“Unless fate intervenes and one or the other is killed, yes.”
Prue nodded without speaking, thinking it through. Panterra was a skilled Tracker, but that might not be enough against the old man. She could still remember how he had looked at her, how trapped and helpless he had made her feel. Pan was stronger than she was physically, but this demon had killed other bearers of the black staff, ones infinitely better equipped to defend themselves than he was, and it knew how to break down their defenses. It wasn’t human; it probably wasn’t even sane.
She looked down at her feet, watching their steady progression along the pathway as she walked. There was no one she was closer to than Pan, not even her parents. He was the big brother she didn’t have. He was her mentor and best friend, the one she relied on to see her through the toughest of times, the one she turned to first when she was in need of advice or reassurance. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t tell him—hadn’t told him, in point of fact. They were so close they were almost one person.
If something happened to him, it would be the same as if it had happened to her.
Given that, was there anything that she wouldn’t do for him? Was any sacrifice too great?
She stopped where she was and looked over at the King of the Silver River. “I want you to do it. I want you to make it possible for me to help Pan. I want my instincts back and I want them dependable. I’m willing to take my chances with what that means.”
He studied her for a moment, as if to make sure that she meant what she was saying, and then he nodded. “We will walk a little more. It’s a beautiful day and the gardens are especially lovely in the sunlight. Let’s enjoy them while we can.”
She didn’t know what he meant exactly, but she was willing to spend more time in the gardens, so she did as he asked. They walked for a long time, much longer than she
thought they would or even than she thought she’d feel comfortable with, given how anxious she was to find Pan. At the end of their walk, when they were back where they had started, she felt unexpectedly fresh and rested, even though she knew she should feel exactly the opposite.
“Look!” he said suddenly.
She turned to where he was pointing and saw what she had never seen—a dove that was all red, flying across the gardens, a brilliant flash of color against the brightness of the sun.
“Oh!” she gasped, and it was all she could manage as she watched it disappear into the distance.
When she turned back, the King of the Silver River had become an old, old man with white hair and beard, his face deeply lined and his eyes a pale blue set deep within the folds of skin surrounding them.
“Even for me, use of the magic diminishes who I am. Good-bye, Prue Liss. I wish you well.”
Then she felt herself slipping toward the ground, suddenly too weak to stand. She collapsed gently, as if hands held and lowered her so that she would not be harmed. She had a moment of lucidity in which she saw an image of the scarlet dove flash before her eyes, flying swiftly away, but clearly visible to her.
Then she was asleep.
IN THE AFTERMATH of the girl’s collapse back into slumber, the King of the Silver River knelt next to her, studying her young face. “Sleep, child,” he whispered. “Dream of better days.”
It broke his heart that so much sacrifice was needed to keep the magic in balance, to keep the war between the Word and Void from tilting the wrong way. He had great power at his disposal, power second only to the Word’s, but he felt so helpless. To give her what she asked for, to give her what she needed, came at such a high price.
He had told her he didn’t know what she would lose by helping Panterra Qu, but that was not entirely true. He knew more than he was telling her, but less than he would like. So he had told her just enough and let fate and circumstance take matters where they would.
After all, it was like that for all living things—they could never know everything they wished to know. That would never change.
He reached down, took her head in his hands, and placed his fingers on her temples.
He closed his eyes and disappeared inside himself. With his eyes still closed, he moved his fingers and thumbs here and there about her face, touching this and that, giving and taking what was required, seeking the sources for her magic’s wellspring. He found them easily, and he gave them bits and pieces of his own strength, his own deep insights, his own vast instincts. Then he took his hands away and rose.
He had given her what help he could. He had taken from her what was necessary. The future would reveal if the exchange had been worth it—a future that was only a droplet of water to him, but would seem like an ocean to her. She would wake and discover what had happened, and when she did her journey would truly begin.
He hoped she would be strong and brave enough to survive it.
With a wave of one hand, he sent her back into her own world to find out if she was.