Morgawr

11

Aboard the Jerle Shannara, Redden Alt Mer paused at the aft railing of the airship and looked back at Black Moclips. She was laboring heavily as she tried to outrun the approaching storm, her armored hull tossing and slewing like a heavy branch caught in rapids. The storm was a black wall coming inland off the eastern coast, a towering mass of lightning-laced clouds riding the back of winds gusting at more than fifty knots. Little Red was doing the best she could to sail the airship alone, but it would have been a difficult task under ordinary circumstances. It was an impossible one here. Even if she reached the relative safety of the mountains ahead, there was no guarantee she would be able to find shelter until the storm passed. Landing an airship in the middle of a mountain range, with cliffs and downdrafts to contend with, was tricky business in any case. In the teeth of a storm like this one, it would be extremely dangerous.

Behind Black Moclips, at least a dozen of the enemy airships continued to give chase. He had thought he might lose them with the approach of the storm, but he had been wrong. Since yesterday morning, he had tried everything to shake them, but nothing had worked. Each time he thought he had given them the slip, they had reappeared out of nowhere. They shouldn’t have been able to do that. No one should have been able to find him so easily, especially not these ships, with their walking-dead crews and ship-shy Mwellrets.

They were tracking him somehow, tracking him in a way he hadn’t yet been able to identify. He had better do so soon. The repairs to the Jerle Shannara had not been completed before they had been forced to flee the coast, and the strain of having to rely on four of their six parse tubes and diapson crystals, the radian draws reconfigured to allow for the transference of energy, was beginning to tell. The draws were threatening to snap from the additional strain, and the airship’s maneuverability was less than he needed. Even though the Jerle Shannara was the faster airship, if something went wrong, their pursuers would be on them before they could make the necessary adjustment.

It didn’t help that no one had slept for more than a couple of hours since yesterday, and everyone was dog-tired. Tired men made mistakes, and if they made one here, it would probably cost them their lives.

He tested the aft starboard draw, adjusted the tension, and looked back again at Black Moclips. She was struggling to keep up, losing ground at an increasing pace. The Wing Riders flew on either side of her, offering their presence as reassurance, but the Elves were of no help in the sailing of the ship. Po Kelles had flown back to tell him what Little Red had done, and at first Alt Mer had been elated. They had the witch’s airship as well as their own, two chances to find a way out of this miserable country. But the convergence of their pursuers and the approach of the storm quickly made him realize that his sister might have seized too big a prize. Without a crew to assist her, she was seriously handicapped in her efforts to sail the captured ship. He would have put a couple of his own crew aboard to help her, but there was no way to do so without docking the airships; Rovers were skittish where Rocs were concerned.

A gust of wind howled through the rigging above him, producing a sharp and eerie whine, a wounded animal’s cry. The temperature was dropping, as well. If this kept up, there would be snow in the mountains and conditions for flying would become impossible.

He left the railing and hurried across the aft decking and down to the main deck and the pilot box where Spanner Frew stood like a rock at the helm, guiding the airship ahead with his steady hand.

“Lines still holding?” he bellowed as Big Red jumped up beside him in the box.

“For now—I don’t know for how much longer. We need to get down before that storm catches us!” They had to shout to be heard over the wind. He glanced over his shoulder at Black Moclips. “We have to do something to help Little Red. She’s game, but as good as she is, she can’t go it alone.”

Spanner Frew’s black-bearded face swung about momentarily, then straightened forward again. “If we could get a line to her, we could tow her.”

“Not in this weather—not with all those airships chasing us. We’d be slowed down, even using her parse tubes to help.”

The big man nodded. “Better get her off there, then! When that storm catches up, chances are pretty good she won’t be able to stay aloft. If she starts to go down then, we won’t be able to help her.”

Redden Alt Mer had already come to that conclusion. He wasn’t even sure he could manage to keep the Jerle Shannara flying. He toyed briefly with the prospect of changing over to Black Moclips and sailing her instead, since she was in better condition. But the Jerle Shannara was the faster, more maneuverable vessel, and he didn’t want to give her up when it was speed and maneuverability that were likely to make the difference in a confrontation with their pursuers. The matter was moot in any case because there wasn’t any real chance that he could get everyone off his ship and onto Little Red’s with the weather this bad.

He pursed his lips. Rue was going to be furious if he told her to give up her prize. She might not do it, even knowing how much trouble she was in.

He looked back again at Black Moclips and beyond to the enemy airships, black dots against the roiling darkness of the storm.

“How do they keep finding us?” he snapped at Spanner Frew, suddenly angry at how impossible things had gotten.

The shipwright shook his head and didn’t answer. A new level of frustration crept through Big Red. It was bad enough that they had lost Walker and all those who had gone inland to the ruins. It was bad enough that they had nothing to show for having come all this way and might well return home empty-handed—if they were able to get home at all. But it was intolerable that these phantom airships continued to harass them like hunting dogs would a fleeing, wounded animal, finding their tracks or their scent where there should be no trace of their passing at all.

There was nothing he could do about it just now. But he could do something about Little Red. She was not yet recovered from her wounds and couldn’t have had much more sleep than they had. She must be near exhaustion from flying Black Moclips alone, trying to manage everything from the pilot box, the wind howling past her like a demon set loose to tear her from the skies. She was a good pilot, almost as good as he was—and a better navigator. But it wouldn’t be enough to save her from this.

“I’m taking her off, Black Beard!” he yelled over to the shipwright. “Drop our speed one quarter and hold steady toward that split in the peaks ahead.”

“You want to take her off in a grapple?” Spanner Frew yelled back.

Redden Alt Mer shook his head. “It would take too long. She has to come to us. I’ll send one of the Wing Riders in.”

He jumped down to the main deck, shouting orders at the crew, telling them to find their places at the working parse tubes, to monitor the draws while he ran aft. At the railing, he dug through a wooden box and found the emerald pennant that meant he needed one of them to fly to him.

Of course, the signal wouldn’t work if no one was looking. And in a bad storm like this one, they might not be.

He fastened the pennant’s clips to a line and ran the piece of cloth up into the wind, where it snapped and cracked like ice breaking free in the Squirm. Facing back, he watched Black Moclips lurch and buck. Several of her draws had broken loose, and one of her sails was in tatters. She was flying on her pilot’s skill and sheer luck.

Even as he watched, she faded farther back in the haze of clouds and mist. The Wing Riders were barely visible, still flying to either side. Their pursuers had disappeared entirely.

Redden Alt Mer pounded his fist on the railing cap. Neither Hunter Predd nor Po Kelles had seen the pennant.

“Look at me!” he screamed in frustration.

Lost in the howl of the wind, the words blew away from him.

A thousand yards back, so fatigued that she was near collapse, Rue Meridian fought to keep the Jerle Shannara in sight. Her world had narrowed down to this single purpose. Forgotten were her plans for coming inland to the ruins, for finding and rescuing Bek and the others of the company, for trying to salvage something from the disaster this voyage had become, for doing anything but keeping her vessel flying. Though her thoughts were clouded and her mind numb from concentrating on working the controls, she knew she was in trouble. The Jerle Shannara was drawing farther away and the airships pursuing her were drawing closer. Soon, any chance for escape would be lost.

Black Moclips shuddered anew as the winds preceding the storm buffeted her. The airship lurched sideways and down. The problem was simple enough to diagnose if not to solve. The ambient-light sails had been kept furled during the past few days, and no new power had been gathered for the diapson crystals. No new power was being collected now because she couldn’t put up the sails in this storm—couldn’t put them up at all, for that matter, storm or not, by herself. The limited power that remained was being exhausted. Personal attention at the various parse tubes was needed to distribute it more efficiently, but she couldn’t leave the controls long enough to attempt that. The best she would do was to try to manipulate things from the pilot box, and while that was possible, it was never intended that an airship be flown by a single person.

She had a crew, but they were locked up belowdecks, and once she set them free she might as well lock herself up in their place.

The first flurries of snow blew past her face, and she was reminded again of how far the temperature had fallen. Winter seemed to be descending into a land that hadn’t seen such weather in more than a thousand years.

She tried to coax more speed from the crystals, forcing herself to try a different combination of power allocations, feeling Black Moclips slew and skid on the wind from her efforts, fighting off her growing certainty that nothing she could do would make any difference.

She was so absorbed in her efforts that she failed to see Hunter Predd soar ahead into the misty gray toward the Jerle Shannara. Po Kelles kept pace with her off to the port side, but she didn’t even glance at him. In her struggle to fly Black Moclips, she had all but forgotten the Wing Riders. Then Hunter Predd flew Obsidian right over her bow to catch her attention. She ducked in response to the unexpected movement, then turned as the Roc swung around and settled in off her starboard railing, almost close enough to touch, rocking back and forth with the force of the wind.

“Little Red!” Hunter Predd shouted into the wind, his words barely audible.

She glanced over and waved to let him know she heard.

“I’m taking you off the ship!” He waited a moment to let the impact of the words sink in. “Your brother says you have to come with me. That’s an order!”

Angry that Big Red would even suggest such a thing, she shook her head no at once.

“You can’t stay!” Hunter Predd shouted, bringing Obsidian in closer. “Look behind you! They’re right on top of you!”

She didn’t have to look; she knew they were there, the airships chasing her. She knew they were so close that if she turned, she could make out the blank faces of the dead men who flew them. She knew they would have her in less than an hour if something didn’t happen to change her situation. She knew if they didn’t catch her by then, it was only because she had gone down.

She knew, in short, that her situation was hopeless.

She just didn’t want to admit it. She couldn’t bear it, in fact.

“Little Red!” the Wing Rider called again. “Did you hear me?”

She looked over at him. He was hunched close to Obsidian’s dark neck, arms and legs gripping the harness, safety lines tethering rider and bird. He looked like a burr stuck in the great Roc’s feathers.

“I heard!” she shouted back.

“Then get off that ship! Now!”

He said it with an insistence that brooked no argument, an insistence buttressed by the knowledge that she must realize the precariousness of her situation as surely as her brother and he did. He stared at her from astride his bird, weathered features scrunched and angry, daring her to contradict him. She understood what he was thinking: if he didn’t convince her here and now, it would be too late; already, the Jerle Shannara was nearly out of sight ahead and the storm upon her. She could still do what she chose, but not for very much longer.

She stared through the tangled, windblown strands of her hair to the airship’s controls. Dampness ran down the smooth metal and gleaming wood in twisting rivulets. She studied the way her hands fit on the levers and wheel. She owned Black Moclips now; it belonged to her. She had snatched it away from the thieves who had stolen her own ship. She had claimed it at no small risk to herself, and she was entitled to keep it. No one had a right to take it away from her.

But that didn’t mean she was wedded to it. That didn’t mean she couldn’t give it up, if she chose. If it was her idea. After all, it was just something made out of wood and metal, not out of flesh and blood. It wasn’t possessed of a heart and mind and soul. It was only a tool.

She looked back at Hunter Predd. The Wing Rider was waiting. She pointed aft and down, then at herself. He nodded and swung away from the ship.

She snatched up the steering bands and lashed the wheels and levers in place, then hurried down the steps and across the slippery surface of the decking to the main hatchway. She went down in a rush, before she had time to think better of it. She was curiously at peace. The anger she had felt moments earlier was gone. Black Moclips was a fine airship, but it was only that and nothing more.

She reached the storeroom door where Aden Kett and his Federation crew were locked away and banged on the door. “Aden, can you hear me?”

“I hear you, Little Red,” the Commander replied.

“I’m letting you out and giving you back your ship. She’s struggling in this storm and needs a full crew to keep her flying. I can’t manage it alone. I own her, but I won’t let her die needlessly. So that’s that. You do what you can for her. All right?”

“All right.” She could tell from the sound of his voice that he was pressed up against the door on the other side.

“You’ll understand if I don’t stay around to see how this turns out.” She wiped at the moisture beading her forehead and dripping into her eyes. “You might have trouble doing the right thing by me afterwards. I’d hate to see you make a fool of yourself. So after I open this door, I’ll be leaving. Do you think you and the others can refrain from giving in to your worst impulses and coming after me?”

She heard him laugh. “Come after you? We’ve had enough of you, Little Red. We’ll all feel better knowing you’re off the ship. Just let us out of here.”

She paused then, leaning into the door, her face close to the cracks in the boards that formed it. “Listen to me, Aden. Don’t stay around afterwards. Don’t try to do the right thing. Forget about your orders and your sense of duty and your Federation training. Take Black Moclips and sail her home as quickly as you can manage it. Take your chances back there.”

She heard his boots shift on the flooring. “Who’s out there? We saw the other ships.”

“I don’t know. No one does, but it isn’t anyone you want anything to do with. More than a dozen airships, Aden, but no flags, no insignia, nothing human aboard. Just rets and men who look like they’re dead. I don’t know who sent them. I don’t care. You remember what I said. Fly out of here. Leave all this. It’s good advice. Are you listening?”

“I’m listening,” he answered quietly.

She didn’t know what else to say. “Tell Donell that I’m sorry I hit him so hard.”

“He knows.”

She pushed away from the door and stood facing it again. “See you down the road, Aden.”

“Down the road, Little Red.”

She reached for the latch and threw it clear, then turned and bolted up the stairs without looking back. In seconds she was topside again, surprised to find sleet had turned the world white. She ducked her head against the bitter sting of the wind and slush and moved to the aft railing. The rope Hunter Predd had used earlier to climb down to Obsidian was still tied in place and coiled on the deck. She threw the loose end overboard and watched it tumble away into the haze. She could just barely make out the dark contours of the Roc’s wings as it lifted into place below.

She looked back once at Black Moclips. “You’re a good girl,” she told her. “Stay safe.”

Then she was gone into the gloom.

Minutes later, Redden Alt Mer stood at the port railing of the Jerle Shannara and watched his sister pause in her climb up the rope ladder. She had gotten off the Roc all right, taken firm hold of the ladder and started up. But now she hung there with her head lowered and her long red hair falling all around her face, swaying in the wind.

He thought he might have to go down the ladder and get her.

Thinking that, he was reminded suddenly of a time when they were children, and he had gone high up into the top branches of an old tree. Rue, only five years old, had tried to follow, working her way up the trunk, using the limbs of the tree as rungs. But she wasn’t strong yet, and she tired quickly. Halfway up, she lost her momentum completely and stopped moving, hanging from the branches of that tree the way she was hanging from the rope ladder now. She was something of a nuisance back then, always tagging along after him, trying to do everything he was doing. He was four years older than she was and irritated by her most of the time. He could have left her where she was on the tree—had thought he might, actually. Instead, he had turned back and yelled down to her. “Come on, Rue! Keep going! Don’t quit! You can do it!”

He could yell those same words down to her now, to the little sister who was still trying to do everything he did. But even as he considered it, she lifted her head, saw him looking at her, and began to climb again at once. He smiled to himself. She came on now without slowing, and he reached out to take her arm, helping her climb over the railing and onto the ship.

Impulsively, he gave her a hug and was surprised when she hugged him back.

He shook his head at her. “Sometimes you scare me.” He looked into her wet face, reading the exhaustion in her eyes. “Actually, most of the time.”

She grinned. “That’s real praise, coming from you.”

“Flying Black Moclips all by yourself in a bad piece of weather like you did would scare anyone. It should have scared you, but I suppose it didn’t.”

“Not much.” She grinned some more, like the little kid she was inside. “I took her away from the witch, big brother. Crew and all. It was hard to give her up again. I didn’t want to lose her, though.”

“Better her than you. We don’t need her anyway. It’s enough if the witch doesn’t have her.” He gave his sister a small shove. “Go below and put on some dry clothes.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t need to change clothes just yet.”

“Rue,” he said, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “Don’t argue with me about this. You argue with me about everything. Just do it. You’re soaked through; you need dry clothes. Go change.”

She hesitated a moment, and he was afraid she was going to press the matter. But then she turned around and went down through the main hatch to the lower cabins, water dripping from her across the decking.

He watched her disappear from sight, thinking as she did that no matter how old they grew or what happened to them down the road, they would never feel any differently about each other. He would still be her big brother; she would still be his little sister. Mostly, they would still be best friends.

He couldn’t ask for anything better.

When she reemerged, the wind was blowing so hard it knocked her sideways. The rain and sleet had stopped, but the air was cold enough to freeze the tiny hairs in her nostrils. She wrapped her great cloak more tightly about her, warm again in dry clothes and boots, and pushed across the deck unsteadily to where her brother and Spanner Frew stood in the pilot box. Ahead, the mountains loomed huge and craggy against the skyline, a massing of jagged peaks and rugged cliffs piled one on top of the other until they faded away into the brume-shrouded distance.

She climbed into the pilot box, and her brother said at once, “Put on your safety harness.”

She did so, noting that all of the Rover crew on the decks below were strapped in as well, hunched down against the weather, stationed at the parse tubes and connecting draws.

When she glanced over her shoulder, she found the world behind had disappeared in a thick, dark haze, taking with it any sign of the pursuing airships.

Big Red glanced over. “They disappeared sometime back. I don’t know if they broke it off because of the weather or to go after Black Moclips. Doesn’t matter. They’re gone, and that’s enough. We’ve got bigger problems to deal with.”

Spanner Frew yelled something down to one of the Rovers amidships, and the crewman waved back, moving to tighten a radian draw. Big Red had stripped back all the sails, and the Jerle Shannara was riding bare-masted in the teeth of winds that sideswiped her as badly as they had Black Moclips. Rue saw that the radian draws had been reconfigured, strung away from two of the six parse tubes to feed power to the remaining four. Even those were singing with the vibration of the wind, straining to break free of their fastenings.

“I left a ship in better shape than this one,” she declared, half to herself.

“She’d be in better shape if we hadn’t had to leave quite so suddenly to find you!” Big Red grunted.

That wasn’t true, of course. They would have had to leave in any case to flee the enemy airships, no matter whether or not they were searching for her. Repairs of the sort needed by the Jerle Shannara required that the airship be stationary, and that wasn’t going to happen until they could set down somewhere.

“Any place we can land?” she asked hopefully.

Spanner Frew laughed. “You mean in an upright position? Or will a severe slant do?” His hands worked the steering levers with quick, anxious movements. “First things first. See those mountains ahead of us, Little Red? The ones that look like a big wall? The ones we’re in danger of smashing into?”

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 Shannara 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 Meridan, 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.