Staring out across the flat, the caull crouched at her side, she began to reason it out.
Bek did not sleep after Truls Rohk left him, but sat thinking on what all their running and hiding were leading to. True, he was fleeing to save his life, to escape the Ilse Witch who, sister or no, wanted him dead. But flight alone was not the solution to his problem, and the more he ran and the farther he went, the less it seemed like he was achieving anything. To solve the problem of Grianne Ohmsford, he must convince her of who he was. He could see that probably wouldn’t happen through words alone. It would take something more, perhaps the magic of the Sword of Shannara, perhaps another magic entirely. But a confrontation and a strategy for dealing with that confrontation were inescapable.
How could he bring about the necessary epiphany without losing his life? How could he make her believe?
The answer did not come to him, and he grew tired thinking on it. He lay down to sleep. He drifted off quickly, but he did not dream. He slept and woke in fits and starts, troubled in a way he could not identify, unable to rest for more than a few minutes at a time. He thought it was because he was waiting for Truls Rohk to return, but maybe it was just that he couldn’t stop thinking about his part in the journey to Castledown. He wished he knew everything that Walker did, all the secrets he was still keeping to himself about Bek, about his purpose on the voyage, about the reasons for his presence. It did not stop with his usage of the Sword of Shannara at the Squirm. It did not end with his heritage of magic or his relationship to Grianne. It went beyond all that. But how far did it go?
When he woke the last time that night, he was still caught up in stray thoughts of his sister and their tangled relationship, discomforted enough that he felt as if he had not slept at all. Hearing a soft murmur of voices, he sat up with a start and stared into the surrounding darkness.
There were faces all around him. None of them belonged to Truls Rohk. None of them was attached to a body.
Like the faces of wraiths risen from the netherworld, they floated in the air, and in their empty eyes, Bek Ohmsford saw the reflection of his soul.
12
Bek fought down the rush of fear that threatened to overwhelm him as he felt himself stripped bare and laid open by the faces that floated before him. Their features were flat and empty of life, drained of all expression, sketched on air with chalk so that they did not seem fully formed, but in need of completion, a child’s rendering. They were shades, he believed, the dead come back to haunt, compelled to seek out the living by urges and needs only they could know. Their wide, empty eyes fastened on him without seeing, but he could feel them looking anyway, inside, where he hid everything he wanted to keep secret.
Who are you?
The voice was thin and whispery. He couldn’t tell which of the shades was speaking. He couldn’t see movement of mouth or lips. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, resonating inside his head.
“I’m Bek Ohmsford,” he replied, frozen in his sitting position, struggling not to scream.
Where have you come from?
His voice shook. “From the Highlands of Leah, across the sea, in another land.”
Far away?
“Yes.”
Have you come alone?
He hesitated. “No. I came with others.”
Where are they?
He shook his head, eyes shifting from one dead face to the next, from one set of blank features to another. “I don’t know.”
Would you dare to lie to us?
He exhaled sharply. “I don’t think so.”
The heads shifted slightly, moving in a clockwise motion, as if stirred by a passing wind. Eyes and mouths gaped open, the eyes and mouths of corpses. They did not seem to threaten in any way, but they were all around him, and Bek could not escape the feeling that there was more to them than what he was seeing. He kept himself as calm and still as he could manage, the last traces of his restless sleep gone now, his mind and body tingling and taut with his terror.
The shades went still again.
Why have you come here?
How should he answer that one? His mind raced. “I was running away from someone who wants to hurt me.”
Where are you running to?
“I don’t know. I’m just running.”
Where is your companion?
So they knew about Truls Rohk, as well. What did they want with him? “He went back to see if our pursuer is still following us.”
Who is your pursuer? Do not lie to us.
He wouldn’t dream of lying at this point. Seeing no reason not to do so, he told the shades about Grianne and their history. He did not dissemble or try to hide anything. It might have been that he thought it pointless or perhaps was too weary to pick and choose between what to tell and what to keep secret. There were no interruptions as he spoke. The heads of the dead hung suspended before him, and the night about was empty and still.
When he was finished, there was no immediate response. He thought that perhaps they had decided he was lying after all or trying to trick them in some way. But he had no way of knowing what else he could do or say to convince them. He had used up all his words.
Will you use your magic against your sister when she finds you?
The question was unexpected, and he hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said finally.
Will she use hers against you?
“I don’t know that either. I don’t know what will happen when we meet again.”
Do you wish her harm?
For a moment, Bek was left speechless. “No!” he blurted out. “I just want to make her understand.”
There was a stirring in the air, a sort of rustling sound, like the wind passing through trees or tall grasses. Buried in its sound were words and phrases, as if the dead were communicating with each other in their own language. Bek heard it at the edges of his mind, barely audible, faintly recognizable for what it was. It came and went quickly, and the silence returned.
Tell us of your companion. Do not lie to us.
Again, Bek did as he was ordered, certain now that lying was a mistake he should not make. His fear had lessened, and he was speaking with more confidence, almost as if the shades were companions about a fire and he a storyteller. He did not think they meant him harm. He thought that he must have trespassed somehow, and they had come to determine his reasons. If he just explained, he would be all right.
So he related what he knew of Truls Rohk and the events that had brought them to Castledown. It took him a while to tell everything, but he felt it was important to do so. He said that the shape-shifter had watched over him on his journey and twice saved his life. He wasn’t sure why he made a point of this. Perhaps it was because he thought the shades should know Truls was a friend. Perhaps he thought that knowing this would help keep them both from harm.
When he had finished, the heads shifted and settled anew.
Breeding between shape-shifters and humans is forbidden.
It was said without rancor or condemnation. Nevertheless, it was a strong comment for them to make. And an odd one. What did it matter to the dead what the living did?
He shook his head. “It’s not his fault; his parents made that choice.”
Halflings have no place in the world.
“Not if we don’t make one for them.”
Would you make a place for him?
“Yes, if he needed one.”
Would you give up your own place in the world so that he might have his?
The conversation was getting oddly metaphysical, and Bek had no idea where it was going, but he stayed with it. “Yes.”