She looked closer, seeing now the fault glimmer of the river’s waters through the darkness of his robes, shimmering gently, and she knew then that he was truly dead, and that it was only his shade that stood before her.
“It is finished, Allanon,” she told him, finding it suddenly difficult to speak. “The Ildatch is destroyed.”
The cowled head inclined faintly. “Destroyed by the power of the Elven magic, shaped and colored by the wishsong. But destroyed as well, Valegirl, by a power greater still—by love, Brin; by the love that bound your brother to you. He loved you too much to fail, even though he came too late.”
“Yes, by love, too, Allanon.”
“Savior and destroyer.” The black eyes narrowed. “The power of your magic would make you both, and you have seen how corrupting such power can be. So terrible is the lure and so difficult to balance. I gave you warning of that, but such warning as I gave was not enough. I failed you badly.”
She shook her head quickly. “No, it was not you who failed me. It was I who failed myself.”
The Druid’s hand lifted from within the robes, and she found that she could see through it. “I do not have long, so hear me well, Brin Ohmsford. I did not understand all that I should have of the dark magic. I deceived myself—just as the Grimpond told you. I knew that the magic of the wishsong could be as my father had warned—both blessing and curse—and that the holder could therefore become both savior and destroyer. But you possessed reason and heart, and I did not think the danger so great as long as those qualities stood by you. I failed to realize the truth about the Ildatch and that the danger of the dark magic could go beyond those created to wield it. For the true danger was always the book—the subverter of all who had come to use the magic from the time of the Warlock Lord to the time of the Mord Wraiths. All had been slaves to the Ildatch, but the Ildatch was not merely an inanimate gathering of pages and bindings in which the dark magic was recorded. It was alive—an evil that could turn to its uses by the magic’s lure all who sought its power.”
Allanon bent close, sunlight streaking. through the edges of the dark robes as if they had frayed. “It wanted you to come to it from the beginning. But it wanted you tested first. Each time you used the magic of the wishsong, you fell a bit further under the lure of the magic’s power. You realized that there was something wrong in your continued used of the magic, but you were forced to use it anyway. And I was not there to tell you what was happening. By the time that you had gone down into the Maelmord, you were a thing much the same as all who had served the book, and you believed that this was as it should be. This was what the book intended that you should believe. It wanted to have you for its own. Even the power of the Mord Wraiths was insignificant in comparison to yours, for they had not been born with the magic as had you. In you, the Ildatch had found a weapon that carried more power than any that had ever served it—even the Warlock Lord.”
Brin stared at him disbelievingly. “Then it spoke the truth when it said that it had been waiting for me—that there were bonds that joined us.”
“A twisted half-truth,” Allanon cautioned. “You had become close enough in spirit to what it sought that it could make you believe that such was so. It could convince you that you were indeed the dark child of your fears.”
“But the wishsong could have made me so…”
“The wishsong could have made you… anything.”
She hesitated. “And still can?”
“And still can. Always.”
Brin watched the robed figure move closer still to where she stood. For a moment, she thought that he might reach out to draw her to him. But, instead, the lean face lifted and looked beyond her.
“My death was foretold at the Hadeshorn. My passing from this life was assured. But with the destruction of the Ildatch, the dark magic must pass as well. The wheel of time comes around, and the age ends. My father is set free at last, gone to the rest that had been so long denied him, bound no longer to me or to his pledge to the races of the Four Lands.”
The cowled head lowered to her once more. “And now I go, also. No Druids shall come after me. But the trust that was theirs resides now with you.”
“Allanon…” she whispered; shaking her head.
“Hear me, Valegirl. The blood that I placed upon your forehead and the words I spoke at its giving have made it so. You are the bearer of the trust that was mine and my father’s before me. Do not be frightened by what that means. No harm shall befall you because of it. The last of the magic lives now within you and your brother, within the blood of your family. There it shall rest, safe and protected. It shall not be needed again in the age that is to come. The magic will have no useful place within that age. Other learning will be a better and truer guide for the races.
“But, heed. A time will come, far distant and beyond the lives of generations of Ohmsfords yet unborn, when the magic will be needed again. As with all things, time’s wheel will come around once more. Then the trust I have given you will be needed, and the children of the house of Shannara will be called upon to deliver it. For the world that will one day be, do you keep that trust safe.”
“No, Allanon, I do not want this…”
But his hand lifted sharply and silenced her. “It is done, Brin Ohmsford. As my father did with me, I have chosen you—child of my life.”
Voiceless, she stared up at him in despair.
“Do not be afraid,” he whispered.
She nodded helplessly. “I will try.”
He began to draw away from her, his dark form fading slowly as the sunlight brightened through it. “Put the magic from you, Brin. Do not use it again, for there no longer is need. Be at peace.”
“Allanon!” she cried.
He drifted back across the Chard Rush, the waters roiling gently now beneath him. “Remember me,” he said softly.
He sank downward into the river, down through the silver waters, and was gone. The Chard Rush rolled on once more.
On the shore’s edge; Brin stared out across the water. There were tears in her eyes. “I will always remember you,” she whispered.
Then she turned and walked away.
Chapter Forty-Eight
So it was that the magic faded from the Four Lands and the tales of the Druids and Paranor passed into legend. For a time, there would be many who would insist that the Druids had been formed of flesh and blood and had walked the land as mortal men and as the protectors of the races; for a brief time, there would be many who would argue that the magic had been real and that terrible struggles had been waged between good and evil sorceries. But the number of believers would dwindle as the years passed. In the end, nearly all would vanish.
On the same morning that Allanon disappeared from the world of men for the final time, the little company bade farewell to one another. Surrounded by the colors and smells of autumn, they embraced, said good-bye, and departed for their own lands.
“I will miss you, Brin Ohmsford,” Kimber announced solemnly, her pixie face determinedly resolute. “And grandfather will miss you, too, won’t you, grandfather?”
Cogline shuffled his sandaled feet uneasily and nodded without looking at the Valegirl. “Some, I guess,” he admitted grudgingly. “Won’t miss all that crying and agonizing, though. Won’t miss that. Course, we did have some fine adventures, girl—I’ll miss you for that. Spider Gnomes and the black walkers and all. Almost like the old days…”
He trailed off, and Brin smiled. “I’ll miss both of you, too. And Whisper. I owe my life as much to Whisper as to the rest of you. If he hadn’t come down into the Maelmord to find me…”
“He sensed that he was needed,” Kimber declared firmly. “He would not have disregarded your warning if he had not sensed that need. I think there is a special bond between you—a bond beyond that created by your song.”