Terry Brooks - Ilse Witch

“Bek?” Quentin pressed softly.

He had come from nowhere to be where he was, an outsider accepted into a Highland home, a traveler simply by having come from another place and family. Life was a journey of sorts, and he could travel it by staying put or by going out. For Quentin, the choice had always been easy. For Bek, it was less so, but perhaps just as inevitable.

He looked at the Druid called Walker and nodded. “All right. I’ll go.”

On the way home the next day, Bek Rowe agonized over his decision. Even though it was made and he was committed, he could not stop second-guessing himself. On the face of things, he had made the right choice. There were lives at stake and responsibilities to be assumed in questing for the mysterious magic, and if the result of his going was to secure for the people of all nations a magic that would further their development and fulfill their needs—a result that Walker had taken great pains to assure him was possible—it was the right thing to do.

But in the back of his mind a whisper of warning nagged at him. The Druid, he felt, had told the truth. But the Druid was also reticent about giving out information, a tradition among the members of his order, and Bek was quite certain he was keeping something to himself. More than one something, in all likelihood. Bek could sense it in his voice and in the way he presented his cause to them. So careful with his words. So deliberate with his phrasing. Walker knew more than he was saying, and Bek worried that some of his misgivings about how a journey of this sort would influence his and Quentin’s lives had their source in the Druid’s secrets.

But there was a secondary problem with not going. Quentin had made up his mind even before Bek had agreed and would likely have gone without him. His cousin had been looking for an excuse to leave Leah and go elsewhere for a long time. That his father had apparently agreed to his going on this particular journey—a decision that Bek found remarkable—removed the last obstacle that stood in Quentin’s path. Quentin was like a brother. Much of the time, Bek felt protective toward him, even though Quentin was the older of the two and looked at the matter the other way around. Whatever the case, Bek loved and admired his cousin and could not imagine staying behind if Quentin went.

All of which was fine except that it did nothing to alleviate his misgivings. But there was no help for that, so he was forced to put the matter aside as they journeyed home. They walked steadily all day, crossing through the Highlands, navigating the deep woods, scrub wilderness, flowering meadows, streams and small rivers, misty valleys and green hills. They left much more quickly than they had gone in, Quentin setting the pace, anxious to return home so that they could prepare to set out again.

Which was another sticking point with Bek. Walker had asked them to come with him on a journey and then promptly departed for regions unknown. He hadn’t waited for them to join him or offered to take them with him. He hadn’t even told them when they would see him again.

“I want you to return to Leah on the morrow,” he had advised just before they had rolled into their blankets and drifted off to an uneasy sleep. “Speak with your father. Satisfy yourselves that he has given you his permission to leave. Then pack your gear—not forgetting the sword, Quentin—saddle two strong horses, and ride east.”

East! East, for cat’s sake! Isn’t that the wrong direction? Bek had demanded instantly. Didn’t the Elves live west? Wasn’t that where their journey to follow the map was supposed to initiate?

But the Druid had only smiled and assured him that traveling east was what was needed before going on to Arborlon. They must carry out a small errand for him, an errand he had insufficient time to run. Maybe it would offer Quentin a chance to test the magic of his blade. Maybe Bek would be given an opportunity to test his intuitive abilities. Maybe they would have a chance to meet someone they would come to depend upon in the days ahead.

Well, there wasn’t much they could say to all that, so they had agreed to do as he asked. Just as Walker had known they would, Bek felt. He sensed, in fact, that Walker knew exactly how to present a request so that it would always be agreed to. When Walker spoke, Bek could feel himself agreeing almost before the words were out. Something in the Druid’s voice was compelling enough to make him want to acquiesce out of hand.

Magic’s sway, he supposed. Wasn’t that a part of the Druid history? Wasn’t that one reason why people were so afraid of them?

“This fellow we’re supposed to find,” he spoke up suddenly, halfway through the long walk home, glancing over at Quentin.

“Truls Rohk,” his cousin said.

Bek shifted the heavy pack on his back. “Truls Rohk. What kind of name is that? Who is he? Doesn’t it bother you that we don’t know the first thing about him, that Walker didn’t even tell us what he looks like?”

“He told us how to find him. He told us exactly where to go and how to get there. He gave us a message to deliver and words to speak. That’s all we need to get the job done, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what we need because I don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into.” Bek shook his head doubtfully. “We jumped awfully quick at the chance to get involved in this business, Quentin. What do we know about Walker or the Druids or this map or any of it? Just enough to get excited about traipsing off to the other side of the world. How smart is that?”

Quentin shrugged. “The way I look at it, we have a wonderful opportunity to travel, to see something of the world, something beyond the borders of Leah. How often is that kind of chance going to come along? And Father agrees that we can go. Talk about miracles!”

Bek huffed. “Talk about blackmail—that’s more likely.”

“Not Father.” Quentin shook his head firmly. “He would die first. You know that.”

Bek nodded reluctantly.

“So let’s give this a chance before we start passing judgment. Let’s see what things look like. If we think we’re in over our heads, we can always give it up.”

“Not if we’re flying somewhere out over the Blue Divide, we can’t.”

“You worry too much.”

“Sure enough. And you worry too little.”

Quentin grinned. “True. But I’m happier worrying too little than you are worrying too much.”

That was Quentin for you, never spending too much time on what might happen, content to live in the moment. It was hard to argue with someone who was so happy all the time, and that was Quentin right down to the soles of his boots. Give him a sunny day and a chance to walk ten miles and he was all set. Never mind that a thunderstorm was approaching or that Gnome Hunters prowled the region he traveled. Quentin’s view was that bad things happened mostly when you thought too much about them.

Bek let the matter drop for the rest of the way back. He wasn’t going to change Quentin’s mind, and he wasn’t sure he even ought to try. His cousin was right—he should give the idea a chance, let things develop a bit, and see where they were going.

The sun had set and the blue-green haze of twilight had begun to shroud the Highlands when the city of Leah at last came in sight. They walked out of the trees and down a long, gently sloped hillside to where Leah sat on a high plain overlooking the lowlands east and south and the Rappahalladran and the Duln Forests west. Leah sprawled outward from its compact center in a series of gradually expanding estates, farms, and cooperatives owned and managed by its citizenry. Leah had been a monarchy in the time of Allanon, and various members of the Leah family had ruled in unbroken succession for nine hundred years. But eventually the monarchy had dissolved and the Highlands had fallen under Federation sway. It was only in the last fifty years that the Federation had withdrawn to the cities below the Prekkendorran Heights, and a council of elders had taken over the process of governing. Coran Leah, as a member of one of the most famous and prestigious Highland families, had gained a seat on the council and recently been elected First Minister. It was a position that he occupied reluctantly, but worked hard at, intent on justifying the trust his people had shown him.