THE VOYAGE OF THE JERLE SHANNARA : Morgawr (BOOK THREE)

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” he told her, not sure what else to say that wouldn’t make her furious and even more determined.

She seemed to consider the merits of his objection, then smiled. “Do you know what I like most about you, Bek? Not how you look or think, not your laugh or the way you see the world, although I like those things, too. What I really like about you is that you don’t ever act as if I’m not just as good as everyone else. You take it for granted that I am, and you treat me with respect. I don’t have to fight you for that. I can expect it as a matter of course. I am your equal; I might even be a little better in some ways.” She paused. “I wouldn’t want to lose that.”

There was not much he could say to her after that. So he simply nodded and smiled back, and she kissed him hard to show that she appreciated his understanding. He liked having her kiss him, but it didn’t make him feel any better about taking her along.

But the issue was decided, so they slipped over the side of the ship and walked to the edge of the bluff, followed the precipice to the trailhead, and started down. It was light enough now that they could make out the shapes of the trees and the soft movement of leaves and branches in the slow morning wind. Bek cast about with his magic as they descended, taking no chances on being caught off guard, even if what he was doing somehow alerted the dead Graak’s mate. If the mate was anywhere close, he had already decided they would turn right around. Even Little Red couldn’t argue with that.

But fortune smiled on them, and they slipped into the Crake as invisible as wraiths. Bek used the magic of the wishsong to cloak them in the look and feel of the rain forest, choosing images and smells that would not attract a carnivore. Draped in trailers of mist and cooled by the morning wind, they slid through the trees with the ease and freedom of shadows, untroubled by the dangers that on this occasion were elsewhere. They found Quentin’s sword muddied but still in one piece beside the body of the dead Graak, retrieved it, and made their way back again. The sun was cresting the jagged line of mountains east when they began their climb back up the trail.

That was so easy, Bek thought in surprise as they regained the bluff. Why couldn’t it have been like that for Quentin? But then, of course, there would have been no reason for Grianne to come awake, and he would not have seen for himself that her responses to pain and suffering were no longer those of the Ilse Witch, but of his sister. He would not have discovered that maybe she could return to him after all when she was ready.

Rue Meridian turned to him, a mix of mischievousness and satisfaction mirrored in her green eyes. “Admit it. That wasn’t so bad.”

He shook his head and sighed. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Remember that the next time you think about doing something dangerous without me.” She reached out and took hold of the back of his neck with both hands and pulled him close to her. “If you love me, if I love you, there shouldn’t be any question of that ever happening. Otherwise, what we feel for each other isn’t real. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He shook his head. “Yes, it does. It means everything.”

She grinned, brushing loose strands of her long hair from her face. “I know. So don’t forget it.”

She picked up the pace and moved ahead of him. He stared after her, barely able to contain himself. In her words and smile, in everything she said and did, he saw a future that would transcend all his expectations of what he had ever imagined possible. It was only a dream, but wasn’t reality conceived in dreams?

His euphoria peaked and faded in a wash of doubt. It was foolish, he thought, to let himself think like this, to allow his emotions to cloud his reason. Look at where he was. Look at what had befallen him. Where, in all of this, did dreams like his belong? He watched Rue Meridian’s stride lengthen and as he did so, felt those dreams slip away, too frail to hold, too insubstantial to grasp. He was drawing pictures in the sand, and the tide was coming in.

When they reached the trailhead and walked back toward the Jerle Shannara, they found Redden Alt Mer and his Rovers gathered at the edge of the bluff, looking east. The Wing Riders were flying in from the coast, and they had someone with them.





Twenty-five