The Sword of Shannara - Terry Brooks [262]
“I know what you must be thinking, Menion.” Her soft voice drifted gently through his weariness. “You want to be with him.”
The highlander smiled and nodded slowly, his thoughts hazy and jumbled.
“You must get some sleep, you know.”
Again he nodded, and suddenly he thought of Shea. Where was Shea? Where had the Valeman wandered in his futile search for the elusive Sword of Shannara? Quickly he raised himself, snapping awake and turning to Shirl, almost as if he thought she might not be there. He was exhausted, but he wanted to talk — he needed to talk, because there might never be another chance. In low, somber tones he began to speak to her, telling her about himself and Shea, unfolding in bits and pieces the friendship that had so closely bound them in the years they had known one another. He spoke of the times they had spent in the highlands of Leah, drifting gradually into the full story behind the journey to Paranor and the search for the Sword. At times he rambled in vain attempts to explore in depth the rationale behind feelings they had shared and philosophies they could not. As the highlander continued, Shirl began to realize that it was not really Shea that Menion was trying to describe — it was himself. Finally she stopped him, reaching without thinking to place a slim hand over his lips.
“He was the only person you ever really got to know, wasn’t he?” she asked quietly. “He was like a brother, and you feel responsible for what happened to him?”
Menion shrugged disconsolately. “I couldn’t have done anything but what I did. Keeping him in Leah in the first place would have only prolonged the inevitable. But knowing all that doesn’t help. I still feel a sort of... guilt...”
“If he feels as deeply for you as you do for him, then he knows in his heart the truth of what you have done, wherever he is now,” she responded quickly. “No man can fault you for the courage you have shown these past five days — and I love you, Menion Leah.”
Menion stared at her stupidly, the sudden declaration catching him off balance. Laughing at his confusion, the slim girl wrapped her arms around him, the reddish locks falling like a soft veil about his face as she clung to him. Menion held her close for a moment, then gripped her shoulders gently and pushed her back to study her face and eyes. She met his gaze, squarely.
“I wanted to say it out loud. I wanted you to hear it, Menion. If we are going to die...”
She choked suddenly, on the words and looked away, and the wondering Southlander saw tears slowly roll down her cheeks. He reached up and quickly brushed them away, smiling in the old way as he raised himself to his feet, drawing her up with him.
“I came a long, long way,” he murmured gently. “I could have been dead a hundred times, but I survived. I’ve seen the evil there is in this world and in worlds that mortals only dream exist. There is nothing that can hurt us. Love supplies a kind of strength that can withstand even death. But you need a little faith. Just believe, Shirl. Believe in us.”
She smiled in spite of herself.
“I believe in you, Menion Leah. Now you remember to believe in yourself.”
The weary highlander smiled back at her, gripping her hands tightly. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he loved her as much as his own life. He leaned down and kissed her warmly.
“It will be all right,” he assured her quietly. “It will all work out.”
They remained a few minutes longer in the solitude of the gardens, talking quietly and absently following the little paths that wound through the warm, fragrant summer flowers. But Menion was fighting to