–She said they were lost to people like herself–
“To the dead?”
The shade seemed to hesitate, as if uncertain.
–No. She meant something else–
“Are they destroyed?” She found herself pressing for an answer. “What did she mean by ‘lost’? Lost in what way?”
The waters hissed as if echoing the dark emotions of the shade, and she could see anger and impatience reflected in its face.
–I am telling you what I know, Ard Rhys. It is for you to discover the rest. I will not put words in your mouth or thoughts in your mind that you have not conjured up yourself–
She felt her heart sink. “Then there is nothing more you can tell me? She said nothing that would help our order in its search?”
She knew she sounded every bit as desperate as she felt, but she could not accept that there was nothing more to be learned.
–One thing–
She felt an abrupt surge of hope. “One thing?”
–Aleia Omarosian was a Chosen–
A Chosen? Khyber stared at Allanon’s ghost in confusion. The writer of the diary was a Chosen? Why was there no mention of this anywhere in her writings? For there had not been a single reference to either the Chosen or the Ellcrys in the diary. A young girl in service to the tree would almost certainly have made some mention of it, wouldn’t she?
A fresh hissing filled the night air like a long, slow sigh, and Khyber found the eyes of Allanon’s shade fixed on her anew.
–Listen to me, Ard Rhys. I do not always know things, but I often sense them. It is so here. This quest must happen, and you must lead it. The search will take you to what you seek. I feel this the way I once felt my own future on the currents of the wind and the changes in the season. It was my gift then and is so now–
The shade shifted slightly, black robes billowing. Behind and safely away, lesser ghosts floated on the air, gone strangely silent, as if listening to his words.
–You will need help. Help of a sort that cannot be easily obtained. Your order is too small for what will be required. And it is too inexperienced. Even with the aid and protection of the Druid Guard, you will need others. Trackers and survivalists and hunters—men and women who can live off the land—you will need those. You will need wielders of magic with powers even stronger than those of your Druids. Perhaps even stronger than your own. Find these among the Races and persuade them to your cause. And heed me. You must find an Ohmsford to go with you. The presence of an Ohmsford is crucial. The whisper of that truth is everywhere about me and so strong that it cannot be ignored. Do not be deterred by those who question your choices. Do not be dissuaded by those who dismiss your efforts and denigrate your character–
It was so much for a shade to say, all at one time, that she stood silent in the aftermath, wondering that he should give her so much of himself. She had changed her mind about him. He had not abandoned her as one doomed to failure. He had embraced her cause and her spirit, and he was giving her what he could to help. But he was fearful for her.
“Thank you,” she said to him. “Thank you for everything.”
–You will not thank me later. Later, you will see me differently. But that is as it must be and not within my control. So heed me one last time. If you choose to undertake this quest, many of those who go with you will die. Many will be lost. This, too, I hear in the wind’s whisper and feel in the air’s currents. This quest will be hard, and its toll on lives and souls will be high. No one will come back the same. No one will emerge unscathed. Perhaps, in the end, no one will think it was worth it. Not even you–
“No,” she said, “I will never think that.”
–You will think that and much worse. You will curse me. You will hate what has happened. And you will trace its beginnings to this moment–
He seemed so certain, yet he did not know the particulars of anything he was predicting and was giving voice to words he heard whispered in the air. She could not decide how much of what he was saying was substantive and how much guesswork.
“I hope you are wrong,” she said finally.
–I am Allanon–
He said it as if it were an answer to everything, as if he were possessed of abilities and knowledge denied to others, herself included. She almost replied that who he was did not necessarily dictate what he knew. But she could not quite bring herself to do so.
–We are finished–
His shade was already backing away over the surface of the water, receding toward its distant center, black and forbidding in the light of the stars and a quarter moon just risen to the east. The voices of the dead had begun to wail anew, the white moths of their spirits to circle the giant form of the Druid shade, and the waters to hiss and boil with fresh intensity.
–You will not see me again in this life, Ard Rhys. May you not see me too soon in the next–
The words were a cold spike in her heart, but she held her ground as the winds rose to a howl and whipped about her violently, stirring spray and grit in equal measure from the lake and the surrounding rocks. She ducked her head against their sting, flinching in spite of herself, eyes closed.
When she opened them again, only seconds later, the shades were gone, the waters were quieting, and the voices had gone still.
She was alone, and she was frightened.
8
The following morning Aphenglow woke before sunrise and slipped out of her sleeping chamber on cat’s paws, pondering anew Woostra’s discovery that Aleia Omarosian was one of the Chosen. She went down the empty, silent corridors to the Druid’s Keep and took a seat just outside Woostra’s offices in the Druid Library. She was waiting for him to appear at the start of his workday, intending to question him further about what that odd listing meant, when a shadow passed across her face and caused her to look up.
The Ard Rhys stood before her, clothes rumpled and dusty, graying hair disheveled, face drawn and haggard, brow wrinkled.
She stood at once. “I didn’t know you were back, Mistress.”
Khyber Elessedil nodded. “I just returned. I’ve spoken to no one yet. I came to find Woostra, but here you are, instead. Tell me. Has he found anything in my absence? Have you?”
Aphenglow considered equivocating, but decided it was unwise to do so with the Ard Rhys. “Woostra did. I promised to say nothing until he reported his finding to you, but I will tell you anyway. The Druid records say that Aleia Omarosian was a Chosen.”
Khyber Elessedil nodded calmly and took a seat beside her. “Is there anything else recorded? Anything regarding the circumstances of her choosing or of her service?”
Aphenglow shook her head. “No, nothing.” She paused, considering the other’s reaction. “You knew this already, didn’t you? You’re not surprised at all.”
“I knew. The spirits of the dead told me. But what does it mean, Aphen? How could she be a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys and make no mention of it in her writings?”
“I’ve thought of that. I think there is only one explanation. She did not become a Chosen until after she stopped making entries in her diary. Until after the Elfstones were stolen by the Darkling boy. The time of her choosing didn’t happen until later.” Aphen shrugged. “Nothing else makes sense.”
“Do you think it was because of what happened with the Darkling boy and his theft of the Elfstones?” the Ard Rhys asked.
“I think so, although I don’t understand the connection. But I would like to try to find out. Mistress, I want to go back to Arborlon and look again through the Chosen histories. I wasn’t searching for anything about the Chosen before, only for mentions of Elven magic. The Chosen keep records that are different from the Elven histories. There might be something there that would help us understand.”
The Ard Rhys shook her head. “I don’t like sending you back just now. Not after two attempts have been made on your life already. It might be better to send Pleysia, instead.”