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.
He knew the only way to rid himself of this feeling was to go down into the Crake and face the Graak.
He was about to do that.
“I won’t ask you to go with me,” he said to Quentin Leah without looking at him.
“He won’t ask, but he’ll make it plain enough that he expects it,” Spanner Frew snorted. “And then he’ll find a way to make you end up thinking it was your idea!”
Alt Mer gave the shipwright a dark look, then smirked in spite of himself. Something about the other amused him even now—the perpetually dour look, the furrowed brow, the cantankerous attitude, something. Spanner Frew always saw the glass as half-empty, and he was ready and more than willing to share his worldview with anyone close enough to listen.
“Keep your opinions to yourself, Black Beard,” he said, brushing a fly from his face. “Others don’t find them so amusing. The Highlander is free to do as he chooses, as are all of us in this business.”
Quentin Leah was looking better this morning, less ghostly and wooden than the day before when he was brought in with Bek and the witch.
Alt Mer was still getting used to the idea of having her around, but he wasn’t having as much trouble with it as his sister. Little Red hated the witch, and she was not likely to forgive her anytime soon for Hawk’s death. Maybe having Bek back would help, though. She’d been upset at the thought of losing him, more so than by anything for a long time. He didn’t understand the affection she felt for Bek, but was quick enough to recognize it for what it was.
He sighed. At any rate, there were more of them now than there had been three days ago, after Rucker and Tian had died. Down to only six, the Rovers had seen their numbers strengthened since. The Wing Riders had reappeared first, flying out of the clouds on a blustery day in which rain had soaked everything for nearly twelve hours. After that, Po Kelles had found Panax, the Elven Hunter Kian, and those odd-looking reddish people they called Rindge. It had taken the Rindge another two days of travel to reach them, but now they were camped several miles east in a forested flat high in the mountains, concealed from searchers while they waited to see what would happen down here.
Their leader, the man Panax called Obat, was the one who told them that the valley was called the Crake. He knew about the thing that lived there, as well. Obat hadn’t seen it, but when Panax brought him down to talk, and Alt Mer described it, he recognized it right away. He had gotten so excited that it looked as if he might bolt. Hand gestures and a flurry of words that even Panax had trouble translating testified to the extent of Obat’s fear. It was clear that whatever anyone else did, neither Obat nor any other Rindge was going near whatever was down there—“A Graak,” Obat told Panax over and over again. The rest of what he said had something to do with the nature of the beast, of its invincibility and domination of mountain valleys like the Crake, where it preyed on creatures who were foolish or unwary enough to venture too close.
Knowing what it was didn’t help solve the problem, because Obat had no idea what they could do about the thing. Graaks were to be avoided, never confronted. His information did not aid Alt Mer in any measurable way. If anything, it further convinced him of his helplessness. What was needed was magic of the sort possessed by Walker.
Or by Quentin Leah perhaps, in the form of his sword, a weapon that had been effective against the creepers of Antrax.
But he could not say anything more to persuade the Highlander to help. If anything, he should advise against it. But then he would have to go into the Crake alone, and he did not think he could do that. Though he was a brave man, his courage had eroded so completely that he felt sick to his stomach even getting close enough to look down into the rain forest. He had concealed his fear from everyone, but it was there nevertheless—pervasive, inescapable, and debilitating. He couldn’t confess it, especially to Little Red. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t understand or try to help. It was the look he knew he would see in her eyes. He was the brother on whom she had always relied and in whom she took such pride. He could not bear it if she found out that he had run away while his men were dying.
The Highlander looked over at him. “All right, I’ll go.”
Big Red exhaled slowly, keeping his face expressionless.
“I’ll go,” Quentin Leah continued, “but Bek stays. Whatever magic he’s got is new to him, and he doesn’t have the experience with it that I do. I won’t risk his life.”
Whatever magic the Highlander possessed was pretty new to him, too, from what the Druid had told Alt Mer. Still, he wasn’t about to argue the matter. He would take whatever help he was offered if it meant getting his hands on the diapson crystals. He didn’t know what they had accomplished by coming here in the first place, but he didn’t think it was much. Mostly, they had succeeded in getting a lot of their friends killed, which was hardly a reason for going anywhere. You didn’t have to come all the way here to get killed. His frustration with matters surfaced once more. He would do anything to get out of this place.
Before he could respond to the Highlander, Rue and Bek Ohmsford walked out of the trees from one side and Panax, having gone off earlier to try to find an easier way down the cliff face, appeared from the other.
“Morning, young Bek!” the Dwarf shouted cheerfully on spying him. A grin spread across his square, bluff face, and he gave a wave of one hand. “Back among the living, I see! You look much better today!”
Bek waved back. “You look about the same, but that’s not something sleep will cure!”
They came together at the cliff edge with Spanner Frew, Quentin, and Alt Mer and clasped hands. The Highlander’s face had gone dark as he realized what was about to happen and knew he couldn’t prevent it. Alt Mer gave a mental shrug. Some things couldn’t be helped. At least his sister seemed composed again. Almost radiant. He stared at her in surprise, but she wouldn’t look at him.
“I’ve scouted the cliff edge all the way out and back,” Panax informed them, oblivious to the Highlander’s look of warning. “There’s a trail further on, not much of one, but enough to give us a way down that doesn’t involve ropes. It opens onto a flat, so we’ll be able to see what’s waiting much better than Big Red could when he dropped into the trees.”
He glanced at Bek. “I forgot. You just woke up. You don’t know what’s happened.”
“About the Graak and the crystals?” Bek asked. “I know. I heard all about it on the walk down. When do we leave?”
“No!” Rue Meridian wheeled on him furiously. “You’re not going! You’re not healed yet!”
“She’s right,” Quentin Leah said, glaring at his cousin. “What’s wrong with you? I just spent weeks worrying that you were dead! I’m not going through that again! You stay up here. Big Red and I can handle this.”
“Wait a minute,” Panax growled. “What about me?”
“You’re not going either!” Quentin snapped. “Two of us is enough to risk.”
The Dwarf cocked one eyebrow. “Have you suddenly gotten so much better at staying alive than the rest of us?”
Bek glared at Quentin. “What makes you think you have the right to decide if I go or not? I decide what’s right for me, not you! Why would I agree to stay up here? What about our promise to look out for each other?”
“Well, I’m going if you’re going!” Rue Meridian spat out the words defiantly. “I’m the one who’s done the best job of looking out for everyone so far! You’re not leaving me behind! No one’s leaving me!” She shifted her angry gaze from one to the next. “Which one of you wants to try to stop me?”
They were face-to-face now, all of them, so angry they could barely make themselves stop shouting long enough to hear what anyone else was saying. Spanner Frew was quiet, his dark face lowered to hide the grin on his lips, his head shaking slowly from side to side. Alt Mer listened in dismay, wondering when to step in and if it would make any difference if he did.
Finally, he’d heard enough. “Stop shouting!” he roared.
They quit arguing and looked at him, faces red and sweating in the midday heat.
He shook his head slowly. “The Druid is dead, so I command this expedition. Both aboard ship and off. That means I decide who goes.”
His eyes settled momentarily on Bek—Bek, who looked taller and stronger than he remembered, more mature. He wasn’t a boy anymore, the Rover Captain realized in surprise. When had that happened? He glanced quickly at his sister, suddenly seeing things in a new light. She was staring at him as if she wanted to jump down his throat.
He looked away again quickly, out over the valley, out to where his fears were centered. He wondered again why he had come all this way. Money? Yes, that was a part of the agreement. But there had been a need to escape the Prekkendorran and the Federation, as well. There had been a need to see a new country, to journey to somewhere he hadn’t been. There had been a need for renewal.
“There’s not that many of us left,” he said, more quietly now. “Just a handful, and we have to look out for each other. Arguing is a waste of time and energy. Only one thing is important, and that’s getting back into the skies
and flying out of here.”
He didn’t wait for their response. “Little Red, you stay here. If anything happens to me, you’re the only one who can fly the Jerle Shannara home again. Bek might try, but he doesn’t know how to navigate. Besides, you’re all beat up. Broken ribs, broken arm—if you have to defend yourself down there, you’ll be in trouble. I don’t want to have to worry about saving you. So you stay.”
She was furious. “You’re worried about saving me? Who was it who got you out of the Federation prison? Who was it who …”
“Rue.”
“… got Black Moclips back from the rets and would have kept her, too, with just a little help? What about Black Beard? Standing there with his head down and his mouth shut, hoping no one will remember he can sail an airship just as well as I can! Don’t say a word about it, Spanner! Don’t say anything that might help me!”
“Rue.”
“No! It isn’t fair! He can navigate just as well as I can! You can’t tell me not to go just because I—”
“Rue!” His voice would have melted iron. “Four of us are risk enough. You stay.”
“Then Bek stays with me! He’s injured, too!”
Alt Mer stared at her. What was she talking about? Bek wasn’t her concern. “Not like you. Besides, we might need his magic.”
She glared at him for a moment, and he could see she was on the verge of breaking down. He had never seen her do that, never even seen her come close. For a moment, he reconsidered his decision, realizing that something about this was more important than what her words were telling him.
But before he could say anything, she wheeled away and stalked back toward the airship, rigid with anger and frustration. “Fine!” she shouted over her shoulder. “Do what you want! You’re all fools!”