I think now that perhaps it was Allanon, reaching back from his
death to assure that the Druids might have at least one spokes-
man after he was gone.”
He saw the beginning of the question in Par’s eyes, anticipated
its wording, and quickly shook his head. “No, no, not me! I
am not the spokesman he needs! I barely have time enough left
me to carry the message I have been given. Allanon knows that.
He knew better than to come to me to ask that I accept a life I
once rejected. He must ask that of someone else.”
“Me?” asked Par at once.
The old man paused. “Perhaps. Why don’t you ask him
yourself?”
No one said anything, hunched forward toward the firelight
as the darkness pressed close all about. The cries of the night
birds echoed faintly across the waters of the Rainbow Lake, a
haunting sound that somehow seemed to measure the depth of
the uncertainty Par felt.
“I want to ask him,” he said finally. “I need to, I think.”
The old man pursed his thin lips. “Then you must.”
Coil started to say something, then thought better of it. ‘ ‘This
whole business needs some careful thought,” he said finally.
“There is little time for that,” the old man grumbled.
“Then we shouldn’t squander what we have,” Coil replied
simply. He was no longer abrasive as he spoke, merely insistent.
Par looked at his brother a moment, then nodded. “Coil is
right. I will have to think about this.”
The old man shrugged as if to indicate that he realized there
was nothing more he could do and came to his feet. “I have
given you the message I was sent to give, so I must be on my
way. There are others to be visited.”
Par and Coil rose with him, surprised. “You’re leaving now,
tonight?” Par asked quickly. Somehow he had expected the old
man to stay on, to keep trying to persuade him of the purpose
of the dreams.
“Seems best. The quicker I get on with my journey, the
quicker it ends. I told you, I came first to you.”
“But how will you find Wren or Walker?” Coil wanted to
know.
“Same way I found you.” The old man snapped his fingers
and there was a brief flash of silver light. He grinned, his face
skeletal in the firelight. “Magic!”
He reached out his bony hand. Par took it first and found the
old man’s grip like iron. Coil found the same. They glanced at
each other.
“Let me offer you some advice,” the old man said abruptly.
“Not that you’ll necessarily take it, of course-but maybe. You
tell these stories, these tales of Druids and magic and your an-
cestors, all of it a kind of litany of what’s been and gone. That’s
fine, but you don’t want to lose sight of the fact that what’s
happening here and now is what counts. All the telling in the
world won’t mean a whisker if that vision I showed you comes
to pass. You have to live in this world-not in some other. Magic
serves a lot of purposes, but you don’t use it any way but one.
You have to see what else it can do. And you can’t do that until
you understand it. I suggest you don’t understand it at all, either
one of you.”
He studied them a moment, then turned and shambled off
into the dark. “Don’t forget, first night of the new moon!” He
stopped when he was just a shadow and glanced back. “Some-
thing else you’d better remember and that’s to watch your-
selves.” His voice had a new edge to it. “The Shadowen aren’t
just rumors and old wives’ tales. They’re as real as you and I.
You may not have thought so before tonight, but now you know
different. They’ll be out there, everywhere you’re likely to go.
That woman, she was one of them. She came sniffing around
because she could sense you have the magic. Others will do the
same.”
He started moving away again. “Lots of things are going to
be hunting you,” he warned softly.