"You take a lot on yourself then. You presume more than you should."
He shook his head. "Do I? I didn't go looking for this. I didn't even understand what I was being shown. Not until I learned who I was. Not until I found you. But I think now that if I don't find a way to convince you of the truth, no one else will, and that vision will come to pass."
"I have nothing in common with Mwellrets or Druids," she sneered. "You are a boy with a too vivid imagination and no brains. You trust blindly in the wrong people and assume your truths should be mine, when they are nothing but deceptions. I am tired of listening to you. Don't say anything more to me. Not a word."
"I will say what I like!" he snapped back at her. Inside, he was shaking. She could be volatile, dangerous, but caution no longer served a purpose. "You are surrounded by obsequious followers and liars of all sorts. You have separated yourself from the truth for so long that you wouldn't recognize it if it jumped up in front of you. Why don't you admit that you're not sure about me? Why don't you at least confess that?"
Her face darkened. "Keep still."
"Let me go with you to find Walker. Let him help you. What can it hurt to talk with him? Just listen to what he has to say. If you would take five minutes to think-"
"Enough!" she screamed.
He leapt to his feet. "Enough of what? The truth? I'm your brother, Grianne! I'm Bek! Stop trying to deny it! Stop twisting everything around!"
She was on her feet, as well, rigid with fury. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't. "Do you want me to tell you what really happened to our parents? Do you want me to tell you what's been done to you? Do you want me to speak the words out loud, so that you can hear how they sound? You're so blind you can't-"
She screamed again, only this time there were no words, only sound that rent the air like razors. The wishsong's magic seared his throat, twisting and tightening until he was gasping for air. He threw up his hands in a belated effort to protect himself as he stumbled backwards and fell. The unexpected force and suddenness of her attack left him dazed and crumpled on the ground, his eyes tearing, his breath coming in deep, rasping gulps.
She loomed over him, robes drawn close, her pale face twisted with disgust. Then her hand reached down to touch his neck and everything went black.
When he was asleep and breathing normally again, she straightened his arms and legs and covered him with his tattered cloak. Such a fool. She had warned him not to say anything more, but he had continued to press her. She had reacted almost without thinking, losing control of herself and lashing out in anger. She felt vaguely ashamed for doing so. It didn't matter what the provocation was; she should have been able to keep the magic in check. She should have been able to avoid attacking him that way. She easily might have killed him. It wouldn't have taken all that much to do so. The power of the wishsong was immense. Should she choose it, she could use her magic to wither one of the huge old oaks that sheltered their camp, to shred it to pulp and bark and sap, to reduce it to the earth from which it had grown. How much less difficult it would be to do the same with this boy.
"I warned you," she hissed at his sleeping form, still inwardly seething at herself.
She straightened and walked away, stopping at the edge of the clearing and peering off into the dark. She brushed back the long dark hair from her face and folded her arms into her robes. Perhaps it was just as well that she had reacted as she did. What she had done now was what she had intended to do anyway once they reached the bay where Black Moclips lay at anchor-to take away his voice and render him harmless. She could not afford to leave him with the Mwellrets otherwise. She would take his sword, as well, the blade he claimed was the Sword of Shannara. He would be locked in the hold and kept there until she finished her business with the Druid.