Ilse Witch

With the Ilse Witch, Bek thought, but couldn’t bring himself to say so. “Why would he do that?”


“It’s difficult to say. With Truls, most things are done instinctively. Perhaps he wanted to see what he could find out over there. Perhaps he has a plan he hasn’t shared with us.”

“But if the Ilse Witch finds him …”

Walker shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do about it, Bek. He made the choice to go.” He paused. “I saw what you did to that Mwellret before Quentin stepped in. With your voice. Were you aware of what you were doing?”

The boy hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“How long have you known you had use of this magic?”

“Not long. Since Mephitic.”

Walker frowned. “Truls Rohk, again. He showed you it was there, didn’t he? Why didn’t1 you tell me?”

Bek stared at him defiantly, refusing to answer. The Druid nodded slowly. “That’s right. I wasn’t confiding much in you at the time either, was I?” He studied the boy carefully. “Maybe it’s time to change all that.”

Bek felt a twinge of expectation. “Are you going to tell me who I am?”

Walker looked off into the mist-shrouded night, and there was a sense of time and place slipping away in his dark eyes. “Yes,” he said.

Bek waited for him to say something more, but Walker remained silent, lost in thought, gone somewhere else, perhaps into his memories. Behind them, the Rover crew worked to repair the damage to the aft part of the vessel, where the horns of the battering rams had absorbed most of the shock of their collision with the other airship, but portions of the deck and railing had buckled from the impact. The crew labored alone in the near dark. Almost everyone else, save the watch, had gone back to bed. Even Quentin had disappeared.

In the pilot box, Spanner Frew’s fierce dark face stared out over the controls as if daring something else to go wrong.

“I would have told you most of what I know sooner if I hadn’t thought it better to wait,” Walker said quietly. “I haven’t been any happier keeping it from you than you’ve been not knowing what it was. I wanted to be closer to our final destination, to Ice Henge and Castledown, before speaking with you. Even after the events on Mephitic and the suspicions aroused by Truls Rohk, I believed it was best.

“But now you know you have command of a magic, and it is dangerous for you not to know its source and uses. This magic is of a very powerful nature, Bek. You’ve only scratched the surface of its potential, and I don’t want to risk the possibility that you might choose to use it again before you are prepared to deal with it. If you understand how it works and what it can do, you can control it. Otherwise, you are in grave danger. This means I have to tell you what I know about your origins so you can arm yourself. It isn’t going to be easy to hear this. Worse, it isn’t going to be easy to live with it afterwards.”

Bek stood beside him quietly, listening to him speak. Outwardly, the boy was calm, but inside he was tight and edgy. He was aware of the Druid looking at him, waiting for his response, for permission to continue. Bek met his gaze squarely and nodded that he was ready.

“You are not a Leah or a Rowe or even a member of their families,” Walker said. “Your name is Ohmsford.”

It took a moment for the boy to recognize the name, to remember its origins. All the stories he had heard about the Leahs and the Druids came back to him. There had been Ohmsfords in those stories, as well, as recently as 130 years ago when Quentin’s great-great-grandfather, Morgan Leah, had battled the Shadowen. Before that, Shea and Flick Ohmsford had fought with Allanon against the Warlock Lord, Wil Ohmsford had stood with Eventine Elessedil and the Elves against the Demon hordes, and Brin and Jair Ohmsford had gone in search of the Ildatch in the dark reaches of the Eastland.

But they had all been dead for many years, and the rest of the Ohmsford family had died out. Coran had told him so.