The Elves of Cintra (Book 2 of The Genesis of Shannara)

THE VOICES hiss at her, harsh and insistent.

Run away! You are in danger! Run now! She is old enough to appreciate that the voices are real and that when they speak, it is important to listen. The voices are a part of her, a presence in her mind, as real and substantive as the dark, ruined world around her. She tells her parents of them, but her parents do not listen. They are worried for her. She does not seem entirely right to them. Perhaps it is the poisons to which she is exposed.

Perhaps it is genetic, she a child born of parents who were also exposed.

Perhaps it is a fresh form of madness that claims her early, a madness that they believe will eventually claim them all.

She knows what they think of her because she overhears them talking now and then, and their thinking is always the same.

They refuse to believe what she knows is true.

But tonight is different, the voices so strong and angry, refusing to be silenced or dismissed. She runs to her parents, waking them from their sleep, telling them they must listen to her, that they are all in great danger.

Yet even now, even in the face of her pleading, they do not listen. They tell her it is all right, that she must go back to sleep, that they will sit with her until she does, that nothing bad will happen. Even at six years of age, she knows that this is not true. Even wanting to believe it, she knows. A horror is coming, and no amount of pretending will make it go away.

Please, she begs. We have to run away.

Her father rolls over and goes back to sleep. Her mother walks her to her room, comforting her as she cries helplessly. There, there, her mother soothes, stroking her fine red hair, hugging her as they reach her bed. I will hold you.

No, you must run! You must run away now! Run fast and hide!

The voices talk over her mother, drowning out the comforting words, filling her mind with sound and fury, with sharp twinges of terror. She does not know what to do. She cannot think what else to say.

She is terrified. She is helpless.

When her mother leaves her at last, she lies still only a moment, then leaves her bed and climbs through the window of her home. They live in a house at the edge of what is left of the city of Seattle. It has been her house since she was born, and she knows everything about it. She spends hours in her backyard, playing games. One of her favorites is hide-and-seek.

She practices hiding, waiting for her mother or her father to come looking for her. Her parents have asked her not to play this game without telling them first, but most of the time she likes to keep her game a secret.

Tonight is one of those times.

She runs to the very back of her yard and hides in her favorite place, a deep hole that runs under the storage shed in back. The opening is narrow enough for her to squeeze through, but too narrow for anyone or anything bigger.

It makes her feel safe to be in the hole, in her secret place. She needs to feel safe this night, the voices so loud and demanding.

They quiet the moment she is inside, scrunched back in the darkness, deep in the shadows.

When the screaming begins, she pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs herself tightly. She tries not to listen, to pretend that it isn’t happening. She hums softly to herself, rocking back and forth. The screaming doesn’t last very long, and then she hears footsteps coming her way.

The steps are heavy and are accompanied by heavy, guttural breathing. They approach the shed, circle it once, and move away.

She stays where she is until sunrise. When she crawls from her hiding place, she sees her mother’s nightgown lying on the dry, wintry grass of the yard.

There is blood all over it. She stares at it a moment, and then she stares at the house, at the back door hanging open, at the walls and windows. She listens to the silence and peers at the shadows that lie just inside the open door. She waits a moment, and then she turns away.

She does not need to go inside. She knows what she will find. The voices have told her, and the voices are never wrong.

She leaves her home and walks down into the city, not knowing what else to do. She will find a new home, she tells herself. She will find a new family. She is certain of this in the way that small children are.

When she comes upon Owl, her faith is rewarded.

THAT WAS WHEN she was Sarah and before she became Candle, and it was a very long time ago. She sat in the darkness with her knees drawn up to her chest and rocked back and forth and remembered. Time slowed to a crawl, and she listened for the warning voices, but they had gone silent. She was no longer in danger. She was safe.

But the boy who had left her…The screaming began with shocking suddenness, long and sustained, and she cringed from the sound as if struck a physical blow. She clapped her hands to her ears, not wanting to hear, knowing where the screaming came from, knowing its source.