Get up!
She dragged herself to her feet, using the wall of the passageway to keep from falling again, pain shooting down her injured leg, blood soaking her clothing in fresh patches. How much had she lost? The passageway was shadowed and empty, but she thought she could hear voices calling. She tried calling back, but her voice was hollow and faint, lost in the roar of the wind. She stumbled along the corridor, using the wall for support, trying to trace the voices. She thought she heard her name a couple of times, but couldn’t be sure. There was blood in her throat by then, hot and thick, and she swallowed it to keep her breathing passages clear. She was light-headed, and everything was spinning.
With a sudden lurch of the airship, she fell hard, still short of the storerooms, careening off one wall of the corridor into the other, slamming into it with such force that it knocked the breath from her lungs and she simply collapsed. She lay gasping for air, just barely able to keep from losing consciousness, the world about her spinning faster and faster. She tried to straighten herself and found she couldn’t. She had no strength left, nothing more to give. It was the end of her. It was the end of them all.
She closed her eyes against the pain and fatigue, searching in her mind for the faces of those trapped only yards away. She found those faces, and Hawk’s, as well, as familiar to her as her own. She heard their voices speaking her name, clear and welcoming, in other places, in better times. She found herself smiling.
The Jerle Shannara lurched once more, caught in a violent gust of wind, and she thought to herself, I’m not ready to die.
Somehow she got back to her feet. She never really knew how she managed it, how long it took, what mechanics she employed, what willpower she called upon. But, broken and crying, covered everywhere with blood, she got up and dragged herself the last few yards down the passageway to the first storeroom door. She tugged and tugged on the latch, hearing the voices shouting at her from inside, but the latch would not give. Screaming in rage and frustration, she hammered at the door, then realized it wasn’t the latch that was holding it shut, it was the crossbar.
Gasping for breath, she threw back the crossbar with the last of her strength, pulled free the latch, yanked open the heavy door, and tumbled through into blackness.
When she came awake again, the first thing she saw was her brother.
“Are we still alive?” she asked, her voice weak, her throat parched with thirst. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
He gave her a rueful grin. “Not to you, I expect. But, yes, we’re still alive, if only just by the barest of margins. It would be easier on all of us if the next time you come to the rescue, you do so with a little more alacrity.”
She tried to laugh and failed. “I’ll try to remember that.”
Redden Alt Mer rose to bring a water skin close, poured out a measure into a cup, and lifted her head just enough to let her drink. He gave her small sips, letting her take her time. His big hand on the back of her head and neck felt gentle and reassuring.
When she had finished, he laid her back again and resumed his seat at her bedside. “It was closer than what I would have liked. They had us in two rooms, all but you and Hawk. With the crossbars thrown over the doorways, we couldn’t free ourselves. We tried everything to knock the bar free, to work it clear through the jamb slit, even to break down the door. We could hear the storm and knew it was bad; we could feel the ship drifting. At first Mwellrets were watching us; then they were gone. We couldn’t tell what was happening.”
She closed her eyes, remembering. Hawk, using his dagger to pick the lock to their door, a forward storeroom that lacked a crossbar. Their battle with the Mwellret in the passageway. The charge up the stairs and onto the deck where other rets were waiting along with two members of the Federation crew. The airship in shambles, out of control, wheeling wildly in the grip of the canyon winds as it sailed toward the pillars of ice. The struggle with their captors. Furl Hawken giving up his own life to save hers. Her own brush with a deadly fall she only just managed to avoid. The long climb back.
“After you freed us, we rushed out on deck and saw what had happened to the ship and how close we were to the Squirm.” He shook his mane of red hair, lips tightening. “By then, we were right on top of it. The pilothouse was smashed, the steering fouled, the light sheaths in shreds, the rigging flying everywhere, spars broken, and even a couple of the parse tubes jammed shut. But you should have seen Spanner and the others. They were all over that decking in seconds, clearing away the tubes, refastening the radian draws, bringing enough of the rigging and sail remnants into play to give us at least a small measure of control. You know what it was like up there, everything tossing and wild, the wind strong enough to knock you right off the deck if you didn’t watch yourself, or maybe even if you did.”
She nodded, her eyes opening again to meet his. “I know.”
“A couple of the men went right up the masts, even in that storm, as if it didn’t matter or they didn’t care how dangerous it was. Kelson Riat barely missed getting his head taken off by a loose spar, and Jahnon Pakabbon was slashed all the way down his left arm by a spike. But no one gave up on the ship. We got her functioning again in minutes. I’d cleared the controls, but the lines were smashed, so we had to do it all by hand. We used the power stored in the parse tubes to right her, turn her from the ice pillars, and start her back the way she had come. The wind fought us the whole way, blowing down off the ice fields and up the gorge, trying to overpower us. But she’s a good ship, Little Red. The Jerle Shannara is the best. She fought her way right into the teeth of the wind and held her own until we found some calm space to make headway in.”
He rocked back in his seat, laughing like a boy. “Even Spanner Frew was spitting and howling in defiance of that wind, standing at the wheel to keep the rudder steady, even without the controls to work. Old Black Beard fought for her like the rest of us. To him she’s a child he’s nurtured and reared as his own, and he’s not going to lose her, is he?”
She smiled with him, his glee infectious, her relief giving her an edge on the ache of her body. She glanced down at herself, tucked in one of the berths belowdecks, in the Healer’s quarters, she thought. Light shone through the room’s only window, bright and cheerful. She tried moving her arms and legs, but her body didn’t seem to want to respond.
“Am I all in one piece?” she asked, suddenly concerned.
“Except for a few bad slashes and deep bruises.” He arched one eyebrow at her. “You must have had one terrible battle up there, Little Red. You and Hawk.”
She kept trying to make her hands and feet move, saying nothing in reply. Finally, she felt a tingle at the ends of each, working its way through the pain that ran up and down her body in sharp spasms. She let herself relax and looked at her brother. “Hawk died for me. You’ve probably guessed as much. I wouldn’t have made it without him. None of us would. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Her brother nodded. “Nor me. He’s been with us forever. I didn’t think we’d ever lose him.” He sighed. “Care to tell me what happened? It might help us both a bit if you did.”
She took her time, pausing once to let him bring her a fresh drink of water, taking him through the events leading up to her finally freeing him from the aft storeroom, leaving nothing out, forcing herself to remember it all, especially everything about Furl Hawken. It took considerable effort just to tell it, and when she had finished, she was exhausted.