Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara (49 page)

The main tower was a huge structure settled at the north end of the Keep, thick and massive in its look, but deceptive, as well. Nowhere was it evident that it tunneled into the earth much farther than it rose above it, and nowhere did the Outer Walls reveal the nature of the unpleasantness trapped within.

Only when she opened the huge ironbound door that led into the depths of the tower and began her descent was she reminded of what was concealed from the world outside. Stone stairs wound downward into endless darkness amid smells and tastes so unpleasant and sounds so insidious they made her cringe. She shuddered in spite of herself, trying in vain to close off the assault on her senses, to push back against the physically intimidating presence the tower’s walls exuded. Her entire being screamed at her to turn and flee back from where she had come, to warn her that to continue meant an encounter so terrible she could not expect to survive it.

Yet she did not turn back. Driven by her fear of what was at stake, compelled by the knowledge that only she could discover the truth behind the Keep’s insistent whispering, she kept going. The descent was not easily made, but her Druid training and her strong sense of responsibility buttressed her efforts. She had not told anyone what she was going to do. Woostra would know, of course, but if anything happened to her it was difficult to tell how much time might pass before he noticed she was missing.

She heard the whisper of the voice almost immediately—the familiar susurration of words and phrases that almost made sense and to which she could almost put meaning. In her heart, she knew she had done the right thing by coming. The voice reflected a sense of relief; she was expected and she had not disappointed. She was where she should be, the voice was saying. She was where she was needed.

Dampness formed on her exposed skin, cloying and chill. The air was stale and thick with age and closeness. Nothing born of the pit, nothing that resided within its stone vault, ever saw anything of the outside world. Here, things did not change. What was so a thousand
years ago was still so today. Imprisoned by stone and time, this tunnel into the earth’s center was an encapsulated environment, its components immutable.

She hated everything about it, but did not reveal her feelings by voice or gesture, believing it wiser—however irrational—to keep her distaste hidden.

The voice was growing clearer, the words beginning to form images that wormed their way through her subconscious to where she could glimpse them in her mind’s eye. Even so, she wasn’t sure at first what she was seeing. The images were in a context she did not recognize. She slowed her descent and then stopped altogether on one of the tiny platforms that marked her downward progression, pressing back against the stone of the tower wall and closing her eyes tightly.

Something creeps and climbs …

Something green and lacking in substance but filled with dark intent and raw hunger …

Something skitters through the darkness, figures hunched over and crawling like rats …

Something feral waits …

Something huge and violent bursts from darkness into light amid splashes of red and screaming so terrible and futile and endless …

She blinked rapidly in shock, reopening her eyes and staring out into the gloom of the tower and then into the deeper darkness of the pit. She could hear a wicked hissing, and she knew there was something alive down there. And just as she had known six years earlier, she knew at once what it was.

The magic that lived in the pit.

The magic that had dwelled there since Paranor was constructed. The magic she had come to find.

What was she to do? She wanted to turn and run. But she began to descend once more, moving to the next platform, deeper into the gloom. She was almost completely wrapped in darkness now, but she was afraid to use her magic to provide additional light, afraid it might attract the thing below. Afraid it might rise to seek her out. She never once doubted it was possible. She would listen to its voice and study
the images the voice conjured, but she could not stand her ground if it came for her.

She knew she could not do that.

Aphenglow
.

She heard her name spoken clearly and distinctly, but nothing more. It was so unexpected that for a moment she thought she was mistaken. She waited. The whispering began again, slow and insidious and menacing, solitary words spoken out of context, fragments of sentences stripped of relevance, and with them came the attendant images, newly formed and decidedly different, but every bit as terrible. She tried again to make sense of them, and failed.

She reached the next platform and halted once more, again leaning back against the tower wall, closing her eyes. Understanding would come to her, she felt. Some small knowledge, some recognition. The voice was trying to communicate but hadn’t found a way yet. Ancient language was all it knew. Images formed of words that didn’t quite connect or reveal were all it could manage.

Tell me
, she whispered in her mind.
Try
.

The voice continued to whisper, scary hisses that suggested angry snakes, but its meaning remained obscure. She listened carefully, but she could not decipher it.

Tell me what you want
.

She went down another level, tried again to understand, failed, and went down still another level. Now she was so deep she could hear the voice breathing and see the strange greenish glow of the resident magic. She was so frightened her hands were shaking. She could sense its power, and she felt dwarfed by it. She must not wake it. She must not. Its voice came to her from out of dreams and sleep, from a subconscious that transcended both. She did not know what this meant, but understood it should be left alone.

Yet she couldn’t do that. She needed it to speak to her. She needed to know what was happening.

Leave, Aphenglow
.

The words stopped her where she was. She waited for the voice to say something further, but it stayed silent.

She turned toward the wall of the pit and placed her hands flat against its cold, damp surface, absorbing its rough feel, reaching for something more. What did the magic intend to do if she left? Which choice would it make for Paranor?

Don’t seal the Keep
. She spoke to it in her mind, begging it to heed her.
Please, don’t. This is our home
.

The voice responded in rapid bursts, a flood of words, garbled and raw sounding:

… tunnels … boring machines … walls … compromised … matter … of time … cleansing …

Then, a shriek:

Get out! All of you! Now! Leave them to me!

The words exploded inside her mind, disjointed and wild, and she jerked away from the wall in response to their blackness and rage, averting her face, cringing in fear.

In the pit beneath her, the greenish mist heaved upward as if trying to break free, and the hissing it emitted was slow and fierce and penetrated to her core.

But she understood now what the voice was trying to tell her. She knew what was going to happen.

Take them!
she screamed in response, the words white-hot coals in her mind.
But spare the Keep!

In spite of her damaged leg, heedless of the pain it caused her, she flew up the stone stairs, back out of the darkness and into the light.

29

B
Y THE TIME SHE REGAINED THE GROUND FLOOR OF THE
main tower, safely out of the black pit that housed the ancient magic she had gone to find, Aphenglow Elessedil was a mess. Her clothes were disheveled and stained with damp and sweat, her face and hair were smudged with dirt, and her leg ached so badly she could barely walk on it. She limped from the tower to the adjoining courtyard and crossed to the steps leading up to the ramparts of the Inner Wall, searching for anyone at all. She was scared and frantic and desperate to impart what she knew.

She had so little time, she kept thinking. So very little.

She was close to collapse when she encountered Krolling descending the stone stairway she was coming up.

“Aphenglow?” he questioned in shock.

Everything was spinning. She toppled over and he caught hold of her. “Call the others,” she gasped. “I have something … I have to tell …”

Without a word, he picked her up like a child and carried her back up the stairs and along the ramparts. On the way, they found Bombax and several more of the Druid Guard, who fell into line behind them. Krolling took her all the way to the tower where her sleeping chambers were located and then into her bedroom, where he placed her carefully on her bed. By then, Arlingfant and Cymrian had appeared
as well. Her sister ran out of the room in tears, but quickly returned with warm water and cloths and set about cleaning her up.

“What happened?” Bombax demanded, looking as if he wanted to inflict serious pain on someone. “Who did this to you?”

She shook her head. “No one. Find Woostra. I need … him here, too.”

She lay back again, closed her eyes, and gave herself over to Arlingfant’s tender hands, soothed by the feel of the damp cloth on her face, catching stray drops of water on her tongue and feeding them into her parched mouth. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten to this state, couldn’t imagine she had missed it happening. What she could remember was the descent into the pit, following the whispering of the voice, the lure of its beckoning, as she tried to discover what it wanted. What she could recall were the darkness and damp and the presence of the terrible thing that lived within them. She kept hearing its voice in her mind—the one that had spoken so clearly at the end—shrieking at her. She kept hearing it repeat the same words over and over.

Get out! Now!

Woostra came through the doorway, and they were all present save for the Trolls still on watch atop the Inner Wall. She forced herself to sit up, gently moving Arlingfant away. “Later,” she told her sister, silencing her protests.

“We’re compromised,” she told them, keeping her voice calm and steady. “The Federation is tunneling under Paranor’s walls out where we can’t see what they’re doing. They aren’t building siege machines; they’re burrowing into the Keep. They’ve discovered the magic that wards us doesn’t extend below the walls. We have to get out of here right away. I don’t know how much time we have, but I don’t think it’s a lot.”

“Aphen, wait a minute!” Bombax interjected. “How do you know all this?”

“The Keep told me.” She saw the mix of confusion and disbelief in his eyes. “Don’t doubt me on this, Bombax. Paranor has always spoken to me. The voice was always there. It was Woostra who suggested I might be hearing the old magic that dwells in the pit beneath the
main tower. He told me it might be trying to tell me something and was doing so because Grianne’s wards were failing.”

She turned to face Woostra. “You were right. When I went into the tower, the voice began to whisper to me right away. At first, I couldn’t understand what it was saying. I went down into the pit. I went so far down I couldn’t see where I’d come from. The farther down I went, the clearer the whispering became. I began to understand words and then phrases. I could tell the voice was coming from the thing that lived in the pit, from the old magic conjured when Paranor was built. I could feel it stirring; I could see it moving …”

Bombax reached for her arm. “Aphen, calm down. Maybe you just thought …”

“Don’t patronize me, Bombax!” she shrieked at him in fury. “Just listen! I heard it! I saw it! It was real! And the last thing I heard was so terrifying I ran back up those stairs …”

She caught her breath, shook her head. “It wants to come out of there, whatever it is, whatever it intends, and it’s telling us we don’t want to be here when it does.”

Bombax nodded slowly, chastened. “All right, calm down. I believe you. I do. Don’t be angry with me. I just needed to be sure you believed yourself. You’re asking us to leave Paranor, Aphen. To abandon her to the Federation.”

“It isn’t exactly what she’s asking,” Woostra said, pursing his lips thoughtfully, giving the big Druid a long look.

Bombax hesitated. “You think the old magic won’t let that happen, that it will stop the Federation?”

“I think it will do whatever it needs to do to protect itself. I think it wanted Aphenglow to grant it permission to come out of the pit and put a stop to what’s being done to it. And it is warning us not to be here when that happens.”

“But we can’t allow that! Not without the Ard Rhys giving permission for it! Not without her even knowing!”

“We have no idea where she is,” Aphenglow pointed out. “And we don’t have time to find her.”

“She’s beyond helping us,” Woostra added. “Beyond even advising us. We have to make this decision on our own.”

There was a long silence as those gathered looked from face to face. “The first thing we have to do,” Aphenglow said finally, “is figure out how we’re going to get out of the Keep without getting killed.”