Jarka Ruus (27 page)

Still Cinnaminson didn't appear. Pen glanced over his shoulder repeatedly, but there was no sign of her. He began to worry anew.

Ahead, the tunnel opened back into the light.

Gar Hatch called him into the pilot box. “Take the helm, young Penderrin. I need to be at the bow for this.”

Pen did as he was told. Hatch went forward to stand with his men, the three of them using poles to ease the
Skatelow
along the channel, pointing her toward the opening. Now and again, he would signal the boy to swing the rudder to starboard or port.

They were almost through when there was a scraping sound and a violent lurch. Pen was thrown backwards into the railing, and for an instant he thought that whatever had happened, he had done something wrong. But as he stood up and hurried forward, he realized he hadn't done anything he hadn't been told to do.

Gar Hatch was peering over the side of the airship into the murky waters, shaking his head. “That one's new,” he muttered to no one in particular, then pointed out the massive log that the airship had run up on. He glanced up at the canopy of trees. “Too tight a fit to try to fly her. We'll have to float her off and pull her through by hand.”

Hatch went back up into the pilot box, advising Pen that he would take the controls. There was no admonition in his voice, so Pen didn't argue. Together with Tagwen, Ahren Elessedil, and the two crewmen, Pen climbed down onto the tangled knot of tree roots and moved forward of the airship's bow. Using ropes lashed about iron cleats, they began to pull the
Skatelow
ahead, easing her over the fallen trunk. Eventually the airship gained just enough lift from Gar Hatch's skilled handling to break free of the log and begin crawling along the swamp's green surface once more.

It was backbreaking work. Bugs of all sorts swarmed about their faces, clouding their vision, and the root tangle on which they were forced to stand was slick with moss and damp with mist and offered uncertain footing. All of them went down at one point or another, skidding and sliding into the swamp water, fighting to keep from going under. But, slowly, they maneuvered the
Skatelow
down the last few yards of the channel, easing her toward the open bay, where the light brightened and the brume thinned.

“Move back!” Gar Hatch shouted abruptly. “Release the ropes!”

Pen, Tagwen, and Ahren Elessedil did as they were ordered and watched the airship sail by, the hull momentarily blocking from view the Rover crewmen who were working across the way. When Pen glanced over again in the wake of the ship's passing, the crewmen were gone.

It took the boy a second to realize what was happening.

“Ahren!” he shouted in warning. “We've been tricked!”

He was too late. The
Skatelow
began to pick up speed, moving into the center of the bay. Then Khyber Elessedil came flying over the side and landed in the murky waters with a huge splash. The faces of the crewmen appeared, and they waved tauntingly at the men on shore. Tagwen was shouting at Ahren Elessedil to do something, but the Druid only stood there, shaking his head, grim-faced and angry. There was nothing he could do, Pen realized, without using magic that would alert the
Galaphile
.

Slowly, the
Skatelow
began to lift away, to rise into the mist, to disappear. In seconds, she was gone.

At the center of the lake, Khyber Elessedil pounded at the water in frustration.

Twenty-five

No one said anything for a few moments, Pen, Tagwen, and Ahren Elessedil standing together at the edge of the bay like statues, staring with a mix of disbelief and frustration at the point where the
Skatelow
had disappeared into the mist.

“I knew we couldn't trust that man,” Tagwen muttered finally.

At the center of the bay, Khyber Elessedil had given up pounding the water and was swimming toward them. Her strokes cleaved the greenish waters smoothly and easily.

“You can't trust Rovers,” Tagwen went on bitterly. “Not any of them. Don't know why we thought we could trust Hatch.”

“We didn't trust him,” Ahren Elessedil pointed out. “We just didn't watch him closely enough. We let him outsmart us.”

This is my fault, Pen thought. I caused this. Gar Hatch didn't abandon them because of anything the others had done or even because of the
Galaphile
and the Druids. He had abandoned them so that Pen couldn't take Cinnaminson away from him. That was why he had been so accommodating. That was why he didn't argue the matter more strongly. He didn't care what either Pen or his daughter intended. He was going to put a stop to it in any case.

Khyber reached the edge of the bay and stood up with some difficulty, water cascading off her drenched clothes. Anger radiated from her like heat from a forge as she stalked ashore to join them. “Why did he do that?” she snapped furiously. “What was the point of abandoning us now when we were so close to leaving him anyway?”

“It's because of me,” Pen said at once, and they all turned to look at him. “I'm responsible.”

He revealed to them what he and Cinnaminson had decided, how she had told her father, and what her father had obviously decided to do about it. He apologized over and over for not confiding in them and admitted that, by deciding to take the girl off the airship, he was thinking of himself and not of them or even of what they had come to do. He was embarrassed and disappointed, and it was all he could do to get through it without breaking down.

Khyber glared at him when he was finished. “You are an idiot, Penderrin Ohmsford.”

Pen bit back his angry reply, thinking that he had better just take whatever they had to say to him and be done with it.

“That doesn't help us, Khyber,” her uncle said softly. “Pen loves this girl and he was trying to help her. I don't think we can fault him for his good intentions. He might have handled it better, but at the time he did the best he could. It's easy to second-guess him now.”

“You might want to ask yourself what Hatch will do to her now that he knows what she intended and no outsiders are about to interfere,” Tagwen said to Pen.

Pen had already thought of that, and he didn't like the conclusion he had reached. Gar Hatch would not be happy with his daughter and would not trust her again anytime soon. He would make a virtual prisoner of her, and once again, it was his fault.

Khyber stalked away. She stopped a short distance off and stood looking out at the bay with her hands on her hips, then wheeled back suddenly. “Sorry I snapped at you, Pen. Gar Hatch is a sneak and a coward to do this. But the matter isn't finished. We'll see him again, somewhere down the road. He'll be the one who goes over the side of that airship the next time, I promise you!”

“Meanwhile, what are we supposed to do?” Tagwen asked, looking from one face to the next. “How do we get out of here?”

Ahren Elessedil glanced around thoughtfully, then shrugged. “We walk.”

“Walk!” Tagwen was aghast. “We can't walk out of here! You've seen this morass, this pit of vipers and swamp rats! If something doesn't eat us, we'll be sucked down in the quicksand! Besides, it will take us days, and that's only if we don't get lost, which we will!”

The Druid nodded. “The alternative is to use magic. I could summon a Roc to carry us out. But if I do that, I will give us away to Terek Molt. He will reach us long before any help does.”

Tagwen scrunched up his face and folded his arms across his chest. “I'm just saying I don't think we can walk out of here, no matter how determined we are.”

“There might be another way,” Pen interjected quickly. “One that's a little quicker and safer.”

Ahren Elessedil turned to him, surprise mirrored in his blue eyes. “All right, Pen, let's hear what it is.”

“I hope it's a better idea than his last one,” Tagwen grumbled before Pen could speak, and set his jaw firmly as he prepared to pass judgment.

         

He showed them how to build the raft, using heavier logs for the hull, slender limbs for the cradle, and reeds for binding. It needed to be only big enough to support the four of them, so a platform measuring ten feet by ten feet was adequate. The materials were easy enough to find, even in the Slags, though not so easy to shape, mostly because they lacked the requisite tools and had to make do with long knives. On more than one occasion Pen had built similar rafts before and knew something about how to construct them so that they wouldn't fall apart midjourney. Working in pairs, they gathered the logs and limbs for the platform and carried them to a flat piece of earth on which they could lay them out and lash them together.

They worked through the morning, and by midday they were finished. The raft was crude, but it was strong enough to support them and light enough to allow for portage. Most important, it floated. They had no supplies, nothing but the clothes they wore and the weapons they carried, so after crafting poles to push their vessel through the swamp, they set out.

It was slow going, even with the raft to carry them, the swamp a morass of weed-choked bays and logjammed channels that they were forced to backtrack through and portage around repeatedly. Even so, they made much better progress than they would have afoot. For just the second time since they had set out, Pen was able to make practical use of his magic, to intuit from the sounds and movements of the plants, birds, and animals around them the dangers that lay waiting. Calling out directions to the other three as they worked the poles, he concentrated on keeping them clear of submerged debris that might have damaged their craft and well away from the more dangerous creatures that lived in the Slags—some of them huge and aggressive. By staying close to the shoreline and out of the deeper water, they were able to avoid any confrontations, and Pen was able to tell himself that he was making at least partial amends for his part in contributing to the fix they were in.

By nightfall, they were exhausted and still deep in the Slags. Pen's pocket compass had kept them on the right heading, of that much he was certain, but how much actual progress they had made was debatable. Since none of them knew exactly where they were, it was impossible to judge how far they still had to go. Nothing about the wetland had changed, the mist was thick and unbroken, the waterways extended off in all directions, and the undergrowth was identical to what they had left behind six hours earlier.

There was nothing to eat or drink, so after agreeing to split the watch into four shifts they went to sleep, hungry and thirsty and frustrated.

During the night, it rained. Pen, who was on watch at the time, used his cloak to catch enough drinking water that they were able to satisfy at least one need. After the rain stopped and the water was consumed, Khyber and Tagwen went back to sleep, but Ahren Elessedil chose to sit up with the boy.

“Are you worried about Cinnaminson?” Ahren asked when they were settled down together at the edge of the raft, their backs to the sleepers, their cloaks wrapped about them. It was surprisingly cold at night in the Slags.

The boy stared out into the dark without answering. Then he sighed. “I can't do anything to help her. I can help us, but not her. She's smart and she's capable, but her father is too much for her. He sees her as a valuable possession, something he almost lost. I don't know what he will do.”

The Druid folded himself deeper into his robes. “I don't think he will do anything. I think he believes he made an example of us, so she won't cross him again. He doesn't think we will get out of here alive, Pen. Or if we do, that we will escape the
Galaphile
.”

Pen pulled his knees up to his chest and lowered his chin between them. “Maybe he's right.”

“Oh?”

“It's just that we're not getting anywhere.” The boy tightened his hands into fists and lowered his voice to a whisper. “We aren't any closer to helping Aunt Grianne than we were when we started out. How long can she stay alive inside the Forbidding? How much time does she have?”

Ahren Elessedil shook his head. “A lot more than anyone else I can think of. She's a survivor, Pen. She can endure more hardships than most. It doesn't matter where she is or what she is up against, she will find a way to stay alive. Don't lose heart. Remember who she is.”

The boy shook his head. “What if she has to go back to being who she
was
? What if that's the only way she can survive? I listened to my parents talk about what she was like, when they thought I wasn't listening. She shouldn't have to be made to do those kinds of things again.”

The Druid gave him a thin smile. “I don't think that's what has you worried.”

The boy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don't think you are worried about whether we will reach the Ard Rhys in time to be of help. I think you are worried about whether you will be able to do what is needed when the time comes. I think you are worried about failing.”

Pen was instantly furious, but he kept his tongue in check as he looked out again into the mist and gloom, thinking it through, weighing the Druid's words. Slowly, he felt his anger soften.

“You're right,” he admitted finally. “I don't think I can save her. I don't see how I can manage it. I'm not strong or talented enough. I don't have magic like my father. I'm nothing special. I'm just ordinary.” He looked at the Druid. “What am I going to do if that isn't enough?”

Ahren Elessedil pursed his lips. “I was your age when I sailed on the
Jerle Shannara
. Just a boy. My brother sent me because he was secretly hoping I wouldn't come back. Ostensibly, I was sent to regain possession of the Elfstones, but mostly I was sent with the expectation that I would be killed. But I wasn't, and when I found the Elfstones, I was able to use them. I didn't think such a thing was possible. I ran from my first battle, so frightened I barely knew what I was doing. I hid until someone found me, someone who was able to tell me what I am telling you—that you will do your best and your best might surprise you.”

“But you just said you had the Elfstones to rely on. I don't.”

“But you do have magic. Don't underrate it. You don't know how important it might turn out to be. But that isn't what will make the difference when it matters. It is the strength of your heart. It is your determination.”

He leaned forward. “Remember this, Penderrin. You are the one who was chosen to save the Ard Rhys. That was not a mistake. The King of the Silver River sees the future better than anyone, better even than the shades of the Druids. He would not have come to you if you were not the right person to undertake this quest.”

Pen searched Ahren's eyes uncertainly. “I wish I could believe that.”

“I wished the same thing twenty years ago. But you have to take it on faith. You have to believe that it will happen. You have to make it come true. No one can do it for you.”

Pen nodded. Words of wisdom, well meant, but he didn't find them helpful. All he could think about was how ill equipped he was to rescue anyone from a place like the Forbidding.

“I still think it would have been better to send you,” he said quietly. “I still don't understand why the King of the Silver River decided on me.”

“Because he knows more about you than you know yourself,” the Druid answered. He rose and stretched. “The watch is mine now. Go to sleep. You need to rest, to be ready to help us again tomorrow. We aren't out of danger yet. We are depending on you.”

Pen moved away without comment, sliding to one side, joining Khyber and Tagwen at the other end of the raft, where both were sleeping fitfully. He lay down and pulled his cloak closer, resting his head in the crook of his arm. He didn't sleep right away, but stared out into the misty gloom, the swirling of the haze hypnotic and suggestive of other things. His thoughts drifted to the events that had brought him to that place and time and then to Ahren Elessedil's encouraging words. That he should believe so strongly in Pen was surprising, especially after how badly the boy had handled the matter of Cinnaminson and Gar Hatch. But Pen could tell when someone was lying to him, and he did not sense falsehood in the other's words. The Druid saw him as the rescuer he had been charged with being. Pen would find a way, he believed, even if the boy did not yet know what that way was.

Pen breathed deeply, feeling a calmness settle through him. Weariness played a part in that, but there was peace, as well.

If my father was here, he would have spoken those same words to me,
he thought.

There was comfort in knowing that. He closed his eyes and slept.

         

They woke to a dawn shrouded in mist and gloom, their bodies aching with the cold and damp. Once again, there was nothing to eat or drink, so they put their hunger and thirst aside and set out. As they poled through the murky waters, stands of swamp grass clutched at them with anxious tendrils. Everywhere, shadows stretched across the water and through the trees, snakes they didn't want to wake. No one spoke. Chilled by the swamp's gray emptiness, they retreated inside themselves. Their determination kept them going. Somewhere up ahead was an end to the morass, and there was only one way to reach it.

At midday they were confronted by a huge stretch of open water surrounded by vine-draped trees and clogged by heavy swamp grass. Islands dotted the lake, grassy hummocks littered with rotting logs. Overhead, mist swirled like thick soup in a kettle, sunlight weakened by its oily mix, a hazy wash that spilled gossamer-pale through the heavy branches of the trees.