Ilse Witch

Seconds later, they were clear of the island once more and climbing the ladder to safety.

Bek was among those who helped pull the Druid and the Highlander back aboard the airship as it lifted high above Flay Creech and its twisting mass of frustrated, maddened eels. When he had his cousin standing before him, torn and bloodied, but smiling, as well, Bek tried to say something to him about agreeing to take risks and scaring him half to death, then gave it up and threw his arms about the other in a warm, grateful hug.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me!” Quentin yelped. When Bek hurriedly backed off, his cousin’s smile broadened. “Happy to see me safe, Bek? Never a moment’s doubt, was there? You could tell. We had a clear path all the way.”

Walker was at his elbow, fumbling in his robes for what he had recovered, and the rest of the ship’s company crowded close. What he produced was a flat metal rectangle with symmetrical ridges that connected in a geometrical pattern to a small raised square that vibrated softly. A red light embedded in the square blinked on and off. Everyone stared at it in wonder. Bek had never seen anything like it before.

“What is it?” Panax asked finally.

“A key,” Walker answered. “But not a key of the sort we know. This key belongs to the technology of the Old World, from before the Great Wars, from the old civilization of Man. It is a form of machine and has a life of its own.”

He let them study it a moment longer, then slipped it back into his robes. “It has secrets to tell us if we can unlock them,” he said quietly, then clasped Quentin’s shoulder in thanks, and walked away.

The remainder of the company dispersed to their stations and work, the adventure of Flay Creech behind them. Joad Rish was already stripping off the Highlander’s tunic to clean his wounds. Quentin accepted congratulations from a few of the ship’s company who lingered, then sat heavily on a barrel top and winced as the Healer began to work on him in earnest. Bek stayed close, silent company, and alone saw the hint of raw fear that flashed in his cousin’s green eyes as he looked down at his torn body and realized momentarily how close he had come to dying.

But then he was looking up again, himself once more, smiling rakishly a1s he held up a single finger.

One down, Quentin was saying.

Bek smiled back. One down, he was thinking in response, but two still to go.

TWENTY-ONE





It took two more months of travel to reach the island of Shatterstone. Bek had thought they would arrive more quickly since it had taken them only ten days to gain Flay Creech. But Walker’s rough-drawn map showed the distance to be considerably greater, and it was.

Nevertheless, the days between passed swiftly, eaten up by routine tasks and small crises. Bek continued to learn about airships—how they were constructed, why they flew, and what was needed to maintain them. He was given a chance to try his hand at almost everything, from polishing the diapson crystals to threading the radian draws. He was allowed to go topside to see how the draws were attached to the light sheaths so as to draw down their power. He was given time at the ship’s rudders and controls and a chance at plotting courses. By the end of the two months, Redden Alt Mer thought him competent enough to leave him alone in the pilot box for several hours at a stretch, allowing him to become accustomed to the feel of the airship and the ways she responded to his touch.

For the most part, the weather continued to favor them. There were storms, but they did not cause the ship damage or ship’s company to fear. A few were severe enough that ship and passengers sought shelter in an island’s protective cove or windward bluffs. Once or twice they were badly lashed by heavy winds and rain while still aloft, but the Jerle Shannara was well made and able to endure.