Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus

Almost instantly, she felt a presence. It was only a faint sense of movement at first, a stirring of the air. Warmth followed, an infusion that spread through her like the flush of expectation she had experienced earlier. She felt a tingling, and her breath quickened at the prospect of what waited.

Then he was there, in her arms, Ahren Elessedil come back to life. Though she had never held him and did not know how it would feel, she knew at once that it was him. Her arms came about him gratefully, and she breathed in his smell and pressed her body against his. He responded at once, pliant and anxious, the part of her that was missing, the part that would make her whole.

«Ahren," she whispered.

He moved closer still, so close that it felt as if he were a part of her. She could feel them joining, becoming one. He was melting into her, entering her, becoming a part of her physically. She started in shock, then instinctively tried to resist what was happening. But it was too late, he was already fused to her as metals in a forge, locked together to form a single skeletal frame.

Then the pain surged through her, so intense that when she began screaming she could not stop. Raw and sharp, pulsing with razors and knife points, it riddled her from head to foot, and her scream turned into a shriek that lasted until her voice gave out and her mind snapped.

Then she ceased to think or feel anything.

* * *

It was later that evening when Shadea a'Ru passed down the corridor of the north tower on her way to her chambers and encountered Iridia coming from the opposite direction. She approached the Elven sorceress warily, remembering how they had left things in the cold chamber earlier. One hand snapped free a dirk from the sheath bound to her wrist beneath her tunic sleeve. She had endured enough of Iridia's unpredictable behavior. If there was to be a confrontation, she wanted it to be done with quickly.

The other woman came right up to her, but there was no anger or resentment or challenge of any sort in her green eyes. Her perfect features were composed, and there was an air of new determination about her.

«I behaved poorly this afternoon," she said, coming to a stop several feet away. «I apologize.»

Shadea was immediately suspicious. She didn't like the abrupt switch. It wasn't like Iridia to forgive so readily. Not her, not anyone. Nevertheless, she nodded agreeably. «We will put it behind us.»

«That would be best for everyone," Iridia said as she turned away.

She walked past Shadea and continued down the hallway without looking back. Shadea stayed where she was, watching until the other was out of sight, all the time wondering what was going on.

They chose not to bury Ahren Elessedil's remains, but to burn them. A wetland was a poor place to dig a grave, and they had only their long knives to attempt the task. Besides, Khyber was not happy with the idea of leaving her uncle interred in a mud flat where rains and erosion might soon uncover him and leave him food for scavengers.

Working by light provided mostly from the still–burning swamp waters, they collected deadwood, piled it high on the mud bank where he had fought and died, and placed him on it. Khyber sang a Druid funeral song, one she had learned from her uncle, one that spoke of the purpose of a life well lived and an afterlife where hopes were fulfilled and rebirth possible. She used her magic to ignite the dry wood, and soon it was burning. They stood together beside it, watching as it consumed her uncle's body, turning it to ash and smoke and sending it rising into the descending night in a mix of heat and ash.

When it was finished, they moved into the trees and slept, exhausted physically and emotionally, not even bothering to mount a watch against the things that dwelled in the Slags. They shared a sense of inevitability that night, that what would happen to them was not within their control, that if their strongest member could be taken from them so abruptly, their own efforts at protecting themselves would make little difference.

They woke unharmed and in a better frame of mind, the trauma of the previous day far enough behind them that they could think about what was going to happen next. The day was typical of the Slags, all grayness and mist and sunless, fetid air. The fires of the funeral pyre and the doomed Galaphile were extinguished finally, and only dark smears of ash remained to mark their passing. Looking out over the bay, Pen caught sight of heavy ripples that indicated the movement of something big beneath the dark surface. Life went on.

With nothing to eat or drink, the three companions huddled down in the chilly dawn light to discuss what they would do.

«Perhaps we should think about going back," Tagwen offered solemnly. «Don't misunderstand me. I'm not suggesting we give up—just that we not continue on as we are. After all, we are in a rather desperate situation. We are lost, grounded, and weaponless. I know what Ahren told us to do, but it might not be the best thing. We might be better off doing what I started out to do in the first place—finding Penderrin's parents and seeking their help. With Pen's father's magic and an airship, we will have a better chance of getting to where we want to go.»

To Pen's eyes, the Dwarf looked a wreck. His clothes were hanging raggedly from his once stout frame, his face was haggard and worn, and his eyes had a jumpy, nervous look to them. The gruff, determined air he had brought with him to Patch Run had vanished in the chase across the Lazareen and through the Slags. There was more than a hint of desperation about him.

But, then, he might be describing any of them, Pen thought.

He need only look at his own reflection in the waters of the bay to see that was so.

«I don't know where my parents are," he said to the Dwarf. «I'm not sure we can find them.»

«Besides, it would take as much effort to go back as to go on," Khyber pointed out. «At least out here we are safe from the Druids who hunt us. With the Galaphile destroyed, the closest enemies are eliminated. Unless we give ourselves away again, the rest can't find us once we're out of the area.»

«Oh, they can find us, don't you doubt it!» Tagwen snapped. «They are resourceful and skilled. I should know. And Shadea a'Ru is a demon. She won't give up, even with the Galaphile gone. Maybe especially with it gone, since she will blame us for its destruction. And for Terek Molt's death.»

Khyber glared at him. «Well, they won't find us right away. If we can get out of this swamp, we can find help among the Trolls. Didn't you say that Kermadec lives in the Taupo Rough country? Surely he will help us.»

«He will help us if he is still alive, but given the way things are going, I wouldn't say that's at all certain!» Tagwen was not to be placated. «I don't know how you expect to find him when you don't know where you are yourself! And you say we will be all right if we don't use the Elfstones, but if we don't use the Stones, we might not find our way out of here! And remember this—Ahren Elessedil thought he wouldn't have to use the Elfstones, either, but he did have to, didn't he?»

He was nearly in tears, the tough old Dwarf, and for a moment it appeared he would break down completely. He looked away in embarrassment and frustration, then rose and stalked down to the edge of the bay, where he stood for a time looking out into the mist. Pen and Khyber exchanged glances, but said nothing.

When Tagwen returned, he was calm again, his rough features composed and determined. «You're right," he announced without preamble. «We should go on. Going back would be a mistake.»

«Will Kermadec help us if we can find him?» Pen asked at once.

The Dwarf nodded. «He is devoted to the Ard Rhys. He will do whatever he can to help. He is a good and brave man.»

«Then we have our plan," Khyber declared. «But we will be careful how we go, Tagwen," she assured the Dwarf. «We won't be careless. Uncle Ahren gave us a chance to complete this journey. We won't waste that gift.»

«Then we'd better think about moving away from here right now," Pen declared. «If they can track us from our use of magic, they won't have much trouble finding us here. Not after the expenditure of magic used to destroy the Galaphile. We have to leave at once.»

Khyber stood up. «Once we're back in the trees, we won't be so easy to track.» She paused. «I just wish I knew how much farther we had to go.»

«Then why don't you find out?» Pen asked. She stared at him. «Use the Elfstones. What difference does it make if you use them now? We've already given ourselves away. Before we set out, let's see where it is that we're going. Then maybe we won't have to use the Stones again.»

«The boy is right," Tagwen said at once. «Go ahead. Let's see where we are.»

They stood in a ragged group at the shore's edge while Khyber took out the Elfstones and balanced them in her hand. They stared at the glittering talismans for a moment, transfixed by their brightness and their promise. Without saying so, they were all thinking the same thing. So much depended on what the Stones revealed. If they were too deep in the Slags to avoid its snares and predators, then they might have to use the magic again, even if it gave them away. But if they were close to the wetland border, they might have a chance to escape undetected.

Khyber closed her fingers about the talismans and held them out in the direction of the sunrise. Long moments passed, and nothing happened.

«They're not responding," she said. Her voice was strained and rough. «I can't make them work.»

«Don't be afraid, Khyber," Pen said.

«I'm not afraid!» she snapped.

«Well, I'm frightened enough for the both of us.»

She glanced over at him, saw the concerned look on his face, and smiled in spite of herself. She dropped her arm to her side. «All right," she said. «Let me try again.»

She took a deep, steadying breath, exhaled slowly, and held out the Stones. Her eyes closed. An instant later, the magic flared from her fist, gathered itself in a blaze of fire, and shot out into the gloom like a beast at hunt. Slicing through trees and brush and grass, through the whole of the Slags, it flared in sharp relief against a backdrop of hills leading into mountains, of green fields brightened by wildflowers, of streams and waterfalls, and of dazzling sunshine.

The picture shimmered bright and clear for a moment longer, then vanished as if it had never been, leaving them encased once more in mist and gloom. They stood looking off in the direction it had shown for a moment, savoring the memory, the promise, then looked at one another appraisingly.

«It's not all that far," Pen declared bravely, although in truth he had no idea how far it was. «We can make it.»

«Of course, we can," Tagwen agreed, screwing up his worn countenance into a mask of resolve.

«It can't be more than another day," Khyber added, pocketing the Elfstones. «We can be there by sunset.»

They began walking, turning back into the trees and leaving the mist–shrouded bay and its dark memories behind. It was slow going, their passage obstructed by fallen trees, heavy brush, and endless stretches of swamp water. They had to be especially careful of the latter because many hid patches of quicksand that would have swallowed them without a trace. Pen used his magic once more, reaching out to the life of the swamp to discover what it was thinking and doing. Though he couldn't see what he was hearing for the most part, he was able to detect the presence of small birds, rodents, insects, and even a smattering of water creatures. Each told him something of what was happening around them. He was able to discover more than once dangers that threatened. He was able to tell from moods and responses between species the paths they should follow and those they should avoid.