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

Seeing the rainbow shimmer of the sunlight that seeped through cracks and crevices, refracted and diffused, laced with bright splashes of color that seemed of another world.

Hearing their whisper, calling to him.

This last almost took him out of himself, very nearly disrupting his efforts to use the Elfstones. There was something eerie about that whisper, a feeling that the voice calling was real, not imagined—that someone or something was actually summoning him.

Then the Elfstones began to brighten, their blue light flaring to life within his closed hand, slender rays breaking free through the cracks in his fingers, the warmth of the magic spreading into his body and infusing him with a sudden rush of adrenaline. He kept himself as steady as he could, his thoughts focused, not letting the sudden exhilaration he felt overwhelm him. But it was hard. He wanted to cry out with excitement, to give voice to what he was feeling. The magic was intoxicating; he wanted it to go on forever.

A second later, the gathering light lanced outward from his fist, hurtling toward the summit of Syrring Rise, traversing the meadow and the wildflowers, the bare rock beyond, the stunted conifers that Simralin had told him were thousands of years old, reaching for the higher elevations. At a point beyond the snow line, but only just above the edge of the glacier and its ice fields, it burrowed into the white landscape, encapsulating in a flood of azure light the caves they were seeking. He saw them again, more clearly defined this time, walls sculpted by time and the elements, ceiling vast and shadowed beyond the reach of the light, snowmelt churning in a river cored through the center, waterfalls frozen in place where they had tumbled from the higher elevations.

There was something else, too—something he couldn’t quite make out. It hunkered down in the very rear of the largest chamber, a thing crouched and waiting, all iced over and brilliant with silvery light. It was massive, and it was terrible; he could sense it more than feel it. It did not move, but only waited. Yet he had a feeling it was alive.

“What was that?” Angel asked softly when the light from the Elfstones died away, and they were standing in the gray haze of dawn once more.

Kirisin shook his head. “I’m not sure. It looked like some sort of statue. A statue carved of ice.” He looked at Simralin. “Have you ever seen it before?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t been in those caves. Didn’t even know they were there.”

They looked at one another a moment longer, then Sim said, “The explanation’s not here. Let’s get going.”

THEY BEGAN THE TREK shortly after, taking time out first to eat and then to wait for Simralin to gather together climbing gear that was stowed in one of the line shack’s wooden bins. She brought out everything she thought they would need, laid it all out on the ground, and explained the reasons for her choices.

“The ropes are in case climbing proves necessary. The ice screws and clamps are to secure the ropes. The ice ax allows digging and hammering on the ice. The wicked-looking metal objects with the teeth are crampons. You attach them to your boots to gain traction on ice and frozen snow. The fastenings are spring-locked; the releases are down here by the heels.” She pointed to the last item. “Be careful of these. These are needle gloves. Something new. See the palms.” She pointed again. “Their surfaces are like the back of a hedgehog. Rub it the wrong way, downward like this,” she made a downward-rubbing motion with her hand, “and dozens of tiny needles embed themselves in whatever surface they’ve rubbed up against. Their grip will keep you from slipping or falling. Very strong. They only release if you rub upward again. The gloves tighten with straps at the wrists so that they won’t come off by accident.”

“Where did you get all this?” Angel asked.

“Borrowed it from here and there.” Simralin grinned. “I told you we knew when to take advantage of something good, no matter who invented it.” She pointed to a bundle of smooth sticks. “Flares. Break them in the middle, you have light for an hour.” She pointed to three lamps. “Solar torches, good for at least twenty-four hours of continual use. Also, the boots and gloves have reflectors that glow in the dark, just in case.”

She pointed to their packs. “Food and water for three days—maybe a little more, if it comes to it. Blow-up mattresses and blankets, all made of Elyon, an Elven fabric, extremely light and warm. That’s our sleeping gear. Ice visors to cut the glare. All-weather cloaks. Weapons. Knives for all of us. My bow and arrows, short sword, and adzl.” For the last, she indicated the peculiar javelin with barbs at both ends and a cord-wound grip at the center. “Angel’s staff. And, of course, if all else fails, Kirisin’s quick wit.”

She grinned at him. “Knife-edge-sharp, I’m told.”

Kirisin nodded. “Very funny. You think that the Elfstones could be used as a weapon?”