We Rule the Night

by Claire Eliza Bartlett

  The engineers stumbled out of line to follow Zima. The girls to either side of Linné turned away to find their friends, pretending not to notice her. Resentment stabbed her gut. Or was that nerves? She pulled out a cigarette and told herself she didn’t care. She didn’t look forward to spending hours in a cramped cockpit with a nattering counterpart and a needle sucking her life away.

  The girls departed, two by two, for their planes. Until there had to be only one left. That one was still making her way across the field, stepping carefully. Moonlight gleamed on her prosthetic feet.

  Linné waited until she was close enough to speak without shouting. “Which one’s yours?” she said around a dry tongue.

  Revna’s shoulders hunched. “You want to fly with me?”

  The kind answer would have been yes. But Linné had always preferred honesty to kindness. She shrugged.

  Revna stalked past her, chin held high. “This way.”

  Linné followed, flicking spark out of her fingertips. She didn’t know whether to laugh or to scream. Would you fly with her? She wondered if Revna was thinking about that now.

  Revna stopped at the wing of her plane. It was undecorated, snub-nosed, and ugly. Linné couldn’t believe she’d be sparking her life into this clumsy contraption when elegant Skyhorses and powerful Dragons ruled the air.

  “You sit in the back,” Revna said.

  “How are you going to get up there?” Linné looked at the pilot’s seat. “No offense,” she added. Revna set her jaw. Linné could feel the heat of her rage. “I’ll—” Shut my mouth. She used the side of the wing to hoist herself up. In front of her, Revna swung herself into the cockpit. She had facility—Linné had to give her that. Maybe she’d been too hasty in her judgment.

  Shouts from the field caught her attention. The first Strekoza wobbled into the air, a dark shadow against the lamps on the green. Painted flames caught the light—Katya’s plane. The girls cheered.

  She watched the Strekoza dip dangerously close to the ground before veering up so sharply that her stomach flipped. This was going to be much worse than powering spare washers and radios. Failure now wasn’t a matter of a slap on the wrist or a train back to Mistelgard. Failure meant going home in a box or getting dumped in a hole somewhere.

  I’ve almost died before. Every time Koslen’s regiment advanced, she’d been in danger. She should have felt safer here, behind the lines, surrounded by people who were on her side. Maybe if she smoked her cigarette—but as she stuck the end in her mouth, she noticed the wood creaking under her boots and the canvas stretched over the wings. She didn’t want to be the one who set her plane on fire before it got off the ground.

  The aircraft rocked. She grabbed the sides of the cockpit to steady herself. “Ready?” came Revna’s voice next to her ear.

  No. “Obviously.” Linné took her bearings. Her knees scraped up against Revna’s chair. A slot for a map had been nailed to the back, and a compass was mounted next to her right arm. She buckled her harness and turned her head to speak into the tube at her ear. “So. What do I do?”

  “You don’t know?” The faint tinny ring of the speaking tube couldn’t disguise Revna’s incredulity.

  Linné bristled. She hadn’t spent the last three weeks learning the ins and outs of the Strekoza. “I suppose it has something to do with my spark.” Great revelation, genius.

  “There’s a throttle. We can’t go anywhere if you don’t put power into it,” Revna said.

  The throttle was a long steel tube that slithered up through the bottom of the cockpit, linking her spark to the engine. She’d be firing at the enemy with her right arm, powering the engine with her left. Linné rolled up her sleeve and reached into the tube, gripping the handhold there. She shook worse than the first time she’d been shoved into battle. All the same, she pushed out a thin stream of spark, just as she’d practiced.

  She looked up in time to see machinery spasm and close around the pilot’s seat, trapping Revna in a gleaming cage. Her own gasp was cut short by a piercing pain. The living needle had shot from the tube and wrapped around her forearm while she wasn’t looking. “Shit.” She tried to pull back. The Strekoza didn’t let go. Her spark choked.

  “Language,” Revna snapped.

  “Are you joking?” Revna looked as if she were being eaten alive and all she cared about was Linné’s mouth?

  The wings of the plane twitched. Something rose up to meet her panic. She needed to relax. If she relaxed, it would be fine; flying was wonderful—

  Dread snapped tight in her, scattering the soothing feelings. Her arm trembled so hard that her fingers knocked against the side of the spark tube. This unnatural Weave magic was bad enough on the field. Now it was in her head. “Get it out.” She twisted and tried to pull away.

  “Stop it. Stop,” Revna said, and the tranquility surged back, though this time it held a desperate note. “If you don’t calm down, we can’t fly.”

  “This can’t be happening,” Linné whispered. She could feel the dismay of the plane, the nervousness that she pumped into it. And she could feel Revna’s influence trying to soothe them both, to send calming thoughts and steady the Strekoza. And, even though Revna didn’t say anything, Linné felt her impatience, her resentment and anger, all directed toward Linné, because the others sped into the sky and they were stuck.

  Linné had never been the reason for anyone’s failure. She clenched her free hand until her fingers cramped and her palm burned from the imprint of her nails. She felt the plane stabilize.

  “Good,” Revna said.

  The engineers waved semaphore flags, instructing the second- to-last plane to take off. Linné had to control herself. She had to do what the others did. She’d defied her father for this. I’m the soldier. The one they called lion. But that had been a regiment, a gender, a life ago. She took a gulp of air and tightened her grip in the spark tube. It thrummed warm and alive. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Relax.”

  “Tell me something else.”

  The engineers ran up to the Strekoza. Magdalena wrinkled her nose at Linné. “What are you doing here?”

  “You’re the smart one—you tell me,” Linné replied.

  “If you ruin this for her…” Magdalena began.

  Olya nudged her. “Chat later. Work now.”

  Magdalena cast Linné a final, dark look, then popped up to Revna’s seat. A screwdriver flashed briefly as she tightened one of the monstrous claws at the back of the chair. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Revna answered.

  Linné was going to throw up. The Strekoza shot a mix of impatience and disdain up her arm. Be ready.

  Two gray shapes appeared on the field. Linné saw the tiny flare, like a star, as Dostorov lit his cigarette. The Strekoza tensed. The air inside the cockpit became suffocating, possessive. But there was no time to think about that. Zima was signaling. It was finally their turn.

  “Good luck.” Magdalena hopped down and waved. She backed away from the front of the plane, grabbing the semaphore flags she’d tucked into her belt. Even though Linné was responsible for memorizing their instructions, Revna didn’t need her help in translating the signal for takeoff.

  “Everything all right?” Revna said.

  “Of course.” Linné filled her voice with scorn, but the Strekoza amplified her anxiety, proving the lie to them both. The tube hummed under her hand, trying to tug her spark out. “What now?”

  “Wait.” Revna adjusted something in front of her with a click.

  Ahead of them the field was lonely without its flock of Strekozy. Linné could see the silhouette of trees at the end of the base, marking the plains that stretched all the way to the blacker-than-black edges of the mountains.

  The engineers stepped away. Zima gave the all clear. “Fire up,” Revna said.

  Linné took a deep breath. She’d practiced this. She’d practiced so many times. She tried her spark again, pushing gradually. But the plane fluttered, lurching as it tr
ied to launch.

  “Steady,” Revna said.

  Linné fought the urge to punch something. She focused on the back of Revna’s chair, the only thing that didn’t seem to be shaking. Don’t think. If she kept her eyes on the chair, maybe she could pretend—

  They veered into the air. Her spark fired, panicked, and they sped toward the stars at such a pace that a short scream was drawn from her throat.

  Laughing. Revna was laughing. Linné aimed a kick at her seat. “Stop it,” she whimpered. Whimpered. Honestly.

  “We’re flying,” Revna said. The plane didn’t seem mocking or amused. Linné caught a sense of sheer joy at their free movement through the air. For an instant she soared with it. Then the living metal squeezed around her arm.

  The feeling of free movement stalled, and so did they. Linné wasn’t part of the team; she was an impostor, an incompetent between pilot and plane. The initial roar of the engine dropped away and they drifted downward. “Increase power,” Revna said, and Linné both heard and felt the desperation. Her heart crashed against her ribs. She had to regain control and do what needed to be done. But sweat slicked her whole body, and her spark hid from her.

  “Linné.”

  “I’m trying.” She wouldn’t cry. She pushed on her spark, pushed with her fear and her need to salvage herself. She imagined being sent back to her father. She imagined explaining why.

  The plane jerked forward, catching on a stray breeze and turning sharply starboard. Linné pushed again. They bounced.

  “Linné,” Revna warned her. “Not all at once.”

  “Would you like to do it?” Linné snarled.

  “I’d like to not crash!”

  Linné tried to send her spark out the way she’d practiced. The engine sputtered, then blasted, then finally evened. Linné closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. Then she finally peered over the edge of the cockpit.

  The Strekoza had scooted its way past the edge of the base, much farther than they were supposed to go for their first flight. The cold, open air assaulted Linné. Revna turned the plane clumsily, nosing down as they swung, and Linné’s whole body lifted off the seat. She gave a short scream and the Strekoza tensed. Her spark sputtered. “Shit,” she said, giving it another boost.

  The air around her turned hot, prickling at her skin. “Please don’t do that,” Revna said.

  It didn’t get better. Linné tried to control herself, but the flight was one long sequence of turns, banks, and dips. She swore, she screamed, she heaved. Her stomach knotted itself five different ways. Thinking of her father seemed to help the most—her stomach convulsed even more, but she could use her spite to center herself. She could push away the shivering feeling that something else was in her head.

  And she ignored thoughts of what would come next. As soon as they landed, she’d be the laughingstock of the entire regiment. She was already the laughingstock of her partner.

  “We’re supposed to be in the air, you know,” Revna said. The Strekoza took on a definite smug atmosphere. “Maybe you should have applied for a spot in an infantry regiment.”

  “You’re hilarious,” Linné replied through gritted teeth.

  They made their way back to the base with a string of curses from Linné and winces from Revna. The Strekoza felt more and more oppressive with each breath. Linné didn’t realize how bad it was until they landed safely and Revna gave her the all clear to cut power. The feelings lifted, like breaking through the top of an icy river to discover air on the other side.

  Her knees shook. Her hands shook. Even her teeth were chattering. The thin needle released from her arm as she pulled away from the throttle. A tiny dot marked the space where the needle had tapped into her. She tried not to heave as she rolled her sleeve down.

  “Um,” Revna said. Linné didn’t need the Strekoza’s connection to know that she was trying to think of something nice to say. “I’m sure it will get better.”

  She had to get out of this thing. Linné hauled herself over the side of the cockpit, down to the ground—down to freedom—and put her hands on her knees, head swimming.

  “What happened to you?” Magdalena said as she came up beside Linné, making no effort to hide her amusement. And she stood much too close. “Nothing funny to say about your pilot?” Magdalena rolled her shoulders. As if she were getting ready for a fight.

  Linné knew she was short, but it had been a long time since she’d felt so small. Her first impulse was to step back. Her second was to throw a punch. “You wouldn’t be up there if you had the choice,” she said. “No one would.”

  Katya raced past them. “How was it?” she called to Revna.

  Magdalena watched Linné pointedly. “No one?”

  The shaking started again. Linné wanted to sink to the ground and let it swallow her whole. “You don’t know how it is.”

  Magdalena leaned in. “You mocked her. You told her she doesn’t belong. But from what I saw, you were the one who couldn’t handle the assignment.”

  “The assignment is wrong,” Linné hissed. And it was wrong—it had to be wrong. She hadn’t come this far and defied so many people to wash out from fear.

  Disgust crossed Magdalena’s face. “Unbelievable.”

  “Girls!” Zima was crossing the field at a brisk pace. “This is practice, not teatime. Switch navigators and get ready to go again.”

  Linné swayed on the spot. Again. She’d go again and again, laying her life out over the Weave in a series of neatly executed maneuvers. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to cry. Maybe she even wanted to go home. Some navigator she was turning out to be.

  War is simply not women’s work, miss, said Colonel Koslen’s voice in the back of her mind. But she’d die in that cockpit before letting anyone think he might be right.

  The Strekozy were far from perfect. They were slow, for a start. Their lightness made them more maneuverable, but the slightest breeze could pull them off course. The first bombs they carried swung like pendulums during takeoff, and the engineers spent two weeks adjusting the weight. The open cockpit let the wind and rain and sleet howl around them, stinging their cheeks and biting at their exposed necks. They had no radio, and they could barely hear each other through the speaking tubes. They had to take their ground instructions via semaphore signal.

  The planes were easily weighed down by superfluous equipment, so the girls analyzed the survival kits and tossed anything unnecessary out of the cockpit, much to the rage of Colonel Hesovec. Most of their night missions would be harassing the nearest front, so tinned food was pointless. The planes’ canvas wings and wooden noses were vulnerable to spark and Dragon fire, and the Strekozy flew too low to the ground to enable good use of parachutes. The rations and fire starters had to go, too. Soldiers who went missing at the front were assumed to be traitors and deserters, and none of them favored the idea of hiking through the Ryddan wilderness only to see the inside of a prison cell when they made it home. There was no point in taking it with them.

  The Strekoza started to feel like Revna’s real self. She thought about it as she ate her sunset breakfasts, and it was the last thing on her mind when she slipped off to sleep each dawn. She had wings instead of arms, a tail instead of legs. Outside the Strekoza she saw half the world, but in it she understood everything. She could feel the air currents as they tugged her, the magnetism of the Weave guiding her wings. She could see the way the threads lay flat over the plains and warped to follow the course of the river. She could feel the pulse of life in the cockpit.

  Tamara put them on a rotation of flying partners. All the navigators felt different, and their emotions twined with hers until she didn’t know who thought what. Galina’s moods were light and fleeting, like her gossip. Asya felt so invisible that Revna had to keep checking that she hadn’t fallen out. Nadya’s presence was forceful, her questions brash and oblivious to Revna’s discomfort, and often about Revna’s legs.

  But worst of all was Linné. Linné shouted and swore from the tim
e they took off to the time they landed. She made the Strekoza nervous, and by the end of each practice, Revna’s hands shook—though with Linné’s terror or her own anger, she couldn’t tell. And when practice was over, Linné stalked off to her Skarov friends. At least one of us will be safe from the Union after the war, Revna thought bitterly.

  She’d hoped someone would ask to be her permanent partner, but girls paired off all around her and the pool of available navigators dwindled. What would happen to her family if she were grounded without a navigator? When she finally got up the courage to ask Nadya during a practice, Nadya shrugged. “I agreed to fly with Elena,” she said. “Sorry.” She did sound sorry, but Revna finished practice with Linné’s words ringing in her ears. Would you fly with her?

  Magdalena found a stepladder, but Revna hated using it. She pulled herself in and out of the Strekoza with the Weave, even when her vision blurred after long hours of practice and her chest ached where the living claws dug into her. Sometimes she couldn’t hold herself up and she fell out of the cockpit, slamming her prosthetics against her residual limbs and setting her phantom feet ablaze. And sometimes she borrowed a hospital wheelchair when she was too tired to care what pitying looks the others threw her. It didn’t matter what they thought of her, anyway. All that mattered was that she could fly.

  The evening they received their team assignments was gray and cold. Revna went to the mess for breakfast to find a notice pinned to the wall and girls crowded around it. She stumbled into a table, jarring her legs. The others jostled around her to get a good view, shouting back and forth as they found their names and their partners.

  She had to see the list. But she desperately, desperately didn’t want to. She needed more time to find a partner she could trust. But they’d already practiced 150 hours, nearly ten times as long as the aviators Colonel Hesovec trained. She’d had experience with every navigator.

  Their permanent teams meant they had only one obstacle left in their training. Everyone was delirious with excitement. Everyone but her.