Of Truls Rohk, there was still no sign. Panax insisted he was aboard, but Bek never saw any evidence of it.
Then, ten days out of land’s view, they came in sight of the island of Flay Creech. It was nearing midday, the sky clouded and gray, the weather beginning to turn raw for the first time since they had set out. Thunderheads were massed to the west, approaching at a slow, steady roll across the back of a still-calm wind, and the burn of the sun through gaps in the thinner clouds east was giving way before cooler air. Below them, the sea rose and fell in gentle waves, a silver-tipped azure carpet where it broke against the shores of the island ahead, but beyond, out on the horizon, it was dark and threatening.
Flay Creech was not a welcoming sight. The island was gray and barren, a collection of mostly smooth mounds irrigated by an irregular patchwork of deep gullies that deposited seawater in shallow ponds all across its surface. Save for clusters of scrub trees and heavy weed patches, nothing grew. The island was small, barely a half mile across, and marked by a rocky outcropping just off the coast to the south that bore a distinct resemblance to a lizard’s head with its mouth agape and its crest lifted in warning. On the map that Walker had drawn for the ship’s company, the lizard’s head was the landmark that identified the island.
Redden Alt Mer took the Jerle Shannara slowly around the island, keeping several hundred feet above its surface, while the ship’s company gathered at the railings to survey the forbidding terrain. Bek looked downward with the others, but saw nothing of interest. There was no sign of life and no movement of any kind. The island appeared deserted.
When they had completed several passes, Walker signaled to Hunter Predd, who with his complement of Wing Riders had been gliding silently overhead. The grizzled rider swung close aboard Obsidian and shook his head. They had seen nothing either. But they would not descend to the island for a closer look, Bek knew, because they were under orders from the Druid not to land on any of the three islands where the talismans were hidden until a party from the airship had gone down first. The Rocs and their riders were too valuable to risk; if lost, they could not be replaced.
Walker called Redden Alt Mer and Ard Patrinell to his side, and Bek and Quentin eased nearer to listen to what was being said.
“What do you see?” the Druid was asking the Rover Captain as they drew close enough to hear.
“The same as you. Nothing. But there’s something not right about the look of the island. What made those gullies that crisscross everything?”
However unhappy Redden Alt Mer was, Ard Patrinell was even more so. “I don’t like what I’m seeing at all. The terrain of this island doesn’t fit with anything I’ve ever come across. It’s the shape of it. False, somehow. Unnatural.”
Walker nodded. Bek could tell that he was troubled, too. There was something odd about the formation of the gullies and the smoothness of the island.
The Druid walked over to where Ryer Ord Star stood watching and bent down to speak softly with her. The seer listened carefully, then pressed her thin, small hands against her breast, closed her eyes and went completely still. Bek watched with the others, wondering what was happening. Then her eyes opened, and she began to speak to the Druid in rapid, breathless sentences. When she was finished, he held her gaze for a moment, squeezed her hand, and turned away.
He came back to where Ard Patrinell and Redden Alt Mer stood waiting. “I’m going down for a closer look,” he said quietly. “Lower me in the basket and stand ready to bring me up again when I signal. Don’t come down for me with either the ship or the Rocs if anything goes wrong.”
“I don’t think you should go alone,” Ard Patrinell said at once.
Walker smiled. “All right. I’ll take one man with me.”
Leaving them, he walked over to Quentin Leah. “Highlander, I need a swift, sure blade to protect me. Are you interested in the job?”
Quentin nodded instantly, a grin breaking out on his sun-browned face. He hitched up the Sword of Leah, where it was strapped across his back, and gave Bek a wink before hastening to follow the Druid, who was already walking over to stand with Furl Hawken while he readied the winch basket for lowering.
Ahren Elessedil appeared at Bek’s elbow and put a hand on his shoulder. Panax came up beside him, as well. “What’s going on?” the Dwarf rumbled.
Bek was too stunned to answer, still trying to come to grips with the idea of his untested cousin being selected to go with the Druid rather than the Elf Captain or one of his Hunters. Walker was already in the basket, his dark robes drawn close, and Quentin quickly climbed in after him. Redden Alt Mer was at the airship’s controls, swinging her around and then descending to within twenty feet of a flat place at the island’s eastern tip. Bek wanted to shout something encouraging to his cousin, to warn him to be careful and to come back safe. But he couldn’t manage to get the words out. Instead, he just stood there staring as the Rover crew winched the basket and its occupants aloft, then pushed them out over the railing and into space.
With the remainder of the ship’s company looking on, the crew slowly lowered the basket and the two men who rode within it toward Flay Creech.
Walker’s mind was working swiftly as the basket began its descent to the island, the words of the seer repeating over and over in his mind with harsh urgency.
“Three dark holes in place and time do I see, Walker. Three, that would swallow you up. They lie in deep blue waters that spread away forever beneath skies and wind. One is blind and cannot see, but will find you anyway. One has mouths that would swallow you whole. One is everything and nothing and will steal your soul. All guard keys that look to be other than what they are and are nothing of what they seem. I see this in a haze of shadow that tracks you everywhere and seeks to place itself about you like a shroud.”
These were the words she had spoken to him last night when she had come to him unexpectedly after midnight, waking from a dream that had shown her something new of their quest. Wide-eyed and frightened, her childlike face twisted with fear for him, she had shaken him from his sleep to share her strange vision. It had come unbidden, as they almost always did, buried in a mix of other dreams and no dreams, the only part of her mind’s sight that had reason for being, clear and certain to her, a glimpse of a future that would unfailingly come to pass.
He steadied her, held her because she was shaking and not yet even fully awake. She was tied to him, he knew, in a way neither of them yet understood. She had accompanied him on the voyage because she believed it was her destiny, but her bonds to him were as much emotional as psychic. She had found in him a kindred soul, another part of her being, and she had given herself into his care completely. He did not approve and would have it otherwise, but he had not found a way as yet to set her free.
Her eyes glistened with tears and her hands clasped his arm as she told him of the dream and struggled with what it meant. She saw no more than what she was given to see, had no insights to aid him, and therefore felt inadequate and useless. But he told her that her vision was clear to him and would help to keep him safe, and he held her for a time until she quieted and went back to sleep.
But his words to her were false, for he did not understand her vision beyond what was immediately apparent. The black holes were the islands they sought. On each, something dark and dangerous awaited. The keys he would find did not look like the keys with which he was familiar. The haze of shadow that followed after and sought to wrap about him was the Ilse Witch.