Morgawr (22 page)

She closed her eyes when her picture of the world was clear in her mind, and she let her thoughts drift. She must do something to save the Elven Prince. She had not believed it would be necessary to act so soon, but it now seemed unavoidable. That she was committed to Walker's plan for the Morgawr did not require committing Ahren, as well. His destiny lay elsewhere, beyond this country and its treacheries, home in the Four Lands, where his blood heritage would serve a different purpose. She had caught a glimmer of it in the visions she had shared with Walker. She knew it from what the Druid had said as he lay dying. She could feel it in her heart.

Just as she could feel with unmistakable certainty the fate that awaited her.

She breathed slowly and deeply to calm herself, to muster acceptance of what she knew she must do. Walker needed her to mislead the Morgawr, to slow him in his hunt, to buy time for Grianne Ohmsford. It was not something the Druid had asked lightly; it was something he had asked out of desperate need and a faith in her abilities. She felt small and frail in the face of such expectations, a child in a girl's body, her womanhood yet so far away that she could not imagine it. Her seer's mind did not allow for growing up in the ways of other women; it was her mind that was old. Yet she was capable and determined. She was the Druid's right hand, and he was always with her, lending his strength.

She held that knowledge to her like a talisman as she made her plans.

When nightfall descended, she acted on them.

She waited until all of the Mwellrets were sleeping, save the watch and the helmsman.
Black Moclips
sailed through the night skies at a slow, languorous pace, tracking the edge of the coastline north and east as Ryer Ord Star slipped from her makeshift bed in the lee of the aft decking and made her way forward. Aden Kett and his crew stood at their stations, dead eyes staring. She glanced at them as she passed, but her gaze did not linger. It was dangerous to look too closely at your own fate.

The airship rocked gently in the cradle of night winds blowing out of the west. The chill brought by the storms had not dissipated, and her breath clouded faintly. Below where they flew, where the tips of the mountain peaks brushed the clouds, snow blanketed the barren slopes. The warmth that had greeted them on their arrival into this land was gone, chased inland by some aberration linked to the demise of Antrax. That science had found a way to control the weather seemed incredible to her, but she knew that in the age before the Great Wars there had been many marvelous achievements that had since disappeared from the world. Yet magic had replaced science in the Four Lands. It made her wonder sometimes if the demise of science was for the better or worse. It made her wonder if the place of seers in the world had any real value.

She reached the open hatchway leading down into the storerooms and descended in shadowy silence, listening for the sounds of the guard who would be on watch below. Walker would not approve of what she was doing. He would have tried to stop her if he had been able. He would have counseled her to remain safe and concentrate on the task he had given her. But Walker saw things through the eyes of a man seeking to achieve in death what he had failed to achieve in life. He was a shade, and his reach beyond the veil was limited. He might know of the Ilse Witch and her role in the destiny of the Four Lands, of the reasons she must escape the Morgawr, and of the path she must take to come back from the place to which her troubled mind had sent her. But Ryer Ord Star only knew that time was slipping away.

The passageway belowdecks was shadowed, but she made her way easily through its gloom. She heard snores ahead, and she knew the Mwellret watch was sleeping. The potion she had slipped into his evening ale ration earlier had drugged him as thoroughly as anything this side of death. It had not been all that hard to accomplish. The danger lay in another of the rets discovering the guard to be asleep before she could reach Ahren.

At the door to his storeroom jail, she took possession of the keys from the sleeping ret and released the lock, all the while listening for the sounds of those who would put an end to her undertaking. She said nothing as she opened the door and slipped inside, a wraithlike presence. Ahren rose to face her, hesitating as he realized who it was, not certain what to make of her appearance. He kept silent, though—harking to the finger she put to her lips and her furtive movements as she came over to release him from his chains. Even in the dim cabin light, she could see the uncertainty and suspicion in his eyes, but there could be no mistaking her actions. Without attempting to intervene, he let her free him and followed her without argument when she was ready to leave, stepping over the sleeping guard where he was sprawled across the passageway, creeping behind her as she moved back toward the stairs leading up.
Black Moclips
rocked slowly, a cradle for sleeping men and a drowsy watch. The only sounds were those of the ship, the small, familiar stretchings and tightenings of seams and caulk.

They went up the stairs and emerged behind the helmsman, flattening themselves against the decking, scooting along the shadow of the aft rise and across to the rail. Wordlessly, she slipped over the side and crossed down the narrow gangway to the starboard pontoon, sliding swiftly to the furthest aft fighting port, a six-foot-deep compartment stacked with pieces of sail and sections of cross beam.

Cloaked in deep shadows, she moved to where the pontoon curved upward to form the aft starboard battering ram. She felt along the inside of the structure and released a wooden latch hidden in the surface of the hull. Instantly, a panel dropped down on concealed hinges. She reached inside and drew out a framework of flexible poles to which sections of lightweight canvas had been attached.

She passed the framework and canvas forward to Ahren, where he crouched at the front of the fighting port, then moved up beside him.

“This is called a single wing,” she whispered, her head bent close to his, her long silvery hair brushing the side of his face. “It is a sort of kite, built to fly one man off a failing airship. Redden Alt Mer had it hidden in the hull for emergencies.” She reached up impulsively and touched his cheek.

“You never intended to help him, did you?” the Elven Prince whispered back, relief and happiness reflected in his voice.

“I had to save your life and mine, as well. That meant giving your identity away. He would have killed you otherwise.” She took a deep breath. “He intends to kill you now. He thinks you're of no further use. I can't protect you anymore. You have to get off the ship tonight.”

He shook his head at once, gripping her arm. “Not without you. I won't go without you.”

He said it with such vehemence, with such desperate insistence, that it made her want to cry. He had doubted her and was trying to make up for it in the only way he knew. If it was called for, he would give up his life for hers.

“It isn't time for me to go yet,” she said. “I made a promise to Walker to lead the Morgawr astray in his hunt. He thinks I intend to help, but I give him only just enough to keep him believing so. I'll come later.”

She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and gestured sharply toward the single wing. “Quit arguing with me! Take this and go. Now! Unfold it, tie the harness in place, and lean out from the side with the wings extended. Use the bar and straps at the ends to steer. It isn't hard. Here, I'll help.”

He shook his head, his eyes wondering. “How did you know about this?”

“Walker told me.” She began undoing the straps that secured the framework, shaking it loose. “He learned about it from Big Red. The rets don't know of it. There, it's ready. Climb up on the edge of the pontoon and strap yourself in!”

He did as she instructed, still clearly dazed by what was happening, not yet able to think it through completely enough to see its flaws. She just had to get him off the ship and into the air, and then it would be too late. Things would be decided, insofar as she was able to make it so. That was as much as she could manage.

“You should come now,” he argued, still trying to find a way to take her with him.

She shook her head. “No. Later. Fly inland from the coast when you get further north. Look for a rain forest in the heart of the mountains. That's where the others are, on a cliff overlooking it. My visions showed them to me.”

He shrugged into the shoulder harness, and she cinched it tight across his back. She opened the wing frame so that it would catch the wind and showed him the steering bar and control straps. She glanced over her shoulder every few seconds toward the deck above, but the Mwellrets were not yet looking her way.

“Ryer,” he began, turning toward her once more.

“Here,” she said, reaching into her thin robes and extracting a pouch. She shoved it into his tunic, deep down inside so that it was snugged away. “The Elfstones,” she whispered.

He stared at her in disbelief. “But how could you have—”

“Go!” she hissed, shoving him off the side of the pontoon and into space.

She watched the wind catch the canvas and draw the framework taut. She watched the single wing soar out into the darkness. She caught a quick glimpse of the Elven Prince's wondering face, saw the man he had become eclipse the boy she had begun her journey with, and then he was gone.

“Good-bye, Ahren Elessedil,” she whispered into the night.

The words floated on the air feather-light and fading even as she turned away, alone now for good.

Twenty-one

A hand shook his shoulder gently, and Bek Ohmsford stirred awake.

“If you sleep any longer, people will think you're dead,” a familiar voice said.

He opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight pouring out of the midday sky. Rue Meridian moved into the light, blocking it away, and stared down at him, a hint of irony in the faint twist of her pursed lips. Just seeing her warmed him in a way the sun never could and made him smile in turn.

“I
feel
like I'm dead,” he said. He lay stretched out on the deck of the
Jerle Shannara
, cocooned in blankets. He took in the railings of the airship and the mast jutting skyward overhead as he gathered his thoughts. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Since this time yesterday. How do you feel?”

His memories of the past week flooded back as he considered the question. His flight out of Castledown with Grianne and Truls Rohk. Their struggle to escape the pursuit of the Morgawr and his creatures. The battle with the caull. Truls, dying. Their encounter with the shape-shifters and the lifesaving transformation of his friend. Climbing with Grianne into the mountains, trusting that they would somehow find their way. Finding Quentin after so long, a miracle made possible because of a promise made to a dead man.

And then, when it seemed the mountains would swallow them whole, another miracle, as Hunter Predd, searching for the
Jerle Shannara
's lost children, plucked them off the precipice and carried them away.

“I feel better than I did when I was brought here,” Bek said. He took a deep, satisfying breath. “I feel better than I have in a long time.” He took a good look at her, noting the raw marks on her face and the splint on her left arm. “What happened to you? Been wrestling with moor cats again?”

She cocked her head. “Maybe.”

“You're hurt.”

“Cuts and bruises. A broken arm and a few broken ribs. Nothing that won't heal.” She punched him lightly. “I could have used your help.”

“I could have used yours.”

“Missed me, did you?”

She tossed the question out casually, as if his answer didn't mean anything. But he knew it did. For just an instant he was convinced it meant everything, that she wanted him to tell her she was important to him in a way that went beyond friendship. It was an improbable and foolish notion, but he couldn't shake it. Anyway, he liked the idea and didn't question it.

“Okay, I missed you,” he said.

“Good.” She bent down suddenly and kissed his lips. It was just a quick brush followed by a touching of his cheek with her fingers, and then she lifted away again. “I missed you, too. Know why?”

He stared at her. “No.”

“I didn't think so. I only just figured it out for myself. Maybe with enough time, you will, too. You're pretty good at figuring things out, even for a boy.” She gave him an ironic, mocking smile, but it wasn't meant to hurt and it didn't. “I hear you can do magic. I hear you're not who you thought you were. Life is full of surprises.”

“Do you want me to explain?”

“If you want to.”

“I do. But first I want you to tell me how you got all beat up. I want to hear what happened.”

“This,” she said sardonically, and she gestured at the airship. “This and a lot of other catastrophes.”

He lifted himself on one elbow and looked around. The
Jerle Shannara
's decks stretched away in a jumble of makeshift patches and unfinished repairs. A new mast had been cut and shaped and set in place; he could tell from the new wood and fresh metal banding. Railings had been spliced in and damaged planks in the hull and decks replaced. Radian draws hung limply from cross beams and sails lay half mended. No one was in sight.

“They've deserted us,” she advised, as if reading his thoughts.

He could hear voices nearby, faint and indistinguishable. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost a week.”

He blinked in disbelief. “You can't fly?”

“Can't get off the ground at all.”

“So we're trapped. How many of us are left?”

She shrugged. “A handful. Big Red, Black Beard, the Highlander, you, and me. Three of the crew. The two Wing Riders. Panax and an Elven Hunter. The Wing Riders found them yesterday, not too far from here, with a tribe of natives called Rindge. They're camped at the top of the bluff.”

“Ahren?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nor the seer. Nor anyone else who went ashore. They're all dead or lost.” She looked away. “The Wing Riders are still searching, but so are those airships with their rets and walking dead. It's dangerous to fly anywhere in these mountains now. Not that we could, even if we wanted to.”

He looked at the airship, then back at her. “Where's Grianne? Is she all right?”

The smile faded from Rue Meridian's face. “Grianne? Oh, yes, your missing sister. She's down below, in Big Red's cabin, staring at nothing. She's good at that.”

He held her gaze. “I know that—”

“You don't know anything,” she interrupted, her voice oddly breezy. “Not one thing.” She pushed back loose strands of her long red hair, and he could see the dangerous look in her green eyes. “I never thought I would find myself in a position where I would have to keep that creature alive, let alone look after her. I would have put a knife to her throat and been done with it, but you were raving so loudly about keeping her safe that I didn't have much of a choice.”

“I appreciate what you've done.”

Her lips tightened. “Just tell me you have a good reason for all this. Just tell me that.”

“I have a reason,” he said. “I don't know yet how good it is.”

Bek told her everything then, all that had happened since he had left the
Jerle Shannara
weeks earlier and gone inland with Walker and the shore party. Some she already knew, because Quentin had told her. Some she had suspected. She had guessed at his imprisonment aboard
Black Moclips
and subsequent escape, but she had not realized the true reason for either. She was skeptical and angry with him, refusing at first to listen to his reasons for saving his sister, shouting at him that it didn't matter, that saving her was wrong, that she was responsible for all the deaths suffered by the company, especially Hawk's.

Rue told Bek her story then, relating the details of her imprisonment along with the other Rovers by the witch and her followers, and of her escape and battle aboard the
Jerle Shannara
, where Hawk had given his life to save hers. She told him of her struggle to regain control of the ship and the freeing of her brother. She told him of her search for Walker and the missing company, which led in turn to her regaining possession of
Black Moclips
and fleeing inland toward the safety of the mountains as the fleet of enemy airships pursued her. She told her story in straightforward fashion, making no effort to embellish her part in things, diminishing it, if anything.

He listened patiently, trying with small gestures to encourage and support, but she was having none of it. She hated Grianne to such an extent that she could find no forgiveness in her heart. That she had kept his sister alive at all spoke volumes about her affection for him. Losing Furl Hawken had been a terrible blow, and she held Grianne directly responsible. Rue Meridian refused to let Bek sit by passively, turning her anger and disappointment back on him, insisting that he respond to it. He did so as best he could, even though he was not comfortable doing so. So much had happened to both of them in such a short time that there was no coming to grips with all of it, no making sense of it in a way that would afford either of them any measure of peace. Both had suffered too many losses and were seeking comfort that required different responses from what each was willing to provide. Where the Ilse Witch was concerned, there could be no agreement.

Finally, Bek put up his hands. “I can't argue this anymore, not right now. It hurts too much to argue with you.”

She snorted derisively. “It hurts you, maybe. Not me. I don't bruise so easily. Anyway, you owe me a little consideration. You owe me a chance to tell you what I think about your sister! You owe it to me to share some of what I feel!”

“I'm doing the best I can.”

She reached down suddenly and hauled him all the way out of the blankets and shook him hard. “No, you're not! I don't want you to just sit there! I don't want you to just listen! I want you to do something! Don't you know that?”

Her red hair had shaken loose of its headband and strands of it were wrapped about her face like tiny threads of blood. “Don't you know anything?”

Her eyes had gone wild and reckless, and she seemed on the verge of doing something desperate. She stopped shaking him, instead gripping his shoulders so tightly he could feel her nails through his clothing. She was trying to speak, to say something more, but couldn't seem to make herself do so.

“I'm sorry about Hawk,” he whispered. “I'm sorry it was Grianne. But she didn't know. She doesn't know anything. She's like a child, locked away in her mind, frightened of coming out again. Don't you see, Rue? She had to face up to what she is all at once. That's what the magic of the Sword of Shannara does to you. She had to accept that she was this terrible creature, this monster, and she didn't even know it. Her whole life has been filled with lies and deceits and treacheries. I don't know—she may never be made whole.”

Rue Meridian stared at him as if he were someone she had never seen. There were tears in her eyes and a look of such anguish on her face that he was stunned.

“I'm tired, Bek,” she whispered back. “I haven't even thought about it until now. I haven't had time for that. I haven't taken time.” She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “Look at me.”

He did so, having never looked away, in truth, but giving her what she needed, trying to find a way to help her recover. He said, “I just want you to try to . . .”

“Put your arms around me, Bek,” she said.

He did so without hesitation, holding her against him, feeling her body press close. She began to cry, soundlessly, her shoulders shaking and her wet face pushing into the crook of his shoulder and neck. She cried for a long time, and he held her while she did, running his hand over her strong back in small circular motions, trying to give some measure of comfort and reassurance. It was so out of character for her to behave like this, so different from anything he had seen from her before, that it took him until she was finished to accept that it was really happening.

She brushed what remained of the tears from her face and composed herself with a small shrug. “I didn't know I had that in me.” She looked at him. “Don't tell anyone.”

He nodded. “I wouldn't do that. You know I wouldn't.”

“I know. But I had to say it.” She stared at him a moment, again with that sense of not knowing exactly who he was, of perhaps meeting him for the first time. “My brother and the others are down at the edge of the bluff, talking. We can join them when you're ready.”

He climbed to his feet, reaching for his boots. “Talking about what?”

“About what it's going to take to get us out of here.”

“What
is
it going to take?”

“A miracle,” she said.

Redden Alt Mer stood at the edge of the cliff face and stared down at the canopy of the Crake Rain Forest, very much the same way he had stared down at it for the previous five days. Nothing at all had changed during that time, save for the level of his frustration, which was rapidly becoming unmanageable. He had considered and reconsidered every option he could think of that would let him bypass the Graak and retrieve the diapson crystals they needed to get airborne again. But each option involved unacceptable risks and little chance of success, so he would toss it aside in despair, only to pick it up and reexamine it when he decided that every other alternative was even worse.

All the while, time was slipping away. They hadn't been discovered by the airships of the Morgawr yet, but sooner or later they would be. One had passed close enough yesterday for them to identify its dark silhouette from the ground, and even though they hadn't been spotted on that pass they likely would be on the next. If Hunter Predd and Po Kelles were right, there were only one or two this deep into the Aleuthra Ark; the bulk of the fleet was still searching for them out on the coast. When that effort failed to turn them up, the fleet would sail inland. If that happened and they were still grounded, they were finished.

Still, for the first time since the
Jerle Shannara
had crashed, he had reason to hope.

He glanced over at Quentin Leah. The Highlander was staring down into the Crake with a puzzled look on his lean, battle-damaged face. The look was a reflection of his inability to imagine what waited down there, having not as yet seen the Graak. No one had, except for himself. That was part of the problem, of course. He knew what they were up against, and although the others—Rovers and newcomers alike—might be willing to go down into the rain forest and face it, he was not. What had happened to Tian Cross and Rucker Bont was still fresh in his mind. He did not care to risk losing more lives. He did not want any more deaths on his conscience.

It was more than that, though. He could admit it to himself, if to no one else. He was afraid. It had been a long time—so long he could not remember the last occasion—since he had been frightened of anything. But he was frightened of the Graak. He felt it in his blood. He smelled it on his skin. It visited him in his dreams and brought him awake wide-eyed and shaking. He could not rid himself of it. Watching his men die, seeing them go down under the teeth and claws of that monster, feeling his own death so close to him that he could imagine his bones and blood spattered all over the valley floor, had unnerved him. Though he tried to tell himself his fear was only temporary and would give way to his experience and determination, he could not be sure.