Terry Brooks: The Wishsong of Shannara

He turned suddenly to Brin. «Remember the stories of your father, told him by his father, told to his father by Shea Ohmsford, of the advance of the Warlock Lord into the Southland? As the evil one came, a darkness fell over everything. A shadow cast itself across the land and all beneath it withered and died. Nothing lived in that shadow that was not part of the evil. It begins again, Valegirl — this time in the Anar.»

He looked away. «Ten days ago, I stood at the walls of Graymark, intent upon finding and destroying the Ildatch. It was then that I discovered what the Mord Wraiths had done. Using the dark magic, the Mord Wraiths had grown within the valley a swamp–forest that would protect the book, a Maelmord in the faerie language, a barrier of such evil that it would crush and devour anything that attempted to enter and did not belong. Understand — this dark wood lives, it breathes, it thinks. Nothing can pass through it. I tried, but even the considerable power that I wield was not enough. The Maelmord repulsed me, and the Mord Wraiths discovered my presence. I was pursued, but I was able to escape. And now they search for me, knowing…»

He trailed off momentarily. Brin glanced quickly at Rone, who was looking unhappier by the minute.

«If they’re searching for you, they’ll eventually come here, won’t they?» The highlander took advantage of the pause in the Druid’s narration.

«Eventually, yes. But that will happen regardless of whether or not they follow me now. Understand, sooner or later they will seek to eliminate any threat to their power over the races. Surely you see that the Ohmsford family constitutes such a threat.»

«Because of Shea Ohmsford and the Sword of Shannara?» Brin asked.

«Indirectly, yes. The Mord Wraiths are not creatures of illusion as was the Warlock Lord, so the Sword cannot harm them. The Elfstones, perhaps. That magic is a force to be reckoned with, and the Wraiths will have heard of Wil Ohmsford’s quest for the Bloodfire.» He paused. «But the real threat to them is the wishsong.»

«The wishsong?» Brin was dumbfounded. «But the wishsong is just a toy! It hasn’t the power of the Elfstones! Why would that be a threat to these monsters? Why would they be afraid of something as harmless as that?»

«Harmless?» Allanon’s eyes flickered momentarily, then closed as if to hide something. The Druid’s dark face was expressionless, and suddenly Brin was really afraid.

«Allanon, why are you here?» she asked once more, struggling to keep her hands from shaking.

The Druid’s eyes lifted again. On the table before him, the oil lamp’s thin flame sputtered. «I want you to come with me into the Eastland to the Mord Wraiths’ keep. I want you to use the wishsong to gain passage into the Maelmord — to find the Ildatch and bring it to me to be destroyed.»

His listeners stared at him speechlessly.

«How?» Jair asked finally.

«The wishsong can subvert even the dark magic,” Allanon replied. «It can alter behavior in any living thing. Even the Maelmord can be made to accept Brin. The wishsong can gain passage for her as one who belongs.»

Jair’s eyes widened in astonishment. «The wishsong can do all that?»

But Brin was shaking her had. «The wishsong is just a toy,” she repeated.

«Is it? Or is that simply the way in which you have used it?» The Druid shook his head slowly. «No, Brin Ohmsford, the wishsong is Elven magic, and it possesses the power of Elven magic. You do not see that yet, but I tell you it is so.»

«I don’t care what it is or isn’t, Brin’s not going!» Rone looked angry. «You cannot ask her to do something this dangerous!»

Allanon remained impassive. «I do not have a choice, Prince of Leah. No more choice than I had in asking Shea Ohmsford to go in search of the Sword of Shannara nor Wil Ohmsford to go in quest of the Bloodfire. The legacy of Elven magic that was passed first to Jerle Shannara belongs now to the Ohmsfords. I wish as you do that it were different. We might as well wish that night were day. The wishsong belongs to Brin, and now she must use it.»

«Brin, listen to me.» Rone turned to the Valegirl. «There is more to the rumors than I have told you. They also speak of what the Mord Wraiths have done to men, of eyes and tongues gone, of minds emptied of all life, and of fire that burns to the bone. I discounted all that until now. I thought it little more than the late–night fireside tales of drunken men. But the Druid makes me think differently. You can’t go with him. You can’t.»

«The rumors of which you speak are true,” Allanon acknowledged softly. «There is danger. You may even die.» He paused. «But what are we to do if you do not come? Will you hide and hope the Mord Wraiths forget about you? Will you ask the Dwarves to protect you? What happens when they are gone? As with the Warlock Lord, the evil will then come into this land. It will spread until there is no one left to resist it.»

Jair reached for his sister’s arm. «Brin, if we have to go, at least there will be two of us…»

«There will most certainly not be two of us!» she contradicted him instantly. «Whatever happens, you are staying right here!»

«We’re all staying right here.» Rone faced the Druid. «We’re not going — any of us. You will have to find another way.»

Allanon shook his head. «I cannot, Prince of Leah. There is no other way.»

They were silent then. Brin slumped back in her chair, confused and more than a little frightened. She felt trapped by the sense of necessity that the Druid created within her, by the tangle of obligations he had thrust upon her. They spun in her mind; as they spun, the same thought kept coming back, over and over. The wishsong is only a toy. Elven magic, yes — but still a toy! Harmless! No weapon against an evil that even Allanon could not overcome! Yet her father had always been afraid of the magic. He had warned against its use, cautioning that it was not a thing to be played with. And she herself had determined to discourage Jair’s use of the wishsong…

«Allanon,” she said quietly. The lean face turned. «I have used the wishsong only to change appearance in small ways — to change the turning of leaves or the blooming of flowers. Little things. Even that, I have not done for many months. How can the wishsong be used to change an evil as great as this forest that guards the Ildatch?»

There was a moment’s hesitation. «I will teach you.»

She nodded slowly. «My father has always discouraged any use of the magic. He has warned against relying upon it because once he did so, and it changed his life. If he were here, Allanon, he would do as Rone has done and advise me to tell you no. If fact, he would order me to tell you no.»

The craggy face reflected new weariness. «I know, Valegirl.»

«My father came back from the Westland, from the quest for the Bloodfire, and he put away the Elfstones forever,” she continued, trying to think her way through her confusion as she spoke. «He told me once that he knew even then that the Elven magic had changed him, though he did not see how. He made a promise to himself that he would never use the Elfstones again.»

«I know this as well.»

«And still you ask me to come with you?»

«I do.»

«Without my being able to consult him first? Without being able to wait for his return? Without even an attempt at an explanation to him?»

The Druid looked suddenly angry. «I will make this easy for you, Brin Ohmsford. I ask nothing of you that is fair or reasonable, nothing of which your father would approve. I ask that you risk everything on little more than my word that it is necessary that you do so. I ask trust where there is probably little reason to trust. I ask all this and give nothing back. Nothing.»