Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [125]
Ahren Elessedil appeared at Bek’s elbow and put a hand on his shoulder. Panax came up beside him, as well. “What’s going on?” the Dwarf rumbled.
Bek was too stunned to answer, still trying to come to grips with the idea of his untested cousin being selected to go with the Druid rather than the Elf Captain or one of his Hunters. Walker was already in the basket, his dark robes drawn close, and Quentin quickly climbed in after him. Redden Alt Mer was at the airship’s controls, swinging her around and then descending to within twenty feet of a flat place at the island’s eastern tip. Bek wanted to shout something encouraging to his cousin, to warn him to be careful and to come back safe. But he couldn’t manage to get the words out. Instead, he just stood there staring as the Rover crew winched the basket and its occupants aloft, then pushed them out over the railing and into space.
With the remainder of the ship’s company looking on, the crew slowly lowered the basket and the two men who rode within it toward Flay Creech.
Walker’s mind was working swiftly as the basket began its descent to the island, the words of the seer repeating over and over in his mind with harsh urgency.
“Three dark holes in place and time do I see, Walker. Three, that would swallow you up. They lie in deep blue waters that spread away forever beneath skies and wind. One is blind and cannot see, but will find you anyway. One has mouths that would swallow you whole. One is everything and nothing and will steal your soul. All guard keys that look to be other than what they are and are nothing of what they seem. I see this in a haze of shadow that tracks you everywhere and seeks to place itself about you like a shroud.”
These were the words she had spoken to him last night when she had come to him unexpectedly after midnight, waking from a dream that had shown her something new of their quest. Wide-eyed and frightened, her childlike face twisted with fear for him, she had shaken him from his sleep to share her strange vision. It had come unbidden, as they almost always did, buried in a mix of other dreams and no dreams, the only part of her mind’s sight that had reason for being, clear and certain to her, a glimpse of a future that would unfailingly come to pass.
He steadied her, held her because she was shaking and not yet even fully awake. She was tied to him, he knew, in a way neither of them yet understood. She had accompanied him on the voyage because she believed it was her destiny, but her bonds to him were as much emotional as psychic. She had found in him a kindred soul, another part of her being, and she had given herself into his care completely. He did not approve and would have it otherwise, but he had not found a way as yet to set her free.
Her eyes glistened with tears and her hands clasped his arm as she told him of the dream and struggled with what it meant. She saw no more than what she was given to see, had no insights to aid him, and therefore felt inadequate and useless. But he told her that her vision was clear to him and would help to keep him safe, and he held her for a time until she quieted and went back to sleep.
But his words to her were false, for he did not understand her vision beyond what was immediately apparent. The black holes were the islands they sought. On each, something dark and dangerous awaited. The keys he would find did not look like the keys with which he was familiar. The haze of shadow that followed after and sought to wrap about him was the Ilse Witch.
Of the eyes and mouths and spirits, he had no opinion. Had she seen them in order of appearance? Were they manifestations of real dangers or metaphors for something else? He had gone to her again, just before making this descent, asking her to repeat what she had seen, everything. He had hoped she might reveal something new, something she had forgotten in the rush of last night’s telling. But her description of the dream remained unchanged. Nor had there been a new