by R. J. Louis
“Wake up, Kendra, this is just another of your nightmares,” Lily says, her voice tense.
It’s not true, but in another way, it is. Kendra’s thoughts are spiralling like a whirlpool, leading her down into the darkness, her heart racing. Then Lily pinches her, and Kendra’s eyes open. They are standing in the mouth of the cavern, it’s like standing in an oven, and flames lick over the surface of the treasure pile in front of them. Guy and Arn stand with them, Boss is nowhere to be seen.
“What—” Kendra’s hand clutches at the bow on her shoulder as she draws a deep breath.
“The dragon’s not leaving the egg... Soon as we got out of its sight, it stopped attacking. Now it’s just cooking the bloody place, so if you’re done having a very reasonable and totally forgiven freak out, we should get going.”
“Boss?”
Lily just shakes her head, a sad look on her face.
“Right.” Kendra draws another shaky breath, her face colouring slightly. “Apologies, everyone.”
“No need,” Guy says with a pained smile. “This place is horrid.”
“You can say that again,” Lily says, she wipes sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of blood across her forehead from a cut on her hand. “Let’s get out of here, see if we can’t organise the Captain to roll out the red carpet for us.”
They follow the tunnel out, the heat on their backs, walking into the cool night air of Flare’s great sandy desert. The dry breeze is cool against their singed faces, as they carry the heavy bags of treasure out into the moonlight, and fine grains of sand on the wind scratch playfully at them.
“Can’t believe it,” Guy says, hefting her sack.
“Don’t count your golden eggs before they’ve hatched,” Lily says. “Or at least until we get them back on board the ship, I’m half concerned we’re going to get out of here and find the momma dragon waiting for us, using Captain Thunder’s mechanical spine as a toothpick.”
“Gods Lil,” Kendra hisses. “Could you not paint a more optimistic picture?”
“I’m just preparing you all for disappointment. I’d hate to die by dragon fire and be filled with false hope at the same time, that would just be too cruel.”
Kendra shakes her head, but braces any way as she steps out of the mouth of the lair, over the rocks. She can see the divot in the sand where Jonas and Mudge’s sloop had been dragged away, and she could see the shimmer of molten, glassy sand, where the dragon had grown angry.
And she could see The Kingfisher, powering toward them. Lily dropped her sack of gold and held her arm out, one thumb up, in the universal symbol for hitching a ride.
* * *
The pick up goes smoothly enough, the climbers loop dragging along the sandy floor of the desert as The Kingfisher came to a low hover. A crew of voyagers worked the winch, and slowly pulled in the four survivors and their bags of treasure.
“What in the burnt hells happened up here, Captain?” Kendra asks as soon as her feet touch down on the singed hull.
“You don’t want to know. Anyway, get that rope up, we’ve left Mudge and Jonas on their asses in the sand and they’re not going to be best pleased if the dragon comes back.”
“It’s still alive?”
“Seems so, thing’s damn near invincible. Hit it with a brace of cannons and we just made it angrier.”
“And I see the hero of Evergreen is back out in the free air,” Kendra says, smiling at Rico, who sits dumb on the step leading to the quarter-deck. “Rico?”
“Don’t bother. He’s...” Thunder taps her head with one hand, then shrugs. “But, I think he did something to the dragon. Scared it off.” Her lips tighten, and Kendra goes quiet as both of them share an unspoken thought. What scares off a dragon? Thunder looks at their heavy bags of treasure, and the sweaty, bloody, singed team, then pauses. “Where’s Boss?”
“The sun is shining on him now,” Kendra says bitterly. “This is the price we pay for recklessness, Captain.”
Thunder nods, eyes cold, but there is no time for mourning, and they charge back over the desert, following the great furrow through the sand dunes left by Mudge and Jonas. Kendra and Lily fill the captain in on the rest of their adventure, and show off the haul to the rest of the crew, which Lily insists on referring to as ‘her booty’.
The crew, despite their burns, scrapes, fear and loss, are thrilled with the gold, and as Patch runs across the deck applying bandages and cleaning wounds, a sense of accomplishment settles over The Kingfisher, tinged with sadness at the loss of their friend.
“Coming up on the sloop now,” Jamala says, one eye pressed to a spy-glass. “It’s a little hard to see, a lot of sand in the air still. But no sign of the dragon.” A chorus of cheers resound around the ship, and Thunder orders Molly to slow the engines. Voyagers prepare the climbers loop, and extra ropes to haul the sloop back up to The Kingfisher, where its sand-blasted hull might be repaired and reused.
“Slight problem, sir,” Jamala says, glancing down over the hull, squinting into the thinning cloud of sand, which is whipped away by the burning fumes of The Kingfisher’s downward thrusters. “They’re gone.”
“What?”
“Mudge and Jonas. They’re not here. The dragon must have—”
21 - Power
Power. It corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Everyone has heard the phrase, so common it has lost all meaning. Wilhelm couldn’t care less about power, all he really wants, deep down, is someone to talk to, and a problem to solve. A maze to use his talents on, and a hot meal to fill his belly, that’s all he really needs.
Something about Captain Sharan’s story rings false though. That Archangel needs his divinity, needs as much as she can stomach, well, that makes sense... but he knows well enough that this kidnapping isn’t just a conscription gone wrong. The Archangel needs power, and the idea that she’s not going to take his at the cost of his life is something Captain Sharan is only willing to dance around.
He’s seen Artemis work. Seen what the other Raven Priests of the Scythe can do. They can take a man’s divinity as he waits at the gates to Tranquillity, and leave him a shallow, dead husk.
It’s time to leave this place.
“Kid, any chance I could get a top up before we take off?” Wilhelm asks, his hands still ostensibly bound behind him.
“What?” The kids voice is scratchy. “A top up?”
“Yeah, water. You know, something about being concussed by your First Mate makes me awfully thirsty.”
“Fine, fine.”
The kid evidently thinks Wilhelm is a frail, old man. Not a threat, whatever his Captain might have said. He’s right about part of that. Wilhelm can feel his age in his bones, as he waits, coiled and tense, until the kid presses the key into the locked bar of the brig and opens it.
Then Wilhelm launches forward, throwing his weight at the cage door, thrusting it straight into the kid, and knocking him down. Wilhelm snaps forward, cracking the kid in the head with one boot as he stumbles to the ground in the cramped space.
“I know you weren’t the one who knocked me out, but maybe you can pass that on to the big man,” Wilhelm says as the kid goes limp on the floor. “Meanwhile, it’s time to get off this bird.”
He limps quietly out of the brig, into the lower decks of the ship. A maze against which to test his talents... that was what he’d thought about. Still, no point wasting Talos’ divinity, he’s been on plenty of ships, and they’re all similar in different ways.
He chuckles to himself as he takes the ladder up past the engine room. The engineer in there works furiously at something with a hammer. The noise drowns out Wilhelm’s footsteps as he pokes his head up into the crews quarters. There are a half-dozen voyagers sitting around an old wooden chest, playing what looks like a game of Two-Hand Jack.
Moving quietly, Wilhelm continues up the ladder, the voyagers, engaged in their game, seem oblivious to his straining muscles as he pulls himself almost one-handed up towards the mai
n deck.
“Oi!” A shout Wilhelm recognises as coming from the burly First Mate sends him scrambling, as the crew below scatter into action.
* * *
Mudge’s wrists chafe. He’s worn his fair share of manacles, but this dry, sand-blasted rope stings worse than anything he remembers. The group of Solarii who came upon Jonas and he, as they waited in their tired sloop, lead them, hands and ankles bound, away from the scene of the dragon fight. Mudge’s initial protest is met with a sharp cuff, and the two, outnumbered and exhausted, have no choice but to go with them.
Their feet are unsteady in the soft sand, the night cool and still. The wind has died down since Jonas’s Windblade was confiscated by the leader of the small band of Solarii, and now they walk under a canopy of starlight.
They number seven, an auspicious number for any travelling group. Mudge isn’t sure whether that means they’re superstitious, or if he is for noticing it. Their skin is dark from the desert sun, their long, golden hair tied back in thick braids. They wear simple cotton, strapped tight about their bodies with leather belts, from which hang heavy water skins and lassos. They walk like seasoned voyagers, that same wide-step that comes with the ground beneath your feet shifting constantly.
Their leader wears a small circlet of finely carved wood, bleached bone white. At least Mudge hopes it’s wood. It could just as easily be bone, and he wouldn’t be able to tell. Bit morbid, though.
It feels like he and Jonas are more likely to survive if the crown is wood than bone. So he tells himself it is wood.
He’s pretty sure Jonas will be convincing himself it’s bone, and that way, they’ll be prepared for any eventuality.
For now, all he can do is focus on the shifting sand beneath his feet, the stars overhead, and the burning ache in his muscles.
Long minutes pass, and then a piercing roar cuts through the night air. The group freeze as one, looking up into the darkness. A great wingspan blocks the stars above, casting a shadow in the light of the two moons. Mudge can practically feel Jonas wilt in front of him as the dragon flies overhead.
Then a second cry rends the peaceful air, it’s sharper, and sends a shiver down Mudge’s spine. A third cry joins, a partner to the latest, and two dark shapes flit through the sky above, making a bee-line for the dragon.
There is a flash of fire, and a rake of silver claws. The sound of roars and harsh, guttural screeches fills the night sky, and Mudge is nudged back into motion by the Solarii, who walk on as above them a battle rages.
It only takes a few moments, the space of a few breaths, before the great beating of dragon wings echoes off behind them. Then the two creatures that fought it off descend beside them, and Mudge’s heart goes cold.
* * *
“—eaten them.” Jamala’s voice shakes. The scene below gradually resolves under the light of the two half-moons. The sloop remains, it looks relatively undamaged, at least at this height.
“They’re still alive,” Rico says. He closes his eyes and points into the distance, away from the dragon’s lair. “That way.” They turn as one to look, then a roar echoes through the night air.
“Dragon.” Jamala says, passing the eye-glass to Thunder, she stares into it, a frown darkening her face like a storm-cloud passing over clear sky.
“It must be right above them,” Lily says, squinting into the night. “They ran?”
“They didn’t get very far,” Thunder’s voice is terse. Her lips narrow. We need to—” Her words are cut off as a shriek splits the night, and a dark shadow attacks the great dragon, moving at breakneck speed. From their vantage point, the crew of The Kingfisher can’t see much, just twisting, turning creatures and the occasional burst of flame. A second shriek sounds as another winged beast joins the fray. “Wyverns,” Thunder says. “Kendra, you know anything about this?”
“I know it’s not good.”
“Tell me about it,” Thunder says, her voice cold. “That dragon’s coming right for us.” Her hands grip the wheel. “Molly, bring us up, evasive manoeuvres. That thing’s righteously pissed off and I don’t want it backed into the same corner as us.”
22 - Nowhere to Run
Mercuria Preston steps onto the docks of Rezir with a quiet, burning desperation set deep in her bones. She’s changed more in the last few days than the years prior. Her work policing Lincoln had been dull and steady. She’d worked the beat, a city between the Shards and the Faerie was rife with people trying to skim a little off the top, and it had been her job to keep them from skimming too much. Hers and Percy’s.
And now she’s in Rezir, chasing some fleeting dream of vengeance. She can tell herself that hunting pirates is part of the job, but there’s no oversight here. Just her, and the Spider.
The Spider stalks out of the narrow customs office behind her like he owns the place, and hell, knowing him, maybe he does. The Guild probably runs this city of fools like it’s their own personal piggy bank. His eyes are shining in the cool night air, and his teeth gleam like white gold.
“Got a package for you,” he says with a sly chuckle. “Due to go to Lincoln on Evergreen with the next mail-ship heading out.” He tosses her a cloth bundle. It’s tightly wrapped, knotted with a tight cord of black string.
“For me?”
Vinifess Wress, the happy spider, nods. “To be delivered to Elfie’s, courtesy of, well, let’s find out together.”
The law isn’t exactly grey on checking other people’s mail. But Mercuria knows well enough that she passed her own point of no return once she boarded the Spider’s ship. Her hands scratch at the tight knot before Wress puts a hand on her wrist.
“On the ship, girl. Gosh, you’re greener than grass on the other side of a bloody fence.”
Mercuria bristles, but accedes with a humiliated nod. She grips the package like she’s strangling a pirate, and they slink back down the dock to the ship.
“The other thing you have to consider,” Wress says. “Is that this package is the payment Elfie was after. In which case, it’s Guild business. Now, yes, I’m a member of that Guild, and yes, it would be my solemn duty to ensure that Guild business goes unchecked.”
“I’m sensing a but,” Mercuria says coldly, tightening her grip on the small package.”
“But... The Guild aren’t my only concern, and their wishes might be small fishes compared to my own ambitions.” He says this in a lilting, sing-song voice, then grins to himself at the melody. “That’s not bad, is it?”
“Huh?”
“Never-mind. All I’m saying is, my hands are tied. I have other business to attend to, and, I like the cut of your jib, so if you’re set on opening that, I’ll look the other way. Then, you can either choose to send it on to Elfie, and The Kingfisher’s debt is paid... or, you can take it, and after another day or two, it’s not just you and Elfie looking for those pirates, it’s every Guild-member across the Shards. They’ll be picked up for unpaid debt, and taken to the web-mines of Dusk to pay off what they owe. At which point, their lives would be, I can assure you, quite miserable.”
Mercuria’s mouth opens in a small ‘o’ of surprise, and then washes into a wide smile. Her hands rip the package open greedily.
“I thought as much,” The Happy Spider says, beaming.
* * *
Wilhelm just manages to snatch his feet away from the quickest gambler below as he scrabbles up onto the open deck. A few shocked voyagers look on in abject surprise, as he interrupts them loading crates of stock up a narrow wooden ramp.
“So much for sneaking out,” Wilhelm mutters, glancing around for a way off. He thinks about diving off the outer edge into the water below, and then corrects himself for the thousandth time that he’s not on Torrent anymore. Sky-ships were amazing, but to someone who had spent years growing up on the ocean, they took a little getting used to. Diving off the edge here would see him slam into the thick glass wall of Rezir, slide down its gentle slope, picking up speed all the way, before crashing into the sand
below. And that’s if he doesn’t hit the docks on his way past. Still, a long slide into the night looks increasingly preferable to being the Archangel’s lunch-meat.
“Stop him!” The captain’s voice is shrill, and the crew around him drop what they’re carrying. They might not be Archangel’s goons, but they’re loyal to their Captain’s orders. Good voyagers.
Bastards.
Wilhelm lifts one foot slowly and sets it down, feeling the crackling hum building just under his skin. He scans the deck, but there’s no way through the faster, broad-shouldered voyagers that he can immediately see... the only way forward would be to...
Power builds in intensity under his skin, and he can feel the fuzz of static on his hair, under his clothing, and uncomfortably in the inner void where his eye had been before he traded it to Shreek, the fey oracle. He can almost see the burst of electric energy pulse out of him, rippling through the air and not so much finding a way forward as making one, forcing through the crowd, knocking them down with a boom and a sizzle of burnt flesh.
It would be so easy.
But they’re just following orders. He’s been in their shoes on countless ships and under countless captains, and when the captain yells an order, you follow it first, and ask questions later. Captain Thunder is a shade more forgiving, but the essential rules of the sea are the same, on the ocean, in the sky, even floating through the void. Survival depends on it.