at his brother sharply. “Walker never backed down from any-
thing in his entire life; we both know that. He was never afraid
to stand up and be counted when he was needed. Now he talks
as if he can scarcely bear the thought of getting up in the morn-
ing! He talks as if the only important thing in life is to look out
for himself!” The Valeman leaned back wearily against the
hickory trunk. “He made me feel embarrassed for him. He
made me feel ashamed!”
“I think you might be reading too much into this.” Coil
scuffed the ground with the heel of his boot. ‘ ‘It may be just the
way he says it is. He’s lived alone out here for a long time. Par.
Maybe he simply isn’t comfortable with people anymore.”
“Even you?” Par was incensed. “For goodness sake. Coil-
he wouldn’t even speak with you!”
Coil shook his head and held his gaze steady. “The truth is,
Par, we never spoke much as it was. You were the one he cared
about, because you were the one with the magic.”
Par looked at him and said nothing. Walker’s exact words, he
thought. He was just fooling himself when he tried to equate
Coil’s relationship with their uncle to his own. It had never been
the same.
He frowned. “There is still the matter of the dreams. Why
doesn’t he share my curiosity about them? Doesn’t he want to
know what Allanon has to say?”
Coil shrugged. “Maybe he already knows. He seems to know
what everyone is thinking most of the time.”
Par hesitated. He hadn’t considered that. Was it possible his
uncle had already determined what the Druid would tell them at
the Hadeshom? Could he read the mind of a shade, a man three
hundred years dead?
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He would have
said something more than he did about the reason for the dreams.
He spent all of his time dismissing the matter as one more in-
stance when the Ohmsfords would be used by the Druids; he
didn’t care what the reason was.”
“Then perhaps he is relying on you to tell him.”
Par nodded slowly. “That makes better sense. I told him I
was going; maybe he thinks that one of us going is enough.”
Coil stretched his big frame full length on the ground and
stared up into the trees. “But you don’t believe that either, do
you?”
His brother smiled faintly. “No.”
“You still think that it’s something else.”
“Yes.”
They didn’t speak for a time, staring off into the woods, think-
ing their separate thoughts. Slender streams of sunlight played
along their bodies through chinks in the limbs canopied over-
head, and the songs of birds filtered through the stillness. “I
like it here,” Par said finally.
Coil had his eyes closed. “Where do you think he’s hiding?”
“Walker? I don’t know. Under a rock, I suppose.”
“You’re to quick to judge him, Par. You don’t have the right
to do that.”
Par bit off what he was going to say next and contented him-
self with watching a ray of sunlight work its way across Coil’s
face until it was in his eyes, causing him to blink and shift his
body. Coil sat up, his squarish face a mask of contentment. Not
much of anything ruffled him; he always managed to keep his
sense of balance. Par admired him for that. Coil always under-
stood the relative importance of events in the greater scheme of
things.
Par was aware suddenly of how much he loved his brother.
“Are you coming with me. Coil?” he asked then. “To the
Hadeshom?”
Coil looked at him and blinked. “Isn’t it odd,” he replied,
“that you and Walker and even Wren have the dreams and I
don’t, that all of you are mentioned in them, but never me, and
that all of you are called, but not me?” There was no rancor in
his voice, only puzzlement. “Why do you think that is? We’ve
never talked about it, you and I, have we? Not once. I think we
have both been very careful to avoid talking about it.”