The Voyage of the Jerle Shannara Trilogy

  Except that Bek wasn’t a boy, as he had already noted days earlier. He was a man, grown up on this journey, changed so completely that he might be someone else altogether.

  Even so, he could not quite believe what he was hearing. “When did this happen?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you’re sure?”

  She didn’t bother to answer, but he saw her shoulders lift slightly as if to shrug the question away.

  “You don’t seem suited to each other,” he continued, and knew at once that he had made a mistake. Her gaze shifted instantly, her eyes boring into him with unmistakable antagonism. “Don’t get mad at me,” he said quickly. “I’m just telling you what I see.”

  “You don’t know who’s suited to me, big brother,” she said quietly, her gaze shifting back to the witch. “You never have.”

  He nodded, accepting the rebuke. He sat down now, needing to talk about this, thinking it might take a while, and having no idea what he was going to say. Or should. “I thought what Hawk thought—that you were never going to settle on anyone, that you couldn’t stand it.”

  “Well, you were wrong.”

  “It just seems that your lives are so different. If you hadn’t been thrown together on this voyage, your paths would never have crossed. Have you thought about what’s going to happen when you get home?”

  “If I get home.”

  “You will. Then Bek will go back to the Highlands and you’ll go back to being a Rover.”

  She exhaled sharply, let go of Grianne Ohmsford’s hands, and turned to face him. “We’d better get past this right now. I told you how I feel about Bek. This is new to me, so I’m still finding out what it means. I’m trying not to think too far ahead. But here is what I do know. I’m sick of my life. I’ve been sick of it for a long time. I didn’t like it on the Prekkendorran, and I haven’t cared much for it since. I thought that coming on this voyage, getting far away from everything I knew, would change things. It hasn’t. I feel like I’ve been wandering around all these years and not getting anywhere. I want something different. I’m willing to take a look at Bek to see if he can give it to me.”

  Redden Alt Mer held her gaze. “You’re putting a lot on him, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not putting anything on him. I’m carrying this burden all by myself. He loves me, too, Redden. He loves me in a way no one ever has. Not for how I look or what I can do or what he imagines me to be. It goes deeper than that. It touches on connections that words can’t express and don’t have to. It makes a difference when someone loves you like that. I like it enough that I don’t want to throw it away without taking time to see where it leads.”

  She eased herself into a different position, her physical discomfort apparent, still sore from her wounds, still nursing her injuries. “I wanted to kill the Ilse Witch,” she said. “I had every intention of doing so the moment I got the chance. I thought I owed that much to Hawk. But I can’t do it now. Not while Bek believes she might wake up and be his sister again. Not after all he has done to protect her and care for her and give her a chance at being well. I don’t have that right, not even to make myself feel good again about losing Hawk.

  “So I’ve decided to try to do what Bek can’t. I’ve decided to try to reach her, to see where she is and what she hides from, to try to understand what she’s feeling. I’ve decided to let her know someone else cares what happens to her. Maybe I can. But even if I can’t, I have to try. Because that’s what loving someone requires of you—giving yourself to something they believe in, even when you don’t. That’s what I want to do for Bek. That’s how I feel about him.”

  She turned back to Grianne Ohmsford, lifted the girl’s hands in her own, and held them anew. “I keep thinking that if I can help her, maybe I can help myself. I’m as lost as she is. If I can find her, maybe I can find myself. Through Bek. Through feeling something for him.” She leaned forward again, her face so close to Grianne’s that she might have been thinking of kissing her. “I keep thinking that it’s possible.”

  He stared at her in silence, thinking that he wasn’t all that secure himself, that he felt lost, too. All this wandering about the larger world had a way of making you feel disconnected from everything, as if your life was something so elusive that you spent all the time allotted to you chasing after it and never quite catching up.

  “Go away and leave me alone,” she said to him. “Fly this airship back to where we came from. Get us safely home. Then we can talk about this some more. Maybe by then we will understand each other better than we do now.”

  He climbed back to his feet and stood watching her for a moment longer, thinking he should say something. But nothing he could think of seemed right.

  Resigned to leaving well enough alone, to letting her do what she felt she must, he walked out of the room without a word.

  Still sitting with Ahren by the aft railing, Bek Ohmsford glanced over as Redden Alt Mer emerged from the main hatchway and turned to look at him. What he saw in the Rover Captain’s face was a strange mix of frustration and wonderment, a reflection of thoughts that Bek could only begin to guess at. The look lasted only a second, and then Alt Mer had turned away, walking over to the pilot box and climbing up to stand beside Spanner Frew, his attention directed ahead into the shifting clouds.

  “I heard that Panax stayed behind,” Ahren said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Bek nodded absently. “He said he was tired of this journey, that he liked where he was and wanted to stay. He said with Walker and Truls Rohk both gone, there was nothing left to go home to. I guess I don’t blame him.”

  “I can’t wait to get home. I don’t ever want to go away again, once I do.” The Elf’s face twisted in a grimace. “I hate what’s happened here, all of it.”

  “It doesn’t seem to have counted for much, does it?”

  “Walker said it did, but I don’t think I believe him.”

  Bek let the matter slide, remembering that Walker had told him that his sister was the reason they had come to Parkasia and returning her safely home was the new purpose of their journey. He still didn’t understand why that was so. Forget that he wasn’t sure if they could do it or if she would ever come awake again if they did. The reality was that they had come here to retrieve the books of magic and failed to do so. They had destroyed Antrax, so there was some satisfaction in knowing that no one else would end up like Kael Elessedil, but it felt like a high price to pay for the losses they had suffered. Too high, given the broad scope of their expectations. Too high, for what they had been promised.

  “Ryer said I was going to be King of the Elves,” Ahren said softly. He gave Bek a wry look. “I can’t imagine that happening. Even if I had the chance, I don’t think I would take it. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else but me after what’s happened here.”

  “What will you do when you get home?” Bek asked him.

  His friend shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it. Go away somewhere, I expect. Being home means being back in the Westland, nothing more. I don’t want to live in Arborlon. Not while my brother is King. I liked being with Ard Patrinell when he was teaching me. I’ll miss him more than anyone except Ryer. She was special.”

  His lips compressed as tears came to his eyes, and he looked away self-consciously. “Maybe I won’t go home, after all.”

  Bek thought about the dead, about those men and women who had come on this voyage with such determination and sense of purpose. Who would he miss most? He had known none of them when he started out and had become close to all at the end. The absence of Walker and Truls Rohk, because they had been his mentors and protectors, left the biggest void. But the others had been his friends, more so than the Druid and the shape-shifter. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without them or even what it would be like when he parted company with those who remained. Everything about his future seemed muddled and confused, and it felt to him as if nothing he did would be enough to c
lear away the debris of his past.

  His gaze drifted along the length of the ship’s deck, searching for Rue Meridian. She was the future, or at least as much of it as he could imagine. He hadn’t seen much of her since their return from the Crake Rain Forest. There hadn’t been time for visiting while they readied the Jerle Shannara for flight, their sense of urgency at the approach of the Morgawr consuming all of their time and energy. But even after setting out, she had kept to herself. He knew she spent much of her time looking in on his sister, and at first he had worried about her intentions. But it seemed wrong of him to mistrust her when she felt about him as she did. It felt small-minded and petty. He thought that she was reconciled to her anger and disappointment at Grianne’s presence and no longer thought it necessary to act on them. He thought that because she loved him she would want to help his sister.

  So he left her alone, thinking that when she was ready to come to him again, she would do so. He didn’t feel any less close to her because she chose to be alone. He didn’t think she cared any less for him for doing so. They had always shared a strong sense of each other’s feelings, even in the days when they were first becoming friends on the voyage out. There had never been a need for reassurances. Nothing had changed. Friendship required space and tolerance. Love required no less.

  Still, he missed being with her. He knew he could seek her out in Big Red’s quarters and she would not be angry with him. But it might be better to let her find her own way with Grianne.

  “Maybe I’ll go home, too,” he whispered to himself.

  But he wasn’t as sure about it anymore.

  It was late afternoon when the Wing Riders reappeared, illumined by the red glare of the fading sun. The Jerle Shannara was less than an hour from the coast, and there had been no sign of the Morgawr’s airships. With the return of the Wing Riders, Redden Alt Mer intended to turn his vessel south and begin working along the cliffs that warded the south end of the peninsula to where he could set out across the Blue Divide.

  Hunter Predd brought Obsidian beneath the airship, released his safety harness, caught hold of the lowered rope ladder, and climbed to the aft railing. Alt Mer extended his hand, and the Wing Rider took hold of it and pulled himself aboard. His lean face was ridged with dirt and bathed in sweat. His eyes were hard, flat mirrors that reflected the sunset’s bloodred light. He looked around the airship without saying anything, his callused hands flexing within their leather gloves, his arms stretching over his windswept head.

  “We’re maybe a day ahead of them,” he said finally, keeping his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “They’re north of us, strung out along the edge of the mountains and flying inland. They must think we’re still there, from the look of things.”

  Alt Mer nodded. “Good news for us, I’d say.”

  He held out a water skin, which the Wing Rider accepted wordlessly and drank from until he had emptied it. “Ran out of water two hours ago.” He handed it back.

  “It will be dark in another hour. After that, we won’t be so easy to track, especially once we get out over the water.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. They tracked us easily enough from home and then inland here. The only time they had any real trouble was after you crashed. That doesn’t sound like an evasion tactic you want to employ regularly.”

  Alt Mer grunted noncommittally as he looked out over the railing at the darkness behind them, finding phantoms in the movement of the clouds against the mountains. The Wing Rider was right. He had no reason to think they could evade the Morgawr forever. Their best chance lay in putting as much distance between themselves and their pursuers as they could manage. Speed would make the difference as to whether they would escape or be forced to turn and fight. Speed was what the Jerle Shannara offered in quantities that not even Black Moclips could match.

  “One other thing,” Hunter Predd said, taking his arm and leading him over to the far corner of the aft deck. There was no one else around now. Even Bek and the Elven Prince had gone below. “We found the seer’s body.”

  Redden Alt Mer sighed. “Where?”

  “Floating in the ocean some miles west of here. All broken up and cut to pieces. I wouldn’t have known she was down there if not for Obsidian. Rocs can see things men can’t.”

  He looked at Alt Mer with his hard, weathered eyes and shook his head. “You tell young Elessedil about her, if you can manage it. I can’t. I’ve given out all the bad news I care to.”

  He squeezed Alt Mer’s arm hard and walked away. Moments later, he was down the rope and back astride Obsidian, winging away into the darkness. Redden Alt Mer stood alone at the railing and wished he were going with him.

  Flying through the night, the Jerle Shannara reached the tip of the peninsula at dawn. The Wing Riders had flown ahead to scout for resistance to her passage and had not encountered the Morgawr’s airships. With no sign of their pursuers to discourage them, they set out across the Blue Divide for home.

  From the first, they knew the return would be a journey of more than six months, and that was only if everything went well. Any disruption of their flying schedule, anything that forced them to land, would extend the time of their flight accordingly. So a certain pacing was necessary, and Redden Alt Mer wasted no time in advising those aboard of what that meant. They were down to thirteen in number, and of those, two were incapable of helping the others. Nor could Rue Meridian be expected to do much in the way of physical labor for at least several more weeks. Nor were the Wing Riders of much use in flying the airship, since they were needed aboard their Rocs to forage for food and water and to scout for pursuers.

  That left eight able-bodied men—Spanner Frew; the Rover crew members Kelson Riat, Britt Rill, and Jethen Amenades; the Elves Ahren Elessedil and Kian; Bek Ohmsford; and himself. While Bek would be of great help to the five Rovers in flying the airship, the Elves lacked the necessary skills and experience and would have to be relegated to basic tasks.

  It was a small group to man an airship twenty-four hours a day for six months. For them to manage, they were going to have to be well organized and extraordinarily lucky. Alt Mer could do nothing about the latter, so he turned his attention to the former.

  He set about his task by drawing up a duty roster for the eight men he could rely upon, splitting time between the Elves so that there would never be more than one of them on watch at a time. At least three men were needed to sail the Jerle Shannara safely, so he drew up a rotating schedule of eight-hour shifts, putting two men on the midnight-to-dawn shift when the airship would be mostly at rest. It was not a perfect solution, but it was the best he could come up with. Rue was the only one who complained, but he deflected her anger by telling her that she could handle the navigation, which would keep her involved with sailing the vessel and not relegate her to tender of the wounded.

  On the surface of things, they were in good condition. There was sufficient food aboard to keep them alive for several weeks, and they carried equipment for hunting and fishing to help resupply their depleted stock. Water was a bigger problem, but he thought the Wing Riders would be able to help with their foraging. Weapons were plentiful, should they be attacked. Now that they had replaced the damaged diapson crystals with the ones they had recovered from the Crake, they were able to fly the airship at full power. Since they were aboard the fastest airship in the Four Lands, no other airship, not even Black Moclips, should be able to catch them.

  But things were not always as they seemed. The Jerle Shannara had endured enormous hardship since she had departed Arborlon. She had been damaged repeatedly, had crashed once, and was patched in more places than Alt Mer cared to count. Even a ship built by Spanner Frew could not stand up to a beating like that without giving up something. The Jerle Shannara was a good vessel, but she was not the vessel she had been. If she held together for even half the distance they had to cover, it would be a miracle. It was likely she would not, that somewhere along the way she would break down. The crucial question wa
s how serious the breakdown would be. If it was too serious and took too long to correct, the Morgawr would catch up to them.

  Redden Alt Mer was nothing if not realistic, and he was not about to pretend that the warlock would not be able to track them. As Hunter Predd had pointed out, he had managed to do so before, so they had to expect he would be able to do so again. It was a big ocean, and there were an infinite number of courses that they could set, but in the end they still had to fly home. If they failed to take a direct course, they were likely to find the Morgawr and his airships waiting for them when they got there. Getting back to the Four Lands before their enemies would give them a chance at finding shelter and allies. It was the better choice.

  So he addressed the company as Captain and leader of the expedition and made his assignments accordingly, all the while knowing that at best he was staving off the inevitable. But a good airship Captain understood that flying was a mercurial experience, and that routine and order were the best tools to rely on in preparing for it. Bad luck was unavoidable, but it didn’t have to find you right away. A little good luck could keep it at bay, and he had always had good luck. Given what the ship had come through to get to this point, he was inclined to think that his streak had not deserted him.

  Nor did it do so in the weeks ahead. In the course of their travels, they encountered favorable weather with steady winds and clear skies, and they found regular opportunities to forage for food and water. They flew over the Blue Divide without need for slowing or setting down. Radian draws frayed, ambient-light sheaths tore loose, parse tubes required adjustments, and controls malfunctioned, all in accord with Alt Mer’s expectations, but none of it was serious and all of it was quickly repaired.

  More important, there was no sign of the Morgawr’s airships and no indication that the warlock was tracking them.