by Keira Drake
“I don’t know,” my mother says. “They are still people, after all.”
Mrs. Shaw bristles. “People without the good sense to realize that there are civilized ways to solve disagreements.”
Her husband nods. “Before the Four Nations united to become the Spire, the people of our own lands were just as brutal, ever locked in some conflict or another. And see how far we have come? There may be hope yet for the Topi and the Aven’ei.” He raises a glass. “But for now, let us all be thankful that the forefathers of our great united nation had the will and the courage to envision a world of peace.”
Glasses are raised all around the table. “Hear, hear,” my father says, and the whole party drinks to the glory and accomplishment of the Spire. I take a small sip of champagne; from the corner of my eye, I see Aaden watching me.
I am surprised to find that I am flattered.
Later that evening, when most of the guests have gone and only a few stragglers remain, my mother pulls me aside. Her brow is knit with worry.
“I never thought to ask you, Vaela, before we arranged the trip, and now I feel quite beside myself: will you be all right seeing the Continent?”
I wave goodbye to a friend, then turn back to my mother. “But of course,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She is quiet for a moment. “With the war, I mean. The things you might see.”
“I suppose I haven’t given it much thought,” I say. “But then, I’m more interested in the topography than the Topi and the Aven’ei. This is a dream come true for me—you know that better than anyone.”
Her shoulders relax a bit. “Then you’re not worried about it?”
“What is there to worry about? We’ll be well out of reach of any danger, touring in the heli-plane.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I find a stray chair and sit down, my feet aching in my pointed shoes. “What is it, then? The violence?”
“Yes, Vaela, the violence.”
I give a little shrug. “It’s what they do, Mother. You oughtn’t be so concerned. I know what to expect—we’ve all read the histories. The natives fight, and fight, and fight some more. Over land or territory or whatever it is—I’ve never quite understood—the war goes on and on. It never changes.”
“Vaela! Vaela!” Evangeline, shimmering and luminous in a gown of pale gold and black lace, flutters over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Remember everything,” she says breathlessly. “Draw every single thing you see! I want to know if the Topi are as tall and handsome as Roslyn says they are. And the Aven’ei—do you think they truly bleed and bleed even after they’re dead? Oh, Mrs. Sun! I—How do you do?”
“Hello, Evangeline,” my mother says. “You look lovely this evening.”
“Thank you kindly,” Evangeline says, her fingers brushing along the silky fabric of her skirts. She smiles and turns back to me. “You will come to call as soon as you return? I know my mother will want to receive you at once. She’s sick with envy, you know—she hasn’t said a word to father all night, on account of his being so far down the wait-list.”
“I’ll come round as soon as we’re home,” I say. “I promise.”
She pulls me into her arms, embraces me tightly, then steps back and grins. “The Continent! Oh, Vaela. You’ll have a spot yet beside the scholars at the Institute. You’ll be far more famous than stuffy old Sussenfaal, and lauded by your scientific peers, and I shall tell everyone that I am practically a part of your family.”
I touch the pendant at my neck. “Always.”
Evangeline’s mother calls from the grand doors at the entrance of the hall, a frosty expression upon her perfectly painted face. Mr. Day stands beside her, a full head shorter, looking defeated. “Be well, and remember everything,” Evangeline says. “I shall miss you every moment! Goodbye, Mrs. Sun!” And with a rustle of silk, she turns and hurries toward the foyer.
A glance at my mother tells me that the subject of violence on the Continent has not been forgotten.
“The tour will be incredible,” I say lightly. “The war is tragic, of course. But we must think of it as a look back in time, as a glimpse of how things used to be for our own people. It will be…it will be educational. And imagine the stories we shall have to tell!”
She smiles, but not with her eyes. “You’re right. I’m sure it will be a lovely trip.”
“It will be amazing,” I say, taking her hand. “Don’t worry for even a moment. It will be the single greatest adventure of my life, I’m sure.”
CHAPTER 2
THE SPIRE IS A COLORFUL PLACE, AND NO CITY IS more representative of this than Astor—the Spirian capital. Here, citizens of all colors, shapes, and sizes, bedecked in the finery of their home countries, come to take positions in the Chancellery: the beating heart of our nation’s government. Astor, which is but five miles from the place I call home, is nestled firmly within the borders of the East, though its residents maintain their original citizenship, designated, as always, by the nation of one’s birth. It is here in the Chancellery that elections are held in which officials are chosen by the people, new laws are considered and voted upon by the Heads of State, and the Astor Library houses the combined literary and scientific knowledge of the North, West, East, and South. It is also the site of the Eastern heliport—the place from which all air travel to and from the East is conducted.
Most citizens travel by train, in one of the sleek magnetic monorails that glide above and below every city in the Spire, but my father has arranged a car for today—a special privilege indeed. It is a black limousine, its electric motor nearly silent, with plush velvet seats the color of burnished bronze. As our driver maneuvers the car to the curb in front of the Chancellery proper, my fingers begin to tremble. Today, I shall see the Continent. I will see with my own eyes the place I have imagined for so long. My mother sets a hand on my knee for what must be the tenth time since leaving the estate.
“Stop jiggling your leg, dear,” she says again. “It doesn’t suit.”
I relax my muscles, but nothing can quell the restless anticipation I feel inside. The car rolls to a stop and a prim-looking valet hurries forward, snapping his fingers at a couple of porters waiting by the entrance. The two men rush into action, chattering at one another in a familiar sort of way as they bundle our luggage out of the trunk and pile it atop shiny wheeled carts.
The valet comes round to my door and extends a hand; I smile as I step out onto the curb. The rain has stopped, and a hint of blue sky is visible beyond stern gray clouds. An important-looking man with a National Affairs badge hurries by, an important-looking frown on his face. From beyond the building, a heli-plane rises into the sky, the four-pointed yellow star of the Spire painted boldly along its side.
This is happening. We’re going to the Continent!
The porters have made quick work of the luggage; it’s now stacked neatly on the brass carts and secured with sturdy straps. The valet leads us into the building and we follow him through a series of short corridors, while the porters follow behind with the trolleys.
At last, we come to an immense set of double doors leading into a private hangar. As the doors open, I see our own heli-plane inside, the front half lit by sunshine, its white face gleaming. The plane is larger than I thought it would be, and very beautiful in its way. The nose curves gracefully, the slender white wings stretching out like proud arms extended in triumph, each inset with a large and powerful propeller.
The Shaws are standing near the plane with a steward who waves us over at once.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sun, Miss Sun,” he calls as we approach. “What a pleasure to meet you. I’m Mr. Harris; I will be your steward throughout the expedition. If there is anything you need, please let me know and I shall do my utmost to accommodate you. Now if you’ll just wait a few moments, we’ll stow the luggage and you can board the plane directly.”
“Excellent,” says my father. “We can enjoy a bit of sunshine before we head into the
frozen north.”
The Shaws cross over to greet us, and I see that Mrs. Shaw’s hat is even larger and grander than the one she wore to dinner the other night; clearly, she is not to be outdone, even by herself.
“Doesn’t it just rub one the wrong way that the sun should come out the moment we’re set to leave?” she says, looking insulted. “I’m fit to be tied.”
“Perhaps it’s a sign that we shall have a safe and pleasant journey,” my mother says. “A harbinger of good fortune?”
Aaden smiles, his blue eyes lit by the sun. “Whatever it means, it’s delightful. I could stand here all day.”
“I shouldn’t like to wait too long,” says Mrs. Shaw. “If we arrive in the dark, we’ll miss the Continent as we fly over on our way to the island.”
“Ah, yes, the island,” my father says. “It’s a good job we don’t have to shack up on the Continent itself, now isn’t it?”
“Thank the heavens,” Mrs. Shaw says, and shudders. “I’ve heard the facilities at Ivanel are top of the line. My dearest friend—Mrs. Calista Jayne, you remember her, darling?—stayed earlier this year, and she says the staff will deliver eight kinds of coffee right to your suite. Eight kinds of coffee, on a tiny island like that!” She laughs. “Whatever will they think of next?”
Aaden takes my elbow and leads me farther into the sunlight, then leans over to whisper in my ear. “Can you imagine anything more incredible than eight kinds of coffee?”
I laugh. “Please, your mother is very sweet.”
“Ha! She’s an angel. For months, she’s been rubbing this trip in the noses of all the society women who are still wait-listed.”
“Well…it is exciting, isn’t it?”
He tilts his head. “Miss Vaela Sun—have you been bragging about this tour to your schoolmates?”
“No,” I say, flushing. “Of course not! Anyway, my friends are too kind to be envious, even if I were boasting about the Continent. I only meant that I understand your mother’s enthusiasm.”
“Your friends were excited on your behalf, then?”
“Thrilled for me,” I say fondly. “I can’t wait to tell them all about it! Especially Evangeline—she’s my closest friend, and a map enthusiast in her own right—though she is bound for a career in government, for that is where her talent lies.”
“She sounds lovely,” he says. “I haven’t got many companions. It’s nice you have people waiting on your return.”
This puzzles me; Aaden is handsome and well-spoken, and from a prestigious family—why should he not have many friends? “Well, I suppose it will be nice to share news of the Continent when we arrive back home,” I say, but quickly change the subject. “Do you get on well with your family?”
“Ah. Sadly, no. I don’t quite fit the bill in terms of fatherly expectations. But you—you seem to be very close with your parents.”
I smile. “Oh, yes—it’s always been like that. I’m very lucky, I suppose.”
“We’re ready to board now,” calls the steward. “Please make your way through, and we’ll file you up one at a time.”
“That was quick,” my mother says.
It’s Mrs. Shaw who is quick; she’s at the metal stairway in a heartbeat. The steward gives her a friendly smile. “Let’s start with you, madam. There we are, watch your step.”
She clambers up the stairs, one hand on her hat and one on the railing, her shoes clacking against the grille. Then she stops and narrows her eyes at the steward. “Our luggage is all accounted for?” she asks. “There were several pieces I’m sure I didn’t see on the trolley.”
“Your belongings are counted and stowed, Mrs. Shaw,” the steward says in a soothing tone. “Come along now.”
She takes a reluctant step forward. “Oh, I do hope I haven’t forgotten anything.”
Mr. Shaw laughs. “My dear, if you’d brought anything more, the heli-plane might not have the strength to fly.”
Aaden drops back to wait beside me as his mother and father disappear into the aircraft. “What do you think of the plane?” he says. “Ever seen one before?”
“Never. My mother prefers to travel by train, even to visit our relatives in the North. But it’s very impressive—much more beautiful than I thought it would be.”
“I’ve been to the West aboard one larger than this,” he says. “It was a very nice piece of machinery. You know that’s where they build them? In the West?”
“I didn’t know.”
My parents are at the top of the stairs now, and my mother turns back toward me. “Vaela,” she calls. “It’s time!”
Aaden extends an arm toward the metal stairway. “After you, Miss Sun.”
As I climb up toward the plane, a thrill runs through me. This is it—the first real step of the journey, the moment where everything begins. I will see the Continent before the sun sets. It is a momentous feeling indeed.
Aboard the plane, the whole group crowds into what I assume is the main cabin. We are clustered together in an open space toward the front of the plane, facing two sections of plush seats that are separated by a wide aisle. There are three rows in total, and six small windows punctuate the side walls of the aircraft—something Mrs. Shaw is quick to notice.
“Is this where we’re to view the Continent?” she says, a note of surprise in her voice.
“Yes, madam,” the steward says. “You will enjoy lovely views from the window seats.”
“But those are practically…portholes!” she exclaims. “Couldn’t we get a plane with proper windows, Arthur? I don’t know how we’ll manage to see a thing!”
Aaden sits down in one of the front row seats. “They’re small so the heli-plane isn’t ripped apart while we’re flying, Mother. Structural integrity and all that.” He taps on the thick glass and grins at her. “Don’t worry, they’re big enough. I expect you won’t have any trouble watching the Topi chop the Aven’ei to pieces.”
Mrs. Shaw looks pointedly at her husband. “It was you who gave him all those books about the Continent, and it is you who is to blame for his vulgarity. You’ve stuffed his brain chock-full of morbid imaginings.”
“If I may,” the steward says, stepping forward before Mr. Shaw can reply, “I should like to familiarize each of you with the heli-plane. You’ll be spending several hours on board each day, so I want to make sure that you’re all quite comfortable.”
“Is there more to see?” Mrs. Shaw says, looking around the small space. “I assumed this was the passenger cabin.”
“So it is, madam, but we have another cabin at your disposal. It’s just aft of this one. It has no windows, and if you find yourself overwhelmed by the scenery during any of your excursions, you might consider it a welcome retreat.”
“Let’s take a look,” Aaden says.
One by one, we follow the steward down the aisle toward the rear of the plane and step through the narrow doorway. The aft cabin is smaller than the first, and slightly oblong in shape. There are no seats; only padded benches placed along the sectioned walls.
Aaden runs a hand along one of the panels. “Are these doors?”
The steward crosses the small space. “Yes, sir, very good eye.” He gives one of the panels a quick push and it springs toward him; he opens it wide to reveal several shelves stacked with luggage. “Storage, mostly. But over here, we have something much more interesting.”
He closes the door and pushes on the section of wall beside it. When it opens, the group gives a collective gasp. Rather than a set of storage shelves, this panel had concealed a great glass pod, at least seven feet tall, shaped like a giant egg and standing perfectly upright. Within the pod is a padded seat with a harness attached to it.
“What in blazes is that?” says Mr. Shaw.
“It’s an escape pod,” the steward says, clearly delighted by our astonishment. “Ultimately, these panels were built to accommodate six pods; one for each passenger aboard the craft. But it was an egregious waste of space, and all but this one have be
en removed. It’s a novelty, really. And isn’t it something?”
“Made of glass?” Aaden says. “But isn’t it impossibly heavy?”
“Plasticized glass,” the steward says. “Light as wind, but very strong. A marvel, truly. And these,” he adds, indicating a row of neat, tidy-looking white packages at the base of the chamber, “are personal parachutes. Intended for the crew, in case of dire emergency.”
I move closer to the great glass egg and run a finger along the smooth, curved side. “The pods were meant to be used in the event of an accident, then? Is it quite safe to fly without a full complement?”
The steward laughs. “Oh, very safe indeed, Miss Sun. Do you know, not a single pod has ever been put to use? Every heli-plane in the Spire has been equipped with them for decades, and not a one has ever been launched. No need for them at all. This aircraft runs smooth as a kitchen clock—our engineers and mechanics have seen to that.”
I give him a smile. “If you’re sure.”
“Quite sure, miss,” he says. “Now, if everyone would return to the passenger cabin, I can inform the pilot that we’re ready to embark. We have many hundreds of miles of ocean to cross before we reach our destination, and I want you all to settle in comfortably. We’ll have refreshments all around, and—”
“Just a moment,” Aaden says. “What’s that?” He points to a metal panel just to the right of the glass pod.
The steward blinks. “Why, those are the controls, of course.” He lifts the lid of the panel to reveal two buttons: one green, one yellow. “The yellow button unlocks the pod from its casing, and the green discharges it from the plane.”
“The controls are on the outside of the pod? What use is that if you’re already inside?”
“The pods were not designed to be operated by passengers, Mr. Shaw. In the event of an accident, the crew would ensure that all travelers are properly secured within the pods, and eject each unit as required.”
Aaden cuffs him playfully across the shoulder. “Guess we’ll count on you, then, old man, should the need arise.”