by Mia Strange
“You have to,” I screamed through the now deafening sound of the approaching automatons. “It’s our chance.” I pushed to my knees, pressing my palms to my ears and caught a new look at the approaching mass of mechanical death. The bats were close now, ferocious, deadly. “Damn it, Pilot. It’s our only chance.”
“Chaos–”
“Will end us. Chaos and anything flammable.” I pointed to the balloon. “And fuck if Chaos doesn’t always result in something flammable.”
“But–”
“No buts,” I screamed, trying to be heard over the deadly noise. “We either live, or we die.”
Pilot didn’t pause to discuss, to argue, or look for Plan B. He took me at my word. It’s just what Academy members do.
Pushing to stand, Pilot grabbed the teak rail, clamping hold with the strength of his brass hand. A slap of wicked turbulence rocked The Dark Destiny as the rhythm of a thousand wings beating in unison reached our slipstream of air. Pilot stumbled, violently crashing to his knees. I lost my footing and slid across the polished deck, slamming into him. He caught me with his free arm, while his brass hand held us in place by grasping the railing with an inhuman grip.
I felt the surge, a mere second before I could see it. Brilliant green light, dazzling and blinding, flashed and filled the sky above us.
Pilot had called his magic into play.
The aether was upon us.
This display of raw power, of harnessed aether, was why Pilot was one of the most powerful wielders of magic in our world. A wielder The Gov had dismissed, thrown out. Had left to die of thirst in the Ash Lands. Assholes.
Gale force winds rose, wrapping The Dark Destiny in a shock of violent, invisible waves. Our mighty ship groaned and tipped to port wrenching me from Pilot’s protective grip.
“Pilot,” I screamed as I was thrown across the deck. I slammed against a metal trunk that was bolted to the deck. My head hit hard against a wickedly sharp corner. Liquid, hot and sticky ran down my cheek and spilled over my mouth. My coppery blood seeped past my lips, invading my taste buds. The metallic scent assaulted my nostrils. My eyes blurred as blood obscured my vision. My ears rang with the echoes of Pilot screaming out my name.
The world around me spun in a greenish maze of aether, sea fog and blood.
Phil cried out, a mixture of groans and moans and a raspy, rattling scream of what had to be pure terror. I didn’t know until that moment, that zombies too, at least in this phase, could feel fear.
The thought hit me hard. It gave me a new resolve. What kind of fucked-up world did we live in? Pilot. Me? The good guys. Phil? A victim. And Emma? Alive. Or at least I would live long enough to prove otherwise.
We would get out of this mess, seek our revenge, find our clues, set the world right, and get on with our lives. Red hot anger didn’t begin to cover the rage I was feeling. Die like this? As bat bait? With our bodies covered with chemically manufactured guano that burned and ate away human flesh faster than acid? Never.
Using my sleeve, I wiped the blood out of my eyes and flipped on my back. I watched in awe as Pilot’s magic, electric and magnetic, filled the skies above us. I could feel the fine hairs on my skin rise. I could smell the fresh, pure air descending all around us.
Aether, long believed to be the very air that the legendary, ancient Gods of Mount Olympus breathed, gathered above us. Lightning flashed through the sky in the shape of huge giant forks, reminding me of the wrath of Poseidon.
A hole opened in the heavens and the aether shimmered above us. It spilled through smog laden clouds filled with acid rain and found its way to cloak and cover The Dark Destiny. The green hues settled around our ship and we became invisible.
The bats fell away, confused and lost in the thick luminous light of aether. One fell from the sky, hitting my shoulder, and landed hard on the deck, screeching and snapping. Wicked, razor fangs opened and closed, fangs that had only moments ago, been inches away from my cheek. I jumped up, stomping at the bat until the metal body lay crushed and ruined. Frayed wires from its inner workings sparked and hissed, and finally, its artificial, yellow eyes blinked out.
The winds died and The Dark Destiny righted, sailing away smooth and unhindered on raw magical energy. We sailed away from the mass of mechanical death. Away from the clicks and clatters and ear-piercing screams that were now no more than a memory.
Away from the good old Gov.
I ran to Pilot where he sat slumped against the deck, head in hands, trying to catch his breath. Offering him a hand up, I pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, slamming into me and we were both pulled off balance.
“Whoa,” I said as I almost tipped over before regaining my air legs.
“Skye. Thank God.” Relief filled his eyes.
Smiling at him, I punched him in the shoulder. “Nice magic act, Goldilocks.”
“Thanks. I think. Hey. What’s this?” He reached up and pressed his fingertips where the gash on my forehead was. He frowned and pushed my goggles off my face and into my hair. “There’s a lot of blood, but it’s dried. In fact, I can’t tell where it came from.”
I felt no pain as he probed further. It was as if the wound had disappeared. I didn’t know what had happened to the gash, but I did know one thing for sure. Traveler Hale would know the answer. You and your damn black magic blood. Eli Dark’s words pressed into my mind.
I pushed Pilot’s hand away. “I’m fine. Head wounds. Bleed like a son-of-a-” I stopped and shrugged it off. Better not to spend too much time explaining what couldn’t be explained. A low, loud groan got our attention.
We turned and looked toward Phil. The zombie was straining in his harness, his long stiff arms reaching out to grasp something on the deck next to him. A mangled chicken foot.
I turned to Pilot and grinned. “I think he’s okay. His appetite is back.”
“Like he ever loses it.”
“Good point.” I shot a side glance at Phil just as the remainder of the foot disappeared into his mouth.
The sound of crunching cartridge echoed through the aether fog.
Pilot walked across the deck and picked up my spyglass that had wedged itself into a heap of tangled rigging lines that looked like knotted spaghetti. He snapped open the glass. I shielded my eyes and squinted into the horizon. We looked north, south, east, west.
“Lost them.” He tossed the scope back to me. I snatched it from the air with one hand. “For now.”
“Are we still invisible?” I stared into the seemingly endless fog hoping not to see anymore flying threats.
“Yep. The amount of aether I drew will last another thirty minutes or so. Long enough for us to lose them. Long enough for us to find-”
“Dark,” I finished.
“Come on,” he yanked on my sweatshirt tie. “Let’s get–”
“The hell out of here,” we said in unison.
Even with our flag down, it would be hard not to recognize The Dark Destiny. The gold and black striped balloon? A dead giveaway. A shining teak hull, the polished brass bell so much larger than most, and with grace in the air that was unmatched, all pointed to Dr. Dark’s Academy. We could only hope that the bats that attacked us were still miles above, lost in a blanket of aether. We could only hope they were expendable, and not configured to head back to home base. Back to report.
Sailing low, and cloaked in smog and fading aether, we skimmed the peaks of decaying skyscrapers. We ducked behind rusted hulks of wide, towering parking garages. We hid behind rotting billboards. Weaving in and around the broken, crumbling skyline of Seattle, it took all of Pilot’s skill to pick our way back toward The Neptune Theater. Toward Dr. Dark.
Five air miles out, I spotted something that would change our course. Something I alone could see.
The steam magic was back.
Leaning over the railing, I strained my eyes, looking into the gray haze of the day, trying to catch a glimpse of the familiar sparkles and brilliant, magical colors.
It ha
d started out as a soft flicker on the horizon, accompanied by the faintest scent of sun-kissed pine needles. As the flickers turned into bold, bright flashes, and the scent of pine grew stronger, I turned to Pilot who was fully in concentration mode as he maneuvered The Dark Destiny between two tall crumbling buildings.
He had no idea what was coming.
I wasn’t sure I did either.
“Pilot,” I shouted over to him. “Do you smell that? Look at the horizon.”
“Not now,” he yelled back. “Skye. Working here. And for the record, all I smell is Phil. Why can’t he be downwind?”
All he could smell was Phil? What? The wind blew a strong, pine-laced breeze that filtered all around us. Phil raised his crooked nose into the wind and grunted. The horizon flashed, and Phil leaned against his harness and pawed at the light.
What? What? Phil could see the steam magic? He could smell it? I didn’t know how to feel about that. Not quite so special, that’s for damn sure.
I watched as a wide, thick stream of steam and magic wove its way through the cityscape of Seattle. It moved steadily toward us like a glass of spilled milk.
The Dark Destiny scraped against exposed concrete and steel, gouging the beautiful hull. The airship jerked, twisted, and then broke free.
“Pilot–”
“Skye. Still working here. I don’t even want to see how deep the gouges are. Aw, shit. Just shit.”
“But–”
“But nothing. Let me concentrate.”
Suddenly, it felt like a thousand pine trees were closing in. In my mind’s eye, I saw the trees falling all around us. On us. Crushing us.
The steam magic was here.
Survival instincts took over and I ducked, slipped, and hit the deck hard.
“Really, Skye?” Pilot shouted over his shoulder. He didn’t even bother to turn around. “What? Still haven’t got your air legs under you yet?”
For such a gifted airman, and a guy so lethal with a weapon, not to mention the master of aether, at times, our Pilot was totally, completely, clueless.
The colors, braided through the steam, descended all around us.
The Dark Destiny was swallowed in one, huge, pine-scented, hungry, colorful, gulp.
5
We emerged between the two buildings covered in bright rainbow colors. The Dark Destiny, as if trying to shake the magic off, began to spin slowly, turning and turning. The colors swirled around me, tumbling and churning like I was caught inside Dark’s prize, brass kaleidoscope.
“What the hell?” Pilot anchored his feet and fought the wheel, correcting one direction, then another. The airship continued to spin, picking up momentum.
The steering was out of his control now. I knew this, could plainly see it. Pilot? Not so much.
He continued to swear and reef and reel until a fine sheen of sweat broke out across his brow. Droplets hung from the tip of his nose. I grabbed a line that was tied to a large, iron cleat and knotted it around my waist. If we sped up, I didn’t want to go flying over the rails.
I looked up at Phil sitting securely in his seat on the upper deck. He didn’t seem phased in the least.
How did that saying go? The one my grandmother used to tell Emma and me when she tucked us in at night? Something about a bug, snug, in a rug. Phil was certainly no bug, but he did look safe. And secure. And snug.
Well hell. Color me jealous.
Phil had the best seat in the house. I wanted to be the one strapped and tied and buckled into his harness.
Pilot, tethered by the kill cable, continued to swear as we picked up more and more speed. The ship was descending. Fast. We were goin’ down.
“Fuck! What is this?” Pilot yelled.
Somehow, I knew. I just knew in my gut that we would not crash. The steam magic had other plans.
“Pilot. We’re heading down.”
“Thanks, Einstein.”
“Really? You pick now to be a sarcastic ass?”
“Sorry. I just turn into a bastard when I know we are gonna crash and burn and, I don’t know, DIE,” he shouted.
“We aren’t–”
“We are.”
“Not–”
“Are–”
With a dramatic, jerking halt, the spinning stopped. The jolt sent me flying into piles of sailcloth that had once been neatly stowed before all the crazy motion unraveled it. Pilot was thrown onto the unforgiving deck, landing hard on his ass.
“Damn it” he yelled. “My tailbone.”
The Dark Destiny idled. We were dead in the air. The airship hung in place as interlocking cogs spun into each other, whirling and purring, like one of Turk’s cats.
I looked down. We were in the middle of an abandoned street, floating a few feet above the pavement. We could jump off without a worry. I glanced up at Phil. Jumping wasn’t an option for him. First, Phil didn’t jump. Hell, he hardly walked. Second, he had brittle bone syndrome, a side effect of being a zombie. Still, for the most part? We were safe.
A spittle of Phil drool from up above pierced through the colorful steam and dripped on Pilot’s head. His sweat-soaked, matted curls just got a little damper. I tried not to laugh. I really did.
Pilot reached up, ran his fingers through his hair and came away with as Jin would say, ‘sticky, icky’ zombie spit. “Shit! Just shit.” He slammed his brass fist into the deck, leaving a dent in the wood.
I grabbed the sailcloth and covered my face to stifle my laughter. When I looked up, he had pulled out a little round mirror from his pocket and was trying to spike up his hair.
“Really?” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Hair? You’re worried about your hair? Now?” I was reminded what Jin had said about Pilot and vanity. I quirked a smile. The kid might be on to something.
“Yeah. Get over it. Last I checked zombie drool was not a hair product.”
As if in agreement, the steam magic floated around Pilot’s head, caressing and dancing in his curls until his hair was clean and glistening, and had that sun-kissed hue once more. It took all of five seconds.
I reached up and touched my own knotted, tangled strands. My copper tube beads twisted together and hung in crazy angles. Damn. Some guys had all the luck.
The steam magic, now in perfectly aligned strips of primary colors, floated between the stanchions, spilling over the side of The Dark Destiny in one amazing wave after another.
In two blinks, the waves were gone.
All that was left was a lingering scent of pine needles, baking away, in the sweltering, late summer sunshine. I breathed deep, feeling the heat to my core and sighed with the want of it. Sunshine like that? A memory at best.
“You didn’t see any of that, did you?” I stood, dropping the sailcloth around my feet.
“See what?” Pilot stood too, and gingerly rubbed his ass. A very fine ass I might add. “Okay,” he said. “No comments about what a pain in the ass that whole experience was.”
I looked away, laughing.
A disembodied voice floated up to us. “Care to share the humor?”
Pilot and I looked at each other, raised our eyebrows, ran to the railings and peered over the side.
Dr. Dark, the ‘ancient one,’ stood below us. Dagger was nowhere to be seen. I could see The Madison, parked in the shadows, about a city block away. Dark’s arms were crossed and a frown was planted firmly on his face. He pointed to what had to be the fresh gouges in the side of The Dark Destiny’s hull. His frown deepened.
“Dark,” Pilot said.
“Eli,” I said.
He may have been unhappy to see us out here so far from our destination, from where we were supposed to be, but as for us? Well, happy to see him did not begin to cover it.
Ecstatic was one word.
Relieved was another.
The two of us spoke over each other, interrupting, raising our voices, tangling our words, until Eli could not stand it any longer.
“Wait.” He held up his hand. “Just wait. First, we secure
the airship. Agreed?”
Pilot looked embarrassed. “Of course,” he said. “Always. What was I thinking?”
“You were trying to explain this.” Dark ran his palm along the hull, pulling at something invisible to play between his fingers. In an instant Dark’s magic took over and the green hue of residual aether appeared.
Pilot shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Yeah. That. Exactly.” Color drained from his face. I knew he was sick with worry. He’d used his magic. And didn’t I know just how that felt. After all, hadn’t I unleashed Chaos Magic in the city and leveled a building?
Anytime we called our magic into play we knew what we risked. We risked us all. But by risking our alchemist, our own Dr. Elijah Dark, we risked the life of the last person alive who could possibly save our world.
And for me personally? To lose him? I risked dying of a broken heart.
“There,” Dark pointed over to The Madison. “We can secure The Destiny there. Drop the tether on the roof and use the periscope as a docking port. Go on.” He waved us away. “I’ll follow on foot.”
“Just give me your hand,” Pilot said. “We can all ride–”
“No,” said Dark. He lowered his voice. “We can’t. I can’t be hoisted. I can’t climb. Not even on the ladder.” He discreetly cocked his head to the ruins of a nearby gutted diner.
I turned, pretending to stretch a kink from my back. The glowing eyes of The Gov rats stared at me out of the gloomy shadows. Pilot waited until I finished. He turned, faking a fascination with the waters of distant Puget Sound. I saw a tick in his jaw when he spotted the rats. He turned back to face Dark, his green eyes filled with fury. “Damn rodents,” he said, his voice low.
“From this distance, they can’t hear us, and yet, they see everything. I want them to record only this crippled old man.” Eli tapped his chest with his cane. “I want them to see Dr. Dark, the vaudevillian, the has-been. The joke. Nothing more.”
Pilot nodded and went to the helm. The Dark Destiny was twenty feet up and heading down the block toward The Madison before you could say, ‘aether rules.’