mouth on his sleeve. “Allanon sent me,” he declared perfunctorily.
There was a long silence as the Ohmsford brothers stared first at him, then at each other, then back again at him.
“Allanon?” Par repeated.
“Allanon has been dead for three hundred years,” Coll interjected bluntly.
The old man nodded. “Indeed. I misspoke: It was actually Allanon's ghost, his shade—but Allanon, still, for all intents and purposes.”
“Allanon's shade?” Coll took the cloth from the side of his head, his injury forgotten. He did not bother to hide his disbelief.
The old man rubbed his bearded chin. “Now, now, you will have to be patient for a moment or two until I've had a chance to explain. Much of what I am going to tell you will be hard for you to accept, but you must try. Believe me when I tell you that it is very important.”
He rubbed his hands briskly in the direction of the fire. “Think of me as a messenger for the moment, will you? Think of me as a messenger sent by Allanon, for that's all I am to you just now. You, Par. Why have you been ignoring the dreams?”
Par stiffened. “You know about that?”
“The dreams were sent by Allanon to bring you to him. Don't you understand? That was his voice speaking to you, his shade come to address you. He summons you to the Hadeshorn—you, your cousin Wren, and …”
“Wren?” Coll interrupted, incredulous.
The old man looked perturbed. “That's what I said, didn't I? Am I going to have to repeat everything? Your cousin, Wren Ohmsford. And Walker Boh as well.”
“Uncle Walker,” Par said softly. “I remember.”
Coll glanced at his brother, then shook his head in disgust. “This is ridiculous. No one knows where either of them is!” he snapped. “Wren lives somewhere in the Westland with the Rovers. She lives out of the back of a wagon! And Walker Boh hasn't been seen by anyone for almost ten years. He might be dead, for all we know!”
“He might, but he isn't,” the old man said testily. He gave Coll a meaningful stare, then returned his gaze to Par. “All of you are to come to the Hadeshorn by the close of the present moon's cycle. On the first night of the new moon, Allanon will speak with you there.”
Par felt a chill go through him. “About magic?”
Coll seized his brother's shoulders. “About Shadowen?” he mimicked, widening his eyes.
The old man bent forward suddenly, his face gone hard. “About what he chooses! Yes, about magic! And about Shadowen! About creatures like the one that knocked you aside just now as if you were a baby! But mostly, I think, young Coll, about this!”
He threw a dash of dark powder into the fire with a suddenness that caused Par and Coll to jerk back sharply. The fire flared as it had when theold man had first appeared, but this time the light was drawn out of the air and everything went dark.
Then an image formed in the blackness, growing in size until it seemed to be all around them. It was an image of the Four Lands, the countryside barren and empty, stripped of life and left ruined. Darkness and a haze of ash-filled smoke hung over everything. Rivers were filled with debris, the waters poisoned. Trees were bent and blasted, shorn of life. Nothing but scrub grew anywhere. Men crept about like animals, and animals fled at their coming. There were shadows with strange red eyes circling everywhere, dipping and playing within those humans who crept, twisting and turning them until they lost their shape and became unrecognizable.
It was a nightmare of such fury and terror that it seemed to Par and Coll Ohmsford as if it were happening to them, and that the screams emanating from the mouths of the tortured humans were their own.
Then the image was gone, and they were back again about the fire, the old man sitting there, watching them with hawk's eyes.
“That was a part of my dream,” Par whispered.
“That was the future,” the old man said.
“Or a trick,” a shaken Coll muttered,
There was a long silence as the Ohmsford brothers stared first at him, then at each other, then back again at him.
“Allanon?” Par repeated.
“Allanon has been dead for three hundred years,” Coll interjected bluntly.
The old man nodded. “Indeed. I misspoke: It was actually Allanon's ghost, his shade—but Allanon, still, for all intents and purposes.”
“Allanon's shade?” Coll took the cloth from the side of his head, his injury forgotten. He did not bother to hide his disbelief.
The old man rubbed his bearded chin. “Now, now, you will have to be patient for a moment or two until I've had a chance to explain. Much of what I am going to tell you will be hard for you to accept, but you must try. Believe me when I tell you that it is very important.”
He rubbed his hands briskly in the direction of the fire. “Think of me as a messenger for the moment, will you? Think of me as a messenger sent by Allanon, for that's all I am to you just now. You, Par. Why have you been ignoring the dreams?”
Par stiffened. “You know about that?”
“The dreams were sent by Allanon to bring you to him. Don't you understand? That was his voice speaking to you, his shade come to address you. He summons you to the Hadeshorn—you, your cousin Wren, and …”
“Wren?” Coll interrupted, incredulous.
The old man looked perturbed. “That's what I said, didn't I? Am I going to have to repeat everything? Your cousin, Wren Ohmsford. And Walker Boh as well.”
“Uncle Walker,” Par said softly. “I remember.”
Coll glanced at his brother, then shook his head in disgust. “This is ridiculous. No one knows where either of them is!” he snapped. “Wren lives somewhere in the Westland with the Rovers. She lives out of the back of a wagon! And Walker Boh hasn't been seen by anyone for almost ten years. He might be dead, for all we know!”
“He might, but he isn't,” the old man said testily. He gave Coll a meaningful stare, then returned his gaze to Par. “All of you are to come to the Hadeshorn by the close of the present moon's cycle. On the first night of the new moon, Allanon will speak with you there.”
Par felt a chill go through him. “About magic?”
Coll seized his brother's shoulders. “About Shadowen?” he mimicked, widening his eyes.
The old man bent forward suddenly, his face gone hard. “About what he chooses! Yes, about magic! And about Shadowen! About creatures like the one that knocked you aside just now as if you were a baby! But mostly, I think, young Coll, about this!”
He threw a dash of dark powder into the fire with a suddenness that caused Par and Coll to jerk back sharply. The fire flared as it had when theold man had first appeared, but this time the light was drawn out of the air and everything went dark.
Then an image formed in the blackness, growing in size until it seemed to be all around them. It was an image of the Four Lands, the countryside barren and empty, stripped of life and left ruined. Darkness and a haze of ash-filled smoke hung over everything. Rivers were filled with debris, the waters poisoned. Trees were bent and blasted, shorn of life. Nothing but scrub grew anywhere. Men crept about like animals, and animals fled at their coming. There were shadows with strange red eyes circling everywhere, dipping and playing within those humans who crept, twisting and turning them until they lost their shape and became unrecognizable.
It was a nightmare of such fury and terror that it seemed to Par and Coll Ohmsford as if it were happening to them, and that the screams emanating from the mouths of the tortured humans were their own.
Then the image was gone, and they were back again about the fire, the old man sitting there, watching them with hawk's eyes.
“That was a part of my dream,” Par whispered.
“That was the future,” the old man said.
“Or a trick,” a shaken Coll muttered,
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