THE VOYAGE OF THE JERLE SHANNARA : Morgawr (BOOK THREE)

The shell of self-deception in which she was encased broke under the deluge of images, and for the first time she saw herself for what she was. She was repulsive. She was the worst of what she could imagine, a creature whose humanity had been sacrificed in the false belief that it was meaningless. In sacrifice to the monster she had become, she had given up everything that had been part of the little girl she had once been.

Worst of all was the realization of what she had done to Bek. She had done more than betray him by assuming him dead in the ashes of her home. She had done worse than fail to discover if he might be whom he claimed when he confronted her. She had tried to put an end to him. She had hunted him down and nearly killed him. She had made him her prisoner, taken him back with her to Black Moclips, and given him over to Cree Bega.

She had abandoned him.

Again.

In the silence of the Sword of Shannara’s quieting magic, the images faded momentarily, and she was left alone with her truth, with its starkness, with its razor’s edge. Walker was still there, still close, his pale presence watching her come to terms with herself. She felt him like a pall, and she could not shake him off. She fought to break free of the tangle of deceits and treacheries and wrongdoings that draped her like a thousand spiderwebs. She struggled to breathe against the suffocating darkness of her life. She could do neither. She was as trapped as her victims.

The images began again, but she could no longer bear to watch them. Tumbling through the kaleidoscope of her terrible acts, she could not imagine how forgiveness could ever be granted to her. She could not imagine she had any right even to ask for it. She felt bereft of hope or grace. Finding her voice at last, she screamed in a mix of self-hatred and despair. The sound and the fury of it triggered her own magic, dark and swift and sure. It came to her aid in a rush, collided with the magic of the Sword of Shannara, and erupted within her in a fiery conflagration. She felt herself explode in a whirl of images and emotions. Then everything began to spiral off into a vast, depthless void, and she was swept away into clouds of endlessly drifting shadows.





Bek Ohmsford stiffened at the sound. “Did you hear that?” he asked Truls Rohk.

It was an unnecessary question. No one could have missed it. They were deep underground now, back within the catacombs of Castledown, searching for Walker. They had come down through the ruins, finding doors once hidden now open and waiting. No longer did the fire threads and creepers protect this domain. No sign of life remained. The world of Antrax was a graveyard of metal skeletons and dead machines.

Truls Rohk, cloaked and hooded even here, looked around slowly as the echo of the scream died away. “Someone is still alive down here.”

“A woman,” Bek ventured.

The shape-shifter grunted. “Don’t be too sure.”

Bek tested the air with his magic, humming softly, reading the lines of power. Grianne had passed this way not long ago. Her presence was unmistakable. They were following her in the belief that she would be following Walker. One would lead to the other. If they were quick enough, they could reach both in time. But until now, they had not been so sure that anyone was left alive. Certainly they had found no evidence of it.

Bek started ahead again, running his hand through his hair nervously. “She’s gone this way.”

Truls Rohk moved with him. “You said you had a plan. For when we find her.”

“To capture her,” Bek declared. “To take her alive.”

“Such ambition, boy. Do you intend to tell me the details anytime soon?”

Bek kept going, taking time to think his explanation through. With Truls, you didn’t want to overcomplicate things. The shape-shifter was already prepared to doubt the possibility of any plan working successfully. He was already thinking of ways to kill Grianne before she had a chance to kill him. All that was preventing it was Bek’s passionate demand that Truls give his way a chance.

“She cannot harm us unless she uses her magic,” he said quietly, not looking over at the other as they walked. He picked his way carefully through collapsed cables and chunks of concrete that had been shaken loose from the ceiling by an enormous blast and a quake that they had felt even aboveground. “She cannot use her magic unless she can use her voice. If we stop her from speaking or singing or making any sound whatsoever, we can take her prisoner.”

Truls Rohk slid through the shadows and flickering lights like a massive cat. “We can accomplish what’s needed by just killing her. Give this up, boy. She isn’t going to become your sister again. She isn’t going to accept what she is.”

“If I can distract her, then you can get behind her,” Bek continued, ignoring him. “Put your hands over her mouth and muffle her voice. You can do this if we can keep her from discovering you are there. I think it is possible. She will be intent on finding the Druid and dealing with me. She won’t be looking for you.”