by R. J. Louis
Mudge looks on at the ship chasing them, at a loss. He hears the distant boom of cannon-fire and knows the end is coming. His only relief is that his Captain isn’t around to see him crash her ship into the desert. The Kingfisher shudders beneath him as Molly tries in vain to push them out of harm’s way. But Mudge can see what she can’t, and there’s no escape.
An animal roar echoes through the night, the sharp sound cutting through the heavy thrum of the engines and the distant boom of cannon-fire. Mudge spins, a flash of dark shadow splitting across the night beside The Kingfisher. A great winged beast, bearing a rider, then another, and a third. They swoop in front of The Kingfisher, moving with a skill and speed that beggars belief. Mudge watches as a wyvern catches a cannon-ball in mid-flight. The others nudge cannon-balls off course, shifting their path with a bump against tough, scaly hide.
Mudge traces the lead wyvern, carrying a cannon-ball in its legs, the rider on the back gripping a spear which glows with a warm light in the darkness.
“Talk about friends in high places,” he mutters. “Molly, change of plans, bring us to a hover. This just became a fair fight.”
“What?!” Molly, evidently flustered, snaps back from below. “You know I can’t see anything, right?”
“Our guardian angels are back. That’s twice in two nights they’ve saved our hides.”
“The wyvern-riders?” Molly asks, stunned. “Why?”
Mudge narrows his eyes. Nothing is free, that’s another thing he’s learnt from a long and varied life. “Good question.” A high pitched whistle interrupts his thoughts, and he scans the night sky, eyes widening as he sees Neyara’s wyvern, silhouetted by moonlight, drop the cannon-ball from a great height over the opposing sky-ship. The heavy metal ball whines as it gathers speed from above, and he can just make out the crew of the other ship scrambling. Then the cannonball hits, smashing into the upper deck.
* * *
My eyes open, my mind clearing for the first time in what feels like days, but might have only been hours. My lips are parched, my head fuzzy. Artemis stands in front of me, his arms crossed. Behind him are two strangers, a burly man with a wide grin on his face, and a narrow-faced Singer. I feel a soft thrum beneath me, a vibration much gentler than The Kingfisher’s engines. Still, I am clearly on a ship, bound for...
“Where are you taking me?” I ask softly, though I know the answer. It is writ large in Artemis’s eyes, in the tattoo on the broad man’s fuzzy forearm. “The Watchtower.”
“Don’t look so distressed,” Artemis says, his voice soft as a raven’s feather. “You’re going to be a hero, Izaak.”
The Singer looks away, unable to meet my eyes, but the rotund fellow, a Shadewalker by look, smiles widely. “Vinifess Wress,” he says, offering a hand to shake. I move my arm, then realise my hands are bound by thick rope to the floor of the vessel. “Right, my mistake. Welcome aboard anyway. My apologies for the delay.”
“Delay?” I ask, shaking my arm against the bond numbly. “I don’t—”
“I was supposed to pick you up in Evergreen,” Vinifess says, his smile growing abashed. “But better late than never.”
I shake my head, trying to knock out the cobwebs left over from whatever Artemis did to me. “Please. You have to let me go... Don’t take me to her. She’s mad. She’ll kill me.”
“All visionaries were thought mad by those who couldn’t see the light,” Artemis says. It sounds like a quote. “But I don’t care about the light you can’t see. Tell me about the darkness you can. It’s the only way you’re getting off this ship before I deliver you to Archangel.”
* * *
Lily should have known this was coming. It has been long years since she’s seen her sister, but now the young girl must be nearly a woman. Close enough to be tested, trialled for leadership by the Shadewalkers. It feels so early though. Too soon by far. Surely the little shadow she remembers hasn’t grown up yet.
She fights the urge to break into a run. Ariana should be safe. At least for a little while longer. Her own trial hadn’t started immediately. She had had time to prepare, time to run.
She has to get off this damn shard.
The tunnel they are escaping through is a maze of stairways and curving, sloped tunnels. Thin walls on one side often reveal faint pin-pricks of light, and the sound of other people, sometimes snoring, sometimes engaging in more strenuous activity. It forces silence upon them as they make their way around the lower rooms of The Angel’s Fall. Lily tries not to think about the paranoid Rishad watching his guests. But that leaves her mind free to think of her sister, and the trials awaiting her. Blades flash in the dark corners of her memory. She bumps suddenly into Jonas, eliciting a grunt that is swiftly hushed. Whispers ripple back to her.
“We’re here, I think.” Thunder’s voice makes a failed attempt at quiet, but the walls here are thicker, by Lily’s reckoning, they are either beside or beneath the atrium. She should know better, but distracted as she is, it’s a miracle she feels any confidence at all in their location. The tunnel ends up ahead, a narrow doorway just barely outlined by the evening lights of Rezir.
Thunder sets Travil down carefully, then stalks forward, eyes on their escape. Lily sees the tripwire too late, she barely has time to shout before Thunder steps through the wire, which snaps with a tiny twang. The walls shudder briefly, and for a moment, Lily thinks they might actually be safe. If all the trap does is trigger an alarm in Rishad’s suite, they won’t have to worry.
Then the roof of the tunnel collapses upon them.
51 - Family Matters
Neyara’s wyvern hovers next to The Kingfisher, the great beast eyeing the ship with an almost human curiosity, which Mudge finds very off-putting. Animals shouldn’t look at you like they know what you’ve been eating recently. The distant shadow of their last pursuer flees back to Rezir, limping and belching thick indigo smoke.
“Thanks for the assistance, Lady Sunspear,” Mudge says, the flowery title causing Neyara’s lips to quirk up in a surprised smile. “Captain Thunder is otherwise engaged back in Rezir, I’m afraid, but I can speak for her and say we’re very grateful.”
Neyara squints at him, then her eyes gleam. “The builder! I thought you looked odd. Quite the convincing disguise you wear.”
Mudge freezes, then chuckles. He has almost forgotten the weight of Thunder’s duster and hat, or the slight scratch of makeup against his skin. He doffs the cap in her direction. “Glad to have fooled you,” he says with his most charming smile. “Especially if you came here to save us because of it.”
“The only way to survive out here is to look after our own. By passing the elder’s test, your captain earned that privilege. You, however, have not.” She lowers her Sunspear, and Mudge can almost feel the heat.
He stammers. “But of course, we might not be family, but we’re cousins surely! After all, if Thunder is part of your family, and we are hers, surely we—”
“By that logic, Builder, you could eventually argue that this entire broken world is our family.”
“Wouldn’t that be better than fighting amongst ourselves?” Mudge asks, his light tone growing serious. “Imagine what we could achieve without all this petty squabbling.”
Neyara pauses, her eyes dark. “Too many pains have been inflicted for that to ever be an option,” she says finally, and Mudge’s heart sinks. “But,” Neyara continues. “While I am not ready to take that leap of faith. I am ready to take a step.” She raises her Sunspear, then smiles. “Cousin.”
Mudge sags, then grins. “I love family reunions. But we’ll have to make this short I’m afraid.”
“Go. Find your Captain, you are lost without her,” Neyara says. “Until we meet again, cousin Builder.”
“It’s Zach. Zach Mudge.”
“Neyara, and this is Kalthis.” Neyara gestures to her wyvern, and Mudge looks down, meeting the beast’s eyes.
Then it grins, vicious teeth shimmering in the moonlight.
�
��Pleased to meet you,” Mudge gulps.
* * *
Thunder strains, her mechanically augmented muscles heaving as she holds the roof of the collapsing tunnel up over their heads. Lily and Jonas swoop beneath her, dragging their weaker companions through the debris. Clouds of dust and burnt Widowgas turn the air a smoggy purple as the machine inside her thrums. Squinting against the dirt and dust in her eyes, she looks up, and carefully slides her hands along the smooth chunk of ceiling she has grasped.
It rumbles, and a crack splits across it, her muscles twinge, and with a last prayer to any piece of a God left in this sorry world, she throws herself forward, through the doorway, and out into the night, just clearing the rubble as it blocks the tunnel behind her.
She sprawls on a bridge, a surprised crowd of onlookers looking from her back to the hole in the side of a tower from which her and her companions just fell. The tower shudders, and a tense horror grips the air. A horrible image crosses Thunder’s mind, of the tower falling, into the next, knocking each one over like a city of dominoes, with her left in the rubble.
But as the seconds pass, and the city does not collapse upon itself, the crowd as a whole breathes a great sigh of relief.
“Best be getting up now,” Jonas drawls. “Causing a bit of a scene, captain.” Thunder sighs, her muscles feel like jelly. “Need a hand?”
Thunder grunts her dissent, though really, she would appreciate the help. But that is not the path she has chosen. So, she draws a breath and pulls herself to her feet, careful not to let her arms shake too much in the process.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says finally, setting her eyes toward the docks.
52 - Home, and Away
“I’m not going with you, Erin,” Travil says as they near the docks, his voice weak. His lips are cracked, his eyes faded. He leans on Lily’s shoulder, but his gaze is steady.
“Are you kidding?” Thunder asks, slowing her grim march through the towering buildings. “You want to stay here?”
“My shop is here,” Travil says simply. “It’s my home. Just like the ship is yours. I’m not leaving. Say what you will about this grimy, Gods-accursed city. It took in three restless wanderers and somehow, helped each one of them find a home.”
“Even Rishi,” Thunder says in quiet contemplation.
“Even him. Sure, it didn’t work out.” Travil grins. “But two out of three is better odds than you’ll see anywhere else in this bloody place.”
“What are you going to do? Your shop is trashed.”
Travil winces. “I know.”
“If you wait around at the docks, I can get some gold—”
“You’ve done enough for me old friend. Don’t worry. I don’t keep all my eggs in one basket.” He nods towards the docks, a buzzing hive of activity. “A lesson you might want to take on board.”
“Less of a concern when your basket has cannons and can fly,” Thunder says. “Anyway, I like to think I’ve diversified in a different way.”
Travil glances at Lily and Jonas, and the semi-conscious, stumbling, one-eyed, bruised and scarred Wilhelm, missing fingers leaving bloody tracks on Jonas’s fine white shirt. “Aye, I suppose you have. You take care of them, and they’ll take care of you.”
Thunder snorts. “Not in front of the crew, it’ll go straight to their heads.”
Travil chuckles. “Then I’ll take my leave here.”
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”
“Contrary to popular belief, this city is more than just gamblers and rich assholes, there’s actually a few decent folk if you look hard enough. I have a lady friend nearby.”
“A lady friend? Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”
“Because, Erin, you’ve been off-shard for years, and since you got back I’ve had about one-and-a-half actual conversations with you, in between being kidnapped, tortured, rescued, not to mention briefly being cursed with some sort of weird necklace. I love you like a sister, but if you want to know what’s going on in my life... you’re going to have to show an interest.”
Lily and Jonas glance at each other awkwardly, trying to fade into the background.
Thunder gives an exasperated sigh, but smiles. “I’ll come visit again sooner next time.”
“You better,” Travil turns to go.
“Take care of yourself,” Thunder says finally.
“Aye-aye, Captain,” Travil says, giving a final wave before limping off towards a descending flight of stairs.
Thunder cringes, but lets him go. She glances at Lily, then to Jonas, both of whom are looking at the docks with forced nonchalance. “Not a bloody word,” Thunder says, and they walk on, carrying Wilhelm between them.
The docks are a chaotic scramble. An out-of-control sky-ship belching purple smoke careens towards the city as a burly harbour-master with fuzzy blond side-burns sends sky-ships to head it off, aiming defencive cannons as a final measure. Voyagers and onlookers crowd the docks as other ships flee to safety, and in that mess of people and ships, The Kingfisher, looking a little worse for wear, pulls to a stop on one of the now empty piers.
They board quickly, and just as quickly, The Kingfisher accelerates away, just one of half a dozen ships leaving to avoid the risk of a crashing sky-ship.
* * *
Captain Thunder isn’t one to think of things that could have gone differently. Down that way madness lies. She treated Artemis with respect, when he showed it to her, and when he didn’t, she treated him the way she would any other person. Clearly, it hadn’t been enough. He needed something more from her than she was willing to give, and that wasn’t her problem. Now he has made it her problem.
“Mister Mudge, take us up. Rico, get those runes alight, do whatever it is you do to find Messrs Mirrorwing and Everwright. I’m guessing they’re headed for The Watchtower.”
“Captain,” Wilhelm’s voice is unsteady, his missing fingers stark against a water-skin as he drinks. “Are you sure?” He glances at Rico. “We have bigger things to worry about than a stray Raven.”
“That stray Scythe has kidnapped one of our crew out from under our noses, and is selling him to the highest bidder. I came after you. I’m going after him. We look after our own Wilhelm, because Gods know nobody else will.”
“Are you sure we’re ready for a confrontation with Archangel?” Mudge asks quietly.
“No. We’re not.”
“Aye Captain,” Mudge says, though his eyes are hard. “Let’s not be too reckless then.”
“Gods willing, we’ll catch Artemis before he gets there.”
“And Gods unwilling?”
“We’ll deal with that when it comes. Now, you take the helm. I’ve got to look after something.”
Mudge nods, and steps to the wheel as Captain Thunder’s heavy boots lead her down to her cabin. The weight of command hangs heavy on her shoulders, her dragon-fire burnt duster, and the strange pendant she kept from their journey into the Fall sits in her pocket, an uncomfortable warmth at her side.
Her footsteps falter as she enters the cabin, her haven. Here the chains of her captaincy sit heaviest, but here is also the only place she can take them off. She sets her tri-corner hat down on the table, dusting a little pale make-up off the edge left-over from Mudge’s disguise, and stares about the space. She would prefer to not know, to not look, but blissful ignorance has never been her strong side.
She counts the panelled wood out from the door as she had when escaping his sanctum, looking for something that has always been there, waiting unseen. She finds the loose board, and presses it gently. Nothing happens, and she hammers one mechanical fist against it, harder than intended. The wood shifts, and there is a click behind her as a small door, set cunningly into the inner lining of The Kingfisher’s hull, opens.
A smell hits her first, causing her to gag. The smell of old rot. Of death. She sighs, bringing one hand to her mouth and turns. It’s little more than a crawl space. Proof that her baby had been built for smugglin
g. She could fit in there, just, hunched and crouching, but it would be a squeeze. The small space seems bigger though, for whats inside it.
The bones are dry. After what must have been years in the space, that comes as a relief. The seal on the door would have been designed to traffic spice or drugs past Wolfpack navy, as no hint of decay had reached Thunder’s nose over the years she’d been on the ship. Now, the smell reaches her, but it is an old thing. Not fresh. Rags of bloody clothing are scattered on the floor beneath the skeleton, familiar black hairs dotting the bones.
It’s a small thing, much smaller than the strange boy to which it belongs. He’s grown, Thunder knows, in more ways than one. Still, she finds herself kneeling, her augmented arms reaching out to brush a lock of hair from the empty-eyed skull. Terrible questions well up inside her, but she quells them, forcing them down into the darkness of her mind.
“Rico, my boy... what’s happened to you?” she whispers. A bone-deep sadness comes upon her. A sadness for the boy who could have been, had she found him sooner. Her touch displaces something in the pile of bones, and a light glints in the dark crawlspace. It shines a white-green. A medallion, on a simple cord that has long since frayed to nothing. Thunder reaches into the rib cage without a moments hesitation, her fingers closing around the small object. It pulses with a living warmth as she turns it over in her hands. A white stone, ancient. A fossil. Her thumb explores the grooves etched into the rock over countless centuries. It is almost the twin of the stone she pulled off Travil, but here, the image is clear. A strange, alien shape, the closest she can place it would be a scarab beetle, but with tentacles instead of claws. The outline burns a sickly green against the white.