The Scions of Shannara

Par flushed angrily. “Just because . . .”


“There hasn’t been a single moment during this entire expedition or trek or whatever you want to call it that you haven’t needed help from someone.” The dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying you were the only one. We’ve all needed help, needed each other—even Padishar Creel. That’s the way life works.” One strong hand lifted and a finger jabbed Par roughly. “The thing is, everyone but you realizes and accepts it. But you keep trying to do everything on your own, trying to be the one who knows best, who has all the answers, recognizes all the options, and has some special insight the rest of us lack that allows you to decide what’s best. You blind yourself to the truth. Do you know what, Par? The Mole, with his family of toy animals and his underground hideout—you’re just like him. You’re exactly the same. You create your own reality—it doesn’t matter what the truth is or what anyone else thinks.”

He slipped his hand back into his blanket and pulled the covering tight again. “That’s why I’m going. Because you need me to go. You need me to tell you the difference between the toy animals and the real ones.”

He turned away again, directing his gaze back out the rain-streaked window to where the night’s fading shadows continued to play games in the mist.

Pars mouth tightened. His brothers face was infuriatingly calm. “I know the difference, Coll!” he snapped.

Coll shook his head. “No you don’t. It’s all the same to you. You decide whatever you want to decide and that’s the end of the matter. That’s the way it was with Allanon’s ghost. That’s the way it was with the charge he gave you to find the Sword of Shannara. That’s the way it is now. Toy animals or real ones, the fact of what they are doesn’t matter. What matters is how you perceive it.”

“That’s not true!” Par was incensed.

“Isn’t it? Then tell me this. What happens tomorrow if you’re mistaken? About anything. What if the Sword of Shannara isn’t there? What if the Shadowen are waiting for us? What if the wishsong doesn’t work the way you think it will? Tell me, Par. What if you’re just plain wrong?”

Par gripped the edges of his blanket until his knuckles were white.

“What happens if the toy animals turn out to be real ones? What do you plan to do then?” He waited a moment, then said, “That’s why I’m going, too.”

“If it turns out that I’m wrong, what difference will it make if you do go?” Par shouted furiously.

Coll didn’t respond right away. Then slowly he looked over once again. He gave Par a small, ironic smile. “Don’t you know?”

He turned away again. Par bit his lip in frustration. The rain picked up momentarily, the drops beating on the shed’s wooden roof with fresh determination. Par felt suddenly small and frightened, knowing that his brother was right, that he was being foolish and impulsive, that his insistence in going back into the Pit was risking all their lives, but knowing too that it didn’t make any difference; he must go. Coll was right about that as well; the decision had been made and he would not change it. He remained rigid and upright next to his brother, refusing to give way to his fears, but within he curled tight and tried to hide from the faces they showed him.

Then Coll said quietly, “I love you, Par. And I suppose when you get right down to it, that’s why I’m going most of all.”

Par let the words hang in the silence that followed, unwilling to disturb them. He felt himself uncurl and straighten, and a flush of warmth spread through him. When he tried to speak, he could not. He let his breath out in a long, slow, inaudible sigh.

“I need you with me, Coll,” he managed finally. “I really do.”

Coll nodded. Neither of them said anything after that.





XXVIII