Ilse Witch

19

Dawn broke in a bright golden blaze at the line between sky and earth on the eastern horizon, and the airfield south of Arborlon began to fill with Elves come to watch the launch of the expedition. Thousands approached, crowding down the roads and walks, slipping along the narrow forest trails and pathways, filling the spaces at the edges of the field until their eager, excited faces ringed the bluff. Organized by unit and company, a sizable contingent from the Elven army was already in place, drawn up in formation at both ends of the field, Elven Hunters in their soft green and taupe dress uniforms, Home Guard in emerald trimmed with crimson, and Black Watch standing tall and dark and forbidding like winter trees. Overhead, Elven airships that had already lifted off circled like silent phantoms, sailing on the back of a slow, soft morning wind.

At the center of the airfield, solitary and proud, the sleek, dark airship that was the object of everyone’s attention hung just off the ground in the new light, her sails unfurled and her lines taut, straining to be free.

Quentin on one side and Panax on the other, Bek Rowe stood watching from the bow. All about the railings fore and aft were gathered the Rovers who would crew the ship, the Elven Hunters who would defend her, and the few other members of the expedition chosen by Walker. The Druid stood with Redden Alt Mer in the pilot box, talking quietly, sharp eyes shifting left and right as he spoke, hands folded into his black robes.

Ahren Elessedil stood alone amidships by the foremast, isolated from everyone. He was a small, slight Elf with boyish features and a quiet manner. Whereas his brother Kylen was fair and blond in the traditional manner of the Elessedils, Ahren was dusky of skin and brown of hair, closer in appearance to the great Queen Wren. He had come aboard with the other Elves, but quickly separated from them and had remained apart since. He seemed lost and uncertain of himself as he stood looking out at the crowds. Bek felt sorry for him. He was in a difficult position. Officially, he was a representative of the Elessedil family and the crown, but everyone knew that Walker had been forced to include him because Kylen had insisted on it. Rumor had it that Kylen wanted him out of the way.

That accounted for everyone but Truls Rohk. Of the shape-shifter, there was still no sign.

A blare of trumpets drew Bek’s eyes to where the crowd was parting to make way for the Elven King and his retinue. A long line of Home Guard marched through the gap, flanking standard bearers who bore the flags of all the Elven Kings and Queens dead and gone, personal icons sewn on brightly colored fields swirling in the breeze. When they had passed onto the airfield, the Elessedil family banner hove into view, a crimson image of the Ellcrys emblazoned on a field of green. Kylen Elessedil followed on horseback, raised high enough above the heads of the crowd so that all could see him. His wife and children rode on horses behind him followed on foot by the more distant members of his family and his personal retinue. The long column marched out of the trees and onto the airfield and took up a position directly in front of the airship’s curved bow.

The trumpets sounded once more and went still. The crowd quieted, and Kylen Elessedil lifted his arms in greeting.

“Citizens of Arborlon! Friends of the Elven!” His booming voice carried easily from one end of the field to the other. “We are gathered to witness and to celebrate an epochal event. A band of men and women of great courage will go forth this day on our behalf and on behalf of all free and right-thinking men and women everywhere. They sail the winds of the world in search of truths that have eluded us for thirty years. On their journey, they will attempt to discover the fate of my father’s brother’s expedition, lost those thirty years ago, of those ships and men, and of the Elfstones they carried, which are our heritage. On their journey, they will seek out treasures and magics that are rightfully ours and that can be put to the uses for which they were intended by the men and women for whom they were meant—Elves, one and all!”

A cheer rose from the crowd, swelling quickly to a roar. Bek glanced about at the faces of those gathered close, but found no expression on any save Quentin’s, where a kind of vague amusement flickered like candlelight in the wind and was gone.

“My brother Ahren leads this expedition on behalf of my family and our people,” Kylen continued as the cheering died away. “He is to be commended and respected for his bravery and his sense of duty. With him go some of the bravest of our Elven Hunters; our good friend from the Druids of Paranor, Walker; a complement of skilled and capable Rovers to captain and crew the ship; and a select band of others drawn from the Four Lands who will lend their talents and courage to this most important effort. Acknowledge them all, my friends! Praise them well!”

Again, the roar went up, the banners waved, and the air was filled with sound and color, and Bek, in spite of his cynicism, found himself infused with unmistakable pride.

Kylen Elessedil held up his hands. “We have lost a good and well-loved King in these past weeks. Treachery and cowardice have taken my father, Allardon Elessedil, from us. It was his dying wish that this expedition set forth, and I would be a poor son and subject indeed if I failed to honor his wishes. These men and women”—he gestured behind him toward the ship—“feel as I do. Everything possible has been done to assure their success and speedy return. We send them off with our good wishes, and we will not cease to think of them until they are safely home again.”

Clever, Bek thought, to lay everything off on the old King, dead and gone. Kylen had learned something of politics already. If the expedition failed, he had made certain the blame would not be laid at his feet. If it succeeded, he would be quick to share in the rewards and claim the credit.

Bek shook his head at Quentin, who just shrugged and grinned ruefully.

The crowd was cheering anew, and while the people did so, a member of the Elven High Council carried to the King a long, slender green bottle. The King accepted it, wheeled his stallion about, and walked him to just below the bow of the airship. Hands raised anew, he turned once more to the crowd.

“Therefore, as King of the Land Elves and Sovereign Lord of the Westland, I wish this brave company success and good sailing, and I give to their ship the cherished name of one of our own, revered and loved over the years. I give to this ship the name Jerle Shannara!”

He turned back to the airship, standing tall in the stirrups of his saddle, and swung the bottle against the metal-sheathed horns of the bow rams. The green glass shattered in a spray of bright liquid, and the air was filled with silver and gold crystals, then with rainbow colors erupting in showers that geysered fifty feet skyward and coated in a fine crystalline mist all those who stood with the King and those aboard ship. Bek, who had shielded himself automatically, brushed at his tunic sleeves and watched the mist come away in a soft, warm powder that fizzled on his hands like steam, then faded on the air.

The crowd cheered and shouted anew, “Long live the Jerle Shannara” and “Long live Kylen Elessedil.” The cheering went on and on, rising across the open bluff and sailing off into the distant forests beyond, echoes on the wind. Trumpets blew and drums boomed, and the banners of the dead Elven Kings waved and whipped at the end of their lofted standards. The ropes that bound the Jerle Shannara were released, and the sleek black airship rose swiftly, wheeled away from the sun toward the still-dark west, and began to pick up speed. The bluff below and those assembled on it fell away, turning small and faint in the light morning haze. The cheers died and the shouts faded, and Arborlon and her people were left behind.

That first day passed quickly for Bek, though not as quickly as he would have liked. It started out well enough, with Redden Alt Mer bringing the boy into the pilot box to stand next to him while he conducted a series of flight tests on the Jerle Shannara, taking her through various maneuvers intended to check her responses and timing. The Rover even let the boy steer the great ship at one point, talking him through the basics of handling the rudder and line controls. Bek repeated once more what he had learned the previous day about the components of the airship and their functions.

All this helped take his mind off the motion of the ship as it rocked and swayed on the back of the wind, but it wasn’t enough to save him. In the end, his stomach lurched and knotted with deliberate and recognizable intent. Redden Alt Mer saw the look on his face and pointed him toward the bucket that sat at the foot of the box.

“Let her go, lad,” he advised with an understanding smile. “It happens to the best of us.”

Bek doubted that, but there was nothing he could do to save himself. He spent the next few hours wishing he were dead and imagining that if the weather was even the least bit severe, he would be. He noted between heaves that the frail young seer, Ryer Ord Star, looked equally distressed where she sat alone at the aft railing with her own bucket in hand, and that even the stalwart Panax had gone green around the gills.

No one else seemed to be affected, not even Quentin, who was engaged in combat practice with the Elven Hunters in a wide space on the foredeck, working his way through a series of blows and parries, advances and retreats, urged on by the immutable Ard Patrinell. Most of the others aboard, he was told later by Big Red, had sailed airships before and so were accustomed to their motion. Bek would never have believed that so little movement could make anyone feel so sick, but, his safety line securely in place, he forced himself to stay upright and interested in what was happening about him, and by midafternoon he was no longer struggling.

Walker came by once or twice to inquire after him. The Druid’s dark face and somber demeanor never changed when he did so, and nothing in his words suggested reproval or disappointment. He simply asked both the boy and the ship’s Captain how the former’s training was coming and seemed satisfied with their answers. He was there and gone so quickly that Bek wasn’t entirely sure Walker had noticed how ill “the boy” was—although it seemed impossible to imagine he hadn’t.

In any case, Bek got through the experience and was grateful when later in the day the Elven Healer Joad Rish gave him a root to chew that would aid in staving off further attacks. He tried a little, found it bitter and dry, but quickly decided that any price was worth keeping his stomach settled.

It was nearing sunset, his flying lessons complete for the day and his equilibrium restored, when Ahren Elessedil approached Bek. He was standing at the portside railing looking out at the sweep of the countryside below, the land a vast, sprawling checkerboard of green and brown, the sun sliding westward into the horizon, when the young Elf came up to stand beside him.

“Are you feeling better now?” Ahren asked solicitously.

Bek nodded. “Although I thought I was going to turn myself inside out for a while there.”

The other smiled. “You did well for your first time. Better than me. I was sent up when I was twelve to learn about airships. On my father’s orders. He believed his children should be schooled often and early in the world’s mechanics. I was not a very strong boy, and the flying didn’t agree with me at all. I was up for two weeks and sick every day. The Captain of the ship never said a word, but I was humiliated. I just never got the hang of any of it.”

“I was surprised at how quickly I got sick.”

“I think it builds up inside you, so that by the time you realize how badly you feel, it seems like it’s happening all at once.” The Elf paused and turned toward him. “I’m Ahren Elessedil.”

Bek shook the other’s hand. “Bek Rowe.”

“The Druid brought you with him, didn’t he? You and the Highlander? That says you are someone special. Can you work magic?”

There it was again. Bek smiled ruefully. “Quentin has a sword that can work magic, although he doesn’t know how to use it very well yet. I can’t do anything.” He thought about the phoenix stone, but kept the thought to himself. “Can you?”

Ahren Elessedil shook his head. “Everyone knows why I’m here. My brother doesn’t want me anywhere near Arborlon. He’s worried that if something happens to him, I’ll be placed on the throne ahead of his own children because they’re too young to rule. It’s an odd concern, don’t you think? If you’re dead, what does any of it matter?” He seemed sad and distant as he spoke. “My father would probably agree with me. He didn’t think all that much about succession and order of rule, and I guess I don’t either. Kylen does. He’s been training for it all his life, so it matters to him. We don’t like each other very much. I suppose it’s better that I’m out here, on this airship, on this expedition, than back in Arborlon. At least we’re out of each other’s hair.”

Bek nodded and said nothing.

“Did you know that my father and Walker didn’t like each other?” Ahren asked, looking at him sharply. Bek shook his head no. “They had a terrible fight some years ago about establishing a Druid Council at Paranor. Walker wanted Father’s help, and Father wouldn’t give it. They didn’t speak for years and years. It’s odd that they agreed on this expedition when they couldn’t agree on anything else, don’t you think?”

Bek furrowed his brow.

“But maybe they found more in the way of common ground on the issue of this expedition than they did on the issue of a Druid Council.” Ahren didn’t wait for his reply. “There’s some sort of Elven magic involved, and both would have wanted possession of that. I think the truth of the matter is that they needed each other. There is this map that only Walker can read, and there is the cost of the airship and crew that only Father could manage. And he would have agreed to provide the Elven Hunters to keep us all safe. If anyone can manage to do so. My uncle carried Elfstones, and that wasn’t enough to save him.”

He was being so forthright about matters that Bek was encouraged to ask a question he otherwise would not have asked. “Ard Patrinell was removed as Captain of the Home Guard when your father was killed. If he’s out of favor with your brother and the High Council, why has he been sent to command the Elven Hunters on this expedition?”

Ahren grinned. “You don’t understand how these things work, Bek. It is because he is out of favor that he’s been sent with us. Kylen wants him out of Arborlon almost as much as he wants me out. Ard is my friend and protector. He trained me personally at my father’s express command. Everything I know about fighting and battle tactics, I learned from him. Kylen doesn’t trust him. My father’s death gave my brother the perfect excuse to strip Ard of his command, and this expedition offered him a way to remove both Ard and me from the city.”

He gave Bek a cool look of appraisal. “You seem pretty smart, Bek. So let me tell you something. My brother doesn’t think we’re coming back—any of us. Maybe, deep down inside where he hides his darkest secrets, he even hopes it. He’s supporting this expedition because he can’t think of a way out of it. He’s doing this because Father decreed it as he lay dying, and a newly crowned King can’t afford to ignore that sort of deathbed admonition. Besides, in a single stroke of good fortune he manages to get rid of me, Ard Patrinell, and the Druid, none of whom he has any particular use or liking for. If we don’t come back, that solves his problem for good, doesn’t it?”

Bek nodded. “I suppose so.” He paused, thinking about the implications of it all. “It doesn’t make me feel very good about being part of the expedition, however.”

Ahren Elessedil cocked his head reflectively. “It’s not supposed to. On the other hand, maybe we’ll fool him. Maybe we’ll survive.”

That night, when dinner was complete, the airship coasting on ambient starlight, and crew and passengers alike beginning to settle into their quarters for sleep, Walker called together a small number of the ship’s company for a meeting. Bek and Quentin were among those summoned, which surprised both, since neither considered himself a part of the vessel’s leadership. By then Bek had shared with his cousin his conversation with Ahren Elessedil, and the two of them had debated at length how many others aboard ship understood as the young Elf did how expendable they were considered by the Elven King who had dispatched them. Certainly Walker appreciated the situation. Ard Patrinell probably understood it as well. That was about it. Everyone else would be operating under the assumption that Kylen Elessedil and the Elven High Council fully supported the expedition and anticipated its safe and successful return.

Except perhaps the Rovers, Bek added, almost as an afterthought. Big Red and his sister seemed pretty quick, and it was common knowledge in the Four Lands that Rovers had ears everywhere.

Bek was of the opinion that he should tell all of this to Walker in any case, since the Druid wanted to know everything the boy saw or heard while aboard ship, but there had been no opportunity as yet to talk with him. Now they were gathered in Redden Alt Mer’s quarters below the aft decking for the meeting Walker had called, and Bek put the matter aside. In addition to the Druid and the Highland cousins, others present included Big Red and his sister, Ahren Elessedil and Ard Patrinell, and the frail-looking seer, Ryer Ord Star. As the others crowded close to Walker, who stood at a table with a hand-drawn chart spread out before him, the seer alone hung back in the shadows. Childlike and shy, her strange eyes luminescent and her skin as pale as parchment, she watched them as if she were a wild thing ready to bolt.

“Tomorrow midday we will reach the coast of the Blue Divide,” Walker began, looking at each of them in turn. “Once there, we meet up with Hunter Predd and two other Wing Riders who will accompany us on our voyage, serving as scouts and foragers. Our journey from there will take us west and north, where we will seek out three islands. Each requires a stop and a search for a talisman that we must claim in order to succeed in our quest. The islands are familiar to no one aboard, myself included. They lie beyond the regions explored either by airships or Rocs. They are named on the map we follow, but they are not well described.”

“Nor are we certain of the distances to each,” Redden Alt Mer added, drawing all eyes momentarily to him. “Headings are clearly marked, but distances are vague. Our progress may depend greatly on the weather we encounter.”

“Our Captain believes from the information I’ve been able to extract from the original map that the first island requires about a week’s travel,” Walker continued. He pointed at the map. “This copy is an approximation of the one we follow and will be left out for anyone who wishes to view it during the course of our travels. I’ve made it larger so that it will be easier to see. The islands we seek lie here, here, and here.” He pointed to each. “Flay Creech is the first, Shatterstone the second, and Mephitic the third. They will have been chosen deliberately by whoever concealed the talismans we seek. Each talisman will be protected. Each island will be warded. Going ashore will be a dangerous business, and we will limit each search party to the smallest number possible.”

“What sort of talismans do we search for?” Ard Patrinell asked quietly, leaning forward for a better look at the map.

“Keys,” Walker said. “Of their size and shape, I can’t be sure. I think from the writing on the map they are all the same, but possibly they are not.”

“What do they do?” Ahren Elessedil asked boldly, his young face wearing its most determined look.

Walker smiled faintly. “What you might expect, Elven Prince. They open a door. When we have the keys in our possession, we will sail until we reach Ice Henge.” He pointed to a symbol drawn on the map. “Once there, we search for the safehold of Castledown. The keys will gain us entrance when we have found it.”

There was momentary silence as they studied the map in earnest. In the shadows, Ryer Ord Star’s eyes were locked on Walker’s dark face, an intense and feverish gaze, and it seemed to Bek, glancing over at her, as if she fed herself in some way by what she found there.

“How will you get ashore on these islands?” Rue Meridian asked, breaking the silence. “Will you use the ship or the Rocs?”

“The Rocs, when and where I can, because they are more mobile,” the Druid answered.

She shook her head slowly. “Reconsider your decision. If we use the ship, we can lower you by winch basket or ladder from the air. If you rely on the Rocs, they will have to land. When they are grounded, they are vulnerable.”

“Your point is well taken,” Walker said. He glanced around. “Does anyone else wish to speak?”

To Bek’s surprise, Quentin responded. “Does the Ilse Witch know all this, too?”

Walker paused to study the Highlander carefully, then nodded. “Most of it.”

“So we are engaged in a race of sorts?”

Walker seemed to consider his answer before giving it. “The Ilse Witch does not have a copy of the map. Nor has she had the opportunity to study its markings as I have. She has probably gleaned her information from the mind of the castaway who carried the map. Of our general purpose and route, she will have full knowledge, I think. But of the particulars, there is some doubt. The castaway’s mind was nearly gone, and I have reason to think he did not know all of what the map revealed.”

“But knowing what she does she will have left by now on an airship of her own,” Ard Patrinell interrupted. “She will be looking for us, either following behind or lying in wait ahead.”

He made it a statement of fact, and Walker did not contradict him. Instead, he looked around once more. “I think we all appreciate the dangers we face. It is important that we do. We must be ready to defend ourselves. That we will be required to do so, probably more than once, is almost certain. Whether or not we are successful depends on our preparation. Be alert, then. Wherever you are, look about you and keep careful watch. Surprise will undo us quicker than anything.”

He made a small gesture of dismissal. “I think we’ve talked enough about it for tonight. Go to your berths and sleep. We will meet again tomorrow night and each night hereafter to discuss our plans.”

Leaving Redden Alt Mer to his cabin, they filed silently out, dispersing in the corridors belowdecks. As Bek followed Quentin, Walker stopped him with a light touch and took him aside. Quentin glanced back, then continued on without comment.

“Walk with me,” the Druid said to Bek, taking him down the corridor that led to the supply room. From there, they climbed topside and stood together at the portside railing, alone beneath a canopy of black sky and endless stars. A west wind brushed at their faces with a cool touch, and Bek thought he could smell the sea.

“Tell me what Ahren Elessedil had to say to you today,” Walker instructed softly, looking out into the night.

Bek did so, surprised the Druid had even noticed his conversation with the Elf. When he was finished, Walker did not speak again right away, continuing to stare off into the darkness, lost in thought. Bek waited, thinking that nothing he had repeated would be news to the Druid.

“Ahren Elessedil is made of tougher material than his brother knows,” was all the other said of the matter, when he finally spoke. Then his eyes shifted to find Bek’s. “Will you be his friend on this voyage?”

Bek considered the question, then nodded. “I will.”

Walker nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Keep your eyes and ears open, Bek. You will come to know things that I will not, and it will be important that you remember to tell me of them. It might not happen for a time, but eventually it will. One of those things might save my life.”

Bek blinked in surprise.

“Our young seer has already forecast that at some point I will be betrayed. She doesn’t know when or by whom. But she has seen that someone will try to kill me and someone else will try to lead me astray. Maybe they are the same person. Maybe it will be purposeful or maybe an accident. I have no way of knowing.”

Bek shook his head. “No one I’ve met aboard this ship seems disposed to wish you harm, Walker.”

The Druid nodded. “It may not be anyone aboard ship. It may be the enemy who tracks us, or it may be someone we will meet along the way. My point is that four eyes and ears are better than two. You still suspect you have no real function on this journey, Bek. I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. But your importance to me—to all of us—is greater than you think. Believe in that. One day, when the time is right, I will explain it fully to you. For now, keep faith in my word and watch my back.”

He glided silently into the darkness, leaving Bek staring after him in confusion. The boy wanted to believe what the Druid had told him, but that he might have any real importance on their journey was inconceivable. He considered the matter in silence, unable to come to terms with the idea. He would watch Walker’s back because he believed it was right to do so. How successful he would be was another matter, one he did not care to look at too closely.

Then, suddenly, he was aware of being watched. The feeling came over him swiftly and unexpectedly, attacking, not stealing. The force of it stunned him. He scanned quickly across the empty decking from bow to stern, where at each end an Elven Hunter as still and dark as fixed shadow kept watch. Amidships, the burly figure of Furl Hawken steered the airship from the pilot box. None of them looked at him, and there was no one else to be seen.

Still, Bek could feel hidden eyes settled on him, their weight palpable.

Then, as suddenly as the feeling had swept over him, it disappeared. All about, the star-filled night was wrapped in deepest silence. He stood at the railing a few moments longer, regaining his equilibrium and screwing his courage back into place, then hurried quickly below.