Neeka Featherstone

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Neeka Featherstone Page 16

by R. J. Lucas


  “What happened to that girl who I faced yesterday?” he asks. “The one who embarrassed me?”

  “I’m just distracted I guess,” I say. “Or maybe you’re getting better.”

  He laughs and we reset to try the exercise again. This time, I hold the fake weapon and prepare for his attack. I set my legs and focus just on him, knowing I cannot accomplish my mission of killing Solomon if I don’t learn to focus my attention and avoid distractions, but as he charges me, faking left and then sweeping right for a low attack, I see the door to the training facility open and an unexpected face appears.

  “Papa?” I say as Dasim wraps his arms around my waist and dumps me onto the dust of the training ground, the faux weapon flies from my hand and lands out of reach, perfectly completing the takedown and disarmament drill.

  Dasim helps me up and I dust off.

  “Looks like they aren’t taking it easy on you,” Papa says and smiles. He carries a metal, disc-shaped object that’s about twice the size of his hand.

  “What have you got there?” Dasim wants to know.

  “Oreen and I have been hard at work on something new,” he says.

  “Isn’t Oreen that oak tree of a woman who owns the tinker shop?” Dasim asks.

  “Yep,” I confirm, “and that oak tree will probably save your life with the weapons and armor she keeps you outfitted in.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Dasim says. “She’s just so…big.”

  Papa ignores our conversation and holds the contraption up for us to get a better look. “This is what I like to call a springrazor.”

  “What does it do?” Commander Bennett asks.

  “It’s a weapon that can kill or at least injure multiple targets within close proximity to one another.”

  “How does it work?” Dasim asks, reaching out to touch it.

  Papa quickly slaps his hand away and cocks his brow at Dasim. “Did I not just say it can kill multiple people in a group?”

  “Well…” Dasim stutters. “Yes, but—"

  “But nothing,” Papa interrupts, his face reddening. “Why would you try to touch a deadly weapon when you have no idea how it works?”

  Dasim tries to defend himself. “I didn’t think just touching it would cause—"

  “Exactly! You didn’t think!” Papa shouts at him. “If the clip had been pulled and you had touched it, you could have killed us all. Now keep your hands to yourself, your mouth shut, and listen.”

  I rarely see Papa get angry, but when he does, it can be intimidating. I almost feel sorry for Dasim as he withdraws without another word.

  Papa goes on to explain the springrazor is perfectly safe if the clip is in place. Once the clip is pulled, the outer perimeter of the disc becomes pressure sensitive. At that point, it takes just a small amount of pressure for the disc to fly apart, releasing several, long, razor-sharp bands.

  “The springrazor can be placed on the ground as a trap or it can be thrown at the enemy,” Papa explains.

  “Can we see a demonstration?” Bennett asks.

  “Sure,” Papa says. “Everyone, stand back!”

  We all back away from Papa as he pulls the clip from the disc and tosses it toward the row of target dummies. Upon impact, the outer casing flies apart, releasing several metal bands that whip about like octopus tentacles grasping at prey. In less than a second, the bands slash through three of the targets, slicing them into pieces.

  Dasim’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen at the spectacle. I assume he is contemplating the destruction he could have caused only moments earlier.

  Papa smiles. “Well, that worked even better than I imagined.”

  “How many of these can you make?” Bennett asks, clearly pleased with what he has just witnessed.

  “I don’t know,” Papa says. “Between Oreen and myself, we could probably make a few a day, but I’ll need more supplies.

  “Make a list of what you need, and I can make a trip to Steelwatch tomorrow,” Isaiah says. “I can take Neeka and Braam with me.

  Steelwatch is a well-known outpost. It is a main source for metals, wood and other scraps. I’ve never been there, but Papa has told me about it. It’s not the friendliest of places. So, Papa would avoid it whenever possible. When we lived in Coghaven, most of his workshop supplies came from Steelwatch, but rather than making the trip, he would buy them from traders whenever they would visit with their wares. Papa would spend hours rummaging through their carts before making a choice and dropping a few quill in the trader’s hand.

  The thought of going to Steelwatch is exciting. Seeing new things. Meeting new people. Trekking through dangerous territory. Sounds like my kind of place. Or I could back out and spend the day with Amari. Why do the choices in life have to be so difficult? Wait… maybe I could take Amari with me. I could keep her safe and we could experience new adventures together. I think I like that idea.

  29 - Steelwatch

  The next morning, Amari and I are greeted by a sky filled with wispy orange and red clouds hanging in a blue sky as the sun peeks out above the mountain range in the distance.

  I take Amari’s hand in mine and pull it to my lips to kiss the back, as if she were a queen. She smiles at me and blushes. I lean in to kiss her, but the moment is interrupted when we hear approaching voices. We quickly detach ourselves from one another’s gaze and I let go of her hand just as Isaiah and Braam come into view.

  “You ready girl?” Braam asks.

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” I reply.

  “We?” Isaiah questions. His right eyebrow lifts at an odd angle as his eyes shift from me to the magnificent creature standing at my side.

  Amari speaks up. “I’ve been to Steelwatch many times with Hugo. I know my way around.”

  As it turns out, she is familiar with the place. When I mentioned Steelwatch to her last night, she got excited at the idea of coming along on our trip. She said there was never a dull moment anytime she visited. There was always something fun or interesting taking place, whether it be fighting in the streets, music in the taverns or simply watching the many eccentrics that roam about. There was always something fun or interesting taking place.

  I asked her if she was ever afraid, and she said only at first. Once everyone understood she was under the protection of Hugo, no one bothered her.

  “Fair enough!” declares Isaiah. “I guess we could use another pair of hands to load the ship anyway.”

  “Ship?” I ask. “What ship?”

  “Follow me,” Isaiah says, turning to walk away.

  We all follow him down the road, out of town, and into the Dread Wastes. No one speaks except to offer a friendly greeting as we pass by other early risers of Graven Pointe. Amari and I pull up the rear behind Braam. When no one is looking, we steal an occasional glance or smile from one another. It’s crazy how my heart can skip a beat just from the light in her eyes.

  “Stay close,” Isaiah tells us. “If we get separated, you’ll get picked up by bandits and they’ll try to sell you to the highest bidder.”

  “I doubt it, Arcmire is nothing more than a steaming heap now,” Braam tells him.

  “You think Arcmire is the only place that buys and sells people?” Isaiah says, more as a statement than a question.

  That shuts Braam up.

  Isaiah slows his pace and studies the ground as if he is calculating something important. He mumbles to himself, counting out numbers as he walks. Braam and I exchange looks but continue to follow him.

  “I think he’s finally lost it,” Braam says.

  Isaiah stops. He bends over, grabs a thick rope that was hidden just beneath the sand and walks over to Braam to stuff the rope into his hand. He then puts his arm around me, pulling me along as he counts off several steps away from Braam.

  “What am I supposed to do with this? Braam asks.

  “You’ll see,” says Isaiah.

  After a few more steps, he stops and pulls another rope from the sand. He hands it to me,
then he marches off counting once again. Finally, he lifts another rope and waves to Braam and me. He starts walking backwards, pulling his rope. Braam and I shrug at each other and follow suit.

  As we walk backwards, pulling the ropes with us, a huge tarp is revealed. A thin layer of sand bounces and slides off the surface and I see the tarp is stretched over a large wooden frame that allows it to act as a covering for what lies beneath.

  “This was Oreen’s idea,” Isaiah says as we pull the cover all the way back. He claps the dust from his hands and points to the pit below. Resting just beneath the surface, I observe a deconstructed, two-balloon airship.

  “We have to hide it out here to keep it from the protectors,” Isaiah begins. “If they found it, who knows what they would do. Maybe turn us in for sedition, collusion, and conspiracy…or they might just keep it for themselves. You never can tell with them.”

  I am entranced by the airship. It is significantly smaller than the one that delivered Papa and Braam and I to the Dread Wastes, but it is an airship, nonetheless.

  We spend most of the morning attaching the wooden propeller and inflating the balloons with a coal burner. It is hard work and as the sun creeps higher, we all start to sweat. I try my best not to make it obvious as I admire the glistening liquid beads on Amari’s skin. Isaiah turns toward me, and I quickly peal my eyes away from her.

  When we finally get the ship looking like it’s ready to fulfill its purpose, Isaiah smiles, clearly proud of the accomplishment. He reaches into a bag that he previously pulled from the ship and passes various pairs of goggles to us, like a teacher handing out assignments.

  None of them are the same. Isaiah’s pair looks the nicest, obviously. They are metal rimmed, and the lenses are tinted to keep the sun out. Mine are like Amaris; clear and scratched in several places with a leather lining. Braam’s are pink, tiny, and rubbery. They make his face look like a balloon about to pop. His appearance triggers an uncontrollable laughter in Amari which brings a natural smile to mine and Isaiah’s faces.

  Braam is not amused.

  “You probably gave me these just so you can laugh at me,” Braam pouts.

  “No,” says Isaiah laughing. “Now let’s get going.”

  We all climb aboard the small ship and Isaiah fires up the rear propeller. It runs off a single power cell and I wonder how they were lucky enough to get their hands on one.

  We lurch forward, skimming the sand and gradually gain altitude. Feeling the wind on my skin, I close my eyes and soak up the feeling of freedom.

  We stand at the ship’s railing and enjoy the trip in the open air. This time I get to enjoy the breeze and truly see the world from up high. The heat of the desert no longer affects us. We are now above it, separate from it. The trip takes a couple of hours, but it feels like only minutes and leaves me feeling alive and invigorated.

  “There it is,” Isaiah says over the sound of the propellers and the wind whipping across the ship’s surface.

  We look down on the small trading village. It looks strange and manufactured, built rather than grown. The place we just left, Graven Pointe, seems like a garden with every section of the village growing from each other naturally; a living organism. In Steelwatch, nothing is green.

  The outpost looks like a giant clock that has been knocked over and broken. The metal walls on the perimeter are organized into an octagon. The straight streets bifurcating and trifurcating the outpost with perfect symmetry, make the place seem like the answer to a math problem rather than a place where people might live. It is hardly a welcoming settlement and more of a mercantile machine.

  As we get closer, we can see a series of near identical buildings lined up along narrow streets. Smoke rises from a couple of the buildings and chokes us as we approach. Isaiah lands the airship next to a wooden dock near a scrapyard. The sun is high, and the bulky buildings seem to radiate the noonday heat. There are other airships and dirigibles sharing the dock. Nearby, stands a stable that has seen better days. It houses pigs, oxen, and mechanical tow-leg carts.

  As we disembark, Isaiah greets the man at the docks and hands him a couple of quill.

  “Shouldn’t one of us stay with the ship?” I ask. “It seems as if it would be an easy target for theft.”

  “Commerce is a religion to these people,” says Isaiah. “Theft is punishable by death. So, no one would dare steal from any of the ships docked here. Besides, aren’t you hungry?”

  I am hungry.

  I realize we have left before breakfast and worked all morning to get the ship put together. Combined with the hours of travel, I realize I am ravenous.

  As we walk down the main street of Steelwatch, my nose is overwhelmed with the scent of every kind of food you could imagine, and some you could not. Vendors line the streets with grilled and boiled meats, steaming vegetables and sweets, some of which I have never seen before.

  The streets are packed hard as if water had been mixed with dirt and baked in the sun for days. More likely though, we are walking on the surface of a ginormous rock with its rough, pale surface acting as the floor for the entire outpost. I’m thankful I don’t have to walk on it barefoot. Then I remember…I don’t have feet.

  Food isn’t the only thing sold in the streets. Trinket vendors showcase their wares on various racks and tables. Necklaces, bracelets, and rings inlaid with colorful stones or sanded volcanic rock from Gehenna lay there begging for attention. I guess most people don’t realize you can easily make these trinkets yourself with a few hand tools.

  I see carts for clothing, shoes, bedding, and various fabrics. Toys made from metal scraps and rubber left over from the old world grab the eye of what must be parents, as I see no children here. Toy carts in Coghaven and Vanvale would be swarmed with rowdy munchkins which is usually a nightmare for the vendor. Toy carts here don’t really make sense. Maybe the toymaker will learn that before he goes hungry. Other carts hold supplies, mechanical parts, and wooden sculptures among other things.

  The people roam about sifting through various items and stuffing their faces with teyrelsk legs and skitterer kabobs. The normal looking ones do, anyway. Hidden in the corners and alleyways are the eccentrics and loners that keep to themselves, huddled in a collapsed wooden structure or sleeping on a bed of muddy straw. I can only assume, the mud comes from urine or spilled krum, maybe vomit. Luckily, they are far enough off the main street, the smell of cooking food overpowers the scent of their living conditions.

  Everyone appears to be extra cautious here. Eyes are always shifting from one place to the next as if any strange noise or sight could mean danger. Most people keep to themselves. Although, there are friendlies as well who don’t hesitate to offer a smile or nod. And the vendors never shut up. They are constantly trying to lure us to their carts in hopes of making a few quill.

  The buildings seem to be well built. Not the cleanest I’ve seen by far, but tolerable. Dark wood, pale stone and metal scraps would best describe the exterior of most of them.

  “This place has great bread pudding,” Isaiah says and leads us to a tavern with swinging wooden doors. They creak and dust falls to the wooden plank floor below as we push our way inside. A bar lines the right wall. It seems to be a haven for drunkards as many of them perch on their stools, or at least try to perch. Some are slumped over with their heads next to a half-full mug of krum.

  Surprisingly, the place is fairly clean and although the bar stools are full of patrons, less than half the tables are occupied. The four of us stride over to the farthest table in the back and take a seat. From across the restaurant, the barkeep yells to us.

  “What’ll it be?” he asks in a raspy voice.

  “What’ve you got?” Braam croaks back at him.

  “Teyrelsk, skitterer, bread pudding, krum and water.”

  We discuss it among ourselves for a moment before Braam yells back the final tally.

  “Four teyrelsk, four bread puddings, two krums and three waters.”

  “Two krums?�
�� Isaiah asks, his eyebrows cocked at Braam.

  “Well, one isn’t going to be enough.”

  “I don’t know how you drink that pisswater.” Isaiah says with a curled lip.

  “Well, not everyone has the benefit of being a kiju producer with a silver cup in his hand,” Braam replies. “Besides, I grew up on this pisswater and its not so bad once you get used to it.”

  A few more minutes of sarcastic banter between the two dominates the conversation at our table. While they argue over the drawbacks of krum and the privilege of having unfettered access to kiju, I feel Amari’s hand brush against my hip and in an instant, a tiny spark of electricity seems to flash up my spine and my heart skips a beat.

  I smile.

  “What are you grinning at girl?” Braam asks.

  “Oh nothing…I just think you two are silly.” It’s the best comment I could think of at the time. Amari moves her hand away and I turn to notice the corner of her lips slightly upturned.

  Our server shows up just in time to interrupt the few seconds of awkward silence between us. She is pretty with long brown hair and deep brown eyes that seem to call you to her. Her body is shaped like an hourglass and her breasts are more visible than not in her red overbust corset. She flashes a huge smile at both Braam and Isaiah as she bends over to set our food on the table. I’m surprised when her breasts don’t fall out, but Braam doesn’t seem to mind.

  I wonder if she serves more than food.

  As she walks away, Braam gawks at her backside, swinging back and forth like a pendulum in a grandfather clock. Amari laughs at him. Isaiah and I follow suit.

  As we devour our food, it doesn’t take long to realize this isn’t even comparable to Lydia’s home-cooked meals. Her meals are delicious and make your mouth water just by thinking about it. This food is simply…edible. It fills your belly, but not much more. Although, I must say, Isaiah was right about the bread pudding. It is surprisingly good.

 

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