question who he was, come out of the darkness of the Black
Elfstone, come through the fire of the transformation in the
well of the Keep, come back into the world of men. He was
master of Paranor and servant to the Races. It was a strange,
exhilarating feeling. The feeling seemed to belong.
Languid moments slipped past in the dream and then he
neared the Hadeshom, its waters black and still in the night.
Like glass the lake shone in the moonlight, smooth and pol-
ished, reflecting the sky and the stars. The stone crunched be-
neath his feet as he walked, but beyond that single sound there
was only silence. It was as if he were alone in the world, the
last man to walk it, keeper of a solitary vigil over the empti-
ness that remained.
He reached the Hadeshom and stopped, standing perfectly
still at its edge. The wind died as he did so, and the silence
pressed in about him. He reached up and pulled back the hood
of his cloak; he did not know why. Head bared, he waited.
The wait lasted only a moment. Almost instantly the
Hadeshom began to chum, its waters boiling as if heated in a
kettle. Then they began to swirl, a slow and steady clockwise
sweep that extended from shoreline to shoreline. Walker recog-
nized what was happening. He had seen it happen before. The
Hadeshom hissed, and spray lifted in geysers that towered
above the surface and fell away in a tumble of diamonds.
Wailing began, the sound of voices trapped in a faraway place,
begging for release. The valley shuddered as if recognizing the
cries, as if cringing away from them. Walker Boh held his
ground.
Then Allanon appeared, rising out of the black waters to a
chorus of cries, a cloaked and hooded gray ghost come out of
the netherworld to speak with the man who had been chosen
as his successor. He shimmered as he rose, translucent in the
moonlight, the flesh and bone of his mortal body faded into
dust long ago, a pale image of who he had been. He ascended
from the depths until he stood upon the surface of the waters,
there to settle into stillness facing out at Walker Boh.
232 The Talismans of Shannara
“Allanon,” the Dark Uncle greeted in a voice he did not rec-
ognize as his own.
—You have done well. Walker Boh—
The voice was deep and sonorous, welling up from far in-
side some cavernous space within the shade.
Walker Boh shook his head. “Not so well. Only adequately.
I have done what I must. I have given up who I was for who
you would have me be. I was’angry at first that it should be
so, but I have put that anger behind me.”
The waters of the Hadeshom roiled and hissed anew as the
shade came forward, gliding on the surface without seeming to
move. It stopped when it was within ten feet of Walker.
—Life is a time for making choices. Walker Boh. Death is
a time for remembering how we chose. Sometimes the mem-
ories are not always pleasant—
Walker nodded. “I know that it must be so.”
—Are you sad for Cogline—
Walker nodded again. “But that, too, is behind me. The
choices he made were good ones. Even this last.”
The shade’s arm lifted, trailing a glitter of spray that fell
away like silver dust.
—I could not save him. Even Druids do not have the power
to stay death. I was told by Bremen when my time was near.
Cogline was told by me. I gave him what help I could—a
chance to come back into the Four Lands with Paranor
restored—a chance to help you one last time in your battle
with the Shadowen. It was all I could do—
Walker did not speak, staring at the apparition, staring right
through him, looking far away at events come and gone, at
Cogline’s final stand. Death had claimed the old man, but it
had claimed him on his terms.
—If I could, I would give you back all those you have lost,
Walker Boh. But I cannot. I can give you nothing of what is