The Scions of Shannara

So they went back to the clearing where Par had met with Walker and the moor cat the previous night and began a second search, agreeing to meet back at the cottage by late afternoon. Steff and Teel formed one group, Par and Coll a second, and Morgan went alone. The day was warm and filled with sunshine, and a light breeze blew down out of the distant mountains. Steff scoured the clearing for signs of any sort and found nothing—not even the tracks of the cat. Par had a feeling that it was going to be a long day.

He walked east with Coll after parting from the others, his mind crowding with thoughts of what he should say to his brother. A mix of emotions worked their way through him, and he found it difficult to sort them out. He ambled along halfheartedly, conscious of Coll watching him from time to time, but avoiding his gaze. After they had wandered through several dozen clearings and forded half that many streams without coming on even a trace of Walker Boh, Par called a halt.

“This is a waste of time,” he announced, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. “We’re not going to find anything.”

“I don’t imagine we are,” Coll replied.

Par turned to him, and they faced each other silently for a moment. “I have decided to go on to the Hadeshorn, Coll. It doesn’t matter what Walker does; it only matters what I do. I have to go.”

Coll nodded. “I know.” Then he smiled. “Par, I haven’t been your brother all these years without learning something about the way you think. The moment you told me that Walker had said he would have nothing to do with the matter, I knew you’d decided you would. That’s the way it is with you. You’re like a dog with a bone in its teeth—you can’t let go.”

“I suppose that’s the way it seems sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Par shook his head wearily and moved over to a patch of shade beneath an old hickory. He turned his back to the trunk and slid to the ground. Coll joined him. They sat staring out at the empty woodlands. “I admit that I made the decision pretty much the way you describe it. I just couldn’t accept Walker’s position. Truth is, Coll, I couldn’t even understand it. I was so upset, I didn’t even think to ask him whether he believed the dreams were real or not.”

“Not consciously, perhaps—but you thought about it. And you decided at some point it wasn’t necessary. Walker said that he’d had the same dreams as you. He told you the old man had come to him just as he did to us. He admitted the old man was Cogline. He didn’t dispute any of it. He simply said he didn’t want to become involved. The implication is that he believes the dreams are real—otherwise, there wouldn’t be anything to get involved with.”

Par’s jaw tightened. “I don’t understand it, Coll. That was Walker I spoke with last night; I know it was. But he didn’t talk like Walker. All that business about not becoming involved, about his decision to separate himself from the Races, and to live out here like a hermit. Something’s not right; I can feel it! He wasn’t telling me everything. He kept talking about how the Druids kept secrets from the Ohmsfords, but he was doing the same thing with me! He was hiding something!”

Coll looked unconvinced. “Why would he do that?”

Par shook his head. “I don’t know. I just sense it.” He looked at his brother sharply. “Walker never backed down from anything in his entire life; we both know that. He was never afraid to stand up and be counted when he was needed. Now he talks as if he can scarcely bear the thought of getting up in the morning! He talks as if the only important thing in life is to look out for himself!” The Valeman leaned back wearily against the hickory trunk. “He made me feel embarrassed for him. He made me feel ashamed!”

“I think you might be reading too much into this.” Coll scuffed the ground with the heel of his boot. “It may be just the way he says it is. He’s lived alone out here for a long time, Par. Maybe he simply isn’t comfortable with people anymore.”

“Even you?” Par was incensed. “For goodness sake, Coll—he wouldn’t even speak with you!”

Coll shook his head and held his gaze steady. “The truth is, Par, we never spoke much as it was. You were the one he cared about, because you were the one with the magic.”

Par looked at him and said nothing. Walker’s exact words, he thought. He was just fooling himself when he tried to equate Coll’s relationship with their uncle to his own. It had never been the same.

He frowned. “There is still the matter of the dreams. Why doesn’t he share my curiosity about them? Doesn’t he want to know what Allanon has to say?”

Coll shrugged. “Maybe he already knows. He seems to know what everyone is thinking most of the time.”

Par hesitated. He hadn’t considered that. Was it possible his uncle had already determined what the Druid would tell them at the Hadeshorn? Could he read the mind of a shade, a man three hundred years dead?

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He would have said something more than he did about the reason for the dreams. He spent all of his time dismissing the matter as one more instance when the Ohmsfords would be used by the Druids; he didn’t care what the reason was.”

“Then perhaps he is relying on you to tell him.”