Soleil

by Jacqueline Garlick

  Despite the waggling dash of fear in his eyes.

  Another great gust of wind cooks up, sending Masheck teetering onto one foot. I ‘old me breath as he fights to catch his balance. A fall from this ‘eight could be his death.

  Masheck’s clothes flutter, working against ‘im, trying ‘ard to dump ‘is arse to the ground, but he manages to land surefooted as a lark back on a wire by letting the rubber tumble to the ground. He looks at me, annoyed.

  “Better it than you,” I say.

  He huffs and starts down the scaffolding after it. The wind lets up as ‘e drags the giant roll of rubber back up to the makeshift platform we’ve built between the structures. He runs a rattled hand through his scruffy ‘air when at last he reaches the top.

  Another gust comes, the air tinged with a steady stream of black spiralling smoke, and Masheck is tossed backward. He clutches the scaffolding, saving himself from a tumble.

  “What is that?” Masheck points to the looming, oily streak in the air.

  “That, my friend, is the culprit.” I shoo the Vapour streak away from our stands, then get up and sniff the air again, squinting, and surveying the horizon beyond the boom. “Judging by the looks of things, we’d better get a move on.”

  Another piece of black tendril sifts past me. I reach out and snag the end of it and bring it to my mouth. “Yeah. That’s Vapour all right.” I smack me lips. “No doubt about it. Tinny damned tastin’ shite, it is.” I spit the bitter taste out.

  Masheck’s eyes well up with worry. “Should we be—?” He motions toward the castle.

  “Naw, not yet.” I lie, tryin’ to ease the fear in ‘is great bulging eyes. “We can finish this lot first.” I jerk me head toward the last few mills we’ve left to fix.

  Truth is, we should likely be ‘eading for cover at the first sign of Vapours, but I’m afraid what might ‘appen if we do. We might not get the chance to get back out ‘ere, and if we don’t, it won’t be just a thread of Vapours gettin’ through. I swallow down the thought of that.

  “We’ll be done ‘ere before you know it,” I say, assessing the situation. Just four mills left to refurbish now. “We’ll be outta ‘ere before the wind ‘as the chance to truly whip up.”

  I hope.

  I smile, but I swear he sees through it.

  “We’d better double up our speed.” He lowers ‘is ‘ead, not looking at me, then guts the belly of another tattered blade. He tosses the ruined rubber over. It falls to a heap on the ground.

  “What’s that?” He raises a hand to his forehead and squints beyond the trees.

  I track his gaze a league or so off into the forest to a black speck floundering in the air just above the treetops, leaving a strange black tendril of its own. Not the thick black-smoke kind the Vapours give off, more of a thin dissipating ribbon that moves erratically.

  “Is that—” I ask, watching the speck slowly move toward us.

  It dives and dips, fighting to stay airborne in the increasing wind, which howls steadily in our ears now, flapping our clothing open, letting up for only seconds at a time.

  “A raven?” Masheck finishes my thought.

  “Not just any raven. It’s ‘er!” I shout, racing to the outer edge of my platform to get a better look, as the bird angles sharply toward us.

  “‘Er who?” Masheck squints.

  “Pan!” I shout, joy spiralling through me.

  “Pan?” Masheck asks.

  The bird floats sharply toward us tipping this way and that, forced along on a gale, her red beak finally coming into view. She swoops down through the treetops, driven toward us forced by the wind, and loses control. She quickly changes direction spiralling upward in an attempt to miss me, and the wind tosses her violently into one of the metal blades above my head.

  “Pan!” I shout as she strikes it. My head fills with the sound of the awful clunk, as she tumbles all the way to the ground.

  “Pan!” I scramble down the scaffolding ladder after her, and fall to my knees next to her. “It’s Eyelet’s mother,” I shout back up to Masheck.

  “Eyelet’s what?” He drops his tools and joins me.

  “Her raven… Eyelet’s raven. I mean… It’s complicated.” And there’s no time to explain. “Just help me, will you?”

  Masheck scuttles down the last of the scaffolding and tucks in beside me.

  “‘And me your gasmask.”

  He stares at me, then looks down at the mask strung about his neck.

  “Just ‘and it over, will yuh?” I shout, a little harder than I should.

  Reluctantly, he peels the mask strings from his neck.

  While spot-feedin’ ‘er oxygen from the open valve on the mask, I depress the tiny soft spot below Pan’s sternum, repeatedly, with a gentle toe.

  Masheck stares at me, bewildered.

  “Come on. Come on, girl.” I repeat the procedure.

  “I don’t think it’s—”

  I abandon the mask and press my mouth over her beak.

  “Or we could do that.” Masheck sounds stunned.

  I administer one puff, two, three…

  “Do you think that a bird—”

  “Come on, girl.” I blow air into her tiny beak again.

  Twice, three times more, and at last she coughs and darts straight up, squawkin’ and flappin’ her wings in the dirt. She fights to free herself of my grasp, instinct kickin’ in.

  I let go, and she blinks and bobs ‘er ‘ead up and down, lookin’ like she’s about to fly away.

  “Steady now.” I caution, stroking the back of her wings. “That was a pretty good blow you took to the noggin’ there. You best stay put a moment.”

  “Do you mind to tell me what’s going on?” Masheck sits back on his haunches and stares at me like I’m off my nut.

  I extend a foot in greeting. “Pan, this is Masheck. Masheck, Pan—also known as Eyelet’s mother.”

  “What?”

  Pan blinks.

  “Pan is really Eyelet’s mother,” I explain. “She’s a Valkyrie.”

  Masheck falls back on his butt.

  “Pan is, I mean—not Eyelet. I don’t think…is she?”

  Pan shakes ‘er ‘ead.

  Masheck’s eyes pop, seeing me conversing with a bird. “So, wait? Eyelet’s mother is a Valkyrie?”

  “Well, not always,” I explain further. “Just since Smrt struck ‘er in the ‘ead, and left ‘er for dead. The rotten, sheep-shite scoundrel.” I look to Pan who nods.

  Masheck frowns, clearly still confused.

  “You see, Pan ‘ere swapped bodies with Eyelet’s mother to save the day, givin’ up ‘er own life to extend Eyelet’s mother. Only trouble is, now she‘s a bird. Been one ever since.” I turn my eyes to ‘er. “Where have you been, anyway? Livinea and I’ve been all over lookin’ for you.”

  Pan raises a foot and scratches something in the dirt.

  Masheck’s eye-size doubles. “Searching,” he mutters.

  “For what?” I say.

  She scrawls a second word in the dirt. Necklace.

  “The necklace? You went to find—” I look up. “You went after Flossie, didn’t you?”

  She caws and flaps her wings.

  “Did you find ‘er? Did you get the necklace?”

  She shakes her head, no. Tears well in her black-bead eyes.

  “It’s all right.” I pat ‘er tiny ‘ead. “It’s all right. Eyelet’s all right.”

  Pan’s eyes brighten. She caws and hops about in the dirt, flapping and dragging her wings joyfully. Where is she? she scratches. Can I see her?

  “Sorry, mum.” I hang my head. “I’m afraid they’ve already gone.”

  Gone where?

  “Out into the forest. After the necklace.”

  Pan flaps panicked wings.

  “They ‘ad to, mum. No real choice. Left yesterday, right after the wedding.”

  Pan’s eyes widen.

  “Yes. She and Urlick were married. She really wanted you the
re, something fierce, she did. Livinea and I, we went searching for you, but—”

  Pan drops her head.

  “They set out right after the wedding, the two of ‘em, on account of what the Alchemist said. Urlick tried to convince Eyelet not to make the journey with ‘im, but you know Eyelet. She’d ‘ave none of it.”

  Pan bangs her wings and spins in a circle. A sorrowful trilling sound pours from her mouth.

  “It’s all right, mum, they’ll be back in a day or two. They promised.”

  No. Pan shakes ‘er ‘ead. No. She spreads her wings.

  “Pan?” I reach for her, but she pulls away.

  She squawks, flaps and lifts to the sky, circling and screaming overhead.

  “Pan!” I shout as she flounders against the wind. “Pan! Come back! You must come back!”

  She loses control in her still-stunned condition, and careens close to Masheck’s ‘ead. He ducks to avoid her.

  “The winds are far too strong!” I shout at the sky. “And there’s a hint of Vapours!”

  My words stick hard. Pan’s manic flight slows. She jolts to a stop mid-flight, and hovers there, wings tipping.

  “You’ll be no good to Eyelet dead.”

  Pan carefully considers my words, her eyes flitting toward the horizon and back.

  “Come back to the castle with us.” I jerk my ‘ead in that direction. “If they’re not back in three days as planned, we’ll let you go after them then.”

  Pan peers over her back at the woods, the wind tossing her about. It’s gotten even stronger than before, and there’s no sign it’s going to let up.

  A desolate look floods her face. Her eyes plead with mine.

  “It’ll be all right. They’s smart cookies, the two of them.”

  I prop my shoulder out, encouraging her to land.

  She glances at me and then at the forest, clearly torn. Reluctantly, she soars close and lands on my shrugged-out shoulder, her spikey claws diggin’ into me collarbone, as she struggles to keep her balance. Clearly she’s not yet one hundred percent.

  A trail of Vapour loops in through the holes in the mills behind us—the width of me bloody ‘ead. I flash a concerned look in Masheck’s direction. “We’d better get goin’.”

  He stares back at me in shock.

  Together, we turn and break for the castle as fast as we can, Pan clinging to my shoulder, Vapour-tinged wind on our heels.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Eyelet

  We risk flying part way over the woods again, despite the condition of the wing, and even though the winds are atrocious. After a particularly strong gust, we’re nearly upset again, and Bertie J. banks suddenly left, taking a harrowing topple through the trees. We’re forced to land, and Urlick sets about fixing the wing straight away.

  We won’t withstand another emergency landing.

  I walk the perimeter of the little clearing, keeping an eye out for any signs of trouble, while Urlick works to repair the wing. Finally, he calls me over. “This should solve the problem for now.” Gwen’s jacket has been stretched tight over the tattered wing and secured in place with braided tangle weed vines.

  I hang my head, my heart swelling with guilt.

  Urlick moves close and gently takes my face in his hands. “There’s nothing we can do now, but I promise you, her death with be avenged.”

  We board the cycle and pedal on through the forest, reasoning the skies are too dangerous to fly at this point. The last thing we need is to alert Flossie and her cronies to our arrival. Surprise is our only tactic left. Besides, the winds seem to be steadily increasing in this part of the woods, for some strange reason, which has Urlick especially unnerved.

  I look back over my shoulder toward Brethren, wondering what’s happening there.

  My mind floats over the senseless death of Gwen as we travel, and I snuggle Urlick closer. I snuff and sputter, and grind my face in his back, fighting tears. I’ve experienced so much loss, I’ve come to believe I was almost deadened to it, but Gwen’s death has brought it all back—every death since the beginning: my father’s, my mother’s, sweet Cordelia’s. And now this.

  Has it all been worth it?

  The weight of all their demises pour out of me in great shuddering heaves as we fly.

  Urlick reaches ‘round and pats my leg. “Don’t worry. They will pay. I’ll see to it.”

  Soon, strangely, the winds die down. We seem to have out flown the worst of them, or at least I hope. This part of the forest seems much calmer than the last.

  Unusual. I look back.

  Urlick slows the bike and surveys the landscape. “We must be getting close,” he says, leaning back. The fog is thick in this part of the woods, which is good for cover, but not so good for our search.

  He turns to face me. “By my calculations, the Core should be just up there.” He points past a clearing toward a mass of giant trees

  “Should I start the tracking device, then?”

  “I would.” Urlick nods, still pedaling.

  I let go of his waist and search my boot for the Neo Locator. I pull out the rod, turn it on, and point it to the air ahead of us. The device lights up and almost immediately starts blinking, indicating it has a reading. I hold it out with a steady hand, and it waves and wobbles. The ends of its prongs snuff the air like the snout of a dog. It shifts to the right and the left. It huffs and steams and snorts.

  “What’s it doing?” Urlick hollers over his shoulder.

  “Jumping about like a dousing rod.” The two-pronged wand tugs erratically in my hands. The force of it is unreal. “It must mean that it’s onto something.” I let go of Urlick’s side just long enough to get a better hold, and the Neo Locator lunges forward, nearly dragging me off the cycle. “It seems to be searching for something! This way!” I shout as the rod yanks right. Urlick pedals in that direction. “To the left!” I holler when the rod pulls that way. Urlick follows it pedaling faster, faster, faster. We swerve to miss a stump, almost ditching the cycle. I nearly topple off the back. All at once, the light on its end begins to blink. “We must be getting close.”

  The end of the wand lights up bluish-green. It blinks steadily, then faster and faster, the end of it snuffing and snorting. “Go left! Go left!” I follow the wand’s prompt, guiding Urlick through the forest. He stands to pedal, trying to keep Bertie J. under control. We zip through a clearing and over a small hump. I bounce in the air, grasping at the back of my seat to stay on as we descend the hillside through a thicket of trees, the wand all but carrying me off the cycle along with it. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it had a mind of its own.”

  Urlick glances back at me. “Maybe it does.”

  “Right. Go right.” The wand bends sideways in my hands.

  Urlick obeys, throwing down a leg and whirling us around, our knees nearly dragging in the dirt. The wand pulls in the opposite direction.

  “Now, left! Quickly,” I shout.

  He makes the turn. “Are you sure we’re going in the right direction? We’re no longer headed toward Core.”

  “The light seems to think so!”The device blinks even more madly than it did before. The rod yanks, and I spill forward. “It seems to be onto something. We must be getting very, very close.” I shiver.

  “Be careful, remember what C.L. said about its powerful magnetic draw,” Urlick cautions as it guides us through another open clearing, where we drop down into a dark, dank part of the woods. Everything falls silent. Fear rises in me, like a cloud over Embers. The rod’s blinker has turned into a frenzied display of throbbing light. “She can’t be far,” I whisper, swallowing.

  Cloud cover rolls in on us from all sides. The hairs on my neck prickle. The cloud cover has changed now from misty grey to grayish black—indicating Vapour. “Urlick, do you suspect—?”

  “Yes,” he answers, gulping in a breath.

  “Do you suppose that ravine—”

  “We’re at the edge of Embers, yes.” Urlick turns his h
ead, his eyes wide with worry. “Somehow, we’ve turned back toward it.” The air in this part of the woods swirls thick with its pungent, fetid smell, along with another, that smells like dried blood. There’s a third odour in the air, reminiscent of rotting undergrowth, yet the forest here seems very dry. I sniff. “What is that?”

  “The scent of the Infirmed.”

  I remember it then, from our chance encounter in the ravine before. My heart advances its speed. I hang on tighter to Urlick, and shiver in trepidation.

  Urlick turns, concern in his expression. “We must be headed in the right direction.”

  Coils of black thread through the patchy foggy mist behind his head, and I worry when it clears they’ll be there, with their torn faces and gnashing teeth, preparing to suck both our brains out.

  “Better don the gasmasks.” Urlick slows the cycle to a crawl, tires crackling through dead leaves as we creep carefully forward, the Neo Locator’s frantic light spurring us on.

  The landscape grows darker and darker. I blink, barely able to make out the shadow of trees as we slink past. Each snapping twig jolts my brittle heart. The fog is so thick now, we must depend only on the blinking light on the end of the rod for a guide. Branches graze our faces. Bushes claw at our legs.

  The woods grow more and more unruly the farther in we pedal. Bertie J. struggles to cut through the dense underbrush.

  “Where are we?” I lean closer to Urlick, digging my fingers into his sides

  “I’m not sure.” He reduces our speed to a slow crawl. “I’ve never been in this part of the woods before. “He twists around, as Bertie J. fights to keep us balanced atop of him, his motor urging us to speed up, but Urlick keeps the cycle in check.

  The wand’s double-pronged snout snuffs like a rabid dog. The blue-green light on the end of it flashes suddenly white, then goes out. “What’s happened?” Urlick jerks around. “Why did it turn off?”

  “I don’t know.” I shake the rod. “Stop!”

  Urlick pulls to a startled halt in a clearing. “What is it?” He digs his boots into the ground.

  “I’m not sure.” I look around us. “But I sense something.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand. A cold sweep of air swirls in my belly. “Either we’ve lost all connection with Flossie…or we’ve just found her.”