Blinded By The River
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The river was a dark, muddy thing. It ran swiftly and strongly through the valley between two hills that were covered with trees. In places, it had cut deep into the earth to form little waterfalls which splashed down over rocks and gravel in great gushes of spray.
At other times its course meandered lazily along as if uncertain where it should go next. There were many small pools at different levels on either side of the river and these formed natural barriers for animals who needed them.
There was no doubt about what lay ahead: a wide expanse of open ground before the hillside rose up again to meet the sky. This would be an ideal place for a predator such as a wolf or bear to lie in and wait until prey came within range.
But there was something else here too; something that could not have been seen from the top of the hill because it lay hidden beneath the surface. A long way below the level of the river, this secret pool held a large quantity of fresh water.
And when it rained heavily enough, the stream that fed it overflowed its banks and spilled out onto the land beyond.
It was early morning now but already the sun’s rays were making their presence felt. They warmed the air around him and made his fur stand on end so he could feel every single hair standing upright like tiny needles.
He shivered slightly then shook himself vigorously to get rid of the feeling. His eyes scanned the surrounding area carefully while he did this and he saw nothing unusual. The only sounds were those of birds singing their dawn chorus and the occasional rustle of leaves being disturbed by a passing animal.
Everything seemed peaceful except for one thing: the river itself. Its current was strong and fast-flowing, carrying away everything that happened upstream. It was impossible to see anything moving in the depths of the water.
He knew instinctively that he must keep close to the bank and stay well clear of the water. If he went near the edge of the river, he might fall in and drown. That was why he kept looking back towards the hills behind him. From here they looked quite high and steep, almost as though they were a sheer cliff face.
To reach the top of them, you would need more than just your own strength and stamina. You’d also need help from someone stronger still. Sooner or later, he thought, I’ll find myself in trouble. Then all I can do is pray that someone will come along to save me.
But how? Who could possibly hear my cries for help and make it across the river without getting themselves killed in the process?
As he pondered this question, another idea occurred to him. Perhaps I’m wrong after all. Maybe whoever comes won’t be able to cross the river safely either.
That possibility didn’t worry him much. After all, he wasn’t afraid of dying. What bothered him most was the prospect of having to live alone forever. He couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of his life wandering aimlessly through the forest, never knowing whether anyone cared about him.
So he decided to take action. Before long, he found himself walking down towards the riverbank. As soon as he got closer, he realized that the water was even deeper than he had expected. It was far too dangerous for him to wade out into it. Instead, he sat down on a rock nearby and began to think.
What am I going to do? How can I get across the river and warn the others?
His thoughts turned to the creature called Maniye. She was the only person he knew who could swim. But she was a woman and women were weak creatures compared to men. Even if she managed to escape her enemies, she wouldn’t be able to fight off any wolves or bears that attacked her.
Then there was the young man, Skilgannon. He was clever and brave and good with weapons. He probably had some kind of magic power too. But he was also very old – older than any human ever born. He lived in a distant city and had no real knowledge of the world outside.
He certainly couldn’t travel quickly enough to arrive anywhere useful in time to stop the attack.
And finally, there was the girl. She was the youngest of them all and therefore the least likely to survive. Her father was dead and her mother was a prisoner in a strange land. She was alone and frightened and had nowhere to run to.
All three of them were people who mattered to him. He wanted to protect them. But he couldn’t do that unless he somehow reached them first.
He stood up and walked slowly towards the water’s edge. When he got there, he stopped and stared down at the swirling brown liquid. It was full of fish and insects and worms and things that swam under the surface. There were small plants growing among the rocks and weeds that lined the shoreline.
All these things were alive and needed food and shelter. They had to eat and drink and sleep somewhere. That meant that the river was teeming with life.
The problem was that none of it was human.
He took a deep breath, then stepped forward and plunged his head into the water. He let it flow over his face and down his neck. It was cold, colder than he had imagined. He gasped and pulled his head back out of the river and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic.
There was no way he could swim across it. Not without help. And he didn’t know where to look for it.
He looked back up the river again. The other side was hidden by the trees. He could see the tops of the hills rising above the treetops, but not the ground beyond.
I have to try anyway, he told himself. At least I’ve tried. Now I wait.
***
“You’re sure?” asked Skilgannon. “This is the place where we are to meet the shaman?”
Maniye nodded. “Yes.”
She led the way along the track, following the faint trail left by the horses’ hooves. Both of them were tired and sore; both of them were hungry and thirsty. The journey had taken longer than they had anticipated. In fact, it had been taking so long that their supplies were running low. They hadn’t seen a single living thing since leaving the village.
Skilgannon had hoped that the shaman would appear before nightfall, but now darkness was falling once more, and still no sign of the man.
They came to a fork in the path. One branch went north-eastwards, while the other headed south. Neither direction offered any hope of finding food or water.
“Which way should we go?” asked Maniye.
“South,” said Skilgannon. “We’ll follow the river until we find a settlement. We may be lucky and catch sight of something on our way.”
“Or we might starve to death waiting for it to happen,” muttered Maniye.
“It will be better than starving to death here,” replied Skilgannon.
As he spoke, he noticed movement ahead of them. A figure appeared from behind a tree and moved swiftly away.
“A deer!” cried Maniye. “Quickly! Let’s hunt it.”
But Skilgannon shook his head. “No. Too risky. If we kill one animal, it won’t be long before another comes along looking for its share of the meat. Better to keep moving and hope that we stumble upon some food or water.”
He set off after the stranger. As he did so, he heard a sound coming from the south. It sounded like someone singing.
“Come on,” he urged Maniye. “Let’s see what this is about.”
They hurried through the forest until they found themselves standing beside a stream. It ran fast and clear and Skilgannon guessed that it must feed into the river further upstream. Beyond the watercourse, the land sloped gently upwards. To the right, the ground rose higher and became covered in dense woodland.
On the far side of the valley, the slope continued to rise. Skilgannon could just make out the top of a hill.
He turned to Maniye. “What do you think? Is that where the shaman lives?”
“Perhaps,” she replied.
Skilgannon frowned. “If he does live there, why hasn’t he come to meet us?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to meet us,” suggested Maniye.
Skilgannon shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t he want to talk to me? Or maybe he can’t get here because of the storm.”
“Then perhaps he has already met us,” said Maniye.
Skilgannon shrugged. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he wants to take your sword,” replied Maniye.
Skilgannon gave her an incredulous look. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Just a guess,” said Maniye. “Anyway, if he wanted my sword, I’m sure he’d have given it to me by now.” She paused. “Unless…” Her voice trailed away as she thought about it.
“Unless what?” asked Skilgannon.
“Well, when we first arrived at the village, the shaman said that he knew who I was. That he had known all along.”
“So?”
“When we first saw him, he seemed surprised to see us. But later, he acted as though he expected us to turn up.”
“And then he sent us away.”
“Exactly.”
“So he knows who I am,” concluded Skilgannon. “In which case, he probably also knows that I have the Sword of Shannara with me.”
“True,” agreed Maniye. “But how much does he know about it?”
“Enough to realize that we need to return to the village,” said Skilgannon. “The question is: why?”
“To give it to him,” replied Maniye.
“I don’t think so,” said Skilgannon. “For one thing, he didn’t seem to know anything about the sword. For another, he told us to leave it behind.”
“That’s true,” said Maniye. “But suppose he only meant to send us away. What if he planned to let us go back for it?”
“There’s no reason why he should want to do that,” argued Skilgannon. “He has the power to destroy the sword. He can use it against us.”
Maniye nodded. “Yes, but what if he thinks he can control it? Perhaps he believes that he can wield the sword without destroying himself. In which case, he would want to take it from us.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” snapped Skilgannon. “Even if the shaman can somehow control the sword, he wouldn’t risk using it against us. Not unless he really believed that we were going to try and steal it from him.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t believe that we are thieves,” said Maniye. “After all, we came here willingly and we haven’t tried to run away yet. Maybe he assumes that we intend to hand over the sword once we’ve seen him again.”
“You mean, he plans to trick us into giving it to him?”
“Possibly,” said Maniye. “Either way, we’ll find out soon enough. Come on; let’s go and see what he wants.”
She started walking towards the hilltop. Skilgannon followed close behind. They climbed steadily, passing between stands of trees and across open grassland. The sky above them remained dark and brooding, although the rain had stopped.
Occasionally, lightning flashed down from the heavens, illuminating the landscape briefly. At other times, thunder rumbled ominously overhead.
Eventually, they reached the summit of the hill. From their vantage point, Skilgannon could see the whole length of the valley. To the north, the land fell away sharply. A few small streams cut through the vegetation before disappearing underground.
Beyond this, the land flattened out. There were no hills or mountains in sight.
On the far side of the valley, the ground rose steeply. Here, the forest encroached upon the fields. As Skilgannon watched, several men appeared from among the trees and began to plow the soil. Their efforts were hampered by the heavy rain.
Nevertheless, they worked doggedly, pushing the furrows deeper and wider.
As Skilgannon studied the scene, he noticed something else. Several hundred paces away, standing beside a large tree, was the shaman. He was staring directly at them.
“What is he doing?” whispered Skilgannon.
“Waiting for us,” replied Maniye.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Maniye. “Let’s go and ask him.”
They walked slowly towards the shaman. When they drew level with him, the man turned, smiled, and beckoned them closer.
“Come here,” he called.
Slowly, Skilgannon and Maniye approached. The shaman motioned for them to sit on the ground opposite him. Once they were seated, he spoke.
“It seems that you have come to visit me again,” he said.
“We did not expect to see you until tomorrow,” replied Skilgannon.
“Tomorrow will be too late,” said the shaman. “Your journey is almost over.”
“Our journey?” asked Skilgannon.
“Yes,” answered the shaman. “Soon, your time in these lands shall end. You must prepare yourselves for the final battle.”
Skilgannon frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Do you not remember?” asked the shaman. “Did I not tell you that there would be three battles? Three great contests between good and evil. The first two are already won. Now comes the third.”
“Three battles?” repeated Skilgannon. “How many warriors does each side have?”
“One thousand,” replied the shaman. “All of my people. All of those who remain alive after the last battle.”
“And our side?”
“Two,” replied the shaman. “You and I.”
Skilgannon stared at the shaman. “You can’t mean…”
“Of course,” replied the shaman. “You and I. We shall fight together.”
“Together?” echoed Maniye. “But how can that be possible? Surely, one of us cannot hope to defeat so many.”
The shaman laughed softly. “That is true. But then, neither can any of the others. That is why we must join forces.”
“Join forces?” repeated Skilgannon. “Are you saying that we should ally ourselves with the enemy?”
“No,” said the shaman. “Not exactly. It may seem strange to you, but we need each other. Without me, you would never reach the Sword of Night. And without the sword, you will not survive long enough to face the final battle.”
“Then what do you propose?” demanded Skilgannon.
“A truce,” said the shaman. “An alliance. For now, we shall stand aside from each other. If either of us wins the final battle, then we shall meet again. Perhaps, when that day arrives, we shall be able to forge an even stronger bond than we have today.”
“Truce?” repeated Maniye. “Is that wise? What if the other side attacks while we are apart?”
“There is little chance of that,” said the shaman. “My people will be busy fighting the second battle. Yours will still be recovering from the first. Besides, it is unlikely that anyone will attack during the night. Few enemies dare to venture into the darkness. No, the risk is minimal.
Tomorrow morning, we shall begin the final battle. By midday, all will be decided.”
“And if we lose?” asked Skilgannon.
“If you win,” replied the shaman, “then we shall continue as we are. If I am victorious, then I will kill you both, take the sword and leave your world forever.”
Maniye gasped. “Kill us?” she cried. “You can’t mean that!”
“I do,” said the shaman. “I have sworn an oath to do just that. I swore it to the spirits, and I swear it to you now. If you fail, then you die.”
“So be it,” said Skilgannon. “I accept your terms.”
“Good,” said the shaman. “Now, let us eat. There is much to discuss before the final battle begins.”
The End