The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

Laughter greeted his failure, gentle and soothing. –Kept safe and unchanging in her arms, I sleep with Mother Tanequil, Pen, down within the earth, in the darkness and quiet, where she takes root. She nourishes me, so that I can live. If I were to die, I would cease to exist, even as an aeriad–


She is down in the ravine, he thought suddenly. He was finally beginning to understand. The tanequil was both male and female, mother and father to the aeriads, a trunk joining limbs at one end to roots at the other. Cinnaminson was in the keeping of the latter, down in the shadowy depths they had crossed over on the bridge. Down where something huge had stirred awake on their passing.

But still whole, she was telling him. Still alive in human form.

“Cinnaminson,” he said, an idea coming to sudden life, a plan to implement it taking shape. “I need to see you again before I go. I need to say good-bye. It isn’t enough just to hear your voice. It doesn’t feel real to me. Can you take me to where you sleep?”

There was a long pause. –You cannot have me back, Pen. Mother Tanequil will not let me go. Not even if you beg–

She recognized his intentions all too well, but his mind was already made up. He was terrified of what he might find if he did it, half certain that she was already reduced to bones and dust, that her vision of herself as still being whole was a subterfuge fostered by the tree. But he couldn’t leave without knowing, no matter how devastating the truth. If there was a way to set her free again, to take her with him …

“I won’t do anything but make sure that you are safe,” he lied. “I just need to see you one last time.”

–This is a mistake– she trilled, her voice rising amid those of her sisters, sharp with rebuke. –You shouldn’t ask it of me–

He took a deep breath. “But I am asking.” He waited a moment. “Please, Cinnaminson.”

The voices of the aeriads hummed, a long sustained chord that matched the sound of wind whispering through the leaves of trees, soft and resilient. He forced himself to keep silent, to say nothing more, to wait.

–I am afraid for you, Pen– she said finally.

“I am afraid for myself,” he admitted.

A pause followed, and the humming died away.

–Come with me, then, if you must. If you can remember my warning–

He exhaled softly. He was not likely to forget.


On the far side of the ravine, Khyber Elessedil stood at the foot of the stone bridge, listening to the soft moan of the wind. She had been standing there for the better part of an hour, using her admittedly unskilled Druid senses to scan the forest for sign of Pen and Cinnaminson. It wasn’t the first time she had done so, but the results were the same. She might as well have been casting about the Blue Divide for a sailor lost at sea, for all the good it was doing her.

One hand clutched the Elfstones. She kept them close on the theory that they might at some point prove useful in her search. They were doing her about as much good as her Druid skills.

Frustrated, she turned away. She hated feeling so helpless. Ever since the safety lines tied to Pen and Cinnaminson had dropped away as if severed by an invisible blade, she had known that the fate of her friends was out of her hands. More than once she had considered trying to cross over herself—and she wasn’t afraid to try, in spite of the warning on the stone—but she didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize Pen’s efforts to secure the darkwand.

She looked back into the gardens, her dazzlingly colorful prison. Trapped in all that beauty and unable to enjoy it, her concentration on Pen and on the island and on the Druids tracking them and on time running out—thinking about it all made her want to scream. But there was nothing she could do.

Nothing but wait.

She stalked over to where Kermadec sat talking with Tagwen, trading stories of the old days, when Grianne Ohmsford was new to the position of Ard Rhys and they were just beginning in her service.

“Do you think there might be another way across?” she asked abruptly, kneeling next to them, her voice urgent. “Another bridge or a narrows we might vault?” She exhaled sharply. “I don’t think I can stand waiting another minute without doing something.”

Kermadec stared at her impassively. “There might be. If you want to take a look, you can. I can send Atalan or Barek with you.”

She shook her head. “I can manage alone. I just need to do something besides stand around.”

Tagwen frowned into his beard, but didn’t say anything.

“You won’t lose your way, will you, Elven girl?” the Maturen pressed. “I wouldn’t want to have to come looking for you.”

“I can find my way.”

“If you discover anything, you will come back and tell us?” Tagwen pressed suddenly.