Eventually the storm passed, leaving all aboard ship sodden and battered and grateful to be alive. It was the worst storm Redden Alt Mer could remember. He thought they were lucky to have had a vessel as well built as the .Jerle Shannara to weather it, and one of the first things he did after a hurried bestguess correction of their heading was to relinquish the helm to Furl Hawken so he could tell Spanner Frew as much. A quick check of the ship’s company revealed that everyone was still with them, although a few members had sustained minor injuries. Little Red appeared out of the shelter of the forward rams to advise him they had lost several spars and a couple of radian draws, but sustained no major damage. The most immediate problem they faced was that a forward hatch had fallen in on the water casks and all of their fresh water was lost. Foraging for more would be necessary.
It was at that point that Alt Mer remembered the Wing Riders and their Rocs, who had ridden out the storm on their own. He searched the skies in vain. All three had disappeared.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it. Half a day’s light remained to them, and he intended to take advantage of it. They were still following Walker’s map, sailing on toward the last of the three islands. Even though the Druid was lost to them for now, continuing on made better sense than turning back or standing still. If the Druid died, a different decision might be necessary, but he would make it only then.
“Bring everyone topside and put them to work cleaning up,” he told his sister. “And check on the Druid.”
She left at once, but it was Bek Rowe who appeared with the news he sought. “He’s sleeping better now, and Joad Rish thinks he will recover.” Bek looked exhausted, but pleased. “I don’t need to be down there anymore. I can help with what’s needed up here.”
Alt Mer smiled and clapped the boy on the back. “You are a game lad, Bek. I’m lucky to have you for my good right hand. All right, then. You go where you want for now. Lend a hand where it’s needed.”
The boy went at once to join Rue Meridian, who was clearing away one of the broken spars. Big Red watched him for a moment, then moved back into the pilot box with Furl Hawken and watched Bek some more.
“That boy’s in love with her, Hawk,” he declared with a wistful sigh.
Furl Hawken nodded. “Aren’t they all. Much good that it will do him or any of them.”
Redden Alt Mer pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Maybe Bek Rowe will surprise us.”
His friend grunted. “Maybe cows will fly.”
They turned their attention to determining the ship’s position, taking compass and sextant readings, and beginning a search for landmarks. For now, they could do little but wait. The stars would give them a better reading come nightfall. Tomorrow would see a return of good weather and clear sailing. Maybe the Wing Riders would reappear from wherever they had gone. Maybe Walker would be back on his feet.
Redden Alt Mer glanced over at his sister and Bek Rowe once more and smiled. Maybe cows would fly.
It was almost twenty-four hours later when the Wing Riders soared into view out of the eastern horizon, winging for the airship across clear skies and over placid waters. Hunter Predd rode the lead bird. He was steady and calm as he swung close enough to shout across at Redden Alt Mer.
“Well met, Captain! Are you all right?”
“We survived, Wing Rider! What kept you?”
Hunter Predd grimaced. Rover humor. “We saw the storm
forming and found an island on which to wait it out! You don’t want to be caught aloft on a Roc in a storm like that! You’ve been blown well off course, you know!”
Alt Mer nodded. “We’re working our way back! What we need now is fresh water! Can you find us some?”
The Wing Rider waved. ‘We’ll take a look! Don’t wander off while we’re gone!”