Morgawr by Terry Brooks

“Good-bye, Ahren Elessedil,” she whispered into the night.

The words floated on the air feather-light and fading even as she turned away, alone now for good.

TWENTY ONE

A hand shook his shoulder gently, and Bek Ohmsford stirred awake. “If you sleep any longer, people will think you’re dead,” a familiar voice said.

He opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight pouring out of the midday sky. Rue Meridian moved into the light, blocking it away, and stared down at him, a hint of irony in the faint twist of her pursed lips. Just seeing her warmed him in a way the sun never could and made him smile in turn.

“I feel like I’m dead,” he said. He lay stretched out on the deck of the Jerle Shannara, cocooned in blankets. He took in the railings of the airship and the mast jutting skyward overhead as he gathered his thoughts. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Since this time yesterday. How do you feel?”

His memories of the past week flooded back as he considered the question. His flight out of Castledown with Grianne and Truls Rohk. Their struggle to escape the pursuit of the Morgawr and his creatures. The battle with the caull. Truls, dying. Their encounter with the shape-shifters and the lifesaving transformation of his friend. Climbing with Grianne into the mountains, trusting that they would somehow find their way. Finding Quentin after so long, a miracle made possible because of a promise made to a dead man.

And then, when it seemed the mountains would swallow them whole, another miracle, as Hunter Predd, searching for the Jerle Shannara’s lost children, plucked them off the precipice and carried them away.

“I feel better than I did when I was brought here,” Bek said. He took a deep, satisfying breath. “I feel better than I have in a long time.” He took a good look at her, noting the raw marks on her face and the splint on her left arm. “What happened to you? Been wrestling with moor cats again?”

She cocked her head. “Maybe.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Cuts and bruises. A broken arm and a few broken ribs. Nothing that won’t heal.” She punched him lightly. “I could have used your help.”

“I could have used yours.”

“Missed me, did you?”

She tossed the question out casually, as if his answer didn’t mean anything. But he knew it did. For just an instant he was convinced it meant everything, that she wanted him to tell her she was important to him in a way that went beyond friendship. It was an improbable and foolish notion, but he couldn’t shake it. Anyway, he liked the idea and didn’t question it.

“Okay, I missed you,” he said.

“Good.” She bent down suddenly and kissed his lips. It was just a quick brush followed by a touching of his cheek with, her fingers, and then she lifted away again. “I missed you, too. Know why?”

He stared at her. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. I only just figured it out for myself. Maybe with enough time, you will, too. You’re pretty good at figuring things out, even for a boy.” She gave him an ironic, mocking smile, but it wasn’t meant to hurt and it didn’t. “I hear you can do magic. I hear you’re not who you thought you were. Life is full of surprises.”

“Do you want me to explain?”

“If you want to.”

“I do. But first I want you to tell me how you got all beat up. I want to hear what happened.”

“This,” she said sardonically, and she gestured at the airship. “This and a lot of other catastrophes.”

He lifted himself on one elbow and looked around. The Jerle Shannara’s decks stretched away in a jumble of makeshift patches and unfinished repairs. A new mast had been cut and shaped and set in place, he could tell from the new wood and fresh metal banding. Railings had been spliced in and damaged planks in the hull and decks replaced. Radian draws hung limply from cross beams and sails lay half mended. No one was in sight.

“They’ve deserted us,” she advised, as if reading his thoughts.