It could not be so. He had hoped too many times. He had
hoped, and hope had failed him repeatedly.
The stirring in the air moved closer, and he sensed a pres-
ence he could not see. Walker Boh. How had he reached
him? How could he be here and not be visible? Was he be-
come … ?
/ am. I have done as I was asked, Par. I have brought back
Paranor and become the first of the new Druids. I have done
as Allanon asked and carried out the charge given to me.
Par came to his feet, breathing rapidly, reaching out at the
nothingness.
Listen to me. You must come down to where we wait. We
cannot reach you here. You must use the magic of the
wishsong, Par. Use it to break through the door that imprisons
you. Break through and come down to us.
Par shook his head. Use the wishsong’s magic? Now, after
taking such care to prevent that use? No, he couldn’t. If he did,
he would be lost. The magic freed would overwhelm him and
make him the thing he had struggled so to prevent himself
from becoming. He would rather die.
You must. Par. Use the magic.
“No.” The word was a harsh whisper in the silence.
We cannot reach you otherwise. Use the magic. Par. If you
are to be free of your prison, of the one you have constructed
The Talismans of Shannara 405
for yourself as well as the one in which the Shadowen have
placed you, you must use the magic. Do it now. Par.
But Par had decided suddenly that this was another trick, an-
other game being played by either his or the Shadowen magic,
a conjuring of voices out of memory to torment him. He could
hear his demons laugh anew. Wheeling away, he clapped his
hands over his ears and shook his head violently. Walker Boh
wasn’t there. No one was there. He was as alone now as he
had been since he had been brought to the keep. It was foolish
to think otherwise. This was another facet of his growing mad-
ness, a bright polished surface that mirrored what he had once
dreamed might happen but now never would.
“I won’t. I can’t.”
He clenched his teeth as he spoke and hissed the words as
if they were anathema. He swung away from the perceived
source of the false hope, the voice that wasn’t, moving into
deeper shadow, taking himself further into the dark.
Walker Boh’s voice came again, steady and persuasive.
Par. You told me once that the magic was a gift, that it had
been given to you for a reason, that it was meant to be used.
You told me that I should believe in the dreams we had been
shown. Have you forgotten?
Par stared into the black before him, remembering. He had
said those things when he had first encountered Walker at
Hearthstone, all those weeks ago, when Walker had refused to
come with him to the Hadeshom. Believe, he had urged the
Dark Uncle. Believe.
Use your magic. Par. Break free.
He turned, the spark visible again in the darkness of his
hopelessness, of his despair. He wanted to believe again. As he
had once urged his uncle to believe. Had he forgotten how? He
started across the room, gaining a measure of determination as
he went. He wanted to believe. Why shouldn’t he? Why not
try? Why not do something, anything, but give up? He saw the
door coming toward him out of the gloom, rising up, the bar-
rier he could not get past. Unless. Unless he used the magic.
Why not? What was left?
Walker Boh was beside him suddenly, close enough that he
could feel him even though he was not really there. Walker
Boh, come out of his own despair, his own lack of belief, to
406 The Talismans of Shannara
accept the charges of Allanon. Yes, Paranor and the Druids
were back. Yes, he had found the Sword of Shannara. And yes,
Wren had found the Elves as well—must have, would have.
Use the magic, Par.
He did not hear the admonition this time. He walked