Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [67]
His brother got to his feet abruptly. “As you say, it’s just a story, Phryne. No need to question it. Anyway, it’s time to be going. Enough of stories for now.”
They packed up their gear and set out anew, striding off into the mistiness of Eldemere, heading toward the mountains north and Aphalion Pass.
XAC WEN WAS TRYING for what must have been the thousandth time to restring a bow that was several sizes too big for him, an effort that was generating new levels of frustration, when the old lady hobbled into view. Xac was sitting outside his cottage home, propped up on a stool, the bow clutched between his knees as he struggled to bring the loose end of the bowstring to the notch. He wouldn’t have put so much into doing this if the bow hadn’t belonged to his father, who had been killed when Xac was only four. The bow had been given to him by his mother as a gift to remember his father by. The boy remembered his father well enough anyway, a tall, kindly man with great patience and a decided lack of good sense, which was the reason he had gotten himself killed, choosing a thunderstorm to go looking for his missing dog. He found the dog, but a bolt of lightning found him. He died instantly, they said, didn’t suffer, an unfortunate accident, but all Xac knew was that once you were dead you weren’t coming back, so what did it matter how you died?
The old woman drew his attention immediately. She was stooped over and shuffling like she might not be too far off from joining his father in the world of shades. She was clothed in layers of blouses and skirts and scarves and such, a woman who apparently dressed without knowing when to stop. A cloth sack bundled full of something loose and soft was clutched under one arm, a change of clothes, perhaps. He stopped trying to do anything with the bow when he saw that she was making directly for him and instead set down his work and stood up.
“Good day, young man,” the old lady greeted him, her voice high and querulous. “Is your name Xac Wen?”
Xac almost said no. The old lady was just this side of scary, a crone all the way from the frizzled tips of her thick black hair, where it escaped the scarf that was trying futilely to bind it, to the tips of her worn boots, the leather cracked and the iron-shod tips scuffed and worn. She barely looked at him as she spoke, her head lowered like a supplicant’s, her eyes flicking up just momentarily to take him in before shifting away again. One mottled hand gestured at him like a claw.
“I’m Xac Wen,” he admitted.
“I’m looking for my daughter,” the old woman said. “Her name is Prue. She came to Arborlon in the company of a young man from the village of Glensk Wood, some miles west of here. I’ve been looking for her for days. Do you know her?”
Xac hesitated, not certain he wanted to reveal anything. “How would I know her? Why are you asking me?”
“When I talked to some people in the city, they told me they might have seen her with you. Please, young man, it’s very important. I need to tell her that her brother is very sick and ask her to come home right away.”
Xac found the old woman repulsive, but that didn’t give him the right to keep her from her daughter. Maybe the brother would die and the girl never get to see him, and it would all be his fault.
“She was here a couple of days ago, but she left again. She went up into the mountains with some friends of mine. But she’ll probably be back before the week is out.”
The old woman nodded without speaking, swaying a bit unsteadily. “I will wait for her, then. I’m too old to go searching in the mountains. Can you tell me one more thing? Where should I look for her when she returns?”
“She’s been staying with the Orullian brothers, Tasha and Tenerife. That’s who she left with.”
The old woman turned and started away. Her boots made a scraping sound on the loose stone of the walkway. “I will look for her there, then. Thank you, young man.”
Xac watched her go, wondering suddenly how she had managed to get this far, as hobbled as she was. Why had she even come,