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

There was a long silence, and then Aden Kett said, “You are not my commanding officer. You have no authority over me. Or over my ship and crew. I have no idea who you are or how you got here using Federation ships and men. But you have no written orders, and so I am not obligated to follow your dictates. I have come aboard to speak with you as a courtesy. That courtesy has been exercised, and I am absolved of further responsibility to you. Good luck to you, sir.”


He turned away, intent on reboarding Black Moclips. Instantly, the Morgawr stepped forward, his huge clawed hand lunging out of his black robes to seize the luckless Federation officer by the back of his neck. Powerful fingers closed about Aden Kett’s throat, cutting off his futile cry. The Morgawr’s other hand appeared more slowly, emerging in a ball of green light as his victim thrashed helplessly. Then, as Ahren Elessedil watched in horror, the Morgawr extended the glowing hand to the back of his prisoner’s head and eased it through skin and hair and bone, twisting and turning inside like a spoon. Kett threw back his head and screamed in spite of the grip on his throat, then shuddered once and went still.

The Morgawr withdrew his hand slowly, carefully. The back of Aden Kett’s skull sealed as he did so, closing as if there had been no intrusion at all. The Morgawr’s hand was no longer glowing. It was wet and dripping with brain matter and fluids.

It was finished in seconds. Aboard Black Moclips, the stunned Federation crew rushed to the railing, but the Mwellrets blocked their way with pikes and axes. Pushing back the horrified Southlanders, the rets swarmed aboard, closing about and rendering them all prisoners. The sole exception was the rail-thin Mate, who hesitated only long enough to see the terrible, blasted look on his Commander’s empty face, devoid of life and emotion, stripped of humanity, before going straight to the closest opening on the rail and throwing himself over the side.

The Morgawr squeezed what was left of Aden Kett’s brain in his hand, pieces dripping onto the deck, dampness sliding down his scaly arm.

“Bring the others now,” he said softly. “One by one, so I can savor them.”

Unable to help himself, tears filling his eyes, Ahren Elessedil retched and threw up.

“Thiss iss what could happen to little Elvess who dissobey,” Cree Bega hissed into Ahren’s ear. “Thinkss how it feelss!”

Then he had the boy dragged belowdecks once more and into his prison.





At the bow, in the shadow of the curved rams, alone and forgotten while the subjugation of Aden Kett took place, Ryer Ord Star stood with her eyes closed and her mind at rest.

Walker.

There was no response. Borne aloft by the wind, the smell of the forest filled her nostrils. She could picture the trees, branches spread wide, leaves touching like fingers, a shelter and a home.

Walker.

–I am here–

At the sound of his voice, her tension diminished and the peace that always came when he was near began to replace it. Even in death, he was with her, her protector and her guide. As he had promised when he sent her from him out of Castledown, he had come to her again. Not in life, but in her dreams and visions, a strong and certain presence that would lend her the strength she so desperately needed.

How much longer must I stay here?

In her mind, the Druid’s voice assumed shape and form and became the Druid as he had been in life, looking at her with kindness and understanding.

–It is not yet time to leave–

I am frightened!

–Do not be afraid. I am with you and will keep you from harm–

She kept her eyes closed and her face lifted, feeling the warmth of the sun and the cool of the wind on her skin, but seeing only him. To anyone who looked upon her, to Ahren in particular, who was watching, she seemed a small, fragile creature given over to a fate that only she would recognize when it came for her. She was prepared for that fate, accepting of it, and her features radiated a reassurance that she was ready to embrace it.

Her words, when she spoke them in the silence of her mind, were rife with her need.

I am so lonely. Let me be free.

–Your task is not yet finished. Grianne has not yet awakened. You must give her time to do so. She must remain free. She must escape the Morgawr long enough to remember–

How will she do that? How will she find her way back from where she has gone to hide from the truth?

She knew of Grianne Ohmsford and the Sword of Shannara. She knew what had befallen the Ilse Witch in the catacombs of Castledown. Walker had told her at the time of his first coming, when she was made a prisoner of the Mwellrets with Ahren. He had told her what had transpired and what he needed of her. She was so grateful to see him again, even in another form, in another place, that she would have agreed to anything he asked of her.

The soft, familiar voice whispered to her.

–She will come back when she finds a way to forgive herself. She will come back when she is reborn–

The seer did not know what this meant. How could anyone forgive themselves for the things the Ilse Witch had done? How could anyone who had lived her life ever be made whole again?

Walker spoke again.