She saw them. They lay dead ahead, rising across the skyline, barring their way. She glanced sideways and down and saw for the first time how high up they were. Several thousand feet at least—probably more like five thousand. Even so, they weren’t nearly high enough to clear these peaks.
“Heading ten degrees starboard, Black Beard,” she heard her brother order. “That’s it. There, toward that cut.”
She followed his gaze and saw a break in the peaks. It was narrow, and it twisted out of view at once. It might dead-end into the side of a mountain beyond, in which case they were finished. But Redden Alt Mer could read a passage better than anyone she had ever sailed with. Besides, he had the luck.
“Brace!” he yelled down at the crew.
They shot between the cliffs and into the narrow defile, skimming on the back of a vicious headwind that nearly drove them sideways in the attempt. Beyond, they saw the opening slant right. Spanner Frew threw the wheel over and fed what power he could to keep them steady. The passage narrowed further and cut back left. Rue felt the hair on the back of her neck lift as the massive cliff walls tightened about them like the jaws of a trap. They were so close that she could make out the depressions and ridges on the face of the stone. She could see rodent nests and tiny plants. There was no room to turn around. If the passage failed to run all the way through, they were finished.
“Steady,” her brother cautioned to Spanner Frew. “Slow, now.”
The winds had shifted away, and they were no longer being buffeted so violently. The Jerle Shannara canted left in response to Spanner Frew’s handling of the controls, sliding slowly through the gap. They rounded a jagged corner, still close enough that Rue could reach out and touch the rock. Ahead, the defile began to widen, and the mountains opened out onto a deep, forested valley.
“We’re through,” she said, grinning in relief at her brother.
“But not yet safe.” His face was tight and set. “Look ahead. There, where the valley climbs into that second set of peaks.”
She did so, brushing away loose strands of her long red hair. There were breaks all through this range, but the movement of the clouds overhead suggested that the winds were much more turbulent than anything they had encountered before. Still, there was nowhere else to go except back, and that was unthinkable.
Spanner Frew glanced over at Big Red. “Where do we go? That gap on the right, lower down?”
Her brother nodded. “Where it might not be so windy. Good eye. But stay hard left to give us room to maneuver when the crosswind catches us.”
They navigated the valley through a screen of mist, riding air currents that bucked and jittered like wild horses. The Jerle Shannara shuddered with the blows, but held her course under Spanner Frew’s steady hand. Below, the forests were dark and deep and silent. Once, Rue caught sight of a thin ribbon of water where a small river wound along the valley floor, but she saw no sign of animals or people. Hawks soared out of the cliffs, fierce faces set against the light. Behind, the entire sky was dark with the storm they had left on the other side of the mountains. Everywhere else, the horizon was hazy and flat.
Rue listened to the wind sing through the taut lines of the vessel. It always seemed to her that the ship was calling to her when she heard that sound, that it was trying to tell her something. She felt that now, and her uneasiness grew.
When they reached the far side of the valley, they angled right, toward the draw that her brother had spied earlier, a deep cut in the peaks of the second range that offered clear passage to whatever lay beyond. More mountains, certainly, but perhaps something else, as well. She glanced skyward to where the clouds skittered over the peaks in frightened bursts of energy, blown by winds that channeled down out of the north. Since the weather was all behind them, she realized that these crosswinds must blow like this all the time. They would be dangerous, if that was so.
The Jerle Shannara lifted through the gap, catching the first rip of crosswind as she did, slewing sideways instantly. Spanner Frew brought her back on course again, keeping her low and down to the left. Ahead, more peaks and cliffs appeared, slabs of stone jutting from the earth like giant’s hands lifted in warning. But the defile wormed through them, offering passage, so they continued on. Below, the floor of the canyon rose steadily as the mountains closed about, and they were forced to fly higher.
Rue Meridian took a deep breath and held it, feeling the tension radiate through her.
“Steady, Black Beard,” she heard her brother say quietly. Then a burst of wind slammed into the airship and sent her spinning sideways for endless, heart-stopping seconds before Spanner Frew was able to bring her back around again.
Rue exhaled sharply. Big Red glanced over at her and broke into one of those familiar grins that told her how much he loved this.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
They bucked through the gap’s twists and turns like a cork through rapids, knocked this way and that, fighting to stay steady at every turn. The winds thrust at them, then died away, then returned to hammer them again. Once they were blown so hard to starboard that they very nearly struck the cliff wall, only just managing to skip past an outcropping of rock that would have ripped the hull apart. Rue clung to the pilot box railing, her knuckles white with determination, thinking as she did so that this was much worse than what they had encountered coming through the Squirm, ice pillars notwithstanding. At any moment they could lose control completely and be smashed to bits against the rocks.
They climbed to a thousand feet as the floor of the pass rose ahead, forcing them to gain altitude beyond what Rue knew her brother had hoped would prove necessary; the winds at this elevation were too strong and unpredictable.
Then the mountains parted ahead, and far below they saw a vast forest cupped by the fingers of scattered peaks, deep and impenetrable and stretching away into the haze. There would be a landing site there, a place for them to set down and make repairs.
She had no sooner finished the thought than the aft port radian draw snapped at the masthead and fell away.
At once, the Jerle Shannara began to lose power and slip sideways. Spanner Frew fought to bring her nose up, but without both aft parse tubes in operation, he lacked the means to do so.
“I can’t right her!” he grunted in frustration.
“Mainsail!” Big Red shouted instantly to the crew.
Kelson Riat and another of the Rovers leapt up at once from where they were crouched amidships and began to unfasten the lines and run up the sail. Without the use of the aft parse tubes, Big Red was going to rely on the sails for power. But the crosswinds were vicious; there was as much chance as not that they would fill the big sail and carry the airship right into the cliffs like a scrap of paper.
“Steady, steady, steady …,” Big Red chanted to Spanner Frew as the shipwright fought to hold the Jerle Shannara in place.
Fluttering and snapping, the mainsail went up. Then the wind caught it and drove the airship forward with a lurch. She bucked in the wind’s strong grip, and another of the draws snapped and fell away.
“Shades!” Redden Alt Mer hissed. He snatched at the wheel as Spanner Frew lost his footing, struck his head on the pilot box railing, and blacked out.
They were still falling, but they were accelerating toward the gap, as well, the mountains widening on both sides. If they could stay high enough to miss the boulders clustered in the mouth of the pass, they might survive. It was going to be close. Rue willed the Jerle Shannara to lift, begged her silently to level off. But she was still falling, the rocky surface of the pass rising swiftly to meet her.
Her brother threw the levers that fed power to the diapson crystals all the way forward and brought the steering levers all the way back. The airship shuddered anew, lurched, and rose a final time. They surged through the gap, breaking into the clear air above the forest below. But even as they did so, the keel scraped across the boulders beneath them, making a terrible grinding, ripping noise. The Jerle Shan
nara shuddered and then dipped, the bow coming down sharply, pointing left and toward the forest a thousand feet below. The crosswind returned, sudden and vicious, snatching at the crippled vessel. The mainsail reefed as several of her lines snapped, and the Jerle Shannara plunged downward.
Rue Meridian, clinging to both her safety harness and the pilot box railing, thought they were dead. They spiraled down, out of control, the canopy of the trees rising to meet them with dizzying swiftness. Her brother, still struggling to bring the bow up, cursed. Crew members slid along the decking. The safety line broke away on one, and she caught just a glimpse of him as he flew out over the side of the ship and disappeared.
Then the crosswind shifted, ripping along the cliff face and carrying the Jerle Shannara sideways into the rock. Rue had just a moment to watch the cliff wall fly toward them before they struck in a shattering crunch of wood and metal. She lost her grip on both her safety line and the railing and flew into the pilot box control panel. Pain ratcheted through her left arm, and she felt the stitches on her wounded side and leg give. Her safety line snapped, and then she careened into her brother, who was hanging desperately onto the useless steering levers.
A moment later, everything went black.
As he finished tying off the bandages around Little Red’s damaged torso, Redden Alt Mer was thinking things couldn’t get any worse. Then Spanner Frew lumbered up the steps to the pilot box and knelt down beside him.
“We lost all the spare diapson crystals through the tear in the hull,” he announced sullenly. “They’ve fallen somewhere down there.”
His gesture made it clear that somewhere down there was the jungle below the wooded precipice on which the Jerle Shannara had finally come to rest, an impenetrable green covering of treetops and vines that spread away from the cliff face for miles.
Alt Mer rocked back on his heels and stared at the shipwright as if he were speaking in a foreign language. “All of them?”
“They were all in one crate. The crate fell out through a hole ripped in the hull.” Spanner Frew reached up to touch the gash in his forehead, flinching as he did so. “As if I needed another headache.”
“Can we fly with what we have?”
The shipwright shook his head. “We’re down to three. We lost the port fore tube and everything with it on landing. What’s left might let us fly in calm weather, but it won’t get us off the ground. If we try it, we’ll just go over the side and into the trees with the crystals.”
He sighed. “The thing of it is, we came through this all right otherwise. We’ve got the timbers to repair the hole in the hull. We’ve got spare draws and fastenings. We’ve got plenty of sail. Even the spars and mast can be fixed with a little time and effort. But we can’t go anywhere without those crystals.” He rubbed his beard. “How’s Little Red?”
Redden Alt Mer looked down at his sister. She was still unconscious. He had let her sleep while he worked on her injuries, but he thought he’d wake her soon in case she had suffered a concussion. He needed to know, as well, if there was damage inside that he couldn’t see.
“She’ll be all right,” he said with a reassuring smile. He wasn’t sure at all, but there was no point in worrying Black Beard unnecessarily. He had enough to concern him. “Who went over the side?”
“Jahnon Pakabbon.”
Big Red grimaced. A good man. But they were all good men, which is why they had been chosen for the voyage. There wasn’t a one he could bear to lose, let alone afford to. He had known Jahnon since they were children. The quiet, even-tempered Rover had a gift for innovation in addition to his sailing skills.
“All right.” He forced himself to quit thinking about it, to concentrate on the problem at hand. “We have to go down there and bring him out. We’ll look for the crystals when we do. Choose two men to go with me—and make sure you’re not one of them. I need you to work on the repairs. We don’t want to be stranded here any longer than necessary. Those airships with their Mwellrets and walking dead will come looking for us soon enough. I don’t intend to be around when they do.”
Spanner Frew grunted, stood up, and went back down the pilot box steps. The Jerle Shannara was canted to port at a twenty-degree angle perhaps a hundred yards from the precipice, the curved horn of her starboard pontoon lodged in a cluster of boulders. She wasn’t in much danger of sliding over the edge, but she was fully exposed to anything flying overhead. Behind her, running back for perhaps another hundred yards, a forested shelf jutted from the cliff face of the mountain on which they had settled. They were lucky to be alive after such a crash, lucky not to have fallen all the way into the jungle below, from which extraction would have been impossible. That the Jerle Shannara had not broken into a million pieces was a testament to her construction and design. Say what you would about Spanner Frew, he knew how to build an airship.
Nevertheless, they were trapped, lacking sufficient diapson crystals to lift off, short one more crew member, and completely lost in a strange land. Big Red was normally optimistic about tough situations, but in this particular instance he didn’t much care for their chances.
He glanced skyward, where clouds and mist hung like a curtain across the horizon, hiding what lay farther out in all directions. Nothing was visible but the emerald canopy of the jungle and the tips of a few nearby peaks, leaving him with the unpleasant feeling of being trapped on a rocky island, suspended between gray mist and green sea.
“Spanner!” he yelled suddenly. The burly shipwright trudged back over to stand below the box and looked up at him. “Cut some rolling logs, rig a block and tackle, and let’s try to move the ship back into those trees. I don’t like being out in the open like this.”
The big man turned away without a word and disappeared over the side of the ship. Big Red could hear him yelling anew at the crewmen, laying into them with his shipyard vocabulary. He listened a moment and shook his head. He missed Hawk, who was always a step ahead in knowing what needed to be done. But Black Beard was capable enough, if a bit irksome. Give him some direction and he would get the job done.
Redden Alt Mer turned his attention to his sister. He bent down and gave her a gentle shake. She groaned and turned her head away, then drifted off. He shook her once more, a little more firmly this time. “Rue, wake up.”
Her eyes blinked open, and she stared at him. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she sighed wearily. “I’ve been through this before—come back from the edge and found you waiting. Like a dream. Still alive, are we?”
He nodded. “Though one of us is a little worse for wear.”
She glanced down at herself, taking in the bandages wrapped about her torso and leg where the clothing had been cut away, seeing the splint on her arm. “How bad am I?”
“You won’t be flying off to rescue anyone for a while. You broke your arm and several ribs. You ripped open the knife wounds on your thigh and side. You banged yourself up pretty good, all without the help of a single Mwellret.”
She started to giggle, then grimaced. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.” She lifted her head and glanced around, taking in as much as she could, then lay back. “We don’t seem to be flying, so I guess I didn’t dream that we crashed. Are we all in one piece?”
“More or less. There’s damage, but it can be repaired. The problem now is that we can’t fly. We lost all our spare diapson crystals through a break in the hull. I have to take a search party down into the valley and find them before we can get out of here.” He shrugged. “Thank your lucky stars it wasn’t worse.”
“I’m busy thanking them that I’m still alive. That any of us are, for that matter.” She licked her lips. “Got anything to drink that doesn’t come from a stream?”
He brought her an aleskin, holding it up for her as she took deep swallows. “You hurt anywhere I can’t see?” he asked when she was done. “A little honesty here wouldn’t hurt, by the way.”
She shook her head. “Nothing you haven’t already taken care
of.” She wiped her lips and sighed deeply. “Good. But I’m really tired.”
“Then you’d better sleep.” He arranged the torn bit of sail he had folded under her head for a pillow and tucked in the ragged folds of her great cloak about her arms and legs. “I’ll let you know when something happens.”
Her eyes closed at once, which was what he had expected, given the strength of the sleeping potion he had dropped into her drink. He took the aleskin and tucked it away in a storage bin to one side of the control panel, out of sight but ready to use if he needed it again. But she wouldn’t wake for twelve hours or better, if he’d measured the dosage right. He looked down at her, his little sister, tough as nails and so anxious to demonstrate it she would have insisted on getting up if he hadn’t drugged her. She confused him sometimes, the way she was always trying to prove herself, as if she hadn’t already done so a dozen times over. But better to be like that, he supposed, than to be content with the way things were. His sister set the standard, and she was always looking to improve on it. He could wish for more like her, but he wouldn’t find them no matter how hard he looked. There was only one Little Red.
He yawned, thought he wouldn’t mind a little sleep himself, then walked over to the ship’s railing and looked down at Spanner Frew and the others as they placed the rolling logs under the pontoons. The block and tackle was already in place, strapped to a huge old oak fifty yards back with the rope ends clipped to iron pull rings that had been screwed into the aft horns just above the waterline.
“We could use another pair of hands!” the shipwright shouted up at Big Red as he took in the slack in the ropes with an audible grunt.
Redden Alt Mer climbed down the ship’s ladder and joined the others as they picked up the lead rope, set themselves, and began to heave against the weight of the airship. Even after she had been pulled off the rocks and straightened so that her pontoons were resting on the logs, the Jerle Shannara was difficult to budge. Eventually, Big Red took three others forward and began to rock her. After some considerable effort and harsh words had been expended, she began to move. Once she got rolling, they worked swiftly. Pulling steadily on the ropes, they rotated the rolling logs under her floats as she lumbered backwards until they got her perhaps three dozen yards off the exposed flat and into a mix of trees and bushes.