Faster Than Falling: The Skylighter Adventures

by Nathan Van Coops

  Fledge chirped a raspy screech in his direction as he reemerged into the cockpit. The wall of the ravine was mere yards away and approaching fast.

  “No you don’t,” he whispered at the Dragon, plopping back down in the seat and spinning the air valve handles. He reversed thrust with the forward fans and pressed hard on the control wheel, climbing back and away from the rocky wall. Once clear of danger, he stopped the fans and spun them back the other direction, pushing the aircraft forward and banking for the passage between the walls.

  “See, Fledge? We can do this.”

  The cliff fox flapped its wings and hopped into the front seat of the aircraft. When Atlas leaned forward and peeked over the dash into the passenger area, Fledge was already circling the cushion, tucking his head under one wing and settling in for a morning sleep. Atlas leaned back in his seat and set his eyes on the passage ahead.

  The Dragon’s damaged gasbag would need a better repair, and some fresh lift gas to refill it, but he could find that once he was out of the Rift. For now they were still flying. He’d survived his first crisis, and even more importantly, he was getting close. If Fledge was here, that meant Enzo wasn’t far. Having the cliff fox aboard was proof he was on the right track.

  As the Rift began to straighten out, he caught his first glimpse of the highlands beyond. Rolling, grassy hills opened up beneath a sea of blue. Puffy clouds dotted the horizon. This was farther than he’d ever been in his life. Farther than almost everyone he knew, except Enzo.

  Atlas lowered his goggles over his eyes and pushed forward on the thrust lever.

  The grin spread across his face.

  “Open sky, here I come!”

  18

  THE BARGAIN

  It was past midday when Kipling realized his mistake. His quest had barely started but he was already failing. Not only had he lost his wings, he was on the wrong side of the wind.

  He stood in the grassy heather of the highlands staring up at the sky. He’d struggled his way free of the lake, survived a long night on the surface, and wended his way back toward the mountains. Against all odds, he’d done what he’d hoped. He’d found the airships. But now he couldn’t reach them.

  “Samra!” He cupped his hands and shouted at the sky.

  High above him, the raider airships were moving away, departing the Rift and making slow but steady progress eastward. Against the wind.

  Kipling ran and took another flying leap. He’d shed as much of the weight in his buoyancy belt as he dared, but left enough to counterbalance his own higher buoyancy at this low altitude. He shot into the air, soaring upward, hoping to get free of the airflow along the ground, but the wind immediately repelled him, flinging him back and sending him tumbling away from his target. He somersaulted through the air, flailing his arms till the relentless current forced him to ground again. He dug his fingers into the roots of the heather and arrested his flight, sliding to a stop even farther away from the ships than when he started.

  “Come back!” He screamed at the diminishing shapes of the ships, but he may as well have been yelling underwater. They were upwind and flying away, powered by engines he didn’t understand and couldn’t hope to compete with. He could jump at them all he wanted, but he would never reach them.

  Muttering at the sky, he dug around in the grass till he found more stones. He piled them into his buoyancy belt until his feet had more traction. He cinched the strap of his warhook tighter across his chest, and set his eyes on the ships. If he couldn’t fly after them, he would run.

  He leapt through the heather and bounced along the hills, timing his breathing with his leaps. He sprang over streams and cleared gullies in single bounds. His arms pumped and he worked his legs as fast as they could go. His skin beaded with moisture as he raced through the grass, the sun soaking into his skin and reacting with the chemicals beneath. Despite the daylight, his body took on a pale glow as he ran.

  The landscape was deceptive. The fields of waving grasses hid sinkholes and deep crevices. Kipling leapt the gaps when he came to them, undeterred by the sight of the long drops into the ground, but didn’t envy the non-buoyant travelers who might stumble upon one of these chasms unaware.

  It felt like hours had passed when he finally let himself stop to rest, but the sun hadn’t moved much. The airships were now just specks on the eastern horizon. If he blinked or took his eyes off them for too long, he’d lose them and have to frantically search again. It was getting more difficult every time. What would happen if they changed course beyond the horizon? How would he know where to pursue them? The fear moved him and he broke into a run again.

  Another mile was all it took.

  The airships were gone.

  No matter how hard he searched the sky, he couldn’t find them. He panted and fell to his knees.

  He was tired.

  He was thirsty.

  He had failed.

  No. Not yet. He wasn’t going to give up.

  Kipling staggered back to his feet and looked around.

  He’d give anything for a drink. If he had some water he might be able to think straight. He could make a new plan. He’d leapt multiple streams along the way, but now there were none in sight.

  In all directions, there was nothing but puffy tufts of grass, some of it blossoming with tiny lavender flowers. It spread from the base of the mountains all the way to the eastern horizon. He knew from experience that the Northern Sky Forest lay in that direction. It always seemed so close to the mountains when they’d spot it from the patch. From here there was no sign of it. This ocean of grassy hills had expanded to swallow him.

  He considered going back to the last stream he’d passed, but that was at least a couple of miles ago. He couldn’t go back. Samra needed him. He had to go forward.

  He kept going.

  Kipling didn’t run anymore. He walked now, his legs already complaining from the strain of the morning. He hadn’t slept at all last night. He’d been foolish. He should have planned better. He could have waited and dropped down farther from the mountains. He could have dropped into the Sky Forest. He wouldn’t have as far to go then.

  But no. What if the ships had turned south when they left the Rift? How would he have known how to pursue them?

  There was no right answer. It was too late now to change things. He just had to go on.

  Three miles. Five miles. Ten? He was beginning to lose hope of ever finding another stream. Where was the water here? How did anything grow? He plucked stems of grass and tried to chew them. They were woody and tasteless. He found a few fresh shoots of grass and plucked those but it wasn’t enough. It was only making him hungry.

  Why hadn’t he packed food? He should have thought about this. The sky floor was nothing like the Heights. Up there food was plentiful. The patch never lacked for growing things to eat. They encountered food in the air as well. Even from here he could spot the floating kelp columns drifting along the wind currents. Tube grass. Lemon bulb fronds. Even a bright clump of cloud lettuce. It was all up there, ready for the taking.

  He was tempted to take off his buoyancy belt and leap. But then how would he get back down? He’d be adrift in the sky and end up who-knows-where. Certainly nowhere close to Samra. The winds were too unpredictable. He needed to stay the course.

  He tore his eyes from the sky full of food and kept walking.

  The sun was definitely lower now. Despite his afternoon of progress, he still hadn’t reached the forest. He could see it now though. When he climbed to the top of the grassy hill he was on, he could make out the wall of darkness on the horizon. Trees in the Sky Forest grew to enormous heights. Trees sprouted from other trees. Plants climbed plants and produced floating balls of lift gases to raise themselves even higher. Airplants and vines competed in columns for the sunlight, climbing thousands of feet into the air.

  As he studied the horizon, something closer caught his attention. It was a big pile of bright green in the otherwise dry grass. Skyweed!
/>   He raced down the hill and up the next. A kelp patch had come down. Could be rotten. Best not to get his hopes up, but there had to be something edible on it. It was still bright, and his stomach was empty enough that even slightly fermented kelp might do. He could deal with the repercussions later.

  As he crested the final hill he could nearly taste the greens already. But then he saw the ship.

  His heart jolted in his chest and he dropped, flattening himself to the grass as quickly as he could. Had they seen him?

  He poked his head up just enough so that he could peer over the grass and get a better look.

  This airship was small. Much smaller than the ones he’d been chasing. It was almost completely hidden from view behind the fallen column of skyweed. The ship resembled a fish. The big tail could clearly be used for propulsion. Four fins protruded from the sides but were currently tucked in close to the body of the aircraft. The big nose section of the ship had an opening in front like a mouth and there was an exit under the tail. The lift bags that kept it afloat had to be internal because this airship didn’t dangle from a bigger balloon of gas the way the other ones did. It looked like it only had room for one or two people. So where were they?

  His ears located the pilot before his eyes did. A great crunching noise from the far side of the clump of skyweed preceded the figure that walked into view. He was a kid!

  The Grounder boy was dragging a section of the kelp patch behind him and he dropped it next to the airship. He next extracted a knife and set to work sawing at the stalks surrounding one of the lifting pods. He had to be after the gas.

  Kipling considered his options.

  He could wait him out. The Grounder would have to move on eventually. But who knows how long that might take? It could be hours. He was too hungry to wait that long. The kelp patch looked old and slimy but it couldn’t be all bad. Even just a sip of its juices would quench his thirst.

  This was just a kid Grounder, not any bigger than he was. Maybe he could scare him off. Kipling reached over his shoulder and found the handle of his warhook. He had a guardian weapon. Certainly much more fearsome than the knife the Grounder kid had. A person would have to be crazy to want to fight against a guardian sword. He tugged on the handle and slowly began to ease the tether over his head. That’s when the second creature emerged from the cockpit of the aircraft and climbed into view. Brown and furry with pointed ears, it stretched its pleated wings and yawned.

  Fledge!

  Kipling sat up at the sight of the cliff fox perched on the rim of the cockpit. If he was here, did that mean Enzo was too? Had he gotten away from the raiders? He scanned the area around the skyweed pile but saw no evidence of the old aviator.

  Now that he looked at it, this aircraft did bear a resemblance to The Sunshine Express. It was close to the same size and the lettering on the tail looked similar.

  He kept the warhook on his back and stood. The boy, intent on his project with the skyweed bulbs, didn’t look up. But Fledge noticed and the cliff fox let out a friendly squeak.

  The Grounder boy glanced at the animal, then followed its gaze to the hillside and Kipling.

  They just stared at each other for a moment, then the Grounder boy stood as well.

  “Who are you?” he challenged. Kipling noticed that he hadn’t released his grip on the knife. The bollite pods of the plant were tangled around the boy’s feet. They were leaky and wet. He’d been right. This patch was nearly rotten.

  “They’ll last longer if you leave the root nodes on,” Kipling offered. “When you cut the stems that close to the pod, they die and lose all their lift.”

  The boy glanced down at the sticky pile of pods he’d been sawing loose, then back to Kipling.

  “I could show you how to cut them if you want,” Kipling added.

  The Grounder boy seemed to be considering the offer. “Where did you come from?”

  “The Globe Mother.”

  The boy’s shoulders relaxed. “Were you at the festival?”

  The memory suddenly came back to Kipling. “Hey, I saw you there! You were on a horse.” Kipling took a few steps forward. “I was there with my parents. My mom is chief councilor. Chief Roose. I’m Kip.”

  The Grounder boy met his gaze. “I’m Atlas.” He looked pensive. “Look, I’m going after the raiders who attacked the village. I’m not going to stay here long and I don’t have time for talking.” He bent back down and started hacking away at the gooey kelp stalks again.

  “Why do you need those? Are you trying to eat them? The greens actually taste better and they—”

  “I need them for the Dragon. If I’m going to catch the raiders, I need more lift. There’s only so much water I can lose if I want to get back down.”

  “You have water?” Kipling jolted at the words. He scanned the area around the boy. Where was it? In the airship?

  Atlas kept sawing at the stalks till his knife nicked the pod he was trying to liberate and it promptly deflated. He muttered at the plant and kicked it aside, snatching up another one.

  “Look,” Kipling said. “I’m going after the raiders, too. They took my friend and I need to rescue her. If you let me have some of your water, and let me come along in your airship, I could help you. We could hunt the raiders together.”

  “I don’t need help,” Atlas replied. He sawed even more vigorously at the next pod. “And I can’t take on any more weight. The Dragon is too heavy as it is.”

  Kipling strode over to one of the pods next to Atlas, snatched it up and spun it in his hands. He twisted the root tendrils, tied them in a knot and repeated the process with the flowering leaves, then tucked them in on themselves. He gave the pod a quick tug and it popped loose from its main stalk, coming off in his hand in a neatly compact ball. He held the pod out to Atlas. “I can help you find lift pods twice that size that will last way longer. This patch has been cooking in the sun so it looks more buoyant than it really is. All of this is dying and it’s going to wilt at altitude.” He tossed the pod into Atlas’s lap. “And I don’t weigh anything unless I want to. When I breathe deep and light up, I can even fly. So I could lift your ship more than a dozen of these little pods.”

  Atlas studied the leafy ball in his hands with curiosity, then lifted his eyes to Kipling. “You’re sure you can fly?”

  Kipling took a deep breath and lit himself up. With the weight of the warhook on his back he had to glow a little brighter than usual to get off the ground, but he drifted a few feet above the tips of the grasses before exhaling and dropping back down. “Okay, more like a hover, I guess.” He glanced up at a fresh batch of kelp drifting past. “But if we go fast, we could catch dinner, too.”

  Atlas glanced up at the sky and then back to him. “Kip, huh?”

  “Kipling Roose,” Kipling added. He extended a hand.

  Atlas shook it and grinned. “Well, this is the Sun Dragon, and fast is what she’s made for. Get in, and I’ll show you how to really fly.”

  19

  THE FLEET

  “That’s one hell of a problem,” Captain Savage declared. She stood on the foredeck studying the wall of plant life looming off the bow. “What’s the altitude there?” She pointed a finger at a section of the forest off the starboard side.

  Samra stood on the middeck next to Sunburn, watching the action.

  A man holding a brass contraption with a lot of dials peered through a viewfinder before turning a knob and scribbling on a scrap of paper. “Looks like fifteen thousand, Captain.” He double-checked his readings and bobbed his head. “It’s fifteen if it’s one.”

  “Can we clear that with our current load?”

  “It’ll be difficult,” the man with the brass instrument replied. “If we dropped most of the water ballast and shed a bit of surplus here and there, we might make it.”

  “What if we shed all of the ballast?” the captain asked.

  “Well, sure, that would get us up and over. There’d of course be the matter of getting back do
wn again.”

  The captain ignored Samra and turned to Sunburn. “Tell Warehime to signal the other ships. They’ll want a meeting.”

  They’d left the Rift around noon, and for the last few hours had been overflying miles of grassy highlands. Sunburn had permitted Samra to follow him around the ship during the day, learning some of the duties of crewmembers.

  She hadn’t been impressed by much below decks. She’d already visited the galley, sleeping berths, cargo deck, and ballast pumps. What fascinated her, however, were the twin shark-shaped nacelles overhead and the powerful air engines inside. The channels that ran beneath the lifting cells were big enough for her to climb into, but with the engines running there was too much air blasting through from the forward fans. She’d stuck her hand into the channel and felt the rush of wind tickling her fingers. It’d made her want to stick her face into it, but she didn’t feel like getting ejected into the slipstream behind the ship, so she stayed out.

  Despite unfavorable winds, the airship had made good progress across the highlands, even slowing on occasion to let the other ships catch up.

  Throughout the afternoon, she’d watched the crew pack more of the lifting gas cells from Cirra Sola into cargo compartments on the two sides of the airship. It had taken all of her self-control to not scream at them. The little globe was nearly stripped clean and was almost unrecognizable. What buoyancy it had left was now going to use holding the Restless Fury aloft.

  “I want my things back,” Samra said, finally grabbing Sunburn’s arm and pointing to the ruins of her aerie. “That’s mine.”

  Sunburn looked aft to where one of the crew was sawing away tendrils around the remains of her home. The man had discovered her silkbug rope hammock, and after admiring the iridescent colors of the strands, he was attempting to stow it into his shirt.