03 The Wishsong of Shannara by Brooks Terry

Author:Brooks, Terry [Terry, Brooks,]
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2010-04-10T10:43:23.431000+00:00

"What...have you done to me?" she asked him haltingly. But the Druid did not answer. "Help me to my feet," he commanded her. She stared at him. "You cannot walk, Allanon! You are too badly hurt!" A strange, unfamiliar gentleness filled the dark eyes. "Help me to my feet, Brin. I will not have to walk far." Reluctantly she wrapped her arms about him and eased him from the ground. Blood soaked the grasses upon which he had knelt and the mass of ashes that had been the Jachyra. "Oh, Allanon!" Brin was crying freely now. "Walk me to the river's edge," he whispered. Slowly, unsteadily, they stumbled across the empty glen to where the Chard Rush churned swiftly eastward within its grass-covered banks. The sun still shone a brilliant gold, warm and friendly as it brightened the autumn day. It was a day of life, not of death, and Brin cried within that it could not become so for Allanon. They reached the bank of the river. Gently the Valegirl let the Druid settle once more into a kneeling position, his dark head lowered against the sunlight. "When your quest is done, Brin," he said to her, "you will find me here." His face lifted to hers. "Now stand away." Stricken, she stepped slowly back from him. Tears ran down her face, and her hands made pleading motions to the slouched form. Allanon stared back at her for a long moment, then turned away. One blood-streaked arm lifted toward the waters of the Chard Rush, stretching out above them. The river went still instantly, its surface as calm and placid as that of a sheltered pond. A strange, hollow silence descended over everything. A moment later the center of the still water began to churn violently and from the depths of the river rose the cries that had come from the waters of the Hadeshorn-high and piercing. They sounded for but an instant, and then all was still once more. On the river's edge, Allanon's hand dropped to his side and his head bowed. Then the spectral figure of Bremen rose from the Chard Rush. Gray and nearly transparent against the afternoon light, the shade rose to stand upon the river's waters, ragged and bent with age. "Father," Brin heard Allanon call softly. The shade came forward, gliding motionlessly on the still surface of the river. It came to where the Druid knelt. There it bent slowly downward and gathered the stricken form in its arms. Without turning, it moved back across the water, Allanon cradled close. It stopped again at the center of the Chard Rush, and beneath it the waters boiled fiercely, hissing and steaming. Then it sank slowly back into the river, and the last of the Druids was carried from sight. The Chard Rush was still an instant longer, and then the magic was ended and it began to churn eastward once again. "Allanon!" Brin Ohmsford cried. Alone on the riverbank she stared out across the swift-flowing waters and waited for the reply that would never come.

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