Railing stayed where he was just long enough to finish his ale and then followed him up.
On deck, he joined Mirai and the Rovers in working the lines, taking his place among them. He said nothing to the Highland girl, although they exchanged a brief glance. He was thinking—even in the teeth of this monster storm with winds lashing them and rains drenching them and the whole world around them gone as black as night—that they were going to get through. He was going to get through. And he would find a way to make certain the others got through with him. He would find Grianne Ohmsford, and he would persuade her to come back to help them, no matter what it took. He was strong enough for this. He was the one with the wishsong magic; even Challa Nand, that huge, seemingly indestructible Troll, had said they would need his magic before this was done. They all knew what he was capable of, and he didn’t have the right to doubt himself when they depended on him like that. There wasn’t room for doubt. There was only room for belief in himself and determination to make what was needed happen.
But reality has a way of demonstrating the limits of self-belief and determination, and shortly thereafter, one of the Rovers was caught by a sudden gust of wind that blew him sideways and right over the railing. His safety line jerked taut, keeping him from dropping into the void, and Austrum and Railing, who were working on either side of him, rushed to pull him back aboard.
But before they could do so, his safety line snapped—the wind too strong, the rope too worn. With a wrenching wail, he pinwheeled away into the void and disappeared, leaving the Rover and the boy holding the broken line and staring at each other helplessly.
By midmorning, to everyone’s relief, the storm had moved on. The winds had gone still and the downpour turned to a steady drizzle. Ahead, the clouds began to clear and they at last caught a glimpse of the bright sun as it peeked through the clouds. No one was saying much of anything at this point, the entire company made silent by the loss of yet another of their members and by the exhaustion that had gripped them all, in spite of the fact that it was not even midday. Railing was back at the helm, with Mirai standing next to him in place of Challa Nand and Skint, who had gone forward to study the lay of the land ahead. Neither was saying much, and nothing of consequence when they did speak, confining their conversation to remarks about navigation or the weather.
Unexpectedly, Austrum appeared behind them, coming up the steps and into the cockpit. “I think it would be best if both of you stayed in the pilot box until we reach our destination,” he said.
Railing and Mirai exchanged a startled glance.
“I’m suggesting this for a reason,” the Rover said. Pointing to Railing, “Everything we are doing depends on you. If we lose you over the side the way we did Ekstrin, this entire trip will have been for nothing.” He pointed to Mirai. “And he’ll need someone to spell him when he tires.”
“But you could spell …,” Mirai began.
He shook his head quickly. “How will it look if I let my men risk their lives while I stay safe and sound inside the pilot box? No, you share the helm duties, and I’ll work the lines with my men. The matter is settled.”
And with that, he vaulted out of the pilot box and did not look back.
“He knows,” Railing said after a moment.
Mirai nodded and said nothing.
They flew on through calmer skies for another quarter hour, at which point Challa Nand came into the pilot box and told Railing and Mirai that their destination was just ahead. Leaving Mirai at the controls, the boy walked out on deck with him and up to the bow, where Skint was looking out over the Klu. The mountains they were sailing toward were more heavily forested than those they had passed through earlier. The light caught the thickness and sweep of the trees—a deep green carpet that spread away through the tangle of peaks like an emerald stream.
“That’s the Inkrim,” the Troll advised, pointing farther north to where the Klu opened up to form a wide valley.
The Inkrim clearly took its name from its color. It was virtually black, with shadows and rock formations and the huge dark trunks of the trees, which grew in heavy clusters, and odd formations that seemed to have been caused by a massive upheaval in ancient times. Railing tried to imagine his grandfather, Penderrin Ohmsford, navigating this country on foot when he had come in search of the tanequil. It looked impossible. But his grandfather had not been given a choice. He and the others with him were being hunted by Druids who wanted them dead. Their airship had been destroyed, and travel afoot was the only option that had been left them.