The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

They flew north out of the Westland, then turned east across the Streleheim Plains down the corridor that lay between the Dragon’s Teeth and the Knife Edge Mountains. It was a shipping lane used by almost everyone traveling west and east above Callahorn, and they passed other airships at regular intervals. The weather remained good, the skies clear and calm, the days warm and dry, the nights deep and cool, and there were no more storms. The Skatelow kept a steady pace, but not a fast one, staying low and hugging the forestline above Paranor. She sailed at night as well as during the day, and Gar Hatch put her down only twice in three days for fresh water and brief repairs.

Pen spoke with Cinnaminson every day, several times a day, and there was no indication from her behavior that she was trying to avoid him. In fact, she seemed eager to search him out, although she never did so in a way that suggested she was disobeying her father’s wishes. Pen, for his part, tried to make their meetings seem to those who might observe to be about something other than their growing friendship. But he didn’t even try to pretend to her that he wasn’t interested. He was captivated, and even at his young age he could not mistake what he was feeling for her. He was excited just at the prospect of seeing her, and every day brought new opportunities to do so. He looked forward to those moments with an anticipation that made him ache.

But he never asked her about that first night. The more he thought about doing so, the less comfortable he felt. In the first place, he had been spying on her, and he didn’t want her to know that. Nor could he think of a way to broach the subject without seeming to pry. It wasn’t his place to ask her what she was doing for her father. At best, it would make her uncomfortable because anything she told him would be a betrayal. He still wanted to know how she could sail an airship despite being blind, but he decided it would have to be her idea to tell him.

He had plenty of time to indulge his newfound attraction for her. Tagwen was often airsick and seldom appeared topside. He was a Dwarf, he pointed out sourly, and he belonged on the ground. Khyber had resumed her Druid studies and spent most of her time with her uncle. Pen would see them sitting across from each other on the decking, heads bent close in conversation, the girl taking notes and making animated gestures that indicated she was trying to understand what he was teaching. Much of the time, they remained in their cabin, freer to engage in open discussion than when the Rovers were present. Khyber, always intense, seemed more so now that they had set out, perhaps appreciating better than Pen did the weight of the task she had agreed to shoulder.

But Pen, too, spent much of his time thinking about why he was there, a passenger aboard an airship bound for the Charnals and country few had ever explored. He no longer questioned whether what he was doing was the right thing. He no longer even questioned the motives of the King of the Silver River in sending him. He just accepted it and concentrated instead on how he was going to get through in one piece. If he allowed himself to think about the larger picture, it was too overwhelming to contemplate. So much was expected of him, and he had no reason to believe those expectations were justified. He found he could manage better if he considered things incrementally. Step one was escaping the Galaphile and Terek Molt. He’d done that. Step two was reaching Emberen and enlisting help from Ahren Elessedil. He’d done that, too. Step three was embarking on the journey east.

When he got to step four, however, things became a little less clear. Finding the tanequil was the goal, but he had the feeling that there were a few other steps in between and he would not find out what they were right away. Only time would reveal them, and it would not do to try to plan too far ahead. That he was making the journey on faith in the first place helped him accept that, but it didn’t make him any less anxious about the outcome.

Spending time with Cinnaminson relaxed him most. He understood it was an indulgence, one that was difficult to justify given the seriousness of his purpose. But he understood, as well, that something was needed to distract him from his doubts and fears, and turning his thoughts to Cinnaminson helped. He wasn’t foolish enough to expect that this infatuation would grow into something more. He knew it would be finished when they reached their destination and disembarked from the airship. But it did no good to think in those terms. Better to allow a little light into a darkened room than to worry about what would happen once it faded.

On the third day, they were sitting in the bow where he was pretending to write and she to listen to what he had written, their backs to the pilot box and Gar Hatch.

“Can you tell me where you are going?” she asked him quietly.

“I can tell you anything, Cinnaminson.”

“Not anything. You know you can’t do that.”

He nodded to himself. She understood some things better than he did. “We go into the Charnals, looking for the ruins of an ancient city. Ahren wants to look for something there.”

“But he brings you and Khyber and Tagwen to help him,” she said. “An odd company for such an effort.”