Valkyria

by Ink Blood

  Gafer pushed the coin into Einar’s hand, and he put it straight into the coin pouch in his pocket.

  “Now go and get ready. It’s a long way to Argent. Two days by boat from Saylae. Take the bread you bought yesterday with you as well.”

  Einar nodded in agreement. He shook his friend’s hand and walked out of the house, passed Bartholomew who was still gasping for air on the floor, and back to his hut.

  Inside he took his white hunting cloak and threw it over his shoulders before donning his studded leather hunting boots he had bought from a merchant a year before. Grasping a sack that was tied to a long stick, he shoved the bread into it and slung it onto the his right shoulder before leaving the house and slamming the door closed so hard it vibrated like an engine.

  Outside Ma’am Erey and Gafer waited. The old lady walked over to Einar first.

  “My dear, I know you and I do not see eye to eye often, if at all, but please be careful. And please bring your sister home safely.”

  Ma’am Erey stretched out her arms to embrace Einar, something he had not experienced since he was a small lad. He could not help but return the gesture, albeit one handed due to the sack he was carrying.

  “My boy, you be careful. And come back quick. What good is a village without its two best hunters?”

  Einar shook the farmer’s hand once again before nodding, forcing a smile and walking toward the gate.

  “Wait,” shouted Bartholomew, running over to him. “I’m coming with you. I have my own coin to pay the ferryman, and this is my fault. I want to fix it.”

  “Yes, this is your fault! But I will not allow you to come with me. You have endangered my family already with you lack of ability to think. I will not have you do again.”

  Einar pushed the young man’s hand away rather than shaking it and marched over to the gate and out of the village once again.

  The road to Saylae was unusually quiet that day. There was eeriness about it that he just couldn’t pinpoint. The birds had stopped singing already, but the day was still young. The wind of the storm the night before was dead and silent and the road was void of travellers entirely. Even the sky was empty. No birds or airships flew overheard.

  By the time he arrived at Saylae once again, he found it almost as dead as the forest. The energy of the day before seemed to have been sucked out of the city. The merchants still told their produce but with voices empty and hollow. Only a handful of air-taxis moved about the city walls and the people walked with their heads to the floor. Einar noticed one boy sitting on the road by himself and approached.

  “What happened here, boy? Why is everyone so quiet?”

  The boy looked up slowly, his face bleach white and his eyes looking as if he were staring into the afterlife.

  “There was a murder, sir. A group of five in the wedding hall.”

  A chill shot down Einar’s back. He remembered how strangely Rin had acted when they met eyes. It surely was not to do with this though, right?

  “Tell me of it, and pray be quick for I knew a man and his bride who were to get married there this week.”

  “I am sorry, sir. I do not know many details. But I heard the wedding hall is open and the bodies are still there. Should you wish to, you could see for yourself.”

  “I will do that then,” said Einar standing straight once again. “How do I get there?”

  “Take the left by the meat stall and go straight. You cannot get lost, sir. I pray for you that they are not your friends.”

  Einar was doing the same. He had never been a man of faith, that was sure, but after the events of the past few hours he found himself praying to the Arcana silently.

  He took the left and followed the street, itself empty apart from three guardsmen and two working ladies who were wailing and screaming within each other’s arms. The wedding hall was beautiful, with statues beside the main door and a fountain in the courtyard. However, the beauty did little to hide the broken windows and the front door hanging loosely from its hinges.

  Inside there were no guardsmen to speak of. Everything seemed in place. The chairs sat neatly around the large dining table and the aging pictures on the walls hung straight and true. It was as if nothing had been touched to learn of the murdered. Einar noticed the door to the waiting room was ajar and proceeded.

  His mouth dropped, and his knees gave in as he fell to the floor. Blood covered the walls, glasses lay around the room, and Rin’s face stared straight into his eyes, although the gaze was empty.

  Einar reached out with his hand, moving it toward his closest friend, before suddenly and swiftly retracting it in fear.

  “Rin,” he said, his voice wobbling as tears streamed from his eyes. “Ari, what happened to you both? What is happening to this world!?”

  He wiped the tears from his face with his left hand before looking around once again. Why were there no guardsmen examining the scene? Why was the building open at all? As he searched with his eyes, he found the answer.

  On the wall a symbol was painted, that of the Inquisition.

  *~*~*

  10

  NATE

  The night passed far too slowly. Nate dreamed of the decaying woman and of flying his new machine. The dreams were dark and bleak, yet strangely exhilarating and entertaining.

  When he finally roused from his slumber it was not by choice but rather but the continuing clamour of Charles thumping the bedroom door. Nate slipped from his bed, his eyes heavy and blurred as he tried to stand. It felt as if he had not slept a wink the last night.

  Crossing to the small box chest on the floor, he opened it with a creak before reaching in to take his working tunic from it. All the while, the banging and screaming from outside the room continued. He threw on the tunic and moved slowly toward the door, half stumbling as he went. The door opened with a sound so clear and strong that it was far too obvious that it needed more oil on the hinges.

  “Why it is every door on this damn boat squeaks?”

  “And good morning too you,” replied Charles. “My lord you get up late, do you not?”

  “Why? What time is it?”

  “Does it matter?” Charles seemed to be jumping off his feet every other second. The stench of his clothes was so strong that Nate had to hold his breath for a second just to try and get used to it. He was also wearing the same fur lined clothes he had been wearing the day before.

  “Did you actually take a shower?”

  “No,” said Charles. “I could not sleep well either. We have to try and fly that thing as soon as possible.”

  Nate shook his head before nodding. He could not lie to himself; he was rather excited about it too. He picked up the parts, closed his bedroom door and turned the valve to lock it before following Charles once again to the workshop hall.

  Everyone else was just starting to stir whilst Nate worked on the motor. The sound of clanging metal echoed throughout the ship, almost an alarm system. The sailors and engineers soon came flooding into the hall with a nearly even mixture of emotions. Some were shouting at them for making too much noise whilst the others shouted because they wanted to see the machine fly.

  Spanners turned and hand drills duck into metal for over an hour. Oil spilled on the floor and dust flung itself about the room, but eventually the rotary machine was complete.

  “So tell me,” said the captain of the salvage boat, a tall man of brooding visage, “how will this little airship of your stay in the air without you feeding it wood or coal constantly?”

  “Simple, sir. We simply start the rotary system with the handle here,” Nate said as he pointed to the L-shaped piece of metal sticking out from the front of the oblong airship.

  “The handle causes the rotary system to spin creating electricity that causes a piece of metal underneath the water tank to heat up. This then boils the water which creates the steam, the pressure of which causes the rotary system to continue spin on its own accord.”

  “So once you start it, it does not stop unless
there is no more water,” continued Charles. “As for the water supply, when the steam hits the outer shell of the water tank it cools down again due to the outside temperature, becoming water once again so you can, in theory, fly indefinitely.”

  The look of emptiness on the Captain’s face was priceless, a picture Nate would love to remember for his entire life. He moved over to a small workbench to the left of the airship, grabbing a pair of goggles.

  “Don’t forget the paint, boy,” said Charles, “a ship with no name sinks in the rain, remember.”

  He was right. It had always been the same; whenever a ship of any sort sailed without being christened it was lost.

  “What should we call it?”

  “How about ‘Enterprise’? It is, after all, our enterprising creation,” said Charles.

  “No, I do not like that. It’s too common of a word, do you not think?”

  Charles put his open palm to his chin and his eyes rolled toward the sky and stayed there. Nate twiddled his fingers and breathed heavily whilst trying to come up with something.

  “Well,” said the Captain, “if you want something different how about ‘Seadawn’. It was made at sea and finished at the dawn of the day.”

  Nate’s head flicked up, as did Charles’, and they stared at one another in silence for a second. Nate felt himself smile. The name had strange warmth to it.

  “I like it,” he said.

  “Then it’s decided,” continued Charles. “We will call it Seadawn.”

  Nate nodded and picked up the paint, walking back over to the airship and painting its new name carefully on both sides of the front motor compartment. He put the paint box on the floor before hoping into the pilot seat, the front of two seats. Charles manned the wind up level for a good thirty seconds before the steam engine started to whir into life. Nate watched as his friend hastily jumped into the seat behind him.

  “Alright, Captain, open the hangar doors-”

  Before he could finish the last syllable the ship rocked aggressively, the Captain and his crew almost falling onto their rears. The sound of gunfire filled the atmosphere and crashes and thuds echoed through the ship.

  “What is going on?” The Captain was shouting through the communication pipe to the bridge.

  “We’re under attack,” the reply said. “There’s a battleship in the sky shooting at us. It’s flying the Alexandria Empire flags!”

  “The Alexandria Empire? That’s impossible,” exclaimed the Captain. “There’s no chance they could know what we are doing here.”

  Another shell connected with the boat, shaking it once again. This time the Captain did fall to the floor. As his stood himself upright again, brushing off his clothes, he clenched his fist and half closed his eyes.

  “Men! Prepare for battle!” He looked over and Nate and Charles with a determined fire in his eyes. “If the Seadawn is going to be tested, I think it should have a full combat test. We are certainly going to need it.”

  “But I’m no combat pilot,” shouted Nate.

  “You’re going to have to be,” replied the Captain as he signalled his men to open the hangar doors. “Just remember not to let them hit you. They only have the battleship, something the Seadawn is designed to destroy, am I right?”

  Nate could feel his throat closing tight, refusing to answer that question, but he knew it was correct. Their airship had been designed for exactly this sort of situation. It would be a great test flight, albeit a dangerous one. He nodded, and glanced back at Charles.

  “Can you man the weapons? I’m going to have enough trouble flying this thing.”

  Charles gave the okay signal and smiled. If only Nate could have appeared so calm perhaps he would have believed it himself. The hangar door finally opened the sound of the rolling sea deafened by the sound of battle.

  “Get going,” said the Captain, “and good luck!”

  The Seadawn rolled forward as Nate pushed the break lock level to his side as far down as it could go. The propellers, although small, were making quite the din. It rolled faster and faster, heading for the bright blue ocean, yet it didn’t seem to be going fast enough.

  “We need more speed,” exclaimed Charles. Nate knew that much but there was little he could about it. They had only created a system to start and stop the engine, not control the speed. The end of the boat approached quickly. Nate pulled the steering stick backward toward himself as hard as he could. He didn’t dare look back but he was sure Charles had either closed his eyes or made a mess of his pantaloons.

  The sea arrived far too soon for Nate’s liking, but he felt his stomach being pulled down by an invisible force as the Seadawn slowly managed to climb into the air.

  “It’s flying,” he shouted as they moved away from the boat and into the sky He looked back in the hopes that someone on the boat may be cheering. Instead he caught a glimpse of a bombardment shell striking the bridge and a spray of different colours, although most red, shoot from the impact area. The dust settled quickly only to reveal that the shell had ripped through the whole ship. It was sinking.

  A second shell shot passed them, close enough for Nate to touch.

  “Watch where you’re flying boy,” said Charles. Nate grasped the steering stick once again, returning his gaze to the front of the Seadawn. More and more shells flew past them as Nate moved the airship up and down and up again.

  “What do we do?”

  “Getting in closer,” said Charles. “I’ll try to shoot back.”

  As the boat Nate had lived on for the past five years was consumed by the wild water, he moved the Seadawn in close on the port side of the battleship that cut through the clouds. Charles opened fire with the Gatling gun, spinning the handle as fast as he possible could. It worked, to some extent.

  Small pin prick holes filled the side of the battleship, but no serious damage was shown. More and more shells came toward them, as if aimed for them.

  “They knew,” shouted Charles. “They’re after us! They’re after Seadawn!”

  Yet another shell flew past, the breeze that followed it pulling at Nate’s hair. The clouds broke behind the battleship, and a block of black and white appeared.

  “What is that!?”

  “No idea, boy. But it’s coming this way.”

  The new airship moved ever closer to the Alexandria Empire battleship before opening fire. Holes tore themselves into the side of the battleship, but the battleship shot at Nate again. This time they hit their target, breaking off the rear end of the Seadawn. It began to spin.

  The black and white airship fired again, its size was double that of the Alexandria Empire’s battleship with a strong frame on the outside giving extra protection. Steam fled through chimneys on the top deck whilst cannons came out of at least twenty different places. They all fired, and they all hit.

  Holes burst out all over the battleship as the Seadawn continued to spin and fall. Nate could feel his stomach being wrenched from his body as the world seemed to become a mixture of coloured lines.

  “Nate, can you hear me? Try to get enough control so we can land in their hangar bay!”

  Nate didn’t like the idea of landing their new prized possession on an unknown ship, but he hated the idea of dying far more. He twisted and pulled the steering stick until finally he could fly the Seadawn relatively straight although most certainly not in a direct line.

  The black and white ship had a large opening on the starboard side which Nate aimed for. The airship fired yet again, this time hitting the centre of the battleship and tearing it in half. The front side fell first, the lack of propellers making it far less flight friendly than the rear half. That fell as well.

  The Seadawn slammed into the metal floor of the hangar bay, scrapping itself way along until it finally came to a halt surrounded by sparks. Over the sound of metal tearing metal Nate could only just head the Alexandria Empire’s battleship crash into the water below. The battleship was sunk, but so were Nate’s home and all his friends exc
ept Charles.

  Nevertheless they stood up and clambered out of the Seadawn, only to be greeted by an amassing crowd of armed men wearing black and white long cloaks from their neck down. Their uniform was black with white pinstripes along the edges and the insignia of a woman in blue and white armour on their breast pocket.

  The group made way as a young woman in cream clothing with silvery hair and a man with a single leg, a black uniform with buttoned shirt and equally silver hair approached the two friends. They could have been twins from the similarity in their facial shape. The woman glared at Nate like a dog looking at its food, but the man stretched out an arm.

  “My name is Irving and this is my sister, Anastasia. Welcome aboard the Valkyria, young man.”

  *~*~*

  11

  SERAN

  The sun rose over grey clouds above Karayol. Seran’s horse had slowed to a trundle, its legs shaking slightly with every step. The brown mane of the majestic animal was full of dirt and the eyes were glazed at best.

  Karayol came into view far too late for the Dragoon. It had been a most boring ride as he travelled across the Alexandria Empire as it was farmland and flatlands. The southern regions were by far the most desolate and void regions, with the farms stretching far and wide but not a mountain to speak of.

  When he finally did catch glimpse of the fishing town he could not believe his eyes. It was dilapidated and rotten with no outer wall for protection and barely a single house without a hole in the roof.

  The houses themselves reminded him of what he had seen in the history books about the Ringlands when he was a child. His father had paid good money for those books so that his son would be able to read. Yet it was the pictures that had stayed with Seran. It was the pictures that Karayol reminded him of.

  “This cannot be real,” he said to no one. “How could such a horrifyingly disgusting place exist in the Alexandria Empire?”

  As he entered what he assumed was the city boundaries, marked by sticks placed deep in the ground like the sides of the gate, yet missing the most important aspect; the actual gate. Pigs ran amuck through the wet soil and mud, splashing the brown liquid onto the face of young children who followed them as if playing some sort of archaic game of ‘chase and catch’.