Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

He went back down the ladder and inside the ship. Farshaun was still sleeping, as was the injured Rover. Over in another corner, he found Woostra asleep as well. He hesitated, then knelt and shook the Druid scribe awake.

Woostra peered up at him. “What’s wrong?”

Railing hesitated. “I can’t find anyone aboard but you and Farshaun and that injured Rover. Can’t think of his name.”

“His name is Aleppo.” The scribe rubbed his beard, then his eyes and yawned. “I’ve been asleep. Are you sure about all this?”

“Aleppo. I knew that. I just forgot. And yes, I’m sure.”

In fact, he was embarrassed at his lapse of memory. He rose. “I’m going back out on deck. Please watch out for Farshaun.” He started away and then turned back again, a premonition tugging at him. “Don’t try to come after me. Wait until I come back for you.”

He left the bewildered scribe staring after him. And tightening his weather cloak once more, he went up the ladder and out on deck. The rain hadn’t lessened; if anything, it was more severe than before, pummeling the wooden decks and hull with deafening force.

He stood amid the tumult and the chilling, invasive downpour for a moment to get his bearings, then started toward the bow. He hadn’t checked there yet. In his haste to find someone, he had skipped the bow in favor of a more thorough search of the hold.

So, maybe …

He was almost all the way forward when a figure detached itself from the gloom ahead. Railing started in spite of himself, thinking for just a moment that he had encountered a wraith rather than a man. But it was only one of the Rovers cloaked and hooded against the weather.

In fact, he realized, watching the figure draw closer, it wasn’t even a Rover. It was Mirai.

She came up to him and stood close so that they could see each other in the downpour. “Where is everyone?” Railing demanded.

Mirai looked worried. “Gone off ship. They left about an hour ago. A search party. Both members of the second watch disappeared shortly after their shift began. Not a sound, not a trace. Challa Nand wanted to wait to see if they would show up on their own. The implication was that if they didn’t, they were dead and therefore a search was pointless and a danger to everyone else. But Austrum insisted he would not leave his men behind without making sure they couldn’t be found.”

“I suppose he felt he had to.”

“It was stupid of him,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“So there’s no one left aboard? They’re all gone?” Railing felt a sudden rush of fear. “Skint went with them, too?”

“Challa Nand didn’t think the Rovers could find their way back without help, and Skint agreed. So they both went. Leaving you, me, Woostra, and the injured.” She turned away. “I’ve got to get back on watch. I can’t see anything, but it makes me feel useful. Want to help? I let you sleep until now, but since you’re up I could use the company.”

Railing nodded and went with her. Together they moved to the front of the airship and took up stations port and starboard of the bowsprit. The wind had changed, coming out of the north now rather than the west, howling down the canyons between the peaks with a wailing that chilled the boy to his bones. He tried to shut it out by tightening the laces on his hood, but nothing helped. Because he was facing directly into the storm, rain blew through gaps in his gear and quickly left him drenched. He imagined Mirai was no better off, but that didn’t make him feel any less miserable.

He bent his head against a gust of rain. He liked it that Mirai had called Austrum foolish. It was petty to feel like that, but satisfying, too.

More rain found its way under his cloak. He wished that he had brought an aleskin on deck. He wished he hadn’t come on deck at all. He wished a dozen other things because there wasn’t anything else to do to pass the time. Peering into the rain seemed pointless. He couldn’t see a thing. A pack of Kodens could come crawling out of rocks and onto the ship, and he wouldn’t see them until they were right on top …

He quit searching the gloom. He quit breathing.

Something was out there.

He felt its presence all at once—a sort of tingle on the surface of his skin that quickly turned to a cold shiver. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t know what it was, but it was there and it was coming toward the ship. Without stopping to consider what he was doing, he rushed around the blocking on the bowsprit and dragged Mirai away from the rail, a finger to his lips as he did so, motioning her to silence as he pointed into the rain and gloom.

Together they dropped into a crouch by the forward bins in which the spare light sheaths were stored, the two of them hunching down, forming dark, wet lumps against the wooden sides.

“Don’t make a sound!” Railing whispered.

Whatever tone of voice he used, whatever inflection he employed, it froze Mirai in place. Maybe she sensed it, too. Maybe she realized something was out there in the haze. Whatever the case, they hunkered down in the shadow of the bins, two barely recognizable shadows in the shifting layers of rain and gloom, waiting.

Then they heard a small sound from behind and, turning, found Woostra creeping across the deck. Railing quickly put a finger to his lips in warning and beckoned hurriedly.

As the scribe knelt beside him, Railing pulled him close. “What are you doing?” he hissed. “I told you to wait!”

Woostra scowled. “I got tired of waiting,” he whispered. He glanced worriedly into the gloom. “What is it? What’s out there?”

Railing shook his head, refusing to answer. “Just don’t move!” he said. “Don’t say anything!”

He was already summoning the wishsong, convinced that whatever was coming was too dangerous for them to risk waiting. A low hum, barely more than a whisper, it rode the ensuing silence like a ghost in search of a haunt, building on itself, forming into an amorphous and malleable presence that could be shaped and dispatched in the blink of an eye.

Out in the haze, something moved. Something very big.

Railing exhaled soundlessly. He could just make it out through the gap between the bins where he crouched between Woostra and Mirai. The latter must have seen it, as well, for she gave a small gasp and pressed more tightly against him. She was so close he could feel her breath against his face, warm and feathery. Woostra had adopted a hedgehog defense, collapsed into a tight ball, head buried in his arms. Together they waited, so afraid it was all they could do not to bolt and run. But flight from whatever this was would be pointless. Doing anything that caught its attention would be the end of them.

The rain strengthened suddenly, gusts blowing across the decking and into their eyes. A second later a clawed hand reached for the rail and fastened in place, close to where the bowsprit jutted into the darkness. A sleek shape rose into view—what looked to be an immense lizard—towering over the airship bow, dozens of feet in length. It was hard to determine more than the general size and shape, but it appeared thick-bodied and sinuous as it hauled itself halfway onto the foredeck.

Railing was singing full-out now, using every last vestige of his magic to gather and shape the elements around him, forming a cloaking for Mirai, Woostra, and himself. He made their smell vanish and their shapes dilute. He masked their presence with a combination of darkness and damp, drawing in and thickening the rain and gloom. He watched the creature sway slowly from side to side, an unwelcome invader looming over the bins, the foredeck, and themselves. A silent shudder ran through him but he held fast to the wishsong, keeping the cloaking in place.