Morgawr by Terry Brooks

She smiled, but there was a hint of bitterness and reproach. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You’re nothing like me, save that you didn’t know you were an Ohmsford. You haven’t done the things that I’ve done. You haven’t lived my life. Be grateful for that. You can look back on your life and not regret it. I will never be able to do that. I’ll regret my life for as long as I live. I’ll want to change it every day, and I won’t be able to do that. All of the things I’ve done as the Ilse Witch will be with me forever.”

She gave him a long, hard look. “I love you, and I know you love me, too. That gives me hope, Bek. That gives me the strength I need to try to make something good come out of all the bad.”

“Do you remember everything that happened now?” he asked her. “Everything you did while you were the Ilse Witch?”

She nodded. “Everything.”

“The Sword of Shannara showed it to you?”

“Every last act. All of the things I did because I wanted revenge on Walker. All of the wrongs I committed because I thought I was entitled to do whatever was necessary to get what I sought.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, but not sorry that I got you back.”

She pushed her long dark hair out of her pale face, revealing the pain in her eyes. “There wasn’t any hope for me unless I discovered the truth about myself. About you and our parents. About everything that happened to us all those years ago. About the Morgawr, especially. I couldn’t be anyone other than who the Morgawr had made me to be—and who I had made myself to be—until that happened. I hate knowing it, but it’s freeing, too. I don’t have to hide anymore.”

“There are some things you don’t know yet,” he said. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to decide where to start. “The people we’re traveling with, the survivors of Walker’s company, all have reason to hate you. They don’t, not all of them anyway, but they have suffered losses because of you. I guess you need to know about those losses, about the harm you’ve caused. I don’t think there’s any way to avoid it.”

She nodded, her expression one of regret mixed with determination. “Tell me then, Bek. Tell me all of it.”

He did so, leaving nothing out. It took him some time to do so, and while he was speaking, he became aware of someone else entering the room, easing over next to him, and sitting close. He knew without looking who it was, and he watched Grianne’s eyes shift to find those of the newcomer. He kept talking nevertheless, afraid that if he looked away, he would not be able to continue. He related his story of the journey to Parkasia, of finding the ruins and Antrax, confronting her, escaping into the mountains and being captured, breaking free of Black Moclips and the rets, coming down into the bowels of Castledown to find that Walker had already tricked her into invoking the cleansing magic of the Sword of Shannara, taking her back into the mountains, and finding their way at last to what remained of the company of the Jerle Shannara.

When he had finished, he looked over his shoulder to find Rue. She was staring at Grianne. The look on her face was indecipherable. But the tone of her voice when she spoke to his sister was unmistakable.

“The Morgawr has come searching for you,” she said. “His ships are anchored offshore. In the morning, he will search these ruins. If he finds us, he will try to kill us. What are you going to do about it?”

“Rue Meridian.” His sister spoke the other’s name as if to make its owner real. “Are you one of those who have not forgiven me?”

Little Red’s eyes were fierce as they held Grianne’s. One hand came up to rest possessively on Bek’s shoulder. “I have forgiven you.”

But Bek did not miss the bitterness in her voice or the challenge that lay behind it. Forgiveness is earned, not granted, it said. I forgive you, but what does it matter? You still must demonstrate that my forgiveness is warranted.