by Terry Brooks
And the sounds! Shades! The boy had never heard howling of this magnitude—a scream that rose and fell but never ceased entirely. At first it was audible as little more than a low, insistent wail, but as the strength of the storm built and the force of the wind increased, the sound strengthened into a roar that might have signaled the end of the world. Shea wanted it to stop but could only grit his teeth and endure it.
“The devil’s breath, right enough,” shouted Sartren, his blocky form little more than a shadow in the blowing snow. “Makes one think the sun will never show itself again.”
Shea squinted to make him out. “Are we almost ready? Is she primed?”
A deep laugh. “How would I know? I am but a poor seaman with a blood tie to this vessel’s skipper. I do what I am told, and it’s not for me to know such things.”
“What does Rocan say?”
Another laugh. “Rocan says much. Over and over, he says it. ‘Get back to work!’ he says. I am more sick of those words by now than I have ever been of anything!”
Then off he walked into the haze and disappeared. Shea thought to move closer to the workmen, but he had found comfort in a makeshift windbreak formed by stacked supplies and did not much want to give up its shelter. He remained where he was, willing the work to be finished and the moment to arrive when the Behemoth would rise into the clouds. He spent the time thinking back to all that had brought him here—right from the moment he had first encountered the grandfather in Arishaig in the company of that insufferable girl.
The girl who was Tarsha Kaynin, and the grandfather who was Drisker Arc.
His thoughts shifted abruptly, and he wished he knew where they were and how much success they were having back in the Four Lands. Then he wondered if he would ever find out. Times like this made him feel like the world was closing down and his life ending.
He warmed himself with a memory of Tarsha and the kiss. He hadn’t much cared for her at first, with her pushy manner and know-it-all attitude. He hadn’t liked the way she treated him as excess baggage. But that was in the past and seemed a long time ago. He missed her and wished she were there to talk to.
What he got instead was a visit from Rocan Arneas, who somehow found him huddled back between the crates in the whiteout of the storm. The Rover came out of nowhere and bent close.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, with a smile on his face. “Bad as I’ve ever seen, this weather—and it’s not likely to improve anytime soon. But we have to work with what we have, and a blow can’t be allowed to stop us.”
Shea shook his head in puzzlement. “I don’t see why we can’t give this storm a few days to blow itself out. Give yourself and Annabelle a chance to do what she was meant to do and not risk doing it for nothing!”
“Time flies, Shea, and we have to act now. I didn’t tell the others—not even Tindall—but I will tell you, if you give your word to say nothing.” He waited for the boy to nod. “We were seen.”
Shea stared. “Seen? By whom?”
“Some fishermen passing along the shoreline a few days back. It doesn’t mean they reported it or even gave it a second thought, but we can’t be sure. So we have to do what’s needed with Annabelle, storm or no storm, then set sail for home.”
“How can you think to accomplish anything in this wind?”
Rocan shrugged. “Not sure. We’ll prepare Annabelle and wait for our chance. It will come.”
He was gone again before the boy could think of anything further to say, and the snow and gloom closed about him. Shea’s thoughts then turned instead to Ajin, Dar Leah, and the Elven prince. The Skaar princess had been absent from the airship for days, and now the two men had gone after her. He found himself worrying for their safety, wondering if they might get caught. Wondering if Ajin had been caught already. It was a possibility he could not ignore. It had been foolish for any of them to go into the city in the first place.
But there was nothing to be done about it—not with the preparations aboard the Behemoth in full swing and the weather continuing its decline from barely reasonable to full-bore insanity.
Fresh activity drew his attention away from his musings and brought him out of his shelter. The workers had climbed down off the ladders and platforms that allowed them to work on Annabelle and were gathered about her base. A handful had started rolling casks of the mixture Tindall had prepared a few days earlier to where they could be loaded into Annabelle once they had ascended high enough to allow a scattering of the mix into the clouds. It would have been nice to be able to send the airship aloft and let the dissemination of the mix happen without human assistance, but the weather had made that impossible and now Rocan and Tindall were arguing over who should carry out the job.
“Rocan, you cannot manage this without me!” the old man insisted. “I am the only one who understands how the mixture must be dispensed—the amounts, the texture, the temperature, all of it. I have to be there!”
But Rocan was already shaking his head. “None of that matters once the casks are aboard and the airship is launched. All that is needed is to complete the preparations before we ascend. I can handle the mechanics if you just tell me what is needed.”
“It’s too complicated! Too many variables!”
They were shouting at each other, but the wind was still drowning them out. Shea could see the heat in their faces brightening as they argued. He moved closer, wanting to hear everything.
“You make this sound impossible for anyone but you to do, which is patently ridiculous,” Rocan snapped. “Do you have any idea how hard it will be to dispense the mix and do all these other things you’re saying need doing?”
Tindall straightened. “Look at the weather, Rocan. Anyone who goes up now is at serious risk. I’m an old man. I’ve lived my life. If anything goes wrong, I want to finish it knowing I didn’t waste the lives of others. You have to stay here to carry on should I fail.”
“I could go,” Shea offered suddenly. His cap had blown off and his hair was sopping wet, hanging down in his face and giving him a ragged look. He brushed a few strands away quickly. “I’m not afraid of storms.”
Both wheeled on him together and, using more words than necessary, shouted his suggestion down. Shea backed off, stung and irritated at the abruptness of his dismissal.
“We have to go up right now!” Rocan had returned to arguing, seizing the front of Tindall’s cloak and yanking him close. “We are positioned exactly right for the wind to carry us southeast over the island and farther onto the mainland if needed. Stop arguing with me and let me do this!”
“Unhand me, please,” the old man ordered angrily. Rocan released him at once. “This is my invention, my machine, and my mixture. Whether you accept it or not, my skills are vital, and it is my duty to employ them. You’ll serve best by staying right here on the ground and doing what’s needed to make sure I stay safe.”
Rocan stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “A noble offer of self-sacrifice, but no. We’ll go together. We started that way and we will finish that way. No more arguing. The matter is settled. Climb on.”
“Wait!” Shea called out. “Let me go, too!”
Rocan looked furious. “I thought we’d covered this.”
“I know how Annabelle works. Tindall taught me. He also taught me all about what might go wrong and how to fix it. I am small and agile, and I do not panic. You know this.”
“Shea, I cannot…”
“Tindall also taught me how to fly the airship. He explained its workings and how to make sure nothing gets out of balance. You need to let me go with you! I am here for a reason. The grandfather—the Druid—said so.”
Rocan shook his head. “You seem determined, but this is the ultimate folly!”
“Look how I’ve lived my life! I’m a street kid. I have been on my own since I was big enough to run away from the
orphanage. I have managed well enough, and I doubt there is much that could happen that I wouldn’t be prepared for. Tindall will be with me. He can advise me without having to leave his work with Annabelle.”
“As he could just as easily advise me. You ask for something I cannot give. You argue well, but permission is denied.”
“I am not asking permission. I am telling you what I intend to do.”
Suddenly Tindall was in front of him. He placed his hands on Shea’s shoulders. “You are a brave and capable lad; no one would ever suggest anything else. And I have seen what you can do. Rescuing me from Assidian Deep was an astonishing accomplishment. And you stood with Rocan and me on more than one occasion when you knew you were putting your life at risk. I think the world of you, Shea Ohmsford. I want you to know that.”
Then he embraced Shea and whispered into his ear. “I have something for you. Hide it well; keep it to yourself. If something should happen to me, you decide who should have it. The Skaar people, I think, would be best, but the decision will be yours.”
He reached down and shoved a clutch of papers into the gap in the front of the coat Shea was wearing. “I trust you, Shea. You are quicker and smarter and better suited than even Rocan. Read my notes. All of them. I think you will know what they are for. But listen to me. Rocan is right about one thing. You are not coming with us.”
He released Shea and started toward Annabelle. “Let’s get on with it,” he said to Rocan.
* * *
—
Rocan took Shea by his shoulder and moved him away. “Sartren,” he called. “Take Shea in hand. I don’t want him doing something foolish.”
“I was thinking to go with you and Tindall,” his cousin said. “You will need someone familiar with taking the controls while you assist Tindall.”
“No. I want you to manage things down here in my absence. Someone reliable needs to stay behind, and you are the man I trust the most. Aberst and Kiftain will be help enough. Either can fly the airship.”
Then he was climbing aboard, anxious to get into the air and test Annabelle’s abilities. The casks were all filled and ready for use, save a dozen that were being held in reserve aboard ship. Tindall was quick to join him, the two glaring at each other momentarily and then turning their attention to preparing Annabelle. A mechanical device would siphon the mix out of the casks and into the belly of a sprayer through a series of snake-like hoses, which in turn would pump the mix to the crow’s nest on the mainmast, where a nozzle would release it to seed the clouds. But the thunderheads that waited overhead were churning violently, dark and threatening, and now the sound of distant thunder was audible, as well.
“This is foolhardy,” one of his cousins called up to him.
“Come down out of there!” another urged. “Wait for the skies to clear a bit.”
A chorus of Rover voices quickly joined in agreement, offering various warnings about the weather and the risk they were taking of being swept right out of the sky. Rocan knew they were right. The winds were too strong; even a ship as big as the Behemoth would find it difficult to maneuver in such weather.
He felt his opportunity slipping away, but he could not let this slip though his fingers if there was even the smallest chance of success. He and Tindall had worked too long and fought too hard to give up on their creation now.
“Ready Behemoth for liftoff!” he shouted to his crew. “All of you get aboard!”
Silence and blank looks. Sartren stared at him. “Are you serious, Rocan? You want all of us to go with you?”
He was screaming out the words as the wind threatened to drown them out, blowing them about like leaves and whisking them away.
Rocan seized him by his shoulders. “Do I have the best crew that ever sailed the skies of the Four Lands or not?” he demanded. “Do I have men of courage and strength and belief in their abilities to overcome any obstacle or not? Tell me, Sartren, because we need to do this.”
“But the risk of falling out of…”
“Tell me!”
Sartren stared at him for a long moment and then turned to the crew. “You heard the captain, Rovers! Family, all! Jump to! Ready the ship! It’s a good day to fly right down into the netherworld and back out again, and so we shall!”
Galvanized by the force of his orders, the crew moved quickly to obey. They clambered aboard in a rush and moved to their stations. Rocan set a modicum of sail only, powering up the diapson crystals to provide lift and thrust, tightening the rigging and the stays to the parse tubes. Men and women scrambled about, and the weather seemed to respond by growing even more fierce and threatening. The winds quickened further, and the darkness increased as thunder rolled closer. And now—now—the skies filled with lightning. Jagged streaks of it crackled and flashed, opening jagged splits across the darkness overhead.
Rocan impulsively embraced Tindall. “You and me, old man. It will take two to make the siphon perform as it must—two to operate the pumps and measure the amount of mix they must release. It will be me in the crow’s nest and you on the controls.” He grinned fiercely. “This is our day. This is what we have worked for, and by all the shades that roam the earth, we will seize this opportunity and see the success we deserve!”
Tindall hugged him back, unable to speak, tears in his eyes.
Rocan turned back to Sartren, who was standing now in the pilot box, ready to lift off. “Wake Seelah. She’s sleeping below in my cabin. Tell her I said I was sorry to leave so quickly, but I’ll make it up to her. Tell her to watch over Shea until I get back. I want him protected. Do it now. Quickly!’
It was a last-second decision, an impulsive choice, in recognition of the danger they would be facing and into which he did not choose to place the boy. He had no knowledge of what would happen, but he loved the boy in spite of everything that had happened, and he was determined to keep him safe.
Seelah appeared, jumped off the airship, and went to stand by Shea. She gave Rocan a long, steady look, her cat eyes gleaming as she hesitated. Without speaking, the Rover made an abrupt, dismissive gesture. Lingering a second longer, the shape-shifter guided the boy away from the departing airship and walked him back beneath the overhanging boughs of a giant spruce.
Then she turned and looked at him once more, and he could read the anguish and disappointment in her eyes.
“Well done!” he called, gave her a tight-lipped nod, and turned away.
The Behemoth rose slowly into the darkness, and almost immediately the wind began to buffet the airship as waves would an untethered buoy. Huge gusts slammed into her side, and when Sartren attempted to turn into the wind to better absorb the blows, the wind shifted—almost as if sensing the efforts being made to thwart its power. Slowly, the Behemoth overcame blanketing snow and darkness, climbing toward the clouds in fits and starts as the wind continued to hammer against her, the resulting jolts requiring the crew to attach safety lines and brace themselves as best they could. Ascension was a horrifically slow process. Time crawled, and the fierce weather continued to pound them.
Yet still the airship struggled to rise, its floundering bulk able to withstand the force of the wind’s powerful blows, but so cumbersome that steering was out of the question. But as fate would have it, direction didn’t matter. Gaining height was what would determine success or failure—what would allow for Annabelle’s efforts to produce the desired result and change the destructive weather besieging Skaarsland.
If we can just get above the clouds, Rocan thought.
They were in the teeth of the storm then, and it was chewing on them with a vengeance. Caught in its jaws, it was all the airship could do to maintain its slow rise. Rigging came down in clusters. Masts threatened to break in two, and the topmast and spars aft gave way with a violent snapping that could be heard all the way forward. Casks, crates, and bins broke loose from their rope stays and tumbled over the
side. Pieces of railing shattered and went flying like spears. Yet still the ship held together, and its crew crouched and braced and fought to hold their places as the weather attempted to rip them away.
Lightning flashed in the distance, closer now.
We cannot take much more!
Rocan glanced skyward. There was a hint of brightness leaking through the clouds, little more than a crack in the sky; their goal was beckoning. The Rover leader yelled to Tindall to prepare the spraying apparatus and then snatched up the hose and nozzle and began climbing the rigging to reach the crow’s nest.
But he knew at once he was in trouble. The power of the wind hammered at him with terrifying force, throwing him sideways against the ropes. Without a safety line to secure him until he reached the top, it took everything he had not to fall. Abruptly, the Behemoth shot skyward, caught in an updraft. It happened so quickly Rocan hardly had time to catch his breath before they were above the clouds and into open skies flooded with sunshine. Yet even here, the wind was so fierce the rigging rattled and shook from the insistent buffeting, and so cold that within seconds the dampness that had soaked him through was hardening his clothing.
“We need to start spraying!” he yelled down to Tindall as he finally reached the crow’s nest and climbed inside the railing.
But his words were lost in the roar of the wind, and he was forced to gesture until Tindall glanced up and recognized what he was asking. The old man made a quick gesture in reply and threw some levers on Annabelle before giving a thumbs-up.
His safety lines secured, Rocan moved to the railing and directed the spray into the clouds below. Fighting against the constant buffeting of the wind, he worked the mix methodically across the dark expanse, the cold so intense it froze the moisture that layered his hands and face and turned it into a painful second skin. Ignoring his agony, he and Tindall emptied the contents of one cask, then two…