by Terry Brooks
In the pilot box, arrows protruded from the protective walls like porcupine quills, bristling in bunches about the control shields. Farshaun had been wounded twice, seriously enough the second time that he had relinquished the controls to Railing. The boy was working hard at keeping the airship steady so that the defenders could use the slings and launchers effectively, but the flits were everywhere, and when they were this close the Rovers couldn’t use the deck weapons for fear of hitting their own vessel.
“Farshaun!” Railing shouted over his shoulder at where the other was crouched down in a corner of the box. “Take the controls from me!”
But the old man had collapsed, his arms gone limp, his head sagging. It looked as if he had lost consciousness.
“Farshaun!” the boy screamed.
Abruptly, Mirai appeared, leaping into the box and taking the controls. She exchanged a quick look with Railing as she did so, and he could see at once that she knew what he intended.
Then he was over the protective walls and racing across the decking toward the bow, already singing, the wishsong summoned and responding. Arrows flew at him, but the wall of his magic shielded him and the missiles bounced away harmlessly. As he ran, he heard Challa Nand call his name, and he watched in disbelief as the big Troll charged toward him protectively.
“Get back!” he screamed at the other, his warning quick and hard-edged in the tumult of the attack. But Challa Nand either didn’t hear him or refused to pay attention, and even though Railing tried to shift the wishsong’s magic away from him, the big Troll ran straight into its wall and went down in a crumpled heap.
But Railing had no time to worry about Challa Nand. His concentration now was entirely on manipulating the wishsong to strike out at the attacking Gnome raiders. He sent it spiraling outward, the sound as dense and impenetrable as stone. All the while he kept moving toward the deck rail, forming and re-forming, molding the magic, pulling together elements in the air and wind to create a protective shield, angling it so that the Quickening would not be harmed.
The flits were not so fortunate. Unable to see what blocked their way, they flew into the wall of sound heedlessly, shattering against its hard surface and tumbling away. A dozen went down before the rest broke off in terror and went flying back into the cover of the mountains, their riders hunkered down, thrusters shoved forward to attain maximum speed.
In seconds the skies were clear and the Quickening and its crew were flying alone once more.
Railing quit singing, allowing the magic of the wishsong to die into silence. He stood watching the fleeing Gnome raiders a few seconds longer before turning back to the others. Several, Austrum among them, were staring at him in disbelief. Challa Nand was awake again, sitting on the decking, rubbing his head. He had a look of confusion on his face until he caught sight of Railing coming over; then the look abruptly changed to one of rage. He staggered to his feet to face the boy.
“What else are you keeping from me that I ought to know about?” he snarled. “Because I have had just about enough of you!”
“I tried to warn you,” Railing shouted back, aware of how angry the Troll was. He slowed his approach, but Challa Nand was right on top of him, his huge body towering over the boy as if intending to crush him. “You just kept coming! What was I supposed to do?”
The Troll glared at him for a moment, then turned away dismissively. “You used your magic to save the airship. That’s good enough for me. But a word or two in advance to the rest of us wouldn’t hurt!”
Then he stomped away, beginning the task of clearing pieces of wreckage and debris from the decking. The Rovers joined him in this effort, leaving Railing free to continue on to where Mirai was kneeling beside Farshaun in the pilot box.
“How bad is he?” the boy asked.
She shook her head. “I can’t be sure. He’s bleeding internally, and he’s very weak. He’s old, Railing. He doesn’t recover from injuries like he once did. Help me carry him below. I’ll do what I can for him down there.”
They picked up Farshaun and hauled him out of the pilot box and down the ladder to the interior of the airship. Austrum came over to give them a hand, then disappeared topside again.
“That was quick thinking,” Mirai said as she worked to cut away Farshaun’s clothing from his wounds; Railing was standing by in case there was something he could do to help. “You saved us.”
“I waited too long to act.” He was feeling anything but happy about how things had gone. “I should have used the wishsong right away. I was too slow.”
“You can’t think of everything in situations like that one. We were fighting for our lives.” She stayed bent over Farshaun, studying the crossbow wound, looking for a way to stanch the bleeding. “Everyone does the best they can.”
“Maybe.”
She kept working, and finally she was satisfied with her efforts. The crossbow bolt was removed, the bleeding slowed, and the wound washed and stitched up sufficiently that infection might be prevented. All through this, the old man slept, unconscious and unaware.
“Have you thought about what I told you earlier? About sharing whatever it is you’re hiding?”
Railing pushed back his long red hair and retied the band that held it in place. “You have to stop asking me. I don’t want to talk about it.”
She shrugged. “I think you probably do. You just don’t want to talk about it with me.”
“It isn’t that …”
“What is it, then?”
“I can’t tell you. I just can’t. I have to work my way through it on my own. There’s more at stake than you know.” He looked away. “I’m in love with you, you know. There, I’ve said it out loud. I love you. I always have.”
She nodded, standing up and moving next to him. “I’m not sure you know what that means.”
“What? It’s difficult to understand that because of how I feel about you I can’t just open up and tell you certain things? Well, I can’t! Not yet, at least. Maybe when we reach Stridegate. Maybe then.”
She stared at him a moment. “You should listen to yourself. You should hear yourself the way I do. Railing, if you were really in love with me, you could always open up to me. You wouldn’t have to hide things.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“I think it does.” She stepped away again. “Don’t let the clock tick all the way down. Don’t wait so long that by the time you decide to confide in the rest of us it’s too late to matter. Because that can happen. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
She gave him a wan smile. “I wonder if you do.”
Then she turned and walked away.
4
They flew Quickening on through the sun’s setting and into twilight, reaching the place where the Charnals began to broaden into a split range with multiple layers before setting down for the night. Here, the mountains were visible for miles in all directions, vast and immutable, great silent sentinels of the Northland east. The attack by the Gnome raiders was far behind them by then, and the town of Rampling Steep farther still. There were no settlements this far north, only hundreds of miles of empty space and broken rock. Staring out at it, Railing could only think of how bleak his life had become.
They slept aboard the ship that night with a close watch at both the bow and stern. Too many dangerous creatures prowled this region of the world, Challa Nand had warned. Gnome raiders were one thing; Gnawls and the like were another. Railing didn’t bother asking what a Gnawl was. He didn’t want to know.
He wasn’t asked to stand watch on either shift, however, and when Mirai showed no interest in speaking with him further, he rolled into his blanket and quickly fell asleep.
When he woke, after what felt like only a few hours, it was raining again.
The sound of it brought him awake. He heard the thrumming against the decking overhead and rose, wrapping himself in his weather cloak, and went topside to find himself caught in a torrential d
ownpour. It was raining so hard, it was coming down in sheets that obscured everything more than a few feet away. He peered about for the other members of the crew but could see no one. Ducking his head and pulling the cloak and hood tight against his face and body, he fought his way through the deluge to the pilot box, thinking to find someone there.
But the box was empty.
He left and went to the stern railing. Nothing.
Suddenly he was panicked. Was the entire ship deserted? No, he had seen Farshaun wrapped in his bandages and blankets, asleep below. One of the injured Rovers was resting close by the old man—the only one hurt badly enough in yesterday’s attack to be so confined. He also seemed to remember catching sight of someone moving through the gloom, a shadow passing along the walls of the vessel in the faint light of the smokeless torches the Rover airships relied on. But that might have been a dream.
He went back down the ladder and inside the ship. Farshaun was still sleeping, as was the injured Rover. Over in another corner, he found Woostra asleep as well. He hesitated, then knelt and shook the Druid scribe awake.
Woostra peered up at him. “What’s wrong?”
Railing hesitated. “I can’t find anyone aboard but you and Farshaun and that injured Rover. Can’t think of his name.”
“His name is Aleppo.” The scribe rubbed his beard, then his eyes and yawned. “I’ve been asleep. Are you sure about all this?”
“Aleppo. I knew that. I just forgot. And yes, I’m sure.”
In fact, he was embarrassed at his lapse of memory. He rose. “I’m going back out on deck. Please watch out for Farshaun.” He started away and then turned back again, a premonition tugging at him. “Don’t try to come after me. Wait until I come back for you.”
He left the bewildered scribe staring after him. And tightening his weather cloak once more, he went up the ladder and out on deck. The rain hadn’t lessened; if anything, it was more severe than before, pummeling the wooden decks and hull with deafening force.
He stood amid the tumult and the chilling, invasive downpour for a moment to get his bearings, then started toward the bow. He hadn’t checked there yet. In his haste to find someone, he had skipped the bow in favor of a more thorough search of the hold.
So, maybe …
He was almost all the way forward when a figure detached itself from the gloom ahead. Railing started in spite of himself, thinking for just a moment that he had encountered a wraith rather than a man. But it was only one of the Rovers cloaked and hooded against the weather.
In fact, he realized, watching the figure draw closer, it wasn’t even a Rover. It was Mirai.
She came up to him and stood close so that they could see each other in the downpour. “Where is everyone?” Railing demanded.
Mirai looked worried. “Gone off ship. They left about an hour ago. A search party. Both members of the second watch disappeared shortly after their shift began. Not a sound, not a trace. Challa Nand wanted to wait to see if they would show up on their own. The implication was that if they didn’t, they were dead and therefore a search was pointless and a danger to everyone else. But Austrum insisted he would not leave his men behind without making sure they couldn’t be found.”
“I suppose he felt he had to.”
“It was stupid of him,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“So there’s no one left aboard? They’re all gone?” Railing felt a sudden rush of fear. “Skint went with them, too?”
“Challa Nand didn’t think the Rovers could find their way back without help, and Skint agreed. So they both went. Leaving you, me, Woostra, and the injured.” She turned away. “I’ve got to get back on watch. I can’t see anything, but it makes me feel useful. Want to help? I let you sleep until now, but since you’re up I could use the company.”
Railing nodded and went with her. Together they moved to the front of the airship and took up stations port and starboard of the bowsprit. The wind had changed, coming out of the north now rather than the west, howling down the canyons between the peaks with a wailing that chilled the boy to his bones. He tried to shut it out by tightening the laces on his hood, but nothing helped. Because he was facing directly into the storm, rain blew through gaps in his gear and quickly left him drenched. He imagined Mirai was no better off, but that didn’t make him feel any less miserable.
He bent his head against a gust of rain. He liked it that Mirai had called Austrum foolish. It was petty to feel like that, but satisfying, too.
More rain found its way under his cloak. He wished that he had brought an aleskin on deck. He wished he hadn’t come on deck at all. He wished a dozen other things because there wasn’t anything else to do to pass the time. Peering into the rain seemed pointless. He couldn’t see a thing. A pack of Kodens could come crawling out of rocks and onto the ship, and he wouldn’t see them until they were right on top …
He quit searching the gloom. He quit breathing.
Something was out there.
He felt its presence all at once—a sort of tingle on the surface of his skin that quickly turned to a cold shiver. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t know what it was, but it was there and it was coming toward the ship. Without stopping to consider what he was doing, he rushed around the blocking on the bowsprit and dragged Mirai away from the rail, a finger to his lips as he did so, motioning her to silence as he pointed into the rain and gloom.
Together they dropped into a crouch by the forward bins in which the spare light sheaths were stored, the two of them hunching down, forming dark, wet lumps against the wooden sides.
“Don’t make a sound!” Railing whispered.
Whatever tone of voice he used, whatever inflection he employed, it froze Mirai in place. Maybe she sensed it, too. Maybe she realized something was out there in the haze. Whatever the case, they hunkered down in the shadow of the bins, two barely recognizable shadows in the shifting layers of rain and gloom, waiting.
Then they heard a small sound from behind and, turning, found Woostra creeping across the deck. Railing quickly put a finger to his lips in warning and beckoned hurriedly.
As the scribe knelt beside him, Railing pulled him close. “What are you doing?” he hissed. “I told you to wait!”
Woostra scowled. “I got tired of waiting,” he whispered. He glanced worriedly into the gloom. “What is it? What’s out there?”
Railing shook his head, refusing to answer. “Just don’t move!” he said. “Don’t say anything!”
He was already summoning the wishsong, convinced that whatever was coming was too dangerous for them to risk waiting. A low hum, barely more than a whisper, it rode the ensuing silence like a ghost in search of a haunt, building on itself, forming into an amorphous and malleable presence that could be shaped and dispatched in the blink of an eye.
Out in the haze, something moved. Something very big.
Railing exhaled soundlessly. He could just make it out through the gap in the bins where he crouched between Woostra and Mirai. The latter must have seen it, as well, for she gave a small gasp and pressed more tightly against him. She was so close he could feel her breath against his face, warm and feathery. Woostra had adopted a hedgehog defense, collapsed into a tight ball, head buried in his arms. Together they waited, so afraid it was all they could do not to bolt and run. But flight from whatever this was would be pointless. Doing anything that caught its attention would be the end of them.
The rain strengthened suddenly, gusts blowing across the decking and into their eyes. A second later a clawed hand reached for the rail and fastened in place, close to where the bowsprit jutted into the darkness. A sleek shape rose into view—what looked to be an immense lizard—towering over the airship bow, dozens of feet in length. It was hard to determine more than the general size and shape, but it appeared thick-bodied and sinuous as it hauled itself halfway onto the foredeck.
Railing was singing full-out now, using every last vestige of his magic to gather and shape the elements around him, formi
ng a cloaking for Mirai, Woostra, and himself. He made their smell vanish and their shapes dilute. He masked their presence with a combination of darkness and damp, drawing in and thickening the rain and gloom. He watched the creature sway slowly from side to side, an unwelcome invader looming over the bins, the foredeck, and themselves. A silent shudder ran through him but he held fast to the wishsong, keeping the cloaking in place.
Then, abruptly, the creature lowered its head until it was almost touching the coverings of the bins, its bulk directly atop them. Its jaws split wide, filled with rows of jagged teeth that were monstrous and threatening. Railing could feel Mirai shaking. He had his arm about her, and he tightened his grip on her shoulders.
Make no sound, he willed her. No movement. All will be well. I will protect you. I will give my life for you.
For several endless seconds he believed they had been discovered and that—with the swiftness for which lizards the world over were known—it would snap them up like helpless insects. But then the creature withdrew, slithering away again, retreating over the rail and off the airship. Railing watched it go, still singing, still holding fast to what he had begun, taking no chances. The lizard’s head swung back briefly, as if making sure; then it skittered off into the rain and gloom.
For a long time afterward, Railing didn’t move. With Mirai still pressing close against him and Woostra huddled near, he stayed where he was behind the bins, crouched down beneath the sheltering magic of the wishsong. He kept it in place, his voice soft and steady, until the danger was clearly past.
Finally, as the rains began to abate and the gloom to clear, he let it die away into silence.
