Bek Rowe, born Bek Ohmsford, wasn’t at all sure that was so, but if hope and determination counted for anything, maybe they had a chance. He was wrestling with doubts about his ability to control any sort of magic, even his mastery of the wishsong suspect. It was all too new and unfamiliar for him to have much confidence. He had experienced the magic of his voice, but in such a small way and with so little sense of control that he barely felt he understood what it could do. As for the magic of the Sword of Shannara, he had no idea what he could do with that. He could repeat everything Walker had told him about how it worked. He could intellectualize its behavior and function. He would apply all the appropriate and correct words to how it would affect him. But he could not picture it. He could not imagine how it would feel. He had no frame of reference and no sense of proportion with which to measure its power.
He did not try to deceive himself. The magic of the Sword of Shannara would be immense and overwhelming. It would engulf him like a tidal wave, and he would be fortunate to survive its crushing impact, let alone find a way to swim to its surface. All he could do was hope he would not be drowned straightaway when it swept over him. Walker had not said so, but it was there in the gaps between his words. Bek was to be tested in a way he had never imagined. Walker did not seem to think he would fail, but Walker would not be there inside him when the magic took hold.
Bek climbed down out of the pilot box after a while and went to stand at the ship’s railing. Quentin came up to him, and they talked in low voices about the day and the weather, avoiding any mention of the Squirm. The Highlander was relaxed and cheerful, in typical fashion, and he made Bek feel at ease even without intending it. Wasn’t this everything they had hoped for? he asked his cousin with a broad smile. Wasn’t this the adventure they had come to find? What did Bek think lay on the other side of those ice pillars? Somehow they must make certain they stayed together. Whatever happened, they must remember their promise.
It was nearing midmorning when they reached the gap in the cliffs and rode the edges of the air currents through its opening and into the silence and calm beyond. The roar of the ocean and the whistle of the wind died away, and the bay with its cliff walls and cloud ceiling enfolded them like an anxious mother would her offspring. The ship’s company crowded to the railings and looked out over the gray expanse of water and ice. Floes passed beneath like massive ships launched off the glaciers, riding the currents out to sea. Ice cracked and chattered in the silence, filling hearts with sudden moments of apprehension and eyes with bright looks of concern. Bek stood in the cold and silence like a statue, wrapped in the former’s raw burn and layered in the latter’s rough emptiness.
The Jerk Shannara passed through the outer bay and rode down the narrowing channel inland, the ceiling of mist lowering to scrape the airship’s raked masts, the gloom a whisper of shadows that tricked the eyes into seeing things that weren’t there. No one spoke as the airship slid past icebergs and along cliff walls, moving so slowly that it seemed almost at rest. Seabirds arced and soared about them, soundless and spectral. Bek watched them keep pace, following their progress, intrigued by their obvious interest.
Then his throat tightened and his breath exhaled in a sharp cloud as he realized they were waiting to see if there would be bones to pick once the airship reached the Squirm.
Moments later the haze cleared sufficiently that he could see the first of the ice pillars that barred their passage, towering spikes swaying hypnotically, seductively in the gloom.
“Come with me,” Walker said softly, causing the boy to jump, to feel the tightening in his throat work swiftly to his chest and stomach.