Bearers of the Black Staff: Legends of Shannara (36 page)

Phryne started to offer an explanation, but thought better of it and simply nodded.

Her grandmother shook her head and folded her hands in her lap. “I expect better things of you than this, Phryne. Using your status as an Elven Princess, your father’s only child, to gain traction over others, especially guests, is unacceptable. Yours must always be the voice of reason and propriety, not the voice of impetuous and foolish impulse. You are a girl becoming a woman, but you are not there yet. You will get there more quickly and smoothly if you question your choices before acting on them.”

“Grandmother …”

“Please don’t try to contradict me or offer excuses. That would make me very sad. You’ve made a mistake; learn from it. Your father needs you to do that. He relies on you to be his daughter, not some wild child. Your mother would have taught you better and done so earlier, but we’ve lost her. You may have noticed that I have taken it upon myself to fill her considerable shoes. Your father does much less than he needs to when it comes to your upbringing. He does little enough about many things, as it happens. So I am telling you now. Pay attention to yourself. It is important. These are dangerous times, and they may well become much more dangerous before things settle down again. You must act accordingly.”

Phryne took a deep breath, fighting down her embarrassment and irritation at being lectured. “I understand, Grandmother.”

“What you mostly understand is how angry you feel when I talk to you like this. But there is no one else who will do so, and I think that someone must.” A tight smile flitted across her thin lips. “Enough of this. Let’s leave things where they lie for now. Tell me about your work with the healers. Was this your father’s idea?”

Phryne nodded. “He says I must work there until he decides he is through being angry with me. I think maybe he put me there so that Isoeld can keep an eye on me. She seems uneasy enough about my being there.”

“You don’t like her much, do you?”

“Not much.” Phryne hesitated. “But maybe I’m not being fair. She spoke to me the other day—confronted me, is more like it. She said I was being unfair and should think better of her. She said all the rumors were lies and she loves my father.” She shook her head doubtfully. “I think maybe I
am
being unfair.”

“Do you?” her grandmother asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Poor little Isoeld, the dutiful wife and caregiver, so misunderstood, so slandered. I never liked that woman, and I never will. Would you like to know why, Phryne? You won’t like what I have to tell you, but at least you will know the truth of things.”

“I don’t already know the truth?”

“Not enough of it. I’ve waited too long as it is to speak to you of this, but I kept thinking you would come to see me on your own. Besides, it didn’t matter, so long as you were unaffected. I think that might be about to change. So I called you here to set you straight. Doing so may point out, as well, why you need to be more steady in your behavior.”

Phryne nodded. “All right. Tell me, then.”

Her grandmother took a moment to measure her, looking for something that would reveal her. Not finding it, she shrugged and said, “You should trust your instincts more and your heart less. You might want to think better of your father’s new wife, but you would be making a mistake by doing so. She is everything the rumors suggest and worse. She has taken the first minister as a lover, and there were others before him. She connives against and manipulates your father, and she has done so from the moment she met him and saw that he was smitten
with her. She might be a simple baker’s daughter from a tiny village, but her ambitions are in no way limited by the circumstances of her birth.”

Phryne exhaled sharply, shocked and appalled, but also oddly satisfied to discover that she had been right all along. All those pretty words and protestations of innocence—nothing but lies. “But how do you know this, Grandmother?”

“My spies tell me. Old people can go anywhere and be barely noticed. It is both a curse and an advantage. The gentlemen who wait upon me have given me an all-too-thorough report of your stepmother’s activities. They are many and various and most do nothing to honor her marriage vows or support your father. You mentioned that she seemed uncomfortable in your presence at work? That has nothing to do with spying on you for your father. It has everything to do with the inconvenience you cause her. By being so near and so attentive, you prevent her from slipping away to her secret meetings with Teonette. You hinder her efforts to be with him, girl. The sooner you are gone back to your old life, forgiven by your father, the sooner she can resume her cheating. Won’t you both be happy then!”

Phryne felt her face darken. “If this is true …”

She trailed off as her grandmother raised one aged hand. “When you leave, drop by the first minister’s chambers on some pretext or other. See what happens.”

“Because I am gone to visit you, she goes to visit him?”

“Just do as I say. Reach your own conclusions afterward.” She lowered her hand and closed her eyes. “I have to rest now. So you can do what I suggest without further delay. But listen. We are not finished, Phryne. There is something more. Something rather important. I will need to see you again. Can you come back for another visit? Without telling anyone, even your father. I wouldn’t tell him about your visit today, either. If you were thinking of doing so, which I expect you were. What you choose to say to your stepmother is your own choice. But leave your father out of it.”

Phryne stood up, walked over to her grandmother, bent down and kissed one cool cheek. “I should have come sooner. I am sorry about that. I didn’t like hearing all the things you told me, but I guess I needed to. I promise to think about everything you said. I do.”

Mistral Belloruus took Phryne’s hands in her own. “You are your mother’s daughter and my granddaughter, and you are everything we could have asked for. Maturity will come. Wisdom will be gained. You are a special child, and I love you.”

When Phryne passed back through the doorway leading out of the cottage and went down the porch steps, she kept her head lowered so that the old man sitting in the chair, rocking slowly, would not see her tears.

P
HRYNE WASTED NO TIME
after leaving her grandmother, making her way back through the woods and along the paths and roadways toward the Council hall and the chambers of the ministers. She could not stop thinking about what her grandmother had told her of Isoeld. All the anger and disdain she had felt earlier for her stepmother, all that she had thought she might be able to let go of, surfaced anew, white-hot and razor-sharp. She had not wanted to believe any of the rumors; she had wanted to dismiss them as lies. When Isoeld had confronted her, she had felt shame and embarrassment at her suspicious behavior. She had wanted to be wrong.

Now what she wanted was something else entirely.

She detoured to the healing center long enough to confirm what she already suspected was true. Isoeld was not there. She had gone home early, fatigued and not feeling well. She worked so hard and cared so much for the sick and injured, the healer to whom Phryne spoke said in quiet praise. It was just too much for her. You can tell she is fragile.

Phryne kept her thoughts to herself and her mouth shut.

She entered the Council chambers and made her way down the hall past closed doorways to the offices of the first minister. When she arrived, she found those doors closed as well, but she put her ear to the door, listened to the silence, and then knocked anyway. Nothing. She waited a moment and knocked again, louder and more insistent. Again, nothing. She stood there, undecided for a few minutes longer,
and then turned away. She felt an odd mix of disappointment and relief. Maybe her grandmother was wrong after all.

She left the Council hall and walked back across the grounds of the palace toward her home, pondering. She was almost there, approaching through the gardens, when she saw the door to the toolshed open and Isoeld appear. Carefully, Phryne took one step back behind the screen of a clematis trellis, where she stood perfectly still. Her stepmother glanced about, not seeing Phryne as she did so, and then closed the shed door and walked toward the house in a relaxed but purposeful fashion, brushing back her long blond hair.

Phryne waited where she was, unmoving.

Several minutes passed. Nothing happened. She waited some more. Then the door to the shed opened a second time, and the first minister stepped through. Phryne experienced a sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to scream out, to rid herself of the sudden rush of feelings. She wanted to fling herself on Teonette and choke the life out of him. She wanted to hurt him so badly he would beg for forgiveness.

But instead, she kept silent and waited until he was walking away, moving back toward the Council hall and the trellis behind which she hid, and when he was almost on top of her, she stepped in front of him.

“Good day, First Minister,” she greeted him brightly.

Teonette, tall and handsome in a sharp sort of way, was visibly startled. His dark eyes fixed on her with mingled disbelief and shock. “Princess, ah … good day to you, as well.” He took a steadying breath. “Have you been working in the garden?”

Trying to find out what she had seen. She gave him a smile. “No, I was just returning from a visit and stopped to admire the clematis. And you, First Minister? Admiring the flowers in our gardens?”

The tall man’s smile was rigid and uncomfortable. “No, just picking up something from the house for your father. Some papers.”

He did not offer to show them, and she did not ask to see them. What was the point? Instead, she nodded as if this were all perfectly understandable and started to turn away.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, turning back. “You have something at the corner of your mouth. A smear of color. Are you bleeding?”

Teonette’s hand flew to his mouth, rubbing quickly. But when he looked at his fingers, there was nothing there. Phryne smiled brightly when he looked back her. “I think you got it, First Minister. Good day to you.”

And she sauntered away, humming to herself.

W
HEN THE OLD MAN RETURNS
,
ONLY A WEEK
has passed, and yet to the boy it looks as if his mentor has aged a lifetime. He is grayer than before, weary around the eyes, and sad to the bone. The boy doesn’t need to ask if the old man’s visit was successful. He can tell at once that it was not.

“He would not heed me,” the old man tells him. “He barely listened to my advice and did not give even the smallest indication that what I said mattered. He smiled and changed the subject and without saying so dismissed me as surely as if I were no longer relevant.”

The old man shakes his head. “He has gone too far inward in his mind. He no longer sees the world as it is or even himself as he has become. He no longer understands what it means to carry the staff. He has forgotten the oath he took and the cause he embraced. He does not say so; he gives no hint of this. But it is there in his distancing, in the small span of his attention, and in his look. I cannot reach him.”

“What will happen now?” the boy asks.

The old man pauses, looking down at his hands and at the black staff he carries. “Nothing we can prevent,” he answers finally.

He says nothing more after that. The boy thinks to ask him of the details of what happened, but he knows the old man does not wish to speak of it. They go back to things the way they were before the old man left. The old man returns to teaching and mentoring, and the boy returns to his studies. The days pass as they once did, and life settles back to what it was.

Until, on a day so bright and clear it suggests that the boundaries of the valley no longer exist and the layers of mist and clouds and rain have dissipated forever, the bearer of the other black staff, the one who would not listen, comes to find them.

The boy and the old man are sitting on a hillside looking out over the valley, talking anew of the way that the power of the staff can alter the bearer’s thinking, a subject that seems to be ever present in the thoughts of the boy’s mentor these days. Power corrupts, and if not watched carefully, if not kept under control, it will come to dominate the user. This is the risk of wielding it; it is always a danger to the bearer. Caution is necessary, even in the smallest usages, because the power of the staff’s magic is an elixir that will build within the body and break down all resistance. Tolerance is possible, but a ready welcoming of the feeling it generates is anathema. It may not seem that there is any danger, especially in times like these, when use of the power is so seldom required. But an understanding of what it means to invoke the staff’s power will help keep the bearer safe and alive.

The old man finishes, looks off into the distance toward a forest down the hillside from where they have climbed, and gets to his feet.

“He is here,” he says.

At first, the boy does not know who he means. But seconds later a figure emerges from the trees, a gaunt specter bearing a black staff, and there is no longer any question. The Elf has the look of a man returned from the dead, clothes ragged and dirty, features scratched and bruised, shoulders bent as if he bears the weight of his own tomb. The boy stares in disbelief for a moment, not quite able to grasp yet what this unexpected appearance means. But his mentor already knows, and he is advancing to meet the other man, his own staff held at port arms before him.