Skythane

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Skythane Page 19

by J. Scott Coatsworth


  Then she waited for the dead to announce themselves.

  Nothing happened. The glass was cold and hard under her bare ankles, and the night was chilly as well.

  She thought about how she must look, sitting out here all alone. Desperate, sad, and forlorn. The moon above stared down at her balefully, mocking her.

  She was about to open her eyes and get up to head back to the campsite when she felt something. It was like the touch of a warm hand on her shoulder.

  She looked up into her mother’s beautiful face.

  It was a berry day in the Farrai household. Quince’s mother and older brother were taking her into the forest to gather hoarberries for the spring festival that night, when they would all be strung together to make festive decorations for the village square and the maypole.

  “Is it time?” She pulled at her mother’s arm, vying for her attention. She was, after all, just five years old. Her mother was hanging some herbs from her garden up to dry from the rafters.

  “Give me a minute. Did you and your brother wash up? I won’t parade you through town looking like vagabonds.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Dillan trudged to the wash basin. The water from the night before was cold, but still clean enough to use. Quince followed him, and they used some of the reed soap to wash the dirt off their faces and arms.

  Quince was excited about the festival. It was one of her favorite times of the year, when even the children were allowed to drink the honey ale that Devrin O’Connell made in his little cottage by the river.

  “Ready,” she and Dillan said in unison.

  Their mother finished her work and looked down at the two of them. “Let’s see.” She knelt down and licked her thumb, using it to wipe a smudge from Quince’s face. Quince wrinkled her nose at the smell. “There, that’s better. Okay, grab your coats and we’ll be off.”

  Quince opened her eyes. That had been one of her happiest days at home with her mother, one she hadn’t let herself remember in more than twenty-five years.

  She looked around at the moonlit clearing. “Thanks, Mamma,” she whispered, holding the memory to her chest like a bright star.

  She stayed there for a bit longer, basking in the warm memory. Wishing it were more than that.

  The night was clear and cold, though. Eventually Quince rousted herself and stood, stretching out her muscles, sore from being in the same position for so long.

  It might have just been her imagination, or her senses becoming acclimatized, but she no longer smelled the burnt odor that had been so strong when they had arrived.

  She pulled her boots back on and made her way back across the meadow toward their little campsite.

  Xander was no longer sitting on watch under the tree at the edge of the forest, where she had left him.

  Alarmed, she ran toward the campsite, arriving in a huff. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Xander had opened Jameson’s sleep sack and curled himself around the other man’s body.

  They were so right together. It was nice to know that there was still beauty in the world.

  Morgan had taken up residence in the other sleep sack.

  She smiled, and then frowned.

  They were going to need to have a serious chat about campsite security in the morning. People were falling asleep during their watches left and right.

  Grumbling, she sat down with her back against the tree to keep a lookout for the last part of the night.

  Chapter Seventeen: Falling

  XANDER FELT sheepish when Quince woke him early the next morning. He’d fully intended to keep watch until she had finished her communion with the dead. He’d sat there for what had to be close to an hour, all the while getting more and more tired. It was one thing to be out at the clubs with Alix until the wee hours, drinking and dancing with his friends, but to sit still in a cold, alien forest with nothing to do but watch an immobile form a hundred meters away? That was close to torture.

  In the end, he didn’t even remember having dragged himself over to where Jameson slept. One minute, he was sitting watch, and the next, Quince was glaring down at him, the sky light behind her, shaking his shoulder.

  Xander sat up gently, trying not to waken Jameson too soon. He was still warm where their bodies had been touching, but his breath came out in clouds. The sun must have been barely up, because it was still dark underneath the trees.

  He stood and brushed himself clean of the leaves that were stuck to his clothes and wings. Xander sniffed himself and curled his lips. He reeked. It had been days since he’d been able to get really clean. “Morning,” he whispered, not meeting Quince’s gaze.

  “You fell asleep on watch.”

  He nodded, looking up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to….”

  She waved him off. “It doesn’t matter so much now, but as we get closer to Gaelan….”

  “I know, I know. It won’t happen again. Though a little caff would help.” He looked around. “Does this place even have cafflite?”

  Quince shook her head. “Afraid not. But lucky for you, I brought some along.” She poured him a mug of the steaming drink, and he downed it quickly. Oh my God, that tastes good.

  He glanced back at Jameson. “I guess the whole wings and flight thing is taking it out of him.” The psych had fallen asleep almost instantly when he’d hit the sack, and he was still sleeping, right through their conversation.

  Quince nodded. “You’ll remember how much you ate and how tired you were when your wings came in, and we’re pushing him to fly before he’s really ready. He hasn’t built up his endurance. We’ll have to be more careful today. There are a number of inhabited villages between here and Gaelan.”

  “Can you carry Morgan today?” Xander asked. “I want to keep an eye on Jameson.”

  She glanced at the boy, a look of distaste on her face, but she nodded. “It’s time to wake them. We can eat something. My lines hauled in a couple of fish last night, so we’ll have a warm meal. Then we need to fly. Time is short.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  She ignored the jibe, and moved to wake Jameson.

  “Let me.” Xander pushed past her. He knelt down and brushed Jameson’s lips with his own.

  Jameson mumbled, and he kissed Xander back gently. Then his eyes opened.

  “Morning,” Xander said, pulling back and smiling.

  “Did you just… did I…?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Though you did miss your turn on watch last night. It’s time to get up.”

  Quince shot him a sly smile.

  JAMESON WONDERED how long this day would go on. He had woken up that morning, still tired from the day before, to find Xander staring down at him. He would have sworn the man had just kissed him again, but Xander had denied it.

  Why that should make him sad, Jameson wasn’t quite sure.

  They’d rushed through breakfast—that infernal cafflite, some local fish from the river, and some “whore berries” Quince had found in the forest.

  Then they had taken to the sky again, intent on Quince’s mad quest.

  He was utterly exhausted. The dash out of Oberon City had depleted him, and the attack by the wereveren had sapped some of his strength. This magical, amazing thing—the ability to fly under his own power—had turned from a childhood dream to an unforgiving slog through the endless pink skies.

  They stayed close to the river, low to the ground, and twice detoured inland to avoid a populated area.

  It also didn’t help that the terrain below them was unrelentingly the same. River and trees and meadows. River and trees and more godforsaken meadows. There was little variation, and he was starting to feel as though he was flying over the same patch of land over and over again, even if the leaves were various shades of purple instead of the usual greens and golds.

  Quince, by contrast, seemed like a different person, light as the air through which they flew. They’d taken a brief rest for lunch, and through his fatigue, he had seen a new sense of hu
mor and willingness to engage with them that had been muted or absent before.

  He wanted to say something. To tell them he couldn’t keep this up. He really couldn’t. He felt like he was about to fall out of the sky.

  Xander and Quince showed no signs of fatigue, and Jameson didn’t want to be the one who seemed weak and unable to keep up.

  So he kept flying, his mouth set in a grim, determined line. Morning stretched into afternoon, and a deep fatigue set into his wings and shoulders. He started seeing things—little flickers at the edge of his vision, and sometimes whole flashes of someone else’s memories.

  Still, he kept going as the sun crossed the sky into late afternoon.

  Until he just couldn’t.

  “Xander, I can’t…,” he rasped, but he found his voice was gone. “I can’t….” And his wings stopped flapping.

  He started to plummet from the sky, but he was so damned tired he just didn’t care.

  XANDER WAS worried about Jameson. This extended flight was hard on them all. He hadn’t had to fly for this long at a stretch in years. City living had domesticated him.

  He didn’t want to show it. Better to set a strong example for Jameson. So he hid his own fatigue and tried to keep Jameson’s spirits up.

  Quince thought they’d be able to reach Gaelan in another day or so, but Xander wasn’t sure they’d be able to keep up this pace.

  Time was not on their side, either way.

  It was strange how quickly he’d come to care for Jameson. Just a few days before, they’d been complete strangers. He’d thought the off-worlder was weak and spineless, but being forced together into rough circumstances had a way of bonding people, and besides, Jameson was clearly his type. There were times that it scared him how much he resembled Alix.

  Xander was talking with Quince about the lands they were passing over when he saw Jameson start to plunge toward the ground.

  He dove after Jameson, letting himself go into freefall with his wings tucked. There was no time to think. He had one shot to catch Jameson before he hit the trees below.

  The wind whistled by as he plummeted toward Jameson’s falling form. Damn it, they’d pushed him too hard. Why hadn’t Jameson said something?

  Stupid male ego. He didn’t have a patent on that.

  Xander slipped below Jameson, perilously close to the tree tops, and swept upward with his powerful black wings to intercept his falling body.

  Jameson dropped into his arms, almost knocking him off balance, but Xander fought to keep his upward trajectory. His wings pushed hard against air, straining all his muscles, and he pulled himself up and away from the danger.

  Quince had followed him, and now hovered just above.

  “We have to stop.” He was unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “He could have died, Quince.”

  She nodded, her face white. “There’s a place we can rest, just ahead. Can you manage his weight?”

  “I think so, for a little ways.”

  “Come on.”

  Jameson’s body was cradled in his arms. “You okay?” he asked.

  Jameson nodded. “I’m sooooo tired….”

  “You can rest now.” He kissed Jameson’s forehead, but the man was already asleep.

  Quince led them upriver for another fifteen minutes, throwing caution to the wind. Jameson was slight enough, but the extra weight was starting to pull Xander down. He forged on—what else could he do?

  Finally, Quince signaled to him. Just ahead, there was an island in the middle of the stream, maybe twenty meters wide and three times that long. It was a rocky outcropping, surrounded by a stand of golden-leaved trees. On one side, a rough terrace had been carved into the rock.

  He followed her lead, and they alighted on the terrace.

  “It’s a way station,” she said in response to Xander’s inquiry. “I wanted to avoid them if possible, because they may still be in occasional use by Gaelani forces. However, given the circumstances….”

  He nodded, looking around. The stone terrace was obviously manmade—it was too smooth and even to be anything else. Hidden under an overhang was an old wooden door, bound with iron hinges, that hadn’t been apparent from the air.

  She opened it with a loud creak and gestured for him to follow her inside.

  There was a room on the other side, maybe five meters square, cut directly into the rock, and thank the skies, there were beds. They were wooden cots, actually, and the thin mattresses were nothing like what he had at home, but to Xander it was like he’d just stumbled across a five-star branch of the Galaxion Hotel.

  He laid Jameson down gently on one of the cots and put a hand on his forehead. It was warm, but probably just from overexertion. Hopefully. “Rest now,” he whispered, running his fingers gently through Jameson’s hair.

  He stood and looked around, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the room.

  The walls had been smoothed out, but the angles of the room were rough, suggesting that it had been an existing cavern enlarged for human use. The floor was paved with flat stones and some type of mortar, and there was a wooden cabinet with four doors in one corner.

  Quince was outside with Morgan. Xander rejoined her, taking in the view of the forest across the river.

  She had unstrapped the boy, and he was sitting on the ledge at the edge of the terrace, looking out over the river below.

  Xander knelt next to Morgan. “You okay, buddy? That was kind of scary.”

  Morgan nodded. “Is he okay?”

  “I think so. He just needs some sleep.” He patted the boy on the back. “Why don’t you carry our packs inside.” He sent the boy scurrying off.

  Quince was staring at the sun.

  “He almost died,” Xander said again. Nothing could be worth pushing themselves this hard.

  “I know,” she said quietly. Her brow was knitted and her mouth was set in a tight line.

  He followed her gaze. Was it his imagination, or was the sun above less red and a little more orange this afternoon? “We have to slow down, whether you like it or not. He can’t take much more.”

  “If we don’t get there in time, his health won’t matter. Nothing will.”

  Xander shuddered. “Okay, we need speed. I get it. But we can’t go on until the morning. Jameson needs at least a little rest. Do we have that much time?”

  “I don’t know.” All her senses told her no, that they needed to keep going now, but that wasn’t an option. So much of this journey had spun out of her control. She looked back at the way station. “It’s not that we have much choice….” She sighed, looking as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders. She turned back to him. “There is good news, though.”

  He frowned. In the face of such danger, what good news could there be?

  “We have food to eat, and a shower.”

  QUINCE LED Xander down to the outdoor shower. It was under another rock overhang, and used a hand pump to bring water up from the river. She showed him how to prime the pump and then fill up the holding basin.

  The water was cold, but nevertheless he looked delighted. She handed him one of their last bars of reed soap and left him to clean himself up.

  She had no desire to see his naked body. He wasn’t at all her type. Hers was waiting for her in Gaelan, she hoped.

  She was nervous about their impending arrival. There was so much she didn’t know, so many years she had missed.

  She climbed the path back up to the way station. They wouldn’t have gotten much more flight time in this day, in any case. It was only another hour or so until dark.

  She entered the cave and found Morgan standing over Jameson, his little hands on the man’s body. They were glowing.

  I knew it. “Get away from him!” She grabbed his shoulders and pulled Morgan back forcefully. He was no normal boy—the last time she’d seen him glow like that, he’d slaughtered a whole squad of enforcers.

  She knelt down and shook him by his shoulders. “What were you doi
ng to him? Tell me!”

  He stared up at her, trembling. “I was just making him feel better.”

  She looked over at Jameson, and couldn’t believe what she saw. She let go of the boy and went to take a closer look.

  His wereveren wounds were completely healed, leaving clean scars. His face was slack and peaceful, and he smelled… clean. Fresh.

  She turned back to stare at Morgan. “What are you?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He started to cry.

  JAMESON’S EYES flickered open. He was lying on something soft. His body felt amazing. The aching of his muscles was gone, replaced by a vibrant energy. His assorted wereveren wounds no longer hurt. He ran his fingers over one. It was smooth and healed.

  Just how long had he been asleep?

  It was dark wherever he lay, but there were voices arguing.

  “We can’t leave him behind. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  That was Xander. He smiled when he thought of the beautiful, dark angel.

  “Maybe not, but we have no idea what he’s capable of. He survived on his own long enough.”

  That was Quince. She seemed unsettled. Were they talking about him?

  For his part, Jameson was starving. He sat up and took in the place he found himself. It was a dark, roughly square room, sparsely furnished, with four cots and a wooden cabinet in one corner.

  The voices were coming from outside. “Nevertheless, we’re not leaving a defenseless little child here alone.”

  Ah, so it was about Morgan.

  The last thing Jameson remembered was falling from the sky. He had been so worn out that he had just given up. His muscles had stopped working. How had he gone from there to here?

  He stood and made his way outside into the evening light.

  Xander and Quince were still going at it. Morgan was crouched against the rock wall, looking up at them, frightened and unnoticed.

 

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