“Magic.” Walker repeated the word softly, his voice distracted. “Words and touching in combination, a sort of variation on the workings of the wishsong. My legacy from Brin Ohmsford. I haven’t the curse of the fullness of her powers—only the annoyance of its shadings. Still, now and again, it does become the gift you insist it must be. I can interact with another living thing, feel its life force, sometimes find a way to strengthen it.” He paused. “I don’t know if I would call it magic, though.”
“And what you did to the Werebeasts in Olden Moor when you stood up for me—was that not magic?”
His uncle’s eyes shifted away from him. “I was taught that,” he said finally.
Par waited a moment, but when nothing more was forthcoming he said, “I’m grateful for all of it in any case. Thank you.”
The other man shook his head slowly. “I don’t deserve your thanks. It was my fault that it happened in the first place.”
Par readjusted himself carefully against his pillows. “I seem to remember you saying that before.”
Walker moved to the far end of the bed and sat down on its edge. “If I had watched over you the way I should have, the Spider Gnomes would never have even gotten into the valley. Because I chose to distance myself from you, they did. You risked a fair amount in coming to find me in the first place; the least I could have done was to make certain that once you reached me, you would be safe. I failed to do that.”
“I don’t blame you for what happened,” Par said quickly.
“But I do.” Walker rose, as restless as a cat, stalking to the windows and peering out into the rain. “I live apart because I choose to. Other men in other times made me decide that it was best. But I forget sometimes that there is a difference between disassociating and hiding. There are limits to the distances we can place between ourselves and others—because the dictates of our world don’t allow for absolutes.” He looked back, his skin pale against the grayness of the day. “I was hiding myself when you came to find me. That was why you went unprotected.”
Par did not fully understand what Walker was trying to say, but he chose not to interrupt, anxious to hear more. Walker turned from the window after a moment and came back. “I haven’t been to see you since you were brought here,” he said, coming to a stop again at Par’s bedside. “Did you know that?”
Par nodded, again keeping silent. “It wasn’t that I was ignoring you. But I knew you were safe, that you would be well, and I wanted time to think. I went out into the woodlands by myself. I returned for the first time this morning. The Stors told me that you were awake, that the poison was dispelled, and I decided to come to see you.”
He broke off, his gaze shifting. When he spoke again, he chose his words carefully. “I have been thinking about the dreams.”
There was another brief silence. Par shifted uncomfortably in the bed, already beginning to feel tired. His strength would be awhile returning. Walker seemed to recognize the problem and said, “I won’t be staying much longer.”
He sat down again slowly. “I anticipated that you might come to me after the dreams began. You were always impulsive. I thought about the possibility, about what I would say to you.” He paused. “We are close in ways you do not entirely understand, Par. We share the legacy of the magic; but more than that, we share a preordained future that may preclude our right to any meaningful form of self-determination.” He paused again, smiling faintly. “What I mean, Par, is that we are the children of Brin and Jair Ohmsford, heirs to the magic of the Elven house of Shannara, keepers of a trust. Remember now? It was Allanon who gave us that trust, who said to Brin when he lay dying that the Ohmsfords would safeguard the magic for generations to come until it was again needed.”
Par nodded slowly, beginning to understand now. “You believe we might be the ones for whom the trust was intended.”
“I believe it—and I am frightened by the possibility as I have never been frightened of anything in my life!” Walker’s voice was a low hiss. “I am terrified of it! I want no part of the Druids and their mysteries! I want nothing to do with the Elven magic, with its demands and its treacheries! I wish only to be left alone, to live out my life in a way I believe useful and fulfilling—and that is all I wish!”
Par let his eyes drop protectively against the fury of the other man’s words. Then he smiled sadly. “Sometimes the choice isn’t ours, Walker.”
Walker Boh’s reply was unexpected. “That was what I decided.” His lean face was hard as Par looked up again. “While I waited for you to wake, while I kept myself apart from the others, out there in the forests beyond Storlock, that was what I decided.” He shook his head. “Events and circumstances sometimes conspire against us; if we insist on inflexibility for the purpose of maintaining our beliefs, we end up compromising ourselves, nevertheless. We salvage one set of principles only to forsake another. My staying hidden within the Wilderun almost cost you your life once. It could do so again. And what would that, in turn, cost me?”
Par shook his head. “You cannot hold yourself responsible for the risks I choose to take, Walker. No man can hold himself up to that standard of responsibility.”
“Oh, but he can, Par. And he must when he has the means to do so. Don’t you see? If I have the means, I have the responsibility to employ them.” He shook his head sadly. “I might wish it otherwise, but it doesn’t change the fact of its being.”
He straightened. “Well, I came to tell you something, and I still haven’t done so. Best that I get it over with so you can rest.” He rose, pulling the damp forest cloak back about him as if to ward off a chill. “I am going with you,” he said simply.
Par stiffened in surprise. “To the Hadeshorn?”
Walker Boh nodded. “To meet with Allanon’s shade—if indeed it is Allanon’s shade who summons us—and to hear what it will say. I make no promises beyond that, Par. Nor do I make any further concessions to your view of matters—other than to say that I think you were right in one respect. We cannot pretend that the world begins and ends at the boundaries we might make for it. Sometimes, we must acknowledge that it extends itself into our lives in ways we might prefer it wouldn’t, and we must face up to the challenges it offers.”
His face was lined with emotions Par could only begin to imagine. “I, too, would like to know something of what is intended for me,” he whispered.
He reached down, his pale, lean hand fastening briefly on one of Par’s. “Rest now. We have another journey ahead and only a day or two to prepare for it. Let that preparation be my responsibility. I will tell the others and come for you all when it is time to depart.”
He started away, then hesitated and smiled. “Try to think better of me after this.”
Then he was out the door and gone, and the smile belonged now to Par.
Walker Boh proved as good as his word. Two days later he was back, appearing shortly after sunrise with horses and provisions. Par had been out of bed and walking about for the past day and a half now, and he was much recovered from his experience in Olden Moor. He was dressed and waiting on the porch of his compound with Steff and Teel when his uncle walked out of the forest shadows with his pack train in tow into a morning clouded by mist and half-light.
“There’s a strange one,” Steff murmured. “Haven’t seen him for more than five minutes for the entire time we’ve been here. Now, back he comes, just like that. More ghost than man.” His smile was rueful and his eyes sharp.
“Walker Boh is real enough,” Par replied without looking at the Dwarf. “And haunted by ghosts of his own.”