On the morning following Farshaun Req’s burial, the Quickening and her passengers resumed their journey into the Charnals. They departed at sunrise on a morning that started out badly and steadily got worse. Dawn showed as a band of crimson and pale silver that lasted less than twenty minutes and then dissolved into gloom. Massive banks of clouds obscured the skies for as far as the eye could see and turned the whole of the mountain range sullen and threatening.
The members of the company went about their tasks purposefully, but no one could shake their sense of unease. That a storm was coming was a given; all that remained to be determined was how severe it would become and how long it would last. It was a commonly held belief among airmen that a red sky at dawn was a clear sign of an impending storm, and the more intense the color, the harder the blow to follow.
Because Farshaun was no longer with them, Austrum assumed command of the helm. An argument might have been made that either Railing or Mirai was the more capable pilot, but neither felt inclined to suggest this. Mirai barely glanced at Austrum when he climbed into the box and took over the controls, moving instead to the bow to begin helping the other Rovers work the lines. She didn’t spare a glance for Railing, either, which irked him, but nevertheless felt consistent with the way he expected she would behave from here on out. Last night was last night; it was over and done with, and he would get no special attention because of it. Not in the midst of their journey and not with any of the others around to take note. She had told him how it would be. She would wait to see how he conducted himself. If he found the means to toughen himself against his doubts and to set an example for the others, then things might change.
So he tamped down the twinges of regret and doubt about her seeming disinterest in him and concentrated on taking his first steps toward getting back to the person he had once been—Redden’s twin, yes, but the one who wasn’t afraid to risk anything, the one who was never in doubt. He plunged into the work of helping to fly the airship into the teeth of what everyone knew would be a very bad storm and set everything else aside.
He found himself beside Challa Nand at one point. “Doesn’t look good, does it?”
The Troll glanced at him. “Nothing gets by you, does it, Railing Ohmsford? Got any magic to get us through this?”
The boy shrugged. “Maybe. If it comes to it. And I do have some flying skills that might be useful when Austrum gets tired.”
“You’ll be needing them.” Challan Nand paused to look out at the darkness approaching. “We’ll miss the old Rover this day, I think.”
“He was the best of us when it came to flying an airship. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.” The memories came flooding back, and he shook his head. “What I said about him at the burial site was true. Everything I know, I learned from him.”
Challa Nand glanced over. “Then try not to forget any of it,” he said, and moved away.
The morning slogged on, with everyone’s attention on the darkening skies. To the north, lightning flashed in jagged streaks—bursts of brightness followed by deep rolls of thunder and then long periods of silence. The wind came up an hour past sunrise, hard and quick, given to sudden bursts strong enough to knock you off your feet if you weren’t paying attention. It howled down the canyons and through the peaks, ripping at lone stands of blasted trees and jagged rock. It slammed against the hull of the Quickening with such force that it repeatedly knocked them off course and forced them to stay well clear of cliffs against which they otherwise might have been smashed.
Before long, Austrum relinquished the helm to Railing, moving out of the pilot box and back down onto the deck. As handed over control of the ship, he gave Railing a look and a quick nod. How much did he know? Did it matter? Railing nodded back, but kept his expression neutral.
Railing soon found that his arms were aching after only an hour of holding the airship steady. The concentration necessary to withstand the force of the blow required forgetting about everything else, and he was grateful to do so. Skint was forward, monitoring their progress from the bow. Challa Nand stood next to him in the pilot box, listening to the Gnome Tracker’s warnings before suggesting adjustments. His huge presence was a comfort as he pointed out favorable avenues of passage, gaps that might better serve them, heights and depths they might more easily travel. He seemed to know a great deal about flying airships, particularly in these mountains, and Railing paid attention to his advice. They would make it through this patch of bad weather, he kept telling himself. They would find a way.