Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

“Get back!” he screamed at the other, his warning quick and hard-edged in the tumult of the attack. But Challa Nand either didn’t hear him or refused to pay attention, and even though Railing tried to shift the wishsong’s magic away from him, the big Troll ran straight into its wall and went down in a crumpled heap.

But Railing had no time to worry about Challa Nand. His concentration now was entirely on manipulating the wishsong to strike out at the attacking Gnome raiders. He sent it spiraling outward, the sound as dense and impenetrable as stone. All the while he kept moving toward the deck rail, forming and re-forming, molding the magic, pulling together elements in the air and wind to create a protective shield, angling it so that the Quickening would not be harmed.

The flits were not so fortunate. Unable to see what blocked their way, they flew into the wall of sound heedlessly, shattering against its hard surface and tumbling away. A dozen went down before the rest broke off in terror and went flying back into the cover of the mountains, their riders hunkered down, thrusters shoved forward to attain maximum speed.

In seconds the skies were clear and the Quickening and its crew were flying alone once more.

Railing quit singing, allowing the magic of the wishsong to die into silence. He stood watching the fleeing Gnome raiders a few seconds longer before turning back to the others. Several, Austrum among them, were staring at him in disbelief. Challa Nand was awake again, sitting on the decking, rubbing his head. He had a look of confusion on his face until he caught sight of Railing coming over; then the look abruptly changed to one of rage. He staggered to his feet to face the boy.

“What else are you keeping from me that I ought to know about?” he snarled. “Because I have had just about enough of you!”

“I tried to warn you,” Railing shouted back, aware of how angry the Troll was. He slowed his approach, but Challa Nand was right on top of him, his huge body towering over the boy as if intending to crush him. “You just kept coming! What was I supposed to do?”

The Troll glared at him a moment, then turned away dismissively. “You used your magic to save the airship. That’s good enough for me. But a word or two in advance to the rest of us wouldn’t hurt!”

Then he stomped away, beginning the task of clearing pieces of wreckage and debris from the decking. The Rovers joined him in this effort, leaving Railing free to continue on to where Mirai was kneeling beside Farshaun in the pilot box.

“How bad is he?” the boy asked.

She shook her head. “I can’t be sure. He’s bleeding internally, and he’s very weak. He’s old, Railing. He doesn’t recover from injuries like he once did. Help me carry him below. I’ll do what I can for him down there.”

They picked up Farshaun and hauled him out of the pilot box and down the ladder to the interior of the airship. Austrum came over to give them a hand, then disappeared topside again.

“That was quick thinking,” MIrai said as she worked to cut away Farshaun’s clothing from his wounds; Railing was standing by in case there was something he could do to help. “You saved us.”

“I waited too long to act.” He was feeling anything but happy about how things had gone. “I should have used the wishsong right away. I was too slow.”

“You can’t think of everything in situations like that one. We were fighting for our lives.” She stayed bent over Farshaun, studying the crossbow wound, looking for a way to stanch the bleeding. “Everyone does the best they can.”

“Maybe.”

She kept working, and finally she was satisfied with her efforts. The crossbow bolt was removed, the bleeding slowed, and the wound washed and stitched up sufficiently that infection might be prevented. All through this, the old man slept, unconscious and unaware.

“Have you thought about what I told you earlier? About sharing whatever it is you’re hiding?”

Railing pushed back his long red hair and retied the band that held it in place. “You have to stop asking me. I don’t want to talk about it.”

She shrugged. “I think you probably do. You just don’t want to talk about it with me.”

“It isn’t that …”

“What is it, then?”

“I can’t tell you. I just can’t. I have to work my way through it on my own. There’s more at stake than you know.” He looked away. “I’m in love with you, you know. There, I’ve said it out loud. I love you. I always have.”

She nodded, standing up and moving next to him. “I’m not sure you know what that means.”

“What? It’s difficult to understand that, because of how I feel about you, I can’t just open up and tell you certain things? Well, I can’t! Not yet, at least. Maybe when we reach Stridegate. Maybe then.”

She stared at him a moment. “You should listen to yourself. You should hear yourself the way I do. Railing, if you were really in love with me, you could always open up to me. You wouldn’t have to hide things.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I think it does.” She stepped away again. “Don’t let the clock tick all the way down. Don’t wait so long that, by the time you decide to confide in the rest of us, it’s too late to matter. Because that can happen. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

She gave him a wan smile. “I wonder if you do.”

Then she turned and walked away.

They flew Quickening on through the sun’s setting and into twilight, reaching the place where the Charnals began to broaden into a split range with multiple layers before setting down for the night. Here, the mountains were visible for miles in all directions, vast and immutable, great silent sentinels of the Northland east. The attack by the Gnome raiders was far behind them by then, and the town of Rampling Steep farther still. There were no settlements this far north, only hundreds of miles of empty space and broken rock. Staring out at it, Railing could only think of how bleak his life had become.

They slept aboard the ship that night with a close watch at both the bow and stern. Too many dangerous creatures prowled this region of the world, Challa Nand had warned. Gnome raiders were one thing; Gnawls and the like were another. Railing didn’t bother asking what a Gnawl was. He didn’t want to know.

He wasn’t asked to stand watch on either shift, however, and when Mirai showed no interest in speaking with him further, he rolled into his blanket and quickly fell asleep.

When he woke, after what felt like only a few hours, it was raining again.

The sound of it brought him awake. He heard the thrumming against the decking overhead and rose, wrapping himself in his weather cloak, and went topside to find himself caught in a torrential downpour. It was raining so hard, it was coming down in sheets that obscured everything more than a few feet away. He peered about for the other members of the crew but could see no one. Ducking his head and pulling the cloak and hood tight against his face and body, he fought his way through the deluge to the pilot box, thinking to find someone there.

But the box was empty.

He left and went to the stern railing. Nothing.

Suddenly he was panicked. Was the entire ship deserted? No, he had seen Farshaun wrapped in his bandages and blankets, asleep below. One of the injured Rovers was resting close by the old man—the only one hurt badly enough in yesterday’s attack to be so confined. He also seemed to remember catching sight of someone moving through the gloom, a shadow passing along the walls of the vessel in the faint light of the smokeless torches the Rover airships relied on. But that might have been a dream.