Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus

• Название: Jarka Ruus
• Автор: Терри Брукс
• Жанр: Фэнтези

High Druid of Shannara. More than a quarter of a century after The Sword of Shannara carved out its place in the pantheon of great epic fantasy, the magic of Terry Brooks's New York Times bestselling saga burns as brightly as ever. Three complete series have chronicled the ever–unfolding history of Shannara. But more stories are still to be told–and new adventures have yet to be undertaken. Book One of High Druid of Shannara invites both the faithful longtime reader and the curious newcomer to take the first step on the next extraordinary quest. Twenty years have passed since Grianne Ohmsford denounced her former life as the dreaded Ilse Witch–saved by the love of her brother, the magic of the Sword of Shannara, and the destruction of her evil mentor, the Morgawr. Now, fulfilling the destiny predicted for her, she has established the Third Druid Council, and dedicated herself to its goals of peace, harmony among the races, and defense of the Four Lands. But the political intrigue, secret treachery, and sinister deeds that have haunted Druid history for generations continue to thrive.

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He woke with a start, sitting up so abruptly he bumped his head against the decking of the pilot box. Pain ratcheted through him and tears flooded his eyes. He sat holding his head for a moment, trying to clear his thoughts, to make the nightmare go away. But it lingered, stronger than before, pressing down on him, as if it were still happening in real life.

Consumed by this unreasonable, yet nevertheless unshakable fear, he crawled from the sleeping space onto the deck of the cat, breathing in the night air to clear his head. It was still dark, but the clouds had dissipated and the sky was bright with stars and moon. Sitting with his back against the wall of the pilot box, he glanced at the darkness, listened to the silence, and tried to shake off the effects of the dream.

Then he rose to look forward over the pilot box wall and saw the Galaphile flying directly toward him.

He felt his heart stop, and his breath caught in his throat, tightening down into a hard knot of fear. He could not quite believe what he was seeing, even though it was right in front of him and unmistakable. He caught a glimpse of Tagwen asleep inside the pilot box, oblivious to the danger. Pen wanted to reach out and wake him, but he could not make himself move. He just stood there, staring helplessly as the massive bulk of the airship grew larger and larger, bearing down on him like the airship in his dream, preparing to crush the life out of him.

And then abruptly, it changed course.

There was no reason for it. If anyone was on deck searching for them, they would have been seen. The moonlight was too clear and bright for any other result. Yet the Galaphile swung sharply to port and away, flying back toward the shoreline of Rainbow Lake, an act so unexpected and improbable that it left Pen open–mouthed.

«Tagwen!» he whispered harshly, groping for the other's shoulder.

The Dwarf awoke with a start, scrambling into a sitting position as he struggled to figure out what was happening. Pen steadied him with his hand, drew his attention, then pointed at the retreating airship. Tagwen stared at it, confusion and shock mirrored on his rough features.

«It was right in front of us," Pen explained, keeping his voice to a whisper. «I had a dream about it, came up on deck, and there it was! Right there! It had us, Tagwen. It couldn't have missed us, sitting out like this in the moonlight, even at night. But it did. All at once, it just turned and flew off.»

He knelt next to the Dwarf, taking quick, short breaths, feeling light–headed. «What happened? Why didn't it see us?»

«Perhaps it didn't recognize you for who you were," a voice replied from behind them.

For the second time in only minutes, Pen experienced heart failure, jumping with the unexpected sound, almost falling over Tagwen, who was just as startled. Crouched in one corner of the pilot box, man and boy turned to see who had spoken.

An old man stood looking at them, an ancient so bent and gnarled that it seemed impossible he could have managed to climb aboard. He braced himself with a polished black staff that glistened like deep waters in moonlight, and his robes were so white they gleamed like the moon itself. Long gray hair and a heavy beard fell about his chest and shoulders, and his eyes had an oddly childlike twinkle to them, as if the old man had never quite grown up all the way.

Pen, recovering from the shock of finding him there, said, «Why wouldn't they recognize us?»

«Sometimes things don't look quite the way we expect them to," the old man said. «Especially at night, when shadows drape the world and mask the truth.»

«We were right out in the open," Pen persisted. He stood up again, deciding there was nothing to be afraid of. He looked at the ancient's strange eyes, finding himself drawn to something reflected in them, something that reminded him of himself, though he couldn't say what. «Did you do something to make them not see us?»

The old man smiled. «Penderrin Ohmsford. I knew your father, years ago. He came looking for something, too. I helped him find what it was. Now, it seems, it is your turn.»

«My turn?» Pen stared at him. «How do you know who I am? My father didn't tell you, did he? No, this was before I was born, wasn't it?»

The old man nodded, amused. «Your father was still a boy, just as you are now.»

Tagwen struggled to his feet, straightening his rumpled clothes and squaring his stocky body away. «Who are you?» he asked boldly. «What are you doing out here? How do you know so much about Pen and his father?»

«So many questions," the old man said softly. «Life is full of them, and we spend it seeking their answers, first of one, then of another. It is our passion, as thinking creatures, to do so. Do you not know me, Tagwen? You are of the Dwarf people, and the Dwarf people have known me for centuries.»

But it was Pen who answered, hesitating only a moment before saying, «I know who you are. The King of the Silver River. My father told me of you—how you came to him when he was traveling with my uncle, Quentin Leah, into the Eastland. You showed him a vision of my aunt, before he knew she was his sister. You gave him a phoenix stone to help protect him on his journey across the Blue Divide.»

All who resided in the Four Lands knew the legend of the King of the Silver River, though not all believed it. He was said to be a Faerie creature, as old as the Word itself, come into being at the same time and made part of the world in its infancy. The last of his kind, he was caretaker of wondrous gardens hidden somewhere in the Silver River country, a place where no humans were allowed. He was seen now and then by travelers, always in different forms. Sometimes he would give aid to them when they were lost or in peril. He had done as much for several generations of Ohmsfords, going all the way back to Shea and Flick, in the time of the Druid Allanon. Others in the Four Lands might doubt his existence, but those like Bek, who had encountered him, and Pen, who had heard his father's story, did not.

«Well spoken, Penderrin," the old man said. «You are clearly your father's son. What we must determine now is if your courage is a match for his.» He came forward in a sort of half shuffle, stopping at the pilot box steps. «Are you brave enough to undertake a journey to find your missing aunt and bring her safely home again?»

Pen glanced quickly at Tagwen, searching for reassurance and finding only surprise and confusion. It was what he should have expected. No one could answer such a question for him.

«She badly needs you to do this," the King of the Silver River assured him. «She is trapped in a very dangerous place, and she cannot get home again without your help. No one can save her but you, Penderrin. It is an odd set of circumstances that makes this so, but it is the way of things nevertheless.»

Tagwen grunted. «This boy is the only one who can help the Ard Rhys? No one else? What about his parents? What about his father, Bek Ohmsford? He has the same magic as his sister, a very powerful magic, to assist him. Surely, he should be the one to make this journey.»

The old man leaned more heavily on the black staff and cocked his head as if seriously considering the question. His gaze was distant and just a little sad.

«Often, it is the least likely among us who is in a position to accomplish the most. It is so here. Bek Ohmsford cannot help his sister this time. Penderrin is just a boy, and it would seem impossible that a boy would be best able to save so powerful a wielder of magic as Grianne Ohmsford, Ard Rhys and Ilse Witch. Certainly those who have sent her to her prison would never think it possible. Perhaps that is why they have overlooked him. In truth, they think it is his parents they need to fear, and so seek them out, just as you do.»

«I knew it!» Tagwen exclaimed angrily. «It was Shadea a'Ru and Terek Molt and the rest of them! They've done this to her!»

He was practically beside himself, and Pen felt compelled to put a cautioning hand on his shoulder, but the Dwarf barely seemed aware of him. He stamped his foot furiously. «Vipers! Treacherous snakes! Kermadec was right all along! She should have rid herself of the lot of them long ago and none of this would have happened!»

The King of the Silver River passed his hand in front of the Dwarf's eyes, causing him to sigh heavily and grow calm again. «It isn't as simple as that, Tagwen. In fact, there are others responsible, as well, others who are from different places and pursue different goals. But the most dangerous of those who would see the Ard Rhys destroyed is someone of whom the others are not even aware. That one plays the others as a master does his puppets, pulling the strings that guide their actions. Wheels within wheels, secrets yet unrecognized. The danger is far greater than it appears, and it threatens far more than the life of the Ard Rhys. Yet she is the key to restoring a balance, to making things right again. She must be returned to the Four Lands in order for everything else that is necessary to happen.» He looked at Penderrin. «You, alone, can bring that to pass.»

Pen sighed, thinking that only a day ago he was wondering how to best pass the time in Patch Run until his parents returned. He had been anxious for an adventure, eager to be with them in the Wolfsktaag, to be a part of their lives as guides of an expedition. Now he was being recruited to undertake an expedition of his own, one that appeared to be far more dangerous than theirs. How quickly things changed.

«What is it you want me to do?» he asked.

The King of the Silver River climbed the steps to the pilot box, not in a weary shuffle, but in a smooth, effortless glide. One wrinkled hand came to rest on the boy's shoulder. «You must abandon your efforts to find your parents; they cannot help you in this. If it were possible for them to do so, I would have gone to them first. I shall speak with them in any case to warn them of the danger from your enemies. But your parents' time is past, Penderrin; it is your time now. You must go in search of your aunt without them, and you must do so at once.»

«Then I shall go with him," Tagwen declared bravely. «Finding the Ard Rhys is my responsibility, too.»

The King of the Silver River glanced at him appraisingly, then nodded. «You will make a good and loyal companion, Tagwen," he said. His eyes shifted back to Pen. «Such companions will be needed. Find them where you will, but choose them with caution.»

He leaned forward, and his thin, aged voice lowered until it was almost a whisper. «Listen carefully. A potion has been used against the Ard Rhys, a magic of great power. The potion is called liquid night. It has imprisoned your aunt in another place, one that cannot be reached by ordinary means. A talisman to negate its magic is needed. The required talisman is a darkwand. It is a conjuring stick and must be fashioned by hand from the limb of a tree called a tanequil. The tanequil is sentient; it is a living, breathing creature. It will give up a limb only if it is persuaded of the need for doing so. It must act freely. Taking the limb by force will destroy the magic that it bears. Someone must communicate with the tanequil in a language it can comprehend. Someone must explain to it why its limb is so important. Penderrin, you have the gift of magic, the talent with which you were born, to do this.»

Pen was speechless. He was being told that his little magic, which he had repeatedly dismissed as being virtually useless, was suddenly his most important possession. He could hardly believe it, but the old man's words bore weight, and he could not bring himself to dismiss them out of hand.

«How will I know what to do?» he asked. Even if he wasn't sure yet whether he would go—and he most certainly wasn't—he had to know what was needed if he did. «How will I know what language to speak to it or how to shape this darkwand from its limb?»

The King of the Silver River smiled. «I cannot tell you that. No one can. But you will know, Penderrin. When it is time, you will know. You will understand what to do, and you will find a way to do it.»

«Well, we have to find this tree first," Tagwen interjected, huffing doubtfully. «How do we do that? Is it far away?»

«The tanequil grows in a forest on an island in a lake deep in the Charnal Mountains. To reach it, you must pass through gardens that were once the center of an ancient city called Stridegate. Trolls and Urdas inhabit the surrounding forests and foothills. They will know the way to enter and pass through.»

Pen shook his head. «I don't know if I can do this.» He looked at Tagwen. «I've never even been out of the Borderlands.»

«I don't know if you can, either," Tagwen replied. His bearded face was scrunched up like crumpled paper. «But I think you have to try, Pen. What else can you do? You can't abandon her.»

He was right, of course, but Pen was beset with doubts. The Charnal Mountains were more dangerous than the Black Oaks, and to try to penetrate them with as little experience as he had and not even a sense of where to go seemed foolish.

The King of the Silver River sighed with what seemed deep regret. «Life offers few certainties, Penderrin. This journey is not one of them. Hear me out, for there is more to know. What I have told you is only a first step. Your journey begins with your search for the tanequil. It begins with your shaping of a darkwand. But it ends in another place altogether. The darkwand must be taken to Paranor and the chamber of the Ard Rhys. There, the talisman's magic will give you passage through the curtain of liquid night to where the Ard Rhys has been imprisoned. Only you, Penderrin, and you alone. No other may go with you. Not even Tagwen. When you find your aunt, the darkwand will give you passage back again—you, because you bear the wand, and your aunt, because the magic of the wand negates that of the liquid night.»

He paused. «But remember, no other may pass. The magic's thread is slender and fragile, and it cannot be rewoven or lengthened to accommodate others. Passage over allows passage back, but there can be no deviations. There can be no exceptions.»

Pen was not at all sure why the other was making such a point of this, but he thought it was in reference to something very specific, something that the old man did not want to reveal in greater detail. That was in keeping with what he knew to be true about the ways of the ancients, the Faerie creatures who were the first people. They spoke in riddles and always held something back. It was in their nature, very much as it was in the nature of the Druids, and that would never change.

What should he do?

He looked into the eyes of the old man, then at Tagwen's rough face, and then off into the night, where possibilities were still shaping themselves and dreams still held sway. He had never been put in a position where so much depended on a decision and the decision must be made so quickly.

Then, almost without thinking about it, he put aside his objections and concerns as secondary to his aunt's needs. He stood staring down at the wooden deck of the pilot box for a moment, measuring the depth of his commitment. It all came down to the same thing, he supposed. If their positions were reversed, would his aunt do for him what he was being asked to do for her? Even without knowing her any better than he did, he was certain of the answer.

«All right," he said softly, «I'll go.»