Walker nodded, calm and unmoved. “That’s your choice, Bek. I will miss your help.”
Bek stared at him a moment longer, trying to think of what else to say, then gave it up and stalked from the room, slamming the cabin door behind him. There were tears in his eyes as he stomped back up on deck with the others.
Walker stayed where he was for a few moments, thinking through what had happened, trying to decide if he had made the right choice in not revealing what he knew. Eventually, he must. Everything depended on it. But if he told Bek too soon, if the boy was given too much time to dwell on it, he might be paralyzed by fear or doubt when it came time to act. It was better to keep the burden of it from him for as long as possible, even if it meant incurring his anger. It was better to leave him in ignorance awhile longer.
Yet he longed to reveal to Bek Rowe what he had known from the time of the boy’s birth and carried hidden inside all these years. He yearned to share what he had so carefully nurtured and protected so that it might find a purpose beyond his own selfish needs.
He looked down at the key in his hand, at the connecting ridges of metal and the flashing red light embedded in the power source. He had all of them now, all three keys, and there was nothing to stop him from gaining entrance to Castledown.
Nothing.
The word echoed in his mind, a bitter and terrifying lie. Of all the lies he fostered by concealing truths he alone understood, this was the most insidious. He closed his eyes. What could he possibly do to keep it from destroying them all?
He walked from the cabin up to the main decking and called everyone together. When they had gathered around him, he held up the third key and announced that with the invaluable aid of Bek Rowe he had recovered it during the night and brought it aboard. It was time to cast off and continue their journey to Ice Henge and the treasure.
Cheers rose from the company, and Bek was hoisted aloft on Furl Hawken’s burly shoulders and paraded around like a hero. The Elven Hunters saluted him with their swords, and Panax clapped him on the back so hard Bek was almost dislodged from his uncertain perch. Finally, Rue Meridian grabbed him by his shoulders and kissed him hard on the mouth. The boy grinned and waved in response, clearly pleased with the unexpected attention. Even so, he avoided looking at Walker.
Fair enough, the Druid thought. It’s them who will need you most and whose trust and respect you must earn.
Placing the third key inside his robes with the other two, he turned away.
The weather continued cold and brisk for almost a week as they traveled on toward Ice Henge, sailing crosswise against a north wind with the light sheaves reefed close and their course set to account for the push south and west. Coats and gloves cut the chill of the wind, but everyone felt it gnawing at their bones and thickening their blood, making them sluggish and ill-tempered. They ate and drank sparingly, conserving their supplies. No one knew how far this last leg of the trip would be, but the map indicated it was some distance and therefore would require a considerable amount of time.
After Mephitic, there were no further islands to be found, and the Rocs were forced to roost on makeshift wooden platforms that were constructed from spare lumber. The platforms were lashed to the Jerle Shannara’s pontoons by day and dropped into the sea and towed by night. Their progress slowed measurably as a result.
Bek continued his studies with Redden Alt Mer, feeling very much at home at the helm of the airship by now, able to navigate and steer without asking for help, comfortable that he knew what to do in most situations. When Quentin was training with the Elven Hunters, Bek spent his free time with Ahren Elessedil trading stories and life philosophies. All of them had changed in noticeable ways since they had set out, but no one more than Ahren Elessedil. It seemed to Bek that Ahren had grown physically, his body much tougher and stronger from his training, his fighting abilities now almost the equal of any man aboard. He had always seemed a quick learner, but Ard Patrinell had accomplished wonders with him nevertheless. He was still a boy like Bek, but newly confident in himself and less an outsider.
The same could not be said for Bek. Following his confrontation with Walker, he had retreated further inside himself, putting up walls and locking down hatches, persuaded that for the time being, the less accessible he was, the better. It was a decision fueled by his determination not to do anything to put himself back within Walker’s sphere of influence. He avoided the Druid very deliberately and kept to those few with whom he shared an established companionship—Quentin, Ahren, Panax, and Big and Little Red. He was friendly and outgoing still, but in a measured way, burdened with the secrets he was carrying and by the questions that haunted him. He thought on more than one occasion to share those secrets with someone, either Quentin or Ahren, but he could not make himself do so. What would it accomplish, after all? It would merely shift his burden to someone else without lightening his own load. No one could help him with what he needed to discover except the Druid. He knew he would simply have to wait Walker out, and it might take a very long time.
At the end of that first week out from Mephitic, the weather changed with the arrival of a warm front blown up from the south. The wind shifted, a wall of thick clouds rolled in, and the temperature rose. The clear, cold air disappeared before a wall of heavy mist and soft, damp wind, and all the colors of the world faded to gray. On the day of the front’s arrival, there were still sufficient gaps in the clouds to read the stars at night and set a course. By the second day, there were only glimpses of sky to be found. By the third day, the airship was enveloped completely. The sun was reduced to a bright spot in the sky overhead, then to a barely discernible hazy ball, and then to a faint wash that was everywhere and nowhere at once.
By the fourth day, only a brightening or darkening of the light measured the difference between day and night, and visibility was reduced to less than a dozen yards. Big Red had tried sailing out of this soup without success, and the Wing Riders had been forced to descend to the makeshift rafts to wait out the front’s passing. The Jerle Shannara was enveloped in swirling mist and impenetrable gloom.
Finally, Redden Alt Mer ordered the sails taken in completely and shut down the airship’s power. Unable to see anything, he was afraid that they might sail right into a cliff wall without realizing it was there. Better to wait this weather out, he declared, than to court disaster. Everyone accepted the news stoically and went about their business. There was no help for it, after all. It was unnerving, being unable to see anything—no sky, no sea, no colors of any sort. Not even the cries of seabirds or the splash of fish penetrated the blanket of gloom that enfolded them. It was as if they had been consigned to in-limbo existence. It was as if they were alone in the world. Men gathered at the railing and stared out at the gloom in silent groups, searching for something recognizable. Even the Rovers seemed disconcerted by the immensity of the fog. Off the coast of the Blue Divide and the Wing Hove, fog lasted only a day or two before the winds moved it along. Here, it seemed as if it might last forever.
The fourth day dragged into the fifth and sixth with no change. It had been almost a week since they had seen anything but the airship and each other. The silence was becoming unnerving. Efforts at livening things up with music and song seemed only to exacerbate the problem. As soon as the playing and singing stopped, the silence returned, thick and immutable. The Rover crew had nothing to do while the ship was at rest. Even the training sessions for the Elven Hunters had been shortened as everyone began to spend more and more time staring off into the void.