Faster Than Falling: The Skylighter Adventures

by Nathan Van Coops

  A sack in the pantry would be his carryall. He snatched it up but paused in the doorway, considering the shelves. Who knows how long he and Enzo might have to hide from the raiders? They’d need food. He scooped up things that were lightweight but filling. Strips of jerky, dried apples. A loaf of three-day-old bread. A wheel of cheese looked heavy but tempting. He grabbed it. He filled the water skins. There was no way to avoid that weight. He tossed a bag of grain cereal into the sack and decided it was enough. They might be able to forage or hunt for more. He dropped the sack on the kitchen table and headed for the back of the cottage to find the weapons. Enzo had a quiver of small harpoons, a pair of longer ones, and three reels of line. He’d seen him use the pivoting air tubes on the Express to launch them and bring down geese in flight. The Sun Dragon didn’t have an air cannon, but he could make something work.

  He took the quiver, two knives, and one of the long harpoons, and made his way back to the front of the cottage.

  The sounds on the roof had stopped.

  He strapped the biggest lantern to the end of his harpoon and slung the sack of supplies and the quiver over his back. He hooked the two small lanterns to his belt to illuminate himself from both sides. It wasn’t as good as real bio-light, but thousands of years of evolution had taught the nightbeasts that glowing prey meant chemical reactions and burning guts when they tried to swallow. Some of the more dangerous bioluminescent creatures even came with acid sprays and glowing toxic spines, so it was their instinct to avoid all things that glowed. Atlas had none of the real bio-defenses, but he glowed now, too, lit to the best of his ability with flickering oil-fed flames. It would have to be enough.

  He opened the door slowly, probing the night with the harpoon and lantern. He eased himself out cautiously after them, dispelling the shadows. He only spared a moment to lock the door, then wrenched his eyes back to his surroundings. The night was quiet. No sign of the terax.

  He kept a sharp eye on the sky and his immediate surroundings, as not all nightbeasts struck from the air. He broke into a trot, moving as smoothly as he could so as not to jostle the lanterns too much. The heaviest was only half-filled. He should have taken time to fill them up, but it was too late now. He was nearly halfway to the barn. A hundred yards to go.

  Shapes swirled in the night air, but didn’t attack. A few dove low to investigate the commotion but he shook the harpoon at them and swung the lantern about. No creatures came close enough to make out their features. He was three-quarters of the way to the barn when he heard the snuffling. He paused his jog to listen. Somewhere in the dark close to the barn, another animal lurked. More than one? Perhaps just a wild hog. Atlas crept forward, shining his light ahead of him, wary for the first sign of movement. He was nearly at the barn when he saw the shape. Furry and dark, it was much too tall to be a hog. The bright eyes reflected the glow of his three lanterns and the creature emitted a long, low growl.

  Canyon wolf. Not a nightbeast, but bad just the same. Atlas froze.

  The Rift Valley wolf pack was a gathering of opportunists, no doubt drawn by the commotion of the terax. Atlas had heard of Altirian wolves that grew larger than horses. These weren’t nearly that big, but the curved tusks protruding from their mouths were deadly just the same. They were here to scavenge a carcass, or add a new one.

  Atlas raised his harpoon higher, making himself a bigger threat, and the wolf retreated. But there were more eyes in the darkness. Atlas fought the urge to run. Instead he took slow, deliberate steps toward the barn. Once he reached the doors, he again had to fish in his pocket for the key. This time it was all slow movements. He lowered the harpoon to horizontal, extending the light out as far as he could to reveal the threats. There were at least six of them. Likely more. They peered at him with large hungry eyes.

  Something thudded into the top of the barn. A terax. The sudden impact scattered the wolves, just for a moment, but that was all he needed. He wrenched the lock loose from the latch and rolled the door open far enough to squeeze through. By the time he was inside, the snarling muzzle of the alpha wolf was back at his heels, its tusks scraping the wood as he slammed the door and held it tight. The pack snuffed and growled around the outside of the door for a few minutes before things grew quiet again.

  Atlas latched the inside of the door and crept up to the hayloft to look outside. Prying open one shutter of the hayloft window, he scanned the barnyard. No less than eight wolves encircled the door, waiting for him to emerge. A few already had heads on forepaws, and a couple were sitting. One wolf, the alpha, was on his feet nearest the door. Perhaps hearing his breathing, the wolf pulled its gaze from the door and looked up at him. It stared into his eyes for a few long seconds, then tilted his head to the sky and howled. Somewhere in the distance came an answering howl. There would be more soon.

  Atlas slumped to the floor of the hayloft and blew out two of his three lanterns. There was no way he could get the Dragon out now. He unslung his quiver of harpoons and the sack of supplies and propped them against the wall. He stared down at the aircraft below. Where was the Express right now? Had Enzo escaped the attack?

  For all of his rushing around tonight, he’d failed to save him. He never even got off the ground. All he’d managed to do was lose the horse and get himself trapped.

  He had to do better. Tomorrow he would succeed. Tomorrow he’d have the light and he’d have the Dragon.

  “I’m coming, Grandpa. I’ll come at first light. I promise.”

  He lifted the last lantern to his face and blew out the flame, then he leaned back against the wall and waited.

  12

  KALEB

  “I’m in charge now. That’s the way it is.”

  Kipling stared up at his brother and refused to accept the words. “You’re not in charge of me. Mom and Dad are.”

  “And they aren’t here,” Kaleb retorted.

  The interior of the council grove was still intact. No evidence of the raider assault could be seen here, except for the absence of his parents.

  Witnesses had given conflicting reports. Some said the pair climbed aboard Mala Jutta—one of the last globes to detach. Others claimed Chief Roose and her husband were aboard the high-flying Tamra Ohna. Despite the varied stories, the common thread existed. While Kip’s parents were alive and safe, they were nowhere near the Globe Mother, and weren’t going to be back soon.

  Kaleb seemed to think that meant he was the boss. Kipling wished he had someone to dispute the issue to, but the council had only made things worse.

  After leaving the Citadel, Kipling had come to the Gate of Thorns to search for his parents in the council grove. He found only disagreements and discord inside. Councilman Thur had taken over in his mother’s absence and was seated in the chief’s chair, but the council was split about how to proceed. Three council members were missing, aboard other globes or otherwise unaccounted for. The four remaining members were divided on whether to continue sailing in the Heights or climb higher and make for the Bright, where only the Frost Kings could reach them.

  Kipling listened to the debate after slipping through the throng of people crowding the gate. He’d pretended to be distraught and in need of his brother’s comfort in order to get past the guardians. Luckily it was a couple of the newer guards and they didn’t know that Kipling would just as soon kick his brother in the head as be comforted by him. Now Kaleb was just being stupid.

  Common wisdom held that Grounders couldn’t breathe in the Heights and the colony would be safe enough there. But that was before anyone had seen Grounders in airships big enough to haul off entire globes.

  Tension was rife, and fear dominated the conversations at the gate. The colony’s only contact with flying Grounders so far had been Enzo, the wizened messenger in his rickety old Express. No one suspected that the Grounders could be preparing attack ships with harpoon cannons. The council was in turmoil as a result, and maybe not thinking straight. Kipling could only assume that was the case, because they had al
ready done the unthinkable. They’d elected Kaleb to the council as their fifth voter.

  “I have greater responsibilities now,” Kaleb said. “And with Mom and Dad gone, you have to listen to me. The patch needs everyone to pull together and work as a team.” He shoved Kipling toward the council door, trying to keep him out of earshot of the rest of the councilors.

  “Half the patch is gone!” Kipling shouted. He failed to see what Kaleb thought he was in charge of, when most of the biggest globes were now floating loose through the atmosphere. It could be weeks or even months till the globes were all accounted for, depending on the winds. If enough of the jettisoned globes were still visible in the morning, they might be able to signal a few of them and relay messages, but the winds beyond the mountains were already picking up and driving the glowing globes farther apart in the night sky.

  “With Captain Bronks injured and the guard spread out across the globes, I agree it’s best we rise to the Bright. Councilman Thur thinks that will give us the best chance to escape the Grounders and plan for how to defend ourselves.”

  “The Bright is frozen,” Kip argued. “You can’t take the patch that high in springtime. It’ll freeze the new growth and kill off all the buds. How do you expect the Mother to recover from the damage if you freeze her to death?”

  “This isn’t the time to worry about the Mother. We have to look out for ourselves. The patch does us no good if we’re all killed.”

  Kipling shoved his way around his brother and raced to the center of the horseshoe-shaped council table.

  “You can’t go to the Bright!” he blurted out. “It’ll kill her.”

  “This is highly irregular,” Councilman Thur intoned from the chief’s chair. “You were not summoned to this council meeting. Remove yourself.”

  “Councilman Thur, I think it might be wise to listen to the boy.” Councilwoman Somlee leaned in from her position at the right side of the table. “He is the master grower’s son and apprentice. His professional observations might be helpful.”

  Kipling was a frequent guest in the Somlee aerie, as his mother and the councilwoman were close friends. Now Kipling was happy for the connection.

  Councilman Thur frowned, his paper-thin cheeks crinkling in the process. “He’s a patchling. I hardly expect he has a professional observation.”

  Councilwoman Somlee waved a writing quill toward Kipling. “Don’t tell me your memory is so porous, Argus. You signed off this boy’s Ascendare exam not two months ago. Kipling has earned the right to be heard.”

  Kipling faced the old man undaunted, the support from Councilwoman Somlee boosting his courage. “If you take the Mother to high altitude this time of year, she may never recover. She has too many fluids in her outer tendrils that would freeze. The new buds would die and the entire breeding season would be lost. And next year’s, too.”

  “From what I understand, the breeding season is a loss now anyway,” Councilman Podmire said. Podmire was the thickest Skylighter on the council, his proportions the most globular of all of his contemporaries. Kipling didn’t know him well but his reputation was as a reasonable mind on patch matters and he tended to be even-keeled.

  “The globe sons were taken,” Kipling replied. “But there might be some still aloft from last year. The patch could still get pollinated and the Mother could recover from the damage, but not if you go to the Bright. The Bright will kill her.”

  “It may be the Mother’s destiny to join the frost globes in the Bright,” Councilman Thur said. “She would be a crystalline treasure there, and certainly worthy of admission by the Frost Kings.”

  Kipling had seen a Frost King only once at the height of winter. The Globe Mother had flown near one of the lowest flying frost globes from the upper altitudes. The frost globes were kept aloft by their internal gases, still catalyzed into buoyancy by the constant sunlight, but mere husks of their former selves. The frost globes were frozen and preserved—crystallized shells of exquisite beauty—but no longer living. Kipling thought the residents there to be frightening; thin, pale figures, stretching out their ends in a cold, dead world. Councilman Thur might feel comfortable there, but he certainly didn’t.

  “The Mother isn’t showing any signs of aging,” he said. “My father says she could be aloft and producing globes for my grandchildren’s grandchildren.”

  “I’ve never heard father say anything of the sort,” Kaleb countered.

  “You would if you ever came out and pruned anything,” Kipling spat. “All you do is sit in the shade and—” He cut himself off and fumbled for words, realizing he was about to criticize the entire council.

  “I think Grower Roose makes some valid points,” Councilwoman Somlee interjected.

  “He’s just an apprentice grower,” Kaleb said.

  “An apprentice currently without a master. Kipling is no longer a patchling, so I would say he’s earned a promotion the same as you,” Somlee replied, her eyes boring into Kaleb’s and daring him to challenge her.

  Kaleb looked away and kept his mouth shut. Kipling couldn’t help but grin. He repressed it as best he could as Councilman Thur stretched and groaned. “Very well, let’s put it to the vote. Those in favor of climbing to the security of the Bright, say aye. Those willing to risk the patch’s safety to tarry here in the Heights, say nay.”

  “I vote aye,” Kaleb blurted out, clearly enthusiastic about participating in his first vote.

  “Aye from me as well,” Councilman Thur growled.

  “Nay,” Councilwoman Somlee stated. She leaned back in her chair and rested her palms on the table as if settling the matter.

  Councilman Podmire squished back and forth in his chair before gurgling out his response. “Nay from me. Too bugging cold up in the Bright. Just barely got thawed out from this past winter.”

  Kipling smiled.

  All eyes now fell on the final council member left to vote. Magda Beezlebee was an old woman, but no one could say just how old. Some thought her older than Thur, but none of the patchlings had any idea. All Kipling knew was that Beezlebee had been on the council when his mother was young and his mother relied heavily on her wisdom. ‘Old Mag’ had been nominated for council chief multiple times over the decades but always declined. She claimed council leadership would dull her wits. Kipling’s mother didn’t seem to mind the implication. She said Beezlebee was always the first to arrive for council meetings and usually remained the longest, sometimes falling asleep in her chair after dull days of dealing with patch issues.

  The old woman now looked between Kipling and Kaleb, as if the fate of the globe patch could be read on their faces. Her dark eyes blended into her wrinkled brown skin and Kipling couldn’t read anything in her expression. The silence in the council chamber stretched till it was almost palpable, but then Beezlebee finally rasped out her response.

  “Nay.”

  Councilman Thur stared at the old woman and frowned, but then turned to face the boys. “Very well. We’ll hold our present altitude, but if we are attacked again I’ll be less inclined to heed young Mr. Roose.” He fixed his eyes on Kipling. “I trust you’ll treat your father’s duties with diligence in his absence. You’ll be the youngest chief grower in patch history no doubt, and we don’t have much in the way of persons to provide you assistance. I hope you won’t expect much.”

  “No, sir,” Kipling muttered. He hadn’t expected to be gaining a position in the patch hierarchy today, certainly not his father’s job. The promotion didn’t give him the thrill that Kaleb so obviously felt.

  The council members were leaned in toward one another now, moved on to new topics, and it was clear that his services were no longer required. Councilwoman Somlee gave him a nod and brief smile before turning back to a conversation with Podmire. Kaleb abandoned his side without a word and walked around the outside of the table to take the seat next to Thur—no doubt to suck up to him some more.

  Kipling felt he should go, but he couldn’t make his feet move. Not yet.


  “What about Samra?”

  The heads around the table slowly turned his direction.

  “What are you saying now?” Councilman Thur inquired.

  “Samra,” Kipling repeated. “How are we going to save her?”

  “Whom are we talking about?” Podmire asked, his second chin bulging out under his jaw as he tried to reconcile the name to his memory.

  “The red girl with the knife,” Beezlebee said, the only face at the table still listening intently to Kipling.

  “The girl that’s always plummeting past my aerie at ungodly hours? What happened to her?” Podmire asked.

  “She was taken by the raiders,” Kipling replied. “On one of their ships. We have to save her.”

  Podmire squished his face up again, and shook his jowls. “Blasted Grounder barbarians . . .”

  “Kipling,” Councilwoman Somlee said softly. “I’m sure we are all very concerned for Samra, as we are about all of our citizens. But mounting a rescue mission would be—”

  “Preposterous,” Thur interrupted. “Absolutely out of the question. Our mandate is the protection of those on this patch and the retrieval of persons we are capable of recovering from among the jettisoned globes. The patch is in chaos. We are in no position to chase after our attackers. Are we even sure she’s with them? She could very well be on one of the other globes. We are nowhere near to having an updated residents list. Once the other globes have submitted their—”

  “We can’t wait that long!” Kipling said, losing patience with the conversation.

  “I agree that it would be ill-advised to provoke more contact with these Grounders,” Podmire replied, shifting in his seat again. “What makes you think they have her?”

  “They took Cirra Sola. The whole globe. She was aboard it when they took it. I talked to Bronks and he said he didn’t get there in time to save her.”