His mind was racing, trying to find words for the dozens of questions that suddenly filled it. But he could not seem to think straight, his concentration riveted on the old man and the light. The King of the Silver River watched him with his kind, appraising eyes, but did not offer to help.
“Who am I?” Bek blurted out in desperation.
He spoke without thinking, the words surfacing in a rush of need and urgency. It was this question that troubled him most, he realized at once, this question that demanded an answer above all others, because it had become for him in the last few days the great mystery of his life.
The old man gestured vaguely with one frail hand. “You are who you have always been, Bek. But your past is lost to you, and you must recover it. On this journey, that will happen. Seek it, and it will find you. Embrace it, and it will set you free.”
Bek was not certain he had heard the old man right. What had he just said? Seek it, and it will find you—not, you will find it? What did that mean?
But the King of the Silver River was speaking again, cutting short Bek’s thoughts. “Sleep, now. Take what I have given you and rest. No more can be accomplished this night, and you will need your strength for what lies ahead.”
He gestured again, and Bek felt a great weariness descend. “Remember my words when you wake,” the old man cautioned as he began to move away, the light wavering, back and forth, back and forth. “Remember.”
The night was suddenly as warm and comforting in its darkness and silence as his bedroom at home. There was so much more that Bek wanted to ask, so much he would have known. But he was lying on the ground, his eyes heavy and his thinking clouded. “Wait,” he managed to whisper.
But the King of the Silver River was fading away into the night, and Bek Rowe drifted off to sleep.
FOURTEEN
When Bek woke the next morning, he was back where he had started the night before, rolled into his blankets next to the defunct fire. It took him several minutes to shake off his confusion and decide that what he remembered about the King of the Silver River was real. It felt as if he had dreamed it, the events hazy and disjointed in his mind. But when he checked inside his tunic, there were the chain and phoenix stone, tucked safely away, just where he had put them before falling asleep.
He sleepwalked through breakfast and cleanup, thinking he should say something about the encounter to Quentin, but unable to bring himself to do so. It was a pattern he was developing with the events surrounding this journey, and it worried him. Normally, he shared everything with his cousin. They were close and trusted each other. But now he had kept from Quentin both his conversation with Coran and his midnight encounter with the being that claimed to be the King of the Silver River. Not to mention, he amended quickly, his possession of the phoenix stone. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing this, but it had something to do with wanting to come to terms with the information himself before he shared it with anyone else.
He supposed that he was being overly cautious and perhaps even selfish, but the greater truth was that he was feeling confused and somewhat unnerved by all of this happening at once. It was difficult enough coming to grips with the idea of making a journey that would take him halfway around the world. This was Quentin’s dream, not his. It was Quentin, with his sword of magic and his great courage, of whom the Druid Walker had need, and not Bek. Bek had agreed to go out of loyalty to his cousin and a rather fatalistic acceptance of the fact that if he stayed behind, he would be second-guessing himself forever. It was only in these recent developments with Coran and the King of the Silver River that he began to wonder if perhaps he had his own place on the expedition, a place he had never even imagined might exist.