Voyage of the Fox Rider (28 page)

“Slain? By a dream? Oh no, a dream alone cannot be the sole cause. Surely there is more to it than that, Aylis. I mean, if Jinnarin’s dream can slay someone, then why isn’t she herself dead?”

Jinnarin burst into tears.

“What?” barked Alamar. “Why are you crying, Pysk?”

Jinnarin’s sobbing grew worse.

Aravan crouched down, cupping a hand about Jinnarin’s shoulders.

Aylis turned to her sire. “Father, Jinnarin believes that she killed Ontah. That it was her dream which slew him. But it is not so. Instead it was something…evil.”

“Come, let us sit and speak of it, Daughter. You can tell me all.”

Aravan glanced up at the Mage. “Nay, Alamar, not now, not tonight. Instead, she needs rest.”

The eld Mage drew himself up, glaring down at Aravan, preparing to challenge the Elf’s words. But Aylis laid a hand on his arm. “He is right, Father. I need sleep, for I am spent.”

Alamar looked at Aylis, her face drawn, her eyes sunken, her shoulders sagging, her entire stance speaking of a weariness beyond measure. He glanced down at Jinnarin, the weeping Pysk no better off. With a sigh, Alamar relented. “Yes, I see it now. To bed with you, Daughter. You, too, Pysk. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

On the predawn tide in a blinding snow they sailed away from the cove, the blizzard spinning black in the night, as of ravens’ feathers driven before a howl. Aloft in the thrumming rigging Men bore storm lanterns, haloed glimmers in the blow, members of the crew setting the crossjack and main and foremain sails; and even as this was done, down on the decks other crewmen winched the jibs and staysails and the spanker up into place. These sails and no more would be used to drive the ship easterly, or so Frizian declared. Oh, the masts and spars of the
Eroean
could easily bear more silk in this wind, harsh as it was, and fly well before it. Nay, ‘twas not the Elvenship that limited the amount of sail. Instead it was the crew, for in this frigid squall they could not safely remain aloft to set the other sails, else they risked frostbite and worse. Only at dire need would the crew scramble up to rig the higher silks, and the need this day was not dire. And so it was that the
Eroean
haled away from the western continent in the dark of night, driven easterly under partial sail enmeshed in a whirling storm.

It was late mid morn when Aylis groaned awake. By the slant of her cabin she knew the ship was heeled over sharply, and the sound of wind in the rigging confirmed that they were in a heavy blow. Dim light seeped inward through the porthole, and a damp chill pervaded the cabin. Struggling up, she clambered out from her bunk and washed her face and dressed warmly. Then she stepped forth in the canted passageway, and bracing a hand against the bulkhead, she made her way toward
the captain’s lounge, where she found her father and Jinnarin waiting. A single lantern swinging from a head-beam cast swaying light over the two as the ship cut through the rolling swells. “Hmph,” grunted Alamar, looking up, “thought you were going to sleep all day.”

“Mayhap I could have, Father, but then what would I do tonight?”

“Exactly!” growled Alamar, disarmed by her reply.

As Aylis sat down, Jinnarin leapt from the table to a chair to the floor. “Are you hungry? I’ll fetch Tink. He’ll get you something to eat.”

“Oh no you don’t, Pysk,” barked Alamar. “You’ll be blown off the decks if you go out there.”

Jinnarin laughed over her shoulder. “Even I know that, Alamar. Instead, I’m going through the passage to the wheelhouse and down through the trap.” She disappeared into the gloomy corridor.

Alamar grunted his approval, then swung about and studied Aylis’s face, at last softly saying. “Daughter, you still look pale, drawn. Fare you well?”

Aylis drew in a shuddering breath, and her heart thudded in her breast. And she realized that somewhere deep within, her soul was clutched in dread. “No, Father, I am not well. Instead, I am frightened.”

Alamar reached out, his hand covering hers. “Can you yet speak of it…your dreamwalk?”

“I must, Father, for something”—now Aylis’s heart began hammering, and she took another deep breath and let it out—“something hideous dwells within Jinnarin’s nightmare. Something that slew Ontah. And we must discover what it is and what is behind this—this terror.”

Alamar took up her trembling hand and held it. “After you get something to eat, Daughter, then will we speak of the dreamwalk and of what occurred therein.”

Aylis nodded, squeezing Alamar’s hand. “Aravan, too, Father. I would have him here when—”

A swift smile flashed over the elder’s face. “Ha! That goes without saying, Daughter, without saying. In fact, I am surprised that he’s not here now. He’s been popping in and out like a blooming jack-in-the-box to see if you are yet awake.”

The howl of the wind blasted down the corridor as
the door to the deck opened then closed. The eld Mage cackled. “If I am not mistaken, Daughter, that would be him now.” Aravan stepped into the lounge, and Alamar crowed, “No sooner said than done.”

Doffing his foul-weather gear, the Elf turned to Aylis. “Hast thou yet eaten?”

“Jinnarin has gone through the wheelhouse to fetch Tink.”

Aravan added charcoal to the small iron stove, turning the damper a bit in the vent pipe leading up and out. He then took the chair next to Aylis. “Should this wind hold, we are now but five or so days from Rwn.”

Alamar snorted. “Do you truly believe that we will discover anything there?”

Aravan shrugged. “Who can say?”

Aylis sighed. “I could…were not someone blocking all visions concerning—concerning whatever it is we pursue.”

“The recovery of Farrix” came Jinnarin’s voice, the Pysk just now stepping from the passageway, Tink in tow behind, the lad bearing a tray. “We are trying to find Farrix. That is what we pursue.”

Aylis smiled. “Aye, Jinnarin. That we are. But there is more to this than a missing loved one, though just what it is, I cannot say. We will speak of it after breakfast…including the dreamwalk, Jinnarin. Including the dreamwalk.”

Jinnarin took a deep breath and then exhaled and nodded sharply but once. “Yes, Aylis, after breakfast.”

Alamar leaned forward as Tink uncovered the tray. “Cap’n, sir, I brought enough for all,” said the cabin boy, smiling. “I reck’d that more than one would be hungry, given when they ate this morn.”

“Thou didst well, Tink,” said Aravan, “we could all use a bite.”

“Thank you, Cap’n,” said Tink. “Be there aught else?” At Aravan’s negative shake of his head, Tink headed across the rolling floor and into the passageway beyond.

Alamar, needing no urging, took up a bowl and spooned in a ration of oatmeal, adding a dollop of honey to it, stirring it about then digging in. Aylis on the other hand ate tentatively—honey and bread for the most
part—and in this she was joined by Jinnarin, the Pysk picking at her food. Aravan took nothing but tea and watched the others instead, noting that both Aylis and Jinnarin seemed to be bracing themselves for a distressing ordeal. None said aught for a while, wind and wave and the sounds of the
Eroean
were all that broke the silence. At last Aylis pushed her plate aside, a half-eaten crust of bread remaining, and she looked at Jinnarin, the Pysk cross-legged upon the table. “Let us begin.”

Jinnarin glanced up and asked, “Where shall I start?”

Alamar growled, “At the beginning. Pysk.”

As if anchored by his remark, Jinnarin nodded and took a deep breath. “I don’t remember what I was dreaming before I found myself once again flying above the pale green sea, though however the dream started, whatever it was about, I don’t think it matters. All I know is that there I was in the dark storm clouds, the black ship below me, lightning striking the masts.”

Alamar looked at Aylis and asked, “Did her beginning dream have any bearing on the sending?”

Aylis shook her head. “No, Father. At least I think not. When Ontah and I stepped into her dream, she was standing upon a fallen oak.”

“On a bank above a pool?” asked Jinnarin.

“Yes.”

“It is near my home in Darda Glain.”

“You walked out on a limb above the water and made ready to dive,”

“Farrix and I swim there.”

Aylis smiled. “When you dove, instead you flew. Up and away. Ontah and I flew up after. Soon we were among the storm clouds, the nightmare ship below, lightning crashing down upon it.”

Alamar leaned forward. “Did you see anything strange?”

“Everything was strange, Father.”

“No, I mean, did you see anything that Jinnarin had not before described to us?”

Aylis’s eyes were lost in reflection. “No…or wait, perhaps. I saw other shapes on the sea, but it was too dark…they were too dim and distant to make out.”

Jinnarin tilted her head. “Other shapes? Do you mean the island?”

“No, Jinnarin. The island I could see. These were perhaps other islands. Smaller.”

“Hmm,” mused Aravan. “Mayhap an archipelago or…I will scan my charts for a scattering of islands in a green sea.”

Alamar held up a cautionary hand. “Remember: not all visions seen in dreams are what they seem. The storm, the ship, the sea, the islands, the crystal castle: they are perhaps but symbols representing something else entirely.”

Aylis agreed. “Yes, Father, indeed as you will see, at least one or two were something else altogether.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

Jinnarin shivered in remembered horror, but she spoke on: “It was as before: suddenly I found myself in a crystal castle watching the black ship afar sailing toward me across the storm-tossed sea, and I was afraid.

“Then Aylis and Ontah came, and the dream
changed
into something different from before…and the fear got much, much worse.”

Jinnarin looked up at the other three. “Even now my heart is pounding.”

Aylis reached out and gently took Jinnarin’s tiny hand in her own. “Mine, too, Jinnarin.”

Alamar stroked his beard. “Changed? How so? Just how did the dream change.”

Jinnarin took a deep breath. “Well, when Brightwing and White Owl—”

“Brightwing and White Owl? What’s all this, Pysk? Who are they?”

“That’s their dream names, Alamar. Aylis is Brightwing and Ontah is—was, White Owl. I was named Sparrow.”

“Hmph,” grunted Alamar, then signified that she should continue.

“When they came, the fear got worse. I would have fled but Brightwing called for me to stay. The crystal walls wavered, changed, and the ship, too. I wanted to run, but Brightwing— I thought my heart would burst,
and even though I tried, I couldn’t stay any longer. I had to flee.”

Jinnarin stopped speaking, her gaze lost.

Alamar looked at Aylis. “The dream changed? How, Daughter?”

“When the fear came, White Owl called out that there was an evil spirit nearby. He then told me to stay with Sparrow and to flee at need, while he searched. That’s when the dream began to change. The walls shifted, and it was as if I were seeing double: the finished crystal castle walls seemed overlaid with a roughness, as of unworked crystal. I felt as if I were being drawn into another dream, one different from Jinnarin’s. And the fear, the dread, became almost more than I could bear. Even so, I called to Sparrow to wait, and the ship became a black spider running toward us. I began shrieking; I could not help myself. The walls wavered and began to fade as the dream, Jinnarin’s dream, started collapsing. White Owl shouted for us to flee. A tunnel appeared, and I bolted in terror.”

Fright once again welling within, Aylis began sobbing, and Aravan drew her to him, embracing her. Jinnarin, too, wept.

After a moment Aylis disengaged from Aravan and wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands. “White Owl—Ontah—didn’t escape. Instead he died there in that nightmare, in that sending, slain by something.…”

“The evil spirit?” asked Jinnarin, her face stark with remembered dread.

Aylis turned up her hands. “I know not, Jinnarin. Perhaps it was a spirit. Perhaps instead it was the fear.”

Alamar took up the teapot and replenished his cup, spilling a bit as the ship rolled with the sea. “Would a spider cause such fear?”

Jinnarin nodded, her eyes wide. “It was a giant spider, Alamar.”

“Even so…”

Aylis shrugged. “I don’t know, Father. It seems to me that White Owl searched for the fear…elsewhere…as if he were not in Jinnarin’s dream at all. I did not seek him, for he had charged me with Sparrow’s safety. Regardless, I could not seem to take my eyes away from the ship, the spider.”

Alamar glanced up at his daughter. “Perhaps then, Daughter, the spider wasn’t—isn’t the evil spirit at all, but is a diversion instead…something to keep you from seeing past the symbols and into the true nature of the dream.”

“Perhaps so, Father. But then again perhaps they are exactly what they seem.”