Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [180]
“You’re not usually so clumsy, Bek,” he observed with a grin. “Where were your instincts when you needed them? An Elf wouldn’t have lost his footing so easily.”
“Be a touch more careful next time, young hero,” Little Red joked, ruffling his hair. “We can’t afford to lose you.”
Walker appeared momentarily, shadowed by the slight, silver-haired figure of Ryer Ord Star. Distant, he nodded to the boy without speaking, and passed on. The seer studied the boy carefully before following.
The morning had passed away into afternoon, and the landscape began to change. The sharp-edged cliffs retreated from the waterline and softened to gentle slopes. Green and lush in the sunlight, forests appeared. From where they flew, the ship’s company saw rolling hills stretching into the distance for miles. The river they followed split into dozens of smaller tributaries that spider-webbed out through the trees to form lakes, rivers, and streams. There was no sign of the ocean, — the peninsula was sufficiently large that its outer shores were too distant to spy. Clouds were gathered on the horizons to either side and behind, markers of where the shoreline probably lay. Bek thought that Redden Alt Mer had been right not to try to fly over the cliffs to come inland. Even had they been able to do so, they would probably never have found this channel in the maze of rivers that surrounded it. Only by coming through the Squirm could they have known where to go.
The channel narrowed, hemmed in by old-growth spruce and cedar, the scent of the trees fragrant and lush on the warming air. The smells of the sea, of kelp and seaweed and fish, had faded. For all that remained of the coastline and its forbidding passage through the Squirm, they might have passed into another world entirely. Hawks soared overhead in slow, sweeping glides. Crows cawed raucously, their calls echoing down the defile. The Jerle Shannara edged ahead carefully, so close to the shore at times that its spars brushed against the tree limbs.
The river eventually ended in a bay surrounded by forest and fed by dozens of rivers and streams. A huge waterfall tumbled into its basin at one end, and a handful of smaller falls splashed over rocky precipices farther along. Birdsong filled the air, and a small herd of deer moved quickly off the water’s edge on sighting their craft. The Jerle Shannara eased into the bay like a large sea creature that had wandered inland, and Redden Alt Mer brought her to a stop at the bay’s center.
Gathered at the railings, the ship’s company stared out at the destination they had traveled so far to find. It was nothing special. It might have been any number of places in the Westland, so similar did it look with its mix of conifers and hardwoods, the scent of loam on the air, and its smells of needles and green leaves.
Then Bek realized in mild shock that it didn’t look or feel like winter here, even though it was the winter season. Once through the Squirm, they hadn’t found anything of ice or cold or snow or bitter wind. It was as if they had somehow found their way back to midsummer.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured softly, confused and wary.
He glanced quickly at those around him to see if anyone else had noticed, but no one seemed to have done so. He waited a moment, then moved over to where Walker stood, alone, below the pilot box. The Druid’s eyes were leveled on the shoreline ahead, but they registered the boy’s approach.
“What is it, Bek?”
Bek stood beside him uncertainly. “It’s summer here, and it shouldn’t be.”
The Druid nodded. “It’s a lot of things here it shouldn’t be. Strange. Keep your eyes open.”
He ordered Big Red to take the airship down to the water and anchor her. When that was done, he sent a foraging party of Elven Hunters ashore for water, warning them that they were to stay together and in sight of the shoreline. The company would remain aboard ship tonight. A search for Castledown would begin in the morning. What was needed now was an inventory of the ship’s stores, an updated damage report,