“He caught me by surprise, Paxon.” He could hear the bitterness in her voice. “That never should have happened. I was so intent on watching you cross the roadway and then disappear behind the tavern—so certain you would call for my help …”
She trailed off, her voice breaking. “You aren’t the first to have that happen,” he said quietly. “I’m just grateful you’re alive. I was scared to death for you.”
“What happened to the boy?”
Paxon grimaced. “He got away in the confusion. We’ll find him later. First, we have to get you well again.”
She was silent for a long time. “I don’t know if that’s possible,” she whispered. “You can’t imagine what it was like inside that container, everything dark and no way to get free. If you hadn’t—”
“But I did,” he said, interrupting her with a hushing sound. “Just try to forget about it. Just think about sleeping now.”
When they were inside her room, he laid her on the bed and poured water from a pitcher on the dresser into a glass, holding it for her while she drank it down. He stayed with her while she finished it, then brought her a second glass and held her while she drank that one, too.
“So thirsty,” she mumbled.
He put the glass on the bedside table, took off her boots, and pulled back the bedding, easing her beneath the covers. He rose and walked toward the door. “Go to sleep now. I’ll see you when you wake.”
“Paxon!” She called his name with some urgency, bringing him back around. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me just yet. Please.”
He came back over and sat down beside her. He could see the fear in her eyes. “I’ll stay if you want.”
“I just don’t want to be alone right now. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“Would you lie down beside me? Would you just hold me for a little while? Until I stop shaking?”
He did as she asked, snuggling close to her and putting his arm across her so that she could feel his warmth. She scooted back against him, burrowing close. “Thanks,” she said so softly he almost missed it.
She was asleep before long, and the shaking stopped. He stayed with her anyway, wanting to make sure. But he also stayed because he liked holding her, liked being close. And for the first time since Leofur, he found that he needed the comfort of another body.
THIRTEEN
“THE MAGIC YOU POSSESS IS A VERY OLD MAGIC,” ARCANNEN explained. “Centuries old. And only members of a single family inherit it. When it first surfaced, it was called a wishsong, and the name has stuck.”
Reyn was sitting with the sorcerer in the stern of the Sprint, shoulder-to-shoulder in the small space, both of them looking ahead at where Lariana stood behind the controls of the two-man, guiding the airship east. She had taken over at Arcannen’s request a short while ago, and he had given her a heading and a set of landmarks by which to navigate. Now she watched the land ahead as they flew, but Reyn noticed her intense expression. She was clearly listening to every word.
This did not seem to bother Arcannen, who continued his explanation. “Your family surname is Ohmsford. Frosch is either a given name or perhaps a name taken in marriage and passed down to you. But the name that matters where the wishsong is concerned is Ohmsford. The magic surfaced three generations after Shea Ohmsford used the Sword of Shannara to destroy the Warlock Lord. It was passed down from his grandson Wil to Wil’s two children, Brin and Jair. Wil Ohmsford had gone with the Chosen Amberle to save the Forbidding when it failed, and in the process had used Elfstones once given to his grandfather by the Druid Allanon. Shea was a Halfling, but Wil was less an Elf than a human. Use of Elfstone magic is dangerous if you are not a full-blooded Elf, the more so if you are not even a Halfling. So Wil risked much in using the Stones, but he did so to save the Chosen’s life. As a result, his body was changed by the magic, which infused his blood. This infected blood, in turn, was passed to his children.
“But it was a different sort of magic that emerged. Singing generated the magic of the wishsong, creating a fresh reality, changing and enhancing or diminishing in the process. The girl, Brin, had the stronger magic at first. Whenever she wanted to impact the world around her in a physical way, she needed only to imagine it and sing it into being. She was an extremely powerful magic wielder, and she nearly lost her life to her own magic. Her brother, Jair, had the use of the wishsong, too, but for him, it wasn’t real. He could only create the impression of something happening, not the reality. Smoke and mirrors were his stock in trade—although that changed for him later in life—but it proved to be enough to save his sister.”
Arcannen paused. “Do you recognize the similarities with your own magic? By singing songs, you affect your listeners. They see in their own minds what they wish to see. You sing lyrics and music that create impressions or recall memories or simply stir emotions that make them want more of what you are giving them. I don’t think you do this consciously. I don’t sense a singular purpose in your singing. I think you just offer it for them to sample. Am I right?”
Reyn nodded. “I guess so. I know I can make them feel things, but I don’t necessarily set out to make them feel anything in particular. I just want the music to reach them.” He hesitated. “But stirring up emotions and recalling memories is only part of it. The magic kills people, too.”
“Yes, but that’s not peculiar to you. All of the Ohmsfords who inherited use of the wishsong had that power. And almost all of them killed someone, intentionally or not. They were all faced with life-and-death situations in which either they fought back using their magic or they died. Hasn’t it been like that for you?”
Reyn glanced at Lariana, not wanting her to hear this part. But even though she was not looking right at him, he knew she was waiting to hear his answer. There was nothing he could do to avoid it unless he refused to continue.
“I haven’t tried to kill anyone. But when I defend myself, I can’t seem to control it. I become so emotionally distraught that the magic gets away from me. It lashes out with such power I can’t seem to stop it. Then people die. That’s what happened with the Fortrens when they attacked me. It’s happened in other places, too.”
For just an instant, he thought about explaining how he would become temporarily catatonic afterward. But he did not feel comfortable revealing that he suffered from such a debilitating and dangerous weakness.
Instead, he kept his gaze steady and said, “Can you teach me how to stop this? Can you help me do better about controlling the magic of this wishsong?”
Arcannen smiled. “I can do that and much more. I can teach you to use it in dozens of new ways. I can show you how it can be applied to do things you haven’t even thought about. The wishsong is a powerful and dangerous magic, Reyn, but it is a versatile magic, as well. Give me the chance, and I will open the door to its secrets. I will give you the knowledge you need to stay safe.”
Reyn glanced at Lariana, but she was looking out onto the horizon again. He waited a moment, hoping her gaze would shift, but she remained steadily focused on the way forward, as if no longer listening. “What do I have to do to for you in return?” he asked Arcannen absently.
“Nothing! I want to do this. I want to help you. Do you think I haven’t been subject to the same misgivings and fears that have haunted you? Do you think that mastering my magic was any less traumatizing or difficult? No, Reyn. It is like this for all of us who possess such gifts. And you do possess a gift of great worth. You will come to see.”
The boy nodded and found himself suddenly eager to start with his lessons. “When can we begin?”
“Very soon, but I have a prior obligation I must satisfy first. We travel now to make that happen. I am hopeful you will come with me. Perhaps you can even help. It would be your choice, of course. But, in fact, I can set you down and leave you wherever you like and come back to find you another time.”