Terry Brooks - The Elfstones of Shannara

The King turned sharply, glanced briefly at Ander, and moved back to the table, reseating himself and taking Lauren’s hands in his own to steady him. «You must tell me everything that she said to you, Lauren. Every detail. Leave nothing out.»

The Chosen nodded wordlessly. His eyes were dry once more, his face calm. Eventine released his hands and sat back expectantly. Ander pulled over a high–backed chair from across the room and seated himself next to them.

«My Lord, you have heard of the form of her communication with us?», he asked cautiously.

«I was a Chosen once, Lauren,” Eventine answered. Ander stared at his father in surprise. This was something he had never known. But Lauren seemed to gain a measure of confidence from the answer. He nodded, turning to Ander to explain.

«Her voice is actually not a voice of sound, but one of images that appear in our minds. There are seldom words as such; the words are our own translation of the thoughts she projects. That is how I translate when she uses my name. The images are brief and not fully drawn, and we have to interpret them as best we can.»

He paused and turned back to Eventine. «I… the Ellcrys has never spoken to me more than once before this morning, my Lord. She had spoken to the six of us only at the time of our choosing. Until this morning, most of what we knew of her communication was based upon the writings of our Order and the teachings of the Chosen who have served before. Even now, it is very confusing.»

Eventine nodded encouragingly. Lauren continued.

«My Lord, the Ellcrys spoke to us at great length this morning, something she has never done before. She called us to her and told us what was to be and what we, the Chosen, must do. The images were not entirely clear, but there can be no mistake that she is dying. Her time is short; how much time remains isn’t certain. Already the erosion has begun. And as she fails, the Forbidding will fail with her. There is only one chance for her — a rebirth.»

Eventine’s hand shot forth, gripping Lauren’s. Ander too had forgotten — shocked and confused by the Ellcrys’ forecast of her death. A rebirth! It was written in the oldest histories that the Ellcrys could be reborn and the Forbidding preserved.

«Then there is still hope,” he whispered.

Eventine’s eyes were fixed on Lauren. «What must be done to give her this rebirth?»

Lauren shook his head. «My Lord, she has entrusted her fate to the Chosen. Only through us will she permit herself to be reborn. I do not pretend to understand her reasons, but the images were clear. She will deliver her seed to one of us — which, she did not say No face was shown. But it was made known that only one of the Chosen who were selected by her this last time can receive that seed. No other will be considered. Whoever is selected must carry the seed to the life source of the earth — to the fountain of the Bloodfire. There the seed must be immersed within the fire by the bearer. Once returned to the site of the old tree, the seed will take root and a new tree will spring forth to replace the old.»

The details of the legend were coming back to Ander now — the bearing of the Ellcrys seed, the ritual of the Bloodfire, the rebirth. It was told in the strange, formal language of the oldest histories — histories that most of the people had forgotten or never known.

«The fountain of the Bloodfire — where is it to be found?» he asked abruptly.

Lauren looked miserable. «A place was shown us, my Lord Prince, but… but we could not recognize it. The images were vague, almost as if she lacked the ability to describe it properly.»

Eventine’s voice remained calm. «Tell me what you were shown. Everything.»

Lauren nodded. «There was a wilderness with mountains and swamp all around. There was a deep mist that came and went. Within the wilderness was a lone peak and beneath the peak a maze of tunnels that burrowed deep within the earth. Somewhere within the maze there was a door made of glass — glass that could not break. Behind the door was the Bloodfire.»

«No names for any of the parts of this puzzle?» the King asked patiently.

«Only one my lord. But it was a name we did not recognize. The maze in which the Bloodfire lies hidden appears to be called Safehold.»

Safehold? Ander searched his memory, but the name meant nothing to him.

Eventine glanced at Ander and shook his head. He rose to his feet, walked several paces from the table, then stopped abruptly. He turned back to Lauren. «Is there nothing more that you were told? No hints — bits, that might not seem to have any meaning?»

«Nothing. That was all.»

The King nodded slowly to the young Elf. «Very well, Lauren. You were right in insisting I be told at once. Now, will you wait outside for a little while?»

When the door had closed behind the Chosen, Eventine walked back to his chair and lowered himself slowly. His face seemed to have aged terribly and his movements were those of an old, old man. Manx moved over in front of him, and the grizzled face stared upward sympathetically. Eventine sighed and moved his hand tiredly to the dog’s head.

«Have I lived too long?» he muttered. «If the Ellcrys dies, how can I protect my people from what will happen then? I am their King; the responsibility for their protection is mine. I have always accepted that. Yet for the first time in my life, I wish it were otherwise…»

He trailed off reluctantly, then turned to look at Ander. «Well, we must do what we can. With Arion gone to the Sarandanon, I will need your help.» Ander flushed at the unintended rebuke. «Go with Lauren and question the Chosen carefully. See if there is anything more that may be learned. Anything. I will have the old histories move up from the vaults and examine them.

«Do you think there might be something there — or in the old world maps?» Ander asked doubtfully.

«No. You have read them more recently than I, but I can remember nothing. Still, what else can we do? If we are to have any chance at all of finding the Bloodfire, we must have more than what Lauren has been able to tell us.»

He nodded in dismissal. Ander went out to join Lauren, to return with him to the tree where the other Chosen would be waiting. There he would attempt to discover something more of the mysterious Safehold. It seemed a hopeless effort. But, as his father had said, what else could they do?

The summer day ended with a brilliant burst of red and lavender that flooded the whole of the western skyline. For long, beautiful minutes, the sun seemed to hang at the crest of the Breakline, lighting the roof of the Westland forest and weaving shadows that draped the wooded earth with still, soft bands of darkness. The air cooled slowly, the midday heat fading now as an evening breeze rippled and sighed through the great, silent trees. Then daylight slipped into dusk, and night washed the color from the sky.

The people of the Even city of Arborlon drifted wearily toward their homes.

Within the Gardens of Life, Ander Elessedil stared upward at the Ellcrys. Seen now against the evening light, the great tree seemed normal, deceptively unchanged. Yet before the sun had set, traces of the sickness that was destroying her had been plainly evident.

The disease was spreading rapidly. On a scattering of smaller limbs, rot had begun to eat away at the silver–white bark. Broad clusters of leaves hung limp with wilt, curling at the tips, the deep red color turned black. The Chosen had scrubbed the bark carefully with herbal salves and plucked the damaged leaves, hoping against reason that the disease could be contained, knowing all the while that it could not. Ander had seen the truth reflected in their eyes. They could not heal the Ellcrys. No one could. She was dying, and there was nothing that anyone could do to prevent it.