Voyage of the Fox Rider (94 page)

Slane turned to Jinnarin. “Oh, I don’t know about
that, Lady Jinnarin. I mean, I’ve heard tales of the dead speaking to the living in their dreams, right enough.”

A stricken look came over Jinnarin’s face. “Oh, Slane—”

“Oh, don’t take me wrong, miss. I ain’t saying one way or the other whether Lady Aylis is dead. I’m only saying that spirits and ghosts can come to your dreams, they can, and that’s a fact.”

Jinnarin nodded bleakly, and resumed her vigil of Aravan below.

After a while he turned away from the railing and went toward his quarters. When he was gone from sight, Jinnarin turned to Farrix, tears in her eyes. “You know what the worst thing is, Farrix? We can’t even put our arms about him and comfort him, for Pysks and Elves are not of a size.”

Through the Silver Straits they sailed without incident, and then on up into the Weston Ocean. The winter solstice found them anchored in Inigo Bay, crews ashore taking on fresh water from the clear streams flowing down to the sea. And that night, the rites of the solstice were held—three altogether: the Pysks and foxes in the courtly dance of rider and mount, the foxes moving in a stately circle, turning and bowing in unison; the Châkka chanting their paean to Elwydd, the Giver of Life; and Aravan pacing the Elven rite, tears flowing down his face, for when last he had stepped the steps, his
chier
was at his side.

It was the day after the solstice that Aravan and Jinnarin again sat in the lounge and spoke of things that had been and of things that were and of things yet to be. Rux lay on the floor, dozing, for it seemed that all rats had gone missing, what with twelve foxes aboard. Aravan reached down and scratched Rux between the ears, then sat a moment in deep thought. At last he looked into his cup, the tea gone cold, and softly said, “This is the last voyage of the
Eroean
, Jinnarin. I am giving up the sea.”

Jinnarin said nothing for a while, the sounds of wind and wave and silk and rope filling the salon. Finally Jinnarin said, “I know that a great melancholy lies over all
the crew, for many a good friend was lost there in the crystal caverns. But to give up the sea—it is your life, Aravan.”

Slowly Aravan nodded, and his eyes glittered with unshed tears. “It is too painful for me. Everywhere I look, she is there. At every little sound, I turn, expecting at any moment for her to step from seclusion, her green eyes dancing in humor, she laughing her throaty laugh. I waken at night and it is as if she has just slipped from my bed, and I lie waiting but she does not return.

“The
Eroean
is where I knew her. Where we laughed and loved. Where we strove against evil. Where we celebrated good. And without her at my side, the
Eroean
no longer brims with the bright promise of the morrow, but is filled to choking with dolor instead.”

Aravan buried his face in his hands, while tears spilled down Jinnarin’s cheeks.

The following day Aravan gathered the crew together and announced that this was the final voyage of the
Eroean
, for a while, at least. There were some cries of protest, but most of the crew understood. “We will sail to the hidden grot in Thell Cove where we will stow the ship,” added Aravan. “Then we divide the treasure, and when added to what we’ve already stashed away in the banks of Arbalin, then I say ye and yours should all have comfortable lives, whatever ye decide to do.”

Aravan then asked if there were questions, but none spoke, the crew too desolate to think of any.

As the meeting broke up, Jinnarin asked, “What are your plans, Jatu?”

The black Man sighed, then said, “I think I’ll go back to Tchanga. Settle down.”

“Take a wife?” asked Farrix, grinning.

“More like several,” growled Bokar.

Jatu smiled. “Aye, more like several.”

“What about you, Bokar?” Farrix looked up at the Dwarven warrior.

Bokar stroked his beard, then said, “There is a new Châkkaholt in the Grimwalls. Kachar, by name. I think I will go take a look, and if it’s to my liking, there will I settle.”

“Meself, Oi’m goin’ back t’ Gelen,” said Tivir. “Run me a fishin’ boat.”

“Not me,” said Tink. “I’m going to get me a manor in Rian, down by the Argent Hills, and be the squire of the land. Raise crops and suchlike.”

“Ar, wot d’y’ know about croftin’, eh? Nothin’, says Oi.…”

There sounded a pipe on deck, and both lads jumped up to answer.…

…And for the weeks to come, talk of the future occupied those aboard.

On February first, the
Eroean
hove to along the coast of the western continent, and all the Pysks and Aravan debarked. Into the forest they went, journeying to Tarquin, and he welcomed them with open arms. Here would Anthera and the Fox Riders stay, the ones that had come with her on that fateful day, for their home, Darda Glain, was gone. But Farrix and Jinnarin wished instead to go unto far Blackwood—called Darda Erynian by the Elves—there where Jinnarin’s sire and dam dwelled…for Aravan planned to go to Pellar, and he would take these two with him.

They stayed with Tarquin for a sevenday, and on the eighth when Aravan was to depart, the Hidden Ones approached him and Anthera said, “When you came to Darda Glain, you said that you had come to rescue us. We came, but for a different reason—to make an example of those who would seek to enslave a Hidden One. We stayed for yet another reason—to seek revenge for the destruction of Rwn and our kindred in Darda Glain. Yet heed, Aravan, you were right all along—you
did
come to rescue us, though none knew it at the time. For this, my band and I will never forget. And we have made for you a gift to remember us by; it is a truenamed weapon, a crystal spear: Krystallopŷr.”

As Jinnarin and Farrix flanked Anthera on one side, and Tarquin and Falain on the other, nine Fox Riders from Darda Glain—Bivin, Reena, Galex, Kylena, Rimi, Fia, Dwnic, Lurali, and Temen—stepped forward, and they bore a crystal-bladed spear with a long black shaft. “It is the dark crystal that slew Durlok,” said Anthera, “starsilver-mounted on the Wizard’s staff. As you know, this crystal is devastating in its power. Use it well and
rightly, and guard forever its Truename—
Krystallopýr
—for in ill hands great wrongs can come of it.”

Aravan took up the weapon, nearly eight feet in length overall. Slowly he turned it in his hands, and peered at the dark silveron mount holding blade to shaft. It was chased ‘round with strange runes, tiny in their incising. He looked at Tarquin.

“It was forged by—by…hmm, you would call him Drix. He is too shy to come forward, but he is watching even now.” Tarquin tilted his head to the left.

Aravan turned that direction and bowed to the woods. “I thank thee, Drix,” he called. “I will try to bring honor to this weapon.” Aravan turned to Anthera and the Fox Riders, and there were tears in his eyes. “I will try to bring honor.”

In the dark of night of the vernal equinox, the
Eroean
sailed into Thell Cove along the coast of Pellar. There the Elvenship was secreted in a hidden grotto, the very place where she had been born. And the Men and Dwarves set about laying her away, putting her down for a while.

Two days later they divided the treasure, shares being given to the dead as well as to the living, Jatu and Bokar taking on the task of seeing that the families of those who had been slain received their proper due. The only thing that Jinnarin took was a simple silver ring, a ring she slipped over her hand to wear as a bracelet. Farrix took a small red jewel on a golden chain, which he clasped about his waist.

Before any departed, Aravan called one last shipboard meeting, and he and Jinnarin and Farrix and Rux and Rhu stood atop the wheelhouse as the crew gathered on the decks before them. And when all were assembled, Aravan said. “I mind ye each that ye are pledged to me to keep the secrets of the
Eroean
tight—how she is built, how she runs, and where she is stored.

“And there is this, too: Ye hath completed a quest of the kind which bards extol. Yet none but we shall know of it, for I would remind ye all that drunk or sober, healthy or sick, in torture or pleasure, sadness or joy, we all of us are pledged to secrecy concerning this mission. Ye may not speak of such except to one another,
and then and only then if ye cannot be overheard. The truth of the Hidden Ones shall remain but fables in the minds of all but the crew of the
Eroean
, and we shall keep such truth locked tight.”

Aravan looked from Man to Man and from Dwarf to Dwarf, and when his eye fell upon Bokar, the warrior dropped to one knee and, with a fist clenched to his heart, shouted, “For the Lady Jinnarin!”

And so did all the crew go down to one knee with hands clasped to hearts and shout,
For the Lady Jinnarin!

And tears welled in Jinnarin’s eyes, for the last time she had heard such a pledge, the quest was just beginning, and an old Mage had stood nearby.

Farrix reached out and took her hand, and she looked at him and smiled, and he whispered unheard, “For the Lady Jinnarin.”

At last Jinnarin held up her free hand and quiet fell. Her gaze swept across the full of the crew, friends all, and they waited in silence for her to speak. At last she said, “We ridded the world of a great evil, did you and I and others, and some of us gave up our very lives to do so. Yet heed: evil never sleeps. The challenge we face is to be ever vigilant against such happening again, and I know we all will maintain our guard. This, too, do I know: you are all my comrades. Should any of you ever need help, come to the Blackwood. Farrix and I will be there.”