He set down on the easternmost edge of the Sarandanon where he slept the night inside his vessel, a blanket pulled around him, the sky above him bright with moon and stars. Before he slept, he thought of Chrysallin, still back at Paranor in the care of the Druids, and wondered what he was going to do about her. Before he had left, he had told her he was going away, that he was taking time to go on a personal quest.
“What sort of quest?” she had asked at once. “This is because of Avelene, isn’t it?”
She was always so smart. “Because of Avelene and Starks and the way I feel about myself just now. Will you be all right?”
She had given him that familiar look, the one that suggested he ought to know better than to ask such a question. “I think I might be more all right than you will. Why are you doing this, Paxon? Can’t you find what you need here? Like I did?”
“It’s not the same with me as it was with you, Chrys. Paranor became a sanctuary for you. For me, it was supposed to supply a direction. But now I wonder if perhaps I’ve taken a wrong turn. I have to find that out.”
“But how will you do that? Where will you go to find the answer?”
“I’ll go where I have to, I guess.” He had embraced her and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget about you.”
She had grabbed him by his arms and held him away from her. “I am stronger than I was before I came here. You know that. Just be careful for yourself. Try to remember that your friends did not die because of you.”
He had been uncertain about his decision then and he was uncertain about it now. Chrysallin had inherited the wishsong, and she would find out, sooner or later. Aphenglow Elessedil had insisted it would happen, and he was no longer inclined to dispute her conclusions. Something would cause it to surface—a trauma, a memory, or simply chance. But something. She would need to be ready for it when it happened, and he had come to believe that meant telling her the truth about her inheritance of its magic.
In part, this had happened through research he had undertaken on his return from Arishaig. Avelene had done much of the work already, but now he felt he needed to do some as well. With Keratrix to help him gain access, he had begun studying the Druid Histories, searching for links with the past that might tell him something of how the wishsong had evolved.
What he had found had given him the first clues about what might be true, but he was still puzzling it through, still considering the possibilities.
Whatever happened as a result of his wanderings, he knew he would have to return to Paranor long enough do something about his sister. He couldn’t just leave her with the order. If the magic manifested itself anew, they might never let her leave. They might choose to try to turn her to their own purposes. Perhaps they might genuinely believe it was the best thing for her. But they would be fully aware, too, of how much it would help them to have a user of such powerful magic as a member of the order.
It was an unpleasant conclusion, but an inescapable one.
When morning came, with dawn a misty gray light and a harsh cold wind blowing out of the north suggesting the firm possibility of further snow on the horizon, he set out anew. He flew from the Westland into the Tirfing, the grasslands still green and fresh below him but the air bitter with heavy clouds rolling in, and then he continued through the remainder of the day to the Borderlands before turning south.
By nightfall, he had reached the city of Wayford and landed his vessel at the public airfield. As he climbed out of the pilot box he found himself searching for Grehling Cara, but a man he didn’t know was taking the night watch this evening. It was just as well, Paxon told himself as he gave his Sprint over to the other’s care. He still wasn’t sure about what he was doing, and he didn’t want to have to talk about it with anyone.
He walked off the airfield and into the city proper. It was early still, the taverns and eating establishments doing a brisk business and the pleasure houses just opening their doors. People moved in knots through the crowded streets, maneuvering for position as carts, carriages, and riders on horses all pushed their way through to wherever they were going. Laughter and shouts rang out from every quarter, and there was an air of joyful expectation in their sounds.
Paxon took it all in, but kept his purpose fixed and his pace steady as he passed on. Eventually, he had moved into a district of shops and food stalls, and then he was on the street he had come to find. Everything was very quiet and still; there were few people, and the windows of the shops were dark and shuttered. As he walked up the street, his pace slowed. He was preparing himself for what he would find, for how he would be received. He had hopes, but no expectations. Expectations now would only make his disappointment sharper. He knew how things might have gone. He understood that time and chance both might have passed him by.
When he reached her door, he hesitated. He stood there for several minutes, trying to decide whether to turn around and walk away. It was still possible to do so. It might be better, in fact. In spite of what he had come to do, in spite of the distance he had traveled to do it, it might be the wiser choice.
He lifted his hand to the iron knocker and then dropped it, filled with indecision.
What am I doing?
Then, abruptly, the door opened, and Leofur Rai stood there looking at him.
He waited for her to say something, but she just stared, arms folded across her breast. She looked the same—brilliant green eyes, honey-colored hair with silver streaks, intense no-nonsense gaze.
“I … couldn’t decide about this,” he said finally.
She faced him in silence, waiting.
He straightened. “I came here because I had to see you. I had to tell you how wrong I’ve been. I’m about as unhappy as I could possibly be, and I know it’s due in no small part to having stayed away from you. I should have come before now. I thought to do so countless times—more times than I can to think about—but the longer I waited the harder it got and finally I couldn’t make myself do it.”
She still did not speak, but she nodded.
“Something bad has happened. Something so terrible that it has caused me to consider leaving the Druid Order. It made me rethink everything. Maybe I should have done so sooner—I don’t know. I’ve been looking for answers, but I haven’t found them yet. I’ve been on a sort of identity quest. I know I’m not making sense; I can’t seem to find the words. The point is, it led me here. It opened my eyes. I know now I will never be happy without you. I will never be complete. I realized that. And I know it’s probably too late for us, but I had to come say it all anyway. I owed you that much. And I had to find out. About us. Because I’m hoping there’s still a chance we can be together.”
He paused, the pain of his emotions sharp in his chest. “Leofur, I love you. I think I always have. I know I always will.”
She watched him a moment longer. Then she unfolded her arms and reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Maybe you better come inside, Paxon,” she said, her face expressionless. “We might take a little time to work this out.”
His hopes came to life, the glow in his heart warm and bright as he stepped through her door.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TERRY BROOKS is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty books, including the Dark Legacy of Shannara adventures Wards of Faerie, Bloodfire Quest, and Witch Wraith; the Legends of Shannara novels Bearers of the Black Staff and The Measure of the Magic; the Genesis of Shannara trilogy: Armageddon’s Children, The Elves of Cintra, and The Gypsy Morph; The Sword of Shannara; the Voyage of the Jerle Shannara trilogy: Ilse Witch, Antrax, and Morgawr; the High Druid of Shannara trilogy: Jarka Ruus, Tanequil, and Straken; the nonfiction book Sometimes the Magic Works: Lessons from a Writing Life; and the novel based upon the screenplay and story by George Lucas, Star Wars®: Episode I The Phantom Menace.™ His novels Running with the Demon and A Knight of the Word were selected by the Rocky Mountain News as two of the best science fiction/fantasy novels of the twentieth century. The author was a practicing attorney for many years but now writes full-time. He lives with his wife, Judine, in the Pacific Northwest.