part of her that had been human had long since evolved into something far different, so there was no help there. There had been other times in her life when she had thought she might be dying, when she had thought she was in such danger that she must choose the one who would succeed her. Each time she selected a woman — a handful of times only. The last was five hundred years ago. I don’t know what prompted it, so don’t ask. It isn’t really important.
«When Amberle was made a Chosen, the first woman in five hundred years, there was no small amount of surprise among the Elves. But the selection of Amberle had far greater significance than anyone realized because the Ellcrys in making her choice was looking upon the girl as a possible successor. And more than that really was looking upon Amberle as a mother would her unborn child. An odd characterization you might argue, but consider the circumstances. If the tree were to die, she would then produce a seed, and that seed and Amberle would become one, a new Ellcrys born in part at least from the old. The selection of Amberle was made with that foreknowledge, and it necessarily entailed much of the feeling that a mother would bear for an unborn child. Physically the woman that had been the Ellcrys had changed, but emotionally she retained much of what she had been. Something of this the tree sensed in the Elven girl. That was why they were so close in the beginning.»
He reflected a moment. «Unfortunately it was this closeness that eventually caused problems. When I first came to Arborlon, awakened by the erosion of the Forbidding and the threatened crossover of the Demons, I went to the Gardens of Life to speak with the Ellcrys. She told me that after her selection of Amberle as a Chosen, she attempted to strengthen the ties that bound the Elven girl to her. She did this because she felt the sickness within her growing. Her life, she realized, was coming to an end; the seed that was beginning even then to form within her was to be passed to Amberle. In her dying, she responded to the girl with that same mothering instinct. She wanted to prepare her for what was to come, to see something of the beauty and grace and peace that she had enjoyed in her life. She wanted Amberle to be able to appreciate what it meant to become one with the land, to see its evolution through the years, to experience its changes — in short, I suppose, to understand a little of the growing up that a mother knows and a child does not.»
Wil nodded slowly. He was thinking of the dream that Amberle and he had shared after the King of the Silver River had rescued them from the Demons. In that dream they had searched for each other — he within a beautiful garden, so breathtaking that it had made him want to cry; she in darkness, calling out as he stood there but would not answer. Neither had understood that the dream was a prophecy. Neither had understood that the King of the Silver River had given them a glimpse of what was destined to be.
The Druid continued. «The Ellcrys was well intentioned, but overzealous. She frightened Amberle with her visions and her constant motherings and her stealing away of Amberle’s identity. The Elven girl was not yet ready for the transition that the Ellcrys was so anxious for her to make. She became frightened and angry, and she left Arborlon. The Ellcrys did not understand; she kept waiting for Amberle to come back. When the sickness grew irreversible and the seed was completely formed, she called the Chosen to her.»
«But not Amberle?» Wil was listening closely now.
«No, not Amberle. She thought Amberle would come on her own, you see. She did not want to send for her because, when she had done that before, it had only driven the girl further away. She was certain that once Amberle knew that she was dying, the girl would come. Unfortunately there was less time remaining to her than she thought. The Forbidding began to erode, and she could not maintain it. A handful of the Demons broke through and the Chosen were slain — all but Amberle. When I appeared, the Ellcrys was desperate. She told me that Amberle must be found, so I went to seek her out.»
A hint of renewed bitterness darkened the Valeman’s face.
«Then you knew at Havenstead that the Ellcrys still considered Amberle a Chosen.»
«I knew.»
«And you knew that she would give Amberle the seed to bear.»
«I will save you the trouble of asking further questions. I knew everything. The Druid histories at Paranor revealed to me the truth of how the Ellcrys had come into being — the truth of how she must come into being again.»
There was a brief hesitation. «Understand something, Valeman. I cared for this girl also. I had no desire to deceive her, if you wish to characterize my omissions as deceptions. But it was necessary that Amberle discover the truth about herself another way than through me. I gave her a path to follow; I did not give her a map that would explain its twists and turns. Such choices as might be necessary I thought were hers. Neither you, I, nor anyone else had the right to make those choices for her. Only she had that right.»
Wil Ohmsford’s eyes lowered. «Perhaps so. And perhaps it would have been better if she had known from the beginning where that path you set her upon would end.» He shook his head slowly. «Odd. I thought that hearing the truth about everything that has happened would help somehow. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t help at all.»
There was a long silence. Then Wil looked up again. «In any case, I do not have the right to blame you for what has happened. You did what you had to do — I know that. I know that the choices were really Amberle’s. I know. But to lose her like this — it’s so hard…» He trailed off.
The Druid nodded. «I am sorry, Valeman.»
He started to rise, and Wil asked suddenly. «Why did you wake me now, Allanon? To tell me this?»
The big man straightened, black and faceless. «To tell you this, and to tell you goodbye, Wil Ohmsford.»
Wil stared up at him. «Goodbye?»
«Until another day, Valeman.»
«But… where are you going?»
There was no response. Wil felt himself grow sleepy again; the Druid was letting him drift back into the slumber from which he had been awakened. Stubbornly he fought against it. There were things yet to be said, and he meant to say them. Allanon could not leave him like this, disappearing into the night as unexpectedly as he had come, cloaked and hooded like some thief who feared that even the slightest glimpse of his face might give him away…
A sudden suspicion crossed his mind in that instant. Weakly he stretched forth his hand and caught the front of the Druid’s robe.
«Allanon.»
Silence filled the little sleeping room.
«Allanon — let me see your face.»
For a moment he thought the Druid had not heard him. Allanon stood motionlessly at his bedside, staring down from the shadows of his robe. The Valeman waited. Then slowly the Druid’s big hands reached up and pulled back the hood.
«Allanon!» Wil Ohmsford whispered.
The Druid’s hair and beard, once coal black, were shot through with streaks of gray Allanon had aged!
«The price one pays for use of the magic.» Allanon’s smile was slow and mocking. «This time I fear that I used too much; it drained more from me than I wished to give.» He shrugged. «There is only so much. life allotted to each of us, Valeman — only so much and no more.»
«Allanon,” Wil cried softly. «Allanon, I’m sorry. Don’t go yet.»
Allanon replaced the hood, and his hand stretched down to grasp Wil’s. «It is time for me to go. We both need to rest. Sleep well, Wil Ohmsford. Try not to think ill of me; I believe that Amberle would not. Be comforted in this: You are a Healer, and a Healer must preserve life. You have done so here — for the Elves, for the Westland. And though Amberle may seem lost to you, remember that she may be found always within the land. Touch it, and she will be with you.»
He stepped away into the dark and pinched out the candle’s flame.
«Don’t go,” Wil called out sleepily.
«Goodbye, Wil.» The deep voice drifted out of a fog. «Tell Flick that he was right about me. He will like that.»
«Allanon,” the Valeman mumbled softly and then he was asleep.
Through the dimly lit corridors of the Elessedil home the Druid stole, as silent as the shadows of the night. Home Guard patrolled these corridors, Elven Hunters who had fought and survived in the battle of the Elfitch, hard men and not easily moved. Yet they stepped aside for Allanon; something in the Druid’s glance suggested that they should.
