The voice of the Ildatch lashed out at her.
—Destroy him! Destroy him! You are the dark child—
But she did not destroy him. Lost in the weave of the images that swept through her and tapped deep into a wellspring of memories she had thought lost forever, she could feel the person that she had once been returning. That part of her which had been, lost was being put back again. The ties of the magics that had bound her close began to loosen, drawing back and leaving her free.
The voice of the Ildatch was suddenly frantic.
—No! You must not release me! You must hold me close. You are the dark child—
Ah, but she was not! She felt it now, sensed it through the fabric of the lies that she had been persuaded to accept. She was not the dark child!
Jair’s face lifted before her as if from out of a deep fog. His familiar features blurred and then sharpened, and he was speaking softly to her.
“I love you, Brin. I love you.”
“Jair,” she whispered in reply.
“Do what you were sent here to do, Brin—what Allanon said you must. Do it quickly.”
One final time she brought the Ildatch high above her head. She was not the dark child nor was the book the servant that it had claimed to be. It had said that she would be master of its power, but it had lied. No living thing became master of the dark magic—only its slave. There could be no joining of flesh and blood to the magic; however well intentioned. In the end, any use of it must destroy the user. She saw is clearly now and felt a sudden panic spring from the book. It was alive and is could feel; let it, then! It would have subverted her; it would have drained her life from her as it had drained the lives of so many and turned her into a thing as dark and twisted as the walkers, the Skull Bearers before them, or the Warlock Lord himself. It would have set her loose upon the Four Lands and all who lived within them, to bring the darkness again…
With a heave, she threw the book from her. It struck the stone flooring of the tower with stunning force. The bindings shattered, breaking apart. Pages ripped and scattered.
Then Brin Ohmsford used the wishsong. It sounded hard and quick as it caught up the remnants of the book in its power and turned the Ildatch to impotent dust.
At the edge of the Croagh, on the cliffs below Graymark, Rone felt the clawed fingers of the Mord Wraiths release their grip as if stung by a fire they could not master. The cloaked forms drew back, writhing and twisting against the gray light of the slowly darkening sky. Their voices sounded as one in the sudden silence, a shriek of anguish and terror. All along the length of the Croagh leading down to the ledge where Rone had struggled to hold them, the Wraiths convulsed like shaken rag dolls.
“Rone!” Kimber screamed, pulling him clear of where the foremost of the black things stumbled blindly about.
Flames burst from out of Wraiths’ fingers and exploded from their cowled faces. Then, one after another, they disintegrated, falling apart like shattered earthed statues, crumbling and drifting to the stone of the ledge. In seconds, the Mord Wraiths were no more.
“Rone, what happened to them?” the girl whispered harshly, her stunned voice drifting in the stillness.
The highlander’s hands still clasped the pommel of the Sword of Leah as he came back to his feet, his head slaking slowly. Smoke and debris drifted in the air across the mountain face, swirling hazily about them. The battered form of Whisper appeared like a ghost out of its curtain.
“Brin” Rone murmured softly in answer to Kimber’s question. He shook his head in disbelief. “It was Brin.”
And then he felt the first of the earth tremors ripple through the mountainside from the Maelmord.
Exhausted, Brin Ohmsford stared at the blackened stone of the tower floor where the remains of the Ildatch settled in a fine dust.
“Here is your dark child,” she whispered bitterly, tears streaking her face.
A deep shudder wracked the tower, rolling out of the earth and spreading through the aged walls. Stone and timber began to sag and crack, crumbling with the vibrations that wrenched at it. Brin’s head. jerked up, her eyes blinking against the shower of silt and dust that rained down into her face.
“Jair… ?” she tried to call to him.
But her brother was slipping from her, flesh and blood dissolving back into the hazy air, an apparition once more. A look of disbelief reflected in the Valeman’s face, and it seemed as if he were trying to tell her something. His shadowy form lingered a moment longer in the half-light of the tower’s gloom, and then he was gone.
Stricken, Brin stared after him. Great chunks of the tower’s stone began to fall about her, and she knew she could not stay. The dark magic of the Ildatch had come to an end, and everything it had made was dying.
“But I am going to live!” she whispered fiercely.
Gathering her cloak about her, she turned and ran from the empty room.
Chapter Forty-Six
The silver light flared above the waters gathered in the basin of Heaven’s Well and an apprehensive Slanter stumbled back away once more. There was an explosion of shimmering brilliance, a radiance as intense and blinding as the cresting of the sun at dawn, reaching out through the fading of the night. It streaked through the cavern’s dark shadows, burst into shards of white fire, and was gone.
Wincing, Slanter looked back again at the stone basin. Standing worn and battered at its edge was Jair Ohmsford.
“Boy!” the Gnome cried, a mix of concern and relief in his voice as he rushed to meet the Valeman.
Jair slumped forward in exhaustion, and the other caught him about the waist. “I couldn’t bring her out, Slanter,” he whispered. “I tried, but the magic wasn’t strong enough. I had to leave her.”
“Here, here—just take a moment to catch your breath,” Slanter growled as the Valeman stumbled over his words. “Sit here by the basin.”
He eased Jair down against the stone wall, then knelt next to him. The Valeman’s eyes lifted. “I went down into the Maelmord, Slanter—or at least a part of me did. I used the third magic—the one that the King of the Silver River gave to me to help Brin. It took me into the light and then out of myself—as if there were two of me. I went down into the pit where the vision crystal had shown me Brin. She was there, in a tower, and she had the Ildatch. But it had changed her, Slanter. She had become something… terrible…”
“Easy, boy. Slow down, now.” The Gnome held his gaze. “Did you find a way to help her?”
Jair nodded, swallowing. “She was changed, but I knew that if I could just reach her, if I could touch her and she could touch me—then she Would be all right. I used the wishsong to show her who she was, what she meant to me… to let her know that I loved her!” He was fighting back the tears. “And she destroyed the Ildatch—she turned it to dust! But when she did, the tower began to crumble, and something happened to the magic. I couldn’t stay with her. I couldn’t bring her back with me. I tried, but it happened so quickly. I couldn’t even manage to tell her what was happening! She just… disappeared, and I was back here again…