The First King of Shannara - Terry Brooks [107]
Then an inspired Vree Erreden stepped forward, had Tay and Jerle boost him, and reached up to run his fingers over the writing.
He remained suspended for a moment, eyes closed, hands moving, stopping, moving on. Then he slid down again. As if in a trance, he bent to the rock on which they stood, and without seeming to look at what he was doing, his eyes focused somewhere beyond what they could see, he scratched words onto a smooth surface with a piece of jagged rock.
Tay bent close to read.
THIS IS THE CHEW MAGNA. WE LIVE HERE STILL.
TOUCH NOTHING. TAKE NOTHING.
OUR ROOTS ARE DEEP AND STRONG.
BEWARE.
“What does it mean?” Jerle whispered.
Tay shook his head. “That magic wards what lies beyond this opening. That any disturbance will bring unpleasant consequences.”
“It says they are still alive,” Vree Erreden observed, his voice a hiss of disbelief. “That can’t be! Look at the carving! The writing is out of the time of faerie!”
They stood staring at the writing, the fissure, and each other.
Behind them, the Elven Hunters and Preia Starle waited. No one spoke. There was a sense of time dropping away, of past and present joining and transcending the passing of lives and history, There was a sense of standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing that one false step would send you hurtling to your death. Tay’s awareness of the magic’s presence was so strong that it seemed he could feel its touch against his skin. Old, powerful, iron-willed, and conjured out of purpose and need, ir filled up his senses and threatened to overwhelm him.
“We did not come this far to turn back,” Jerle Shannara observed quietly, looking over at him. “Not for any reason.”
Tay nodded. He was determined as well. He glanced at Vree Erreden, at Preia Starle, at the Elven Hunters who stood behind her, and finally once again at Jerle. He gave his friend a crooked smile.
Then he took a deep breath and stepped forward into the dark mouth of the fissure.
Chapter Sixteen
The fissure widened immediately into a corridor broad enough for the Elves to stand two abreast. Steps wound downward into darkness so complete that not even Tay Trefenwyd’s keen vision could penetrate to what lay beyond. He moved forward several yards, feeling his way along the wall, and encountered a metal plate. When he touched it, light appeared across its flat surface, pale yellow and cool. He stared at the plate in surprise; here was a magic he had never encountered. The light revealed another plate, just at the edge of the darkness farther on.
He walked over to it, placed his hand on it, and it, too, brightened.
Amazing, he thought. He could hear the footsteps of the others coming up behind him. He wondered what they must be thinking.
But no one spoke, and he did not look back at them. Instead, he continued on, touching the metal plates, lighting their way through the darkened corridor.
Their descent took a long time. Tay could not measure it, the whole of his concentration given over to the casting of his Druid magic before him to ferret out hidden traps. The metal plates that gave off light revealed a sophistication he had not expected. Faerie magic was not well known, for most of the lore had been lost with time’s passage, but Tay had always assumed that magic to be grounded more in nature and less in technology. Yet the plates suggested he was mistaken, and that made him uneasy. Take nothing for granted here, he warned himself. Riding the air currents, skimming through the seams in the rock, bouncing across the dust motes that were stirred with their passing, his Druid magic hunted. With swift precision, he sorted and defined the secrets of the world through which they passed. He found no trace of human life, though the warning above the door had suggested it should be otherwise. He found no trace of another’s passing, not in years, perhaps centuries. But, in spite of this, he experienced a sharp feeling of being watched, of his measure being taken, of something waiting