The Elf Queen of Shannara

“Back there.” He gestured vaguely, his seamed face clouded. “Behind the palace.”


“So you mean—”

The Owl cut her short. “The city, Wren. The whole of it and all of the Elves that live in it. That’s what I mean.”

Wren stared. “But . . . It was rebuilt, you mean, from timbers the Elves ferried here . . .”

He was shaking his head. “Wren, has no one told you of the Loden? Didn’t the queen tell you how the Elves came to Morrowindl?”

He was leaning close to her now, his sharp eyes fixed on her. She hesitated, saying finally, “She said that it was decided to migrate out of the Westland because the Federation—”

“No,” he cut her short once more. “That’s not what I mean.”

He looked away a moment, then took her by the arm and walked her to a stone abutment at the foot of the bridge where they could sit. Garth trailed after them, his dark face expressionless, taking up a position across from them where he could see them speak.

“This isn’t something I had planned on having to tell you, girl,” the Owl began when they were settled. “Others could do the job better. But we won’t have much to talk about if I don’t explain. And besides, if you’re Ellenroh Elessedil’s grandchild and the one she’s been waiting for, the one in Eowen Cerise’s vision, then you have a right to know.”

He folded his angular arms comfortably. “But you’re not going to believe it. I’m not sure I do.”

Wren smiled, a trifle uncomfortable with the prospect. “Tell me anyway, Owl.”

Aurin Striate nodded. “This is what I’ve been told, then—not what I necessarily know. The Elves recovered some part of their faerie magic more than a hundred years back, before Morrowindl, while they were still living in the Westland. I don’t know how they did it; I don’t really suppose I care. What’s important to know is that when they made the decision to migrate, they supposedly channeled what there was of the magic into an Elfstone called the Loden. The Loden, I think, had always been there, hidden away, kept secret for the time when it would be needed. That time didn’t come for hundreds of years—not in all the time that passed after the Great Wars. But the Elessedils had it put away, or they found it again, or something, and when the decision was made to migrate, they put it to use.”

He took a steadying breath and tightened his lips. “This Elfstone, like all of them, I’m told, draws its strength from the user. Except in this case, there wasn’t just a single user but an entire race. The whole of the strength of the Elven nation went into invoking the Loden’s magic.” He cleared his throat. “When it was done, all of Arborlon had been picked up like . . . like a scoop of earth, shrunk down to nothing, and sealed within the Stone. And that’s what I mean when I say Arborlon was brought to Morrowindl. It was sealed inside the Loden along with most of its people and carried by just a handful of caretakers to this island. Once a site for the city was found, the process was reversed and Arborlon was restored. Men, women, children, dogs, cats, birds, animals, houses and shops, trees, flowers, grass—everything. The Ellcrys, too. All of it.”

He sat back and the sharp eyes narrowed. “So now what do you say?”

Wren was stunned. “I say you’re right, Owl. I don’t believe it. I can’t conceive of how the Elves were able to recover something that had been lost for thousands of years that fast. Where did it come from? They hadn’t any magic at all in the time of Brin and Jair Ohmsford—only their healing powers!”

The Owl shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know how they did any of it, Wren. It was long before my time. The queen might know—but she’s never said a word about it to me. I only know what I was told, and I’m not sure if I believe that. The city and its people were carried here in the Loden. That’s the story. And that’s how the Keel was built, too. Well, it was actually constructed of stone by hand labor first, but the magic that protects it came out of the Loden. I was a boy then, but I remember the old king using the Ruhk Staff. The Ruhk Staff holds the Loden and channels the magic.”

“You’ve seen this?” Wren asked doubtfully.

“I’ve seen the Staff and its Stone many times,” the Owl answered. “I saw them used only that once.”

“What about the demons?” Wren went on, wanting to learn more, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. “What of them? Can’t the Loden and the Ruhk Staff be used against them?”

The Owl’s face darkened, changing expression so quickly that it caught Wren by surprise. “No,” he answered quietly. “The magic is useless against the demons.”

“But why is that?” she pressed. “The magic of the Elfstones I carry can destroy them. Why not the magic of the Loden?”

He shook his head. “It’s a different kind of magic, I guess.”

He didn’t sound very sure of himself. Quickly Wren said, “Tell me where the demons came from, Owl?”