Ilse Witch

The river eventually ended in a bay surrounded by forest and fed by dozens of rivers and streams. A huge waterfall tumbled into its basin at one end, and a handful of smaller falls splashed over rocky precipices farther along. Birdsong filled the air, and a small herd of deer moved quickly off the water’s edge on sighting their craft. The Jerle Shannara eased into the bay like a large sea creature that had wandered inland, and Redden Alt Mer brought her to a stop at the bay’s center.

Gathered at the railings, the ship’s company stared out at the destination they had traveled so far to find. It was nothing special. It might have been any number of places in the Westland, so similar did it look with its mix of conifers and hardwoods, the scent of loam on the air, and its smells of needles and green leaves.

Then Bek realized in mild shock that it didn’t look or feel like winter here, even though it was the winter season. Once through the Squirm, they hadn’t found anything of ice or cold or snow or bitter wind. It was as if they had somehow found their way back to midsummer.

“This isn’t possible,” he murmured softly, confused and wary.

He glanced quickly at those around him to see if anyone else had noticed, but no one seemed to have done so. He waited a moment, then moved over to where Walker stood, alone, below the pilot box. The Druid’s eyes were leveled on the shoreline ahead, but they registered the boy’s approach.

“What is it, Bek?”

Bek stood beside him uncertainly. “It’s summer here, and it shouldn’t be.”

The Druid nodded. “It’s a lot of things here it shouldn’t be. Strange. Keep your eyes open.”

He ordered Big Red to take the airship down to the water and anchor her. When that was done, he sent a foraging party of Elven Hunters ashore for water, warning them that they were to stay together and in sight of the shoreline. The company would remain aboard ship tonight. A search for Castledown would begin in the morning. What was needed now was an inventory of the ship’s stores, an updated damage report, an unpacking and distribution of weapons to the members of the shore party, and some dinner. The Elven Hunters under Ard Patrinell and Ahren Elessedil would accompany him on the morrow’s search, along with Quentin, Bek, Panax, Ryer Ord Star, and Joad Rish. The Rovers would remain aboard ship until their return.

Before anyone could offer comment or complaint about his decision, he summoned his council of eight to a meeting in Redden Alt Mer’s cabin and walked from the deck.

Quentin sidled up to Bek. “Something is up, I’ll wager. Do you think the seer’s had another vision?”

Bek shook his head. The only thing he knew for certain was that Redden Alt Mer, dark-browed and stiff-necked as he came down off the pilot box, was not happy.

When the eight who composed Walker’s inner council were gathered belowdecks in the Rover Captain’s cabin, the boy found out what it was.

“I didn’t come this far to be left aboard ship while everyone else goes ashore,” Big Red snapped at the Druid.

“Nor I,” Rue Meridian agreed, flushed and angry. “We sailed1 a long way to find out what’s here. You ask too much of us, Walker.”

No one else spoke. They were pressed close about the Druid, gathered at the table that held the large-scale drawing of the castaway’s map, all but Ryer Ord Star, who remained in the background, a part of the shadows, watching silently. The warmth of their new environment not yet absorbed into the hull, the room smelled of damp and pitch and was still infused with the feel of the ice and cold they had left on the other side of the Squirm. Bek glanced at the faces about him, surprised by the mix of expectancy and tension he found mirrored there. It had taken them a long time to reach their destination, and much of what they had bottled up inside during their voyage was coming out.

Walker’s black eyes swept the room. He gestured at the map laid out before them. “How do you think the castaway who brought us the original of this map managed to get all the way from here to the coast of the Westland?”

He waited a moment, but no one answered. “It is a voyage of months, even by airship. How did the castaway manage it, already blind and voiceless and probably at least half-mad?”

“Someone helped him,” Bek offered, not wanting to listen any longer to the uncomfortable silence. “Maybe the same someone who helped him escape.”

The Druid nodded. “Where is that person?”

Again, silence. Bek shook his head, not eager to assume the role of designated speaker for the group.

“Dead, lost at sea during the escape, probably on the voyage back,” Rue Meridian said. “What are you getting at?”

“Let’s assume that is so,” Walker replied. “You have had a chance to study the map at length during this voyage. Most of the writings are done not with words, but with symbols. The writings aren’t of this age, but of an age thousands of years old, from a time before the Great Wars destroyed the Old World. How did our castaway learn that language?”