The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

He woke with a start, sitting up so abruptly he bumped his head against the decking of the pilot box. Pain ratcheted through him and tears flooded his eyes. He sat holding his head for a moment, trying to clear his thoughts, to make the nightmare go away. But it lingered, stronger than before, pressing down on him, as if it were still happening in real life.

Consumed by this unreasonable, yet nevertheless unshakable fear, he crawled from the sleeping space onto the deck of the cat, breathing in the night air to clear his head. It was still dark, but the clouds had dissipated and the sky was bright with stars and moon. Sitting with his back against the wall of the pilot box, he glanced at the darkness, listened to the silence, and tried to shake off the effects of the dream.

Then he rose to look forward over the pilot box wall and saw the Galaphile flying directly toward him.

He felt his heart stop, and his breath caught in his throat, tightening down into a hard knot of fear. He could not quite believe what he was seeing, even though it was right in front of him and unmistakable. He caught a glimpse of Tagwen asleep inside the pilot box, oblivious to the danger. Pen wanted to reach out and wake him, but he could not make himself move. He just stood there, staring helplessly as the massive bulk of the airship grew larger and larger, bearing down on him like the airship in his dream, preparing to crush the life out of him.

And then abruptly, it changed course.

There was no reason for it. If anyone was on deck searching for them, they would have been seen. The moonlight was too clear and bright for any other result. Yet the Galaphile swung sharply to port and away, flying back toward the shoreline of Rainbow Lake, an act so unexpected and improbable that it left Pen open-mouthed.

“Tagwen!” he whispered harshly, groping for the other’s shoulder.

The Dwarf awoke with a start, scrambling into a sitting position as he struggled to figure out what was happening. Pen steadied him with his hand, drew his attention, then pointed at the retreating airship. Tagwen stared at it, confusion and shock mirrored on his rough features.

“It was right in front of us,” Pen explained, keeping his voice to a whisper. “I had a dream about it, came up on deck, and there it was! Right there! It had us, Tagwen. It couldn’t have missed us, sitting out like this in the moonlight, even at night. But it did. All at once, it just turned and flew off.”

He knelt next to the Dwarf, taking quick, short breaths, feeling light-headed. “What happened? Why didn’t it see us?”

“Perhaps it didn’t recognize you,” a voice replied from behind them.

For the second time in only minutes, Pen experienced heart failure, jumping with the unexpected sound, almost falling over Tagwen, who was just as startled. Crouched in one corner of the pilot box, man and boy turned to see who had spoken.

An old man stood looking at them, an ancient so bent and gnarled that it seemed impossible he could have managed to climb aboard. He braced himself with a polished black staff that glistened like deep waters in moonlight, and his robes were so white they gleamed like the moon itself. Long gray hair and a heavy beard fell about his chest and shoulders, and his eyes had an oddly childlike twinkle to them, as if the old man had never quite grown up all the way.

Pen, recovering from the shock of finding him there, said, “Why wouldn’t they recognize us?”

“Sometimes things don’t look quite the way we expect them to,” the old man said. “Especially at night, when shadows drape the world and mask the truth.”

“We were right out in the open,” Pen persisted. He stood up again, deciding there was nothing to be afraid of. He looked at the ancient’s strange eyes, finding himself drawn to something reflected in them, something that reminded him of himself, though he couldn’t say what. “Did you do something to make them not see us?”

The old man smiled. “Penderrin Ohmsford. I knew your father, years ago. He came looking for something, too. I helped him find what it was. Now, it seems, it is your turn.”

“My turn?” Pen stared at him. “How do you know who I am? My father didn’t tell you, did he? No, this was before I was born, wasn’t it?”

The old man nodded, amused. “Your father was still a boy, just as you are now.”

Tagwen struggled to his feet, straightening his rumpled clothes and squaring his stocky body away. “Who are you?” he asked boldly. “What are you doing out here? How do you know so much about Pen and his father?”

“So many questions,” the old man said softly. “Life is full of them, and we spend it seeking their answers, first of one, then of another. It is our passion, as thinking creatures, to do so. Do you not know me, Tagwen? You are of the Dwarf people, and the Dwarf people have known me for centuries.”