“Go back into the dark,” whispered the old man.
The woodswoman hissed a final time, then turned and disappeared into the trees without a sound. Her smell lingered on a moment longer, then faded. The old man waved almost absently at the fire, and it returned to normal. The night filled again with comforting sounds, and everything was as before.
The old man snorted and came forward into the firelight. “Bah. One of nighttime’s little horrors come out to play,” he muttered in disgust. He looked at Par quizzically. “You all right, young Ohmsford? And this one? Coll, is it? That was a nasty blow he took.”
Par eased Coll to the ground, nodding. “Yes, thanks. Could you hand me that cloth and a little water?”
The old man did as he was asked, and Par wiped the side of Coll’s head where an ugly bruise was already beginning to form. Coll winced, sat forward, and put his head down between his legs, waiting for the throbbing to ease off. Par looked up. It dawned on him suddenly that the old man had used Coll’s name.
“How do you know who we are?” he asked, his tone guarded.
The old man kept his gaze steady. “Well, now. I know who you are because I’ve come looking for you. But I’m not your enemy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Par shook his head. “Not really. Not after helping us the way you did. Thank you.”
“No need for thanks.”
Par nodded again. “That woman, or whatever she was—she seemed frightened of you.” He didn’t make it a question, he made it a statement of fact.
The old man shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Do you know her?”
“I know of her.”
Par hesitated, uncertain whether to press the matter or not. He decided to let it drop. “So. Why are you looking for us?”
“Oh, that’s rather a long story, I’m afraid,” the old man answered, sounding very much as if the effort required to tell it was entirely beyond him. “I don’t suppose we might sit down while we talk about it? The fire’s warmth provides some relief for these ageing bones. And you wouldn’t happen to have a touch of ale, would you? No? Pity. Well, I suppose there was no chance to procure such amenities, the way you were hustled out of Varfleet. Lucky to escape with your skins under the circumstances.”
He ambled in close and lowered himself gingerly to the grass, folding his legs before him, draping his gray robes carefully about. “Thought I’d catch up with you there, you know. But then that disruption by the Federation occurred, and you were on your way south before I could stop you.”
He reached for a cup and dipped it into the water bucket, drinking deeply. Coll was sitting up now, watching, the damp cloth still held to the side of his head. Par sat down next to him.
The old man finished his water and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Allanon sent me,” he declared perfunctorily.
There was a long silence as the Ohmsford brothers stared first at him, then at each other, then back again at him.
“Allanon?” Par repeated.
“Allanon has been dead for three hundred years,” Coll interjected bluntly.
The old man nodded. “Indeed. I misspoke. It was actually Allanon’s ghost, his shade—but Allanon, still, for all intents and purposes.”
“Allanon’s shade?” Coll took the cloth from the side of his head, his injury forgotten. He did not bother to hide his disbelief.
The old man rubbed his bearded chin. “Now, now, you will have to be patient for a moment or two until I’ve had a chance to explain. Much of what I am going to tell you will be hard for you to accept, but you must try. Believe me when I tell you that it is very important.”
He rubbed his hands briskly in the direction of the fire. “Think of me as a messenger for the moment, will you? Think of me as a messenger sent by Allanon, for that’s all I am to you just now. You, Par. Why have you been ignoring the dreams?”
Par stiffened. “You know about that?”
“The dreams were sent by Allanon to bring you to him. Don’t you understand? That was his voice speaking to you, his shade come to address you. He summons you to the Hadeshorn—you, your cousin Wren and...”
“Wren?” Coll interrupted, incredulous.
The old man looked perturbed. “That’s what I said, didn’t I? Am I going to have to repeat everything? Your cousin, Wren Ohmsford. And Walker Boh as well.”
“Uncle Walker,” Par said softly. “I remember.”
Coll glanced at his brother, then shook his head in disgust. “This is ridiculous. No one knows where either of them is!” he snapped. “Wren lives somewhere in the Westland with the Rovers. She lives out of the back of a wagon! And Walker Boh hasn’t been seen by anyone for almost ten years. He might be dead, for all we know!”
“He might, but he isn’t,” the old man said testily. He gave Coll a meaningful stare, then returned his gaze to Par. “All of you are to come to the Hadeshorn by the close of the present moon’s cycle. On the first night of the new moon, Allanon will speak with you there.”
Par felt a chill go through him. “About magic?”
Coll seized his brother’s shoulders. “About Shadowen?” he mimicked, widening his eyes.
The old man bent forward suddenly, his face gone hard. “About what he chooses! Yes, about magic! And about Shadowen! About creatures like the one that knocked you aside just now as if you were a baby! But mostly, I think, young Coll, about this!”
He threw a dash of dark powder into the fire with a suddenness that caused Par and Coll to jerk back sharply. The fire flared as it had when the old man had first appeared, but this time the light was drawn out of the air and everything went dark.
Then an image formed in the blackness, growing in size until it seemed to be all around them. It was an image of the Four Lands, the countryside barren and empty, stripped of life and left ruined. Darkness and a haze of ash-filled smoke hung over everything. Rivers were filled with debris, the waters poisoned. Trees were bent and blasted, shorn of life. Nothing but scrub grew anywhere. Men crept about like animals, and animals fled at their coming. There were shadows with strange red eyes circling everywhere, dipping and playing within those humans who crept, twisting and turning them until they lost their shape and became unrecognizable.
It was a nightmare of such fury and terror that it seemed to Par and Coll Ohmsford as if it were happening to them, and that the screams emanating from the mouths of the tortured humans were their own.
Then the image was gone, and they were back again about the fire, the old man sitting there, watching them with hawk’s eyes.
“That was a part of my dream,” Par whispered.
“That was the future,” the old man said.
“Or a trick,” a shaken Coll muttered, stiffening against his own fear.
The old man glared. “The future is an ever-shifting maze of possibilities until it becomes the present. The future I have shown you tonight is not yet fixed. But it is more likely to become so with the passing of every day because nothing is being done to turn it aside. If you would change it, do as I have told you. Go to Allanon! Listen to what he will say!”
Coll said nothing, his dark eyes uneasy with doubt.
“Tell us who you are,” Par said softly.
The old man turned to him, studied him for a moment, then looked away from them both, staring out into the darkness as if there were worlds and lives hidden there that only he could see. Finally, he looked back again, nodding.
“Very well, though I can’t see what difference it makes. I have a name, a name you should both recognize quickly enough. My name is Cogline.”
For an instant, neither Par nor Coll said anything. Then both began speaking at once.
“Cogline, the same Cogline who lived in the Eastland with...?”
“You mean the same man Kimber Boh...?”