Bloodfire Quest (The Dark Legacy of Shannara, #2)(47)

She shook her head. “No, the waterfall was in here. They had to pass through it on their way to finding the Elfstones, so they had to land and leave the ship. The Walker Boh is too large to have passed through the opening the vision showed me.”

“Big place,” he said, taking in the sweep of the marsh below. “Can’t see much of anything down there. This isn’t going to be easy. It will be dangerous to try to land the ship with all those stone spears waiting to tear her hull apart.”

He was right, of course, but she didn’t see that they had a choice. If the Walker Boh—a much larger vessel than Wend-A-Way—had done it, so could they.

She eased back on the thrusters and slowed the airship to a crawl. “Maybe it will clear as we get closer,” she said hopefully.

He glanced over, smiling. “Maybe. In case it doesn’t, I’m going forward where I can get a better look at what’s down there. Keep it slow. Watch for my hand signals.”

He left her, moving to the bow. She watched him go, thinking how hard this would have been without him. Once, in the beginning, she had tried to discourage his insistence on acting as her protector. Once, she would have welcomed his decision to leave her. Now she had no idea how she would have managed without him. He was always there for her, ready to help when needed. He didn’t need to be asked; he anticipated what was required and provided it. He never asked or even expected anything in return, not even a word of thanks. She couldn’t imagine why he was putting himself out this way when there was no reason for him even to be here, but she was grateful nevertheless.

Her thoughts drifted to Arlingfant, still back in Arborlon struggling with the terrible charge the Ellcrys had given her. She knew she must help her sister find a way to refuse it, but so far her efforts had failed. Nothing she had found in the Druid Histories offered a solution. Nothing she had found in the Elven archives or Chosen records had helped. She had come up with no answers on her own. Even talking about it with Cymrian—something she would never have done before now—had provided no useful answers. She was stymied at every turn and beginning to feel desperate.

But she had put all that aside for now, consigned to a compartment in the back of her mind where she could find it again after her present efforts were successful and the Druid expedition found. Perhaps the Ard Rhys would have something useful to suggest. Perhaps in discussion with the Elven High Council and the King, a solution might be found.

Although she could not help thinking that perhaps things had already gone beyond that, and that the loss of Paranor and the failing of the Ellcrys were symptomatic of much larger and more complex problems.

As the mist-shrouded stone pillars drew closer, she turned her full attention back to sailing Wend-A-Way, pulling back on the thrusters until the airship slowed to a crawl. From the pilot box, she could see gaps in the hazy cover through which the floor of the wilderness was visible. All they needed, she thought, was just a glimpse of the Walker Boh. Then they could find a way to reach her.

At the bow, Cymrian motioned for her to slow. Breathless, filled with expectation that their search might be ending, she did so.

But for a long time, nothing happened. They eased their way across the vast expanse of brume, blinking away the rain as they searched for something recognizable, and found nothing. The hours drifted past, and the landscape took on a senses-deadening sameness that suggested anything that had dared to come into it was long since swallowed and forever lost and they were wasting their time looking. They spelled each other regularly, moving between the pilot box and the bow, hoping fresh eyes and fresh hands would aid them in their search.

But the landscape remained endless and empty.

Then Cymrian, forward again at the bow, held up his hand, signaling for her to stop. She did so, swinging the airship about in a slow circle, a virtual hover as she waited for something more. Her companion seemed to be sniffing or perhaps even tasting the air, casting about this way and that.

After a moment, he hurried back to her. “I can smell tar and burning timbers somewhere close. Circle the area slowly. I’ll try to pick out where the smell is coming from.”

He hurried back to the bow, and she began the process of widening the search in a slow spiral to cover a larger area. She watched Cymrian as he braced himself against the forward railing, leaning over to seek the source of the burning scent. She was thinking already about what it meant if he was right—especially about the burning timbers. But she told herself it might not be the Walker Boh. It might be something else entirely. This was strange country to them. Burning wood could have any number of sources.

She continued to sail Wend-A-Way across the roof of the mist, the rain still falling in a steady wash to mix with the ever-present haze.

Then Cymrian abruptly held up his hand once more, a hard push this time.

He had found something.

He turned and signaled that she should keep watching him, and then motioned for her to take Wend-A-Way down. She signaled back that she understood, dropping the airship just a little. Using his hands to dictate direction and speed, he guided her toward the floor of the marshy jungle. It was harrowing to respond without being able to see what was down there, especially when the stone spires began to appear to either side of her, rising up like monolithic creatures from a frothy sea.

Their descent was slow and treacherous. Twice Cymrian stopped it entirely and had her take the airship back up again, apparently having seen something that had been hidden from higher up, and then reposition before starting down once more. She worked hard to keep their maneuvering steady and her hands responsive to his signals. As they dropped lower, the mist began to close in around them, and soon they were swallowed up in it.