Terry Brooks - The Elves of Cintra

"For these reasons, I took you from Nest Freemark and brought you here to live until the balance was not just tipped, but toppled and the end assured. Then I sent you back into the human world to fulfill your destiny. You have a purpose, and that purpose is to save the human race."

Hawk almost laughed, but the look on the old man's face kept him from doing so. He tried to say something, but he couldn't find the right words.

"You are the boy who will lead his children to the Promised Land," the King of the Silver River said to him. "Your dream is your destiny. I gave you that dream when you left my care and went back out into the world. But the dream is real, a foretelling of what you are meant to do. Your small family in the ruins of the city, those you left behind when you came here, are the beginning of a much larger family. You will lead them to a haven that will shelter them until the madness is finished. The destruction is not over, nor the devastation complete. That will take time. It will take more time still for the world to heal. While that happens, some will need to be kept safe and well so that the people of the Word will not all die."

Hawk nodded, then shook his head no. "I don't think any of this is right. I don't think I can do any of what you seem to think I can do. I believe the dream, but the dream is a small one. It is only for me and for the Ghosts. My family. Not … how many are we talking about?"

"Several thousand, perhaps. Humans, Elves, and others. An amal–gam of those who struggle to survive the demons and the once–men and all the others who serve the Void."

Hawk stared. Elves? "How am I supposed to do this? You say I have magic, and maybe I do. I think I may have helped heal Cheney when he was injured by a giant centipede. But that's not going to mean much with what you say I have to do. Healing is one thing. Fighting off demons or whatever to get several thousand people to a safe place is something else again. I mean, look at me! I'm not anything special. I can't do anything to save all these people? I can barely help the family I've got now, and that's only nine kids, a dog, and an old man?"

The more he talked, the more adamant he became. The more adamant he became, the more frightened he grew. The enormity of what the old man was asking of him–no, telling him he must do–was overwhelming. He tried to say something more and gave it up, getting to his feet in disgust and staring off into the distance in a mix of rage and frustration.

"I just don't think I can do this," he said finally. "I don't even know how to begin."

He waited for the old man to say something, and then when he didn't turned around again.

The old man was gone.

HE SEARCHED FOR the old man then, hunting through gardens he knew nothing about, not even where they began or ended. When that proved fruitless, he searched for Tessa. He walked aimlessly because moving was better than sitting; doing something was better than doing nothing. The effort began to tire him, and he slowed and finally stopped altogether. He looked about in bewilderment. Everything looked the same as it had when he had started out. The fountain and the pool were off to one side. The wisteria hung from the trellis in a shower of purple. It was as if nothing had changed–as if he had not moved at all.

Maybe that's the message, he thought. Maybe no matter what I do, nothing will change and I will get nowhere.

He was very thirsty, and after thinking it over he tried the water in the fountain. It tasted sweet and clean, so he drank. He reassured him–self that the old man wouldn't bring him all this way only to let him drink poisoned water.

When his thirst was satisfied, he took a long moment to reflect on what he had been told and decided that maybe he believed it was all true after all. Well, mostly true. All but the part about how he was sup–posed to save all these people by taking them somewhere–to a safe place, a Promised Land, a haven from the ravages of the world's de–struction. He didn't really believe he could do something like that. But he maybe believed the rest, although he couldn't say exactly why. It was in part because he knew there was something different about him, in part because of his dreams of a place he was meant to go with the Ghosts, and in part because of what he felt about the old man. The King of the Silver River. He spoke the name to himself in the silence of his mind. Despite his doubts, he could not make himself believe that the old man was lying. Not about any of it. Even the most wild, im–probable parts of it felt true.

He sat down on the wooden bench again, wondering what he should do. He tried to think about something besides his situation, to give himself a chance to let everything go for a few moments, but it was impossible. He told himself that he should be grateful he was still alive when by all that was reasonable he should be dead. The old man had saved him and brought him here deliberately, not on a whim and not without reason to believe he was needed. Hawk couldn't dismiss this out of hand, even doubting it as he did. Not even the part about lead–ing all these people to a place where the world's destruction would not affect them.

As if there were such a place, and the old man shared Hawk's dream.

It occurred to him that he hadn't gotten around to asking where this place might be, let alone how he was supposed to get there. If he really was supposed to lead someone, even a handful like the Ghosts, then

"The dream was only of the Ghosts in the beginning, because that was all that was needed," the old man said, sitting next to him on the bench. "But it was always intended to include others, as well. A world starting over needs more than a few children."

He had materialized out of nowhere and without making a sound. Hawk jumped inwardly but kept his composure. "I don't know what a world starting over needs. Where were you?"

"Here and there. I thought you might need a little time alone to think things over. Sometimes it helps. As for what you know, young one, you know more than you think because you are imbued with the wild magic. Your intuition and your innate understanding are stronger because of it. How you were formed and of what pieces is what makes you so unexpected. That is why you are here–why you were formed here, why you left, and why you have returned. It is why your enemies are so afraid of you."

Hawk shook his head. "Afraid of me? No one is afraid of me." He met the old man's gaze and held it. "You keep talking about how I am formed of wild magic. What does that mean? Am I real? Am I even human?"

"You are as human as any other boy your age. You are as human as this girl you love." The old man smiled. "But you are something more, of course. The wild magic sets you apart. What that means is that while you are human, you are also a creature of Faerie. You transcend the present world and its peoples. Your origins are very old and go back to the begin–ning of the world. You are flesh and blood and bones, and you can and will die someday like other humans. But your life is set on a different track, and it is given to you to be able to do things no one else ever will."

"Things. What sort of things?"

"No one knows. Not even me, and I watched you being born. What you will do and how you will do it is knowledge you must discover for yourself Your dreams tell you of your destiny, but only by taking the road to that destiny will you discover how you are meant to fulfill it."

"By going to this place where the people I lead will be safe? By see–ing what will happen when I do?"

"Just so, young one."

"I have to just do this and hope for the best?"

"You have to trust in who and what you are. You have to trust in the dream you have been given. You have believed in it until now, haven't you?"