be Arling who ended up making the journey, but whoever went would need to know where to go.
