by Keira Drake
“Oh, trust me, sir, you’ll have no need. Now then—shall we be on our way?”
“Yes, please,” says Mrs. Shaw. “It’s depressing back here with no windows. Although I don’t suppose I could trouble you for my orchid valise? I saw it on the shelf when you opened the first door, and I wouldn’t mind looking through it for a book or two.”
“Now, Mrs. Shaw,” the steward says, “you head right back into the main cabin and make yourself comfortable. I’ll find the valise just as soon as we’re on our way.”
“What a dear you are,” she says. “Such a help.”
Vaela, wake up. You won’t believe how beautiful it is.
I open my eyes to see my mother’s face. For a moment, I can’t remember where I am—but the gentle hum of the heli-plane’s engines brings me back to the present, and I sit up in my seat.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Three hours or so,” she says, and smiles. “Your dad’s still sleeping in the back row. Look out your window.”
I turn toward the porthole and draw in my breath. “Is that…are we there?”
“Yes,” she says. “Isn’t it magnificent?”
Magnificent seems too small a word, and yet I can’t think of another that might come close to describing the incredible landscape below. Spread out beneath the crisp blue sky is the southeastern tip of the Continent, wilder and more spectacular than I ever dreamed it would be. The coastline here is marked by rocky bluffs of staggering height, with ferocious waves breaking all along the base. Broken sheets of ice dot the ocean, rising and falling atop the rolling swells of the sea. To the distant northwest are the soaring peaks of the Kinsho mountain range, covered in ancient green firs that rise high into the air. And the snow—as far as the eye can see, it covers everything. This vast white world is unlike anything in the Spire—even in the North, during wintertime. The phototypes in the Astor Library did not do it justice.
“Magnificent,” I say in agreement. “Those cliffs, there, along the coast—do you see them? They once boasted the tallest waterfalls ever known to exist. And that valley, far to the west, that’s the great Southern Vale! It’s supposed to be breathtaking in the springtime, with beautiful wildflowers of red and gold—flowers quite exclusive to the Continent. Let’s see, what else? Oh, I do wish I hadn’t packed my maps away in the luggage! I feel so disoriented looking at everything from such a height.”
My mother laughs. “Don’t worry, dear—you’ll have plenty of time to compare.”
Mrs. Shaw, sitting in the seat in front of me, leans over and pokes her head around in the aisle. “I don’t suppose you brought any extras, did you, dear? I saw the one your father framed for you—it’s really quite something.”
“What are you going to do with a map, Mother?” Aaden says from the seat across the aisle. “Write a shopping list on it?” He laughs and turns back to his window.
Mrs. Shaw is affronted. “I have many interests of which you are not aware, Aaden. I quite like maps, even if I never can figure out which way round they’re supposed to go.”
My mother gives her a kind smile. “I’m sure the steward will provide us all with reference material when we set out for a proper tour. Vaela’s charts are a bit complicated for a layperson such as you or I.”
“Your father tells me you’re to work with Mr. Otto Sussenfaal, in the Astor Library,” says Mr. Shaw. “Quite an honor, yes?”
“Very much so, sir,” I say. “A dream come true.”
“May I ask how you came by the apprenticeship?”
“Well…I’ve had special access to the library for years now, on account of my father’s position at the Chancellery.”
“Of course.”
“There’s always been something about maps that has held my fascination—the marriage of artistic expression and scientific data, it’s…well, it’s unlike anything else.”
“She used to draw little maps of the Spire on my linen napkins,” my mother says, and laughs softly. “And atlases of the world at large!”
Mr. Shaw grins. “A true calling then. And this is your ambition? To excel in this field, to make a profession of it?”
“It is all I have ever wanted,” I say. “To enrich the lives of others with maps that can be admired and absorbed. I hope to achieve much with this tour.”
Mr. Shaw leans toward me, his blue eyes sparkling. “I think you will succeed, my dear. I really do.”
“Such approval, Father, toward an academic,” Aaden says. “I wonder how I might win such favor?”
“One must do, son, and not only learn.”
“Oh, Arthur,” Mrs. Shaw says, “he has passed his exams—”
“Now that he’s taken them.”
“—and has been cleared for a professorship at the Academy—the one in Astor, with all the great steeples and swirling platforms.” She nods, the tiny silver chimes in her hat jangling like little bells. “It’s very exciting, Arthur. Don’t be such a stick in the mud.”
The steward emerges from the cockpit, smiling broadly. “Hello, hello! Quite spectacular, isn’t it? Well! From this point, it’s just a quick flight to Ivanel, but before we turn away from the Continent and head for the island, the pilot will be taking us down to touring altitude for about ten minutes so that you may all have a closer look. It’ll be just a quick peek, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy the opportunity to see the landscape up close.”
“Should we wake Father?” I say, and my mother shakes her head.
“Let him sleep—he was up so early with the porters, double-checking everything and marking off lists. I’ve never seen a man with so many lists. In any case, he won’t mind waiting until tomorrow, and he could use the rest.”
To the astonishment of his wife, Mr. Shaw gets up and moves across the aisle to the empty window seat in the front row.
“Arthur Shaw, remove yourself from that seat and come back here at once,” she says. “I didn’t agree to come along on this expedition so I could sit by myself like some kind of spinster.”
He doesn’t budge, but crosses his arms and lifts his chin ever so slightly. “And I didn’t pay a year’s salary so that I could peek around that massive hat of yours at a place I’ve been longing to see since I was but knee-high. No, thank you, madam, I’ll keep my seat.”
Her mouth falls open, but my mother is quick to ease the tension. “I’d be happy to sit with you, Mrs. Shaw. Frankly, the motion of the heli-plane has made me a bit dizzy, and I’m not exactly keen on looking out the window just now.”
The steward gives her a sympathetic smile. “Not to worry, Mrs. Sun, you’ll get used to the movement. A day or two in the air and your constitution will be firm as a sailor’s at sea.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she says. Now that I take a moment to look at her, she does seem a bit white-faced.
“Come right up here with me,” Mrs. Shaw says. “I’ll run a commentary on all the sights. You can sit back with your eyes closed, but you shan’t miss a thing.”
My mother, pale as she looks, stifles a laugh. “That’s very good of you, Mrs. Shaw.” She gives my hand a pat and moves to the forward seat.
The heli-plane begins to descend and I feel a pressure in my ears. I look out the porthole again and watch as the scenery appears to grow larger; we’re flying above a wide, flat valley that has very little vegetation. I’m wondering if it’s any place of significance when Aaden gives a large whoop.
“Oh-ho-ho!” he says. “It looks like our pilot knows how to deliver; there are natives down there!”
“Where?” demands Mrs. Shaw. “I can’t see a thing, unless you count snow. Did you ever imagine there would be quite so much snow?”
“Come over on this side of the plane,” Aaden says. “There are four of them hiking across the valley. Come here, Vaela, you can look out my window.”
I move across the aisle to sit beside him. “Where are they, exactly?”
“Just beyond those rocks—do you see?”
It t
akes me a moment to spot them—four leather-clad natives trudging through the heavy snow, fur collars dusted with white. “I see them!”
Mrs. Shaw gasps. “How thrilling! Are they Aven’ei, or Topi, I wonder?”
“They’re Aven’ei,” Aaden says. “The Topi don’t live this far south or east. In any case, you can tell from their clothing—see how everything is sort of mute and fitted? The Topi are more ostentatious—they wear brighter colors, fringed sleeves, bone helmets, that sort of thing.”
“Helmets made of bone?” says Mrs. Shaw. “How revolting.”
“Human bones,” Aaden adds.
“Oh, you’re not serious,” she says with a tinkly laugh.
“I certainly am. What better way to antagonize the Aven’ei than by flaunting the bones of their fallen comrades?”
There is a pause, and then she says, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything quite so ghastly.”
The four Aven’ei have stopped in the snow and are looking up at the plane. Even at this distance, it is clear that they are accustomed to the sight of Spirian aircraft; they seem entirely unimpressed. We bank to the right, and the men disappear from view.
I turn to Aaden. “Your professorship…is that how you know so much about the natives? Are you an enthusiast of history?”
“Yes, actually. I am to teach a course examining the nature of conflict—covering both Spirian and Continental topics—beginning this autumn.”
“He never stops reading, not ever,” says Mr. Shaw. “Boy’s spent the better part of his life with his nose stuck in a book. Athletic build like that, and he’d rather hole up in the library than spend an hour out of doors.”
“Well, it’s lovely to have you along, then, Aaden,” says my mother. “I’m sure your insights will be most enlightening.”
He smiles. “I’m at your service, Mrs. Sun.”
“We don’t know very much about the Topi, do we?” says Mrs. Shaw. “Other than how vulgar and warmongering they are?”
Aaden frowns. “You make them sound like villains.”
“Aren’t they?”
“Uh, no?”
Mrs. Shaw adjusts her hat. “That’s not what I’ve heard. At my Telmadge Green Flowering Bloom and Grow meetings, Mrs. Galfeather—who’s been thrice to the Continent, I might add—says there’s nothing to the Topi but bloodlust. That’s precisely the word she used: bloodlust. She says we know nothing else about them because there’s naught else to know, and that they’ve bullied the Aven’ei for aeons.”
“They’re not bullies,” Aaden says. “Don’t you know—”
Mr. Shaw leans abruptly toward the window. “I say, what’s that bit of decoration hanging from the bridge there? Some kind of flag?”
Mrs. Shaw peers over his shoulder. “I can’t make it out. Just a moment—there are two of them.”
I lean closer to the glass, squinting in an attempt to see what they’re talking about. There’s a narrow bridge a little ways off, and suspended from it are what seem to be two bright red strips of fabric. But they don’t exactly look like flags; they’re moving stiffly in the wind, rather than fluttering about as one might expect.
“But what kind of flags are those?” Mrs. Shaw says. “They look like—”
“They’re not flags,” Aaden says. “They’re bodies.”
One of the strips swivels on its cable, and as it turns, I see the rotted face of a Topi warrior, his bone helmet shattered on one side, his arms bound tightly at the wrists.
CHAPTER 3
IT’S BEEN ODDLY QUIET ABOARD THE HELI-PLANE since the bodies on the bridge were spotted. Mrs. Shaw in particular has made it a point to keep herself busy, having spent the better part of half an hour focused on a book of word puzzles produced from her valise. I hadn’t thought it possible for her to refrain from speaking for so long, but although she has cleared her throat several times, she has not said a word.
My father, perhaps stirred by the shift in mood, awoke to a cabin full of somber and awkward passengers. My mother gave a whispered account of what we saw.
“You all right, then, Vaela?” he said.
“We all knew that we would see unpleasant things, didn’t we?”
“Knowing and seeing are two different things.”
“I’m fine,” I said, and I do feel fine, now that I’ve had some time to consider what I saw. The war between the natives is the stuff of legend—isn’t it only natural to be curious about the morbid truth of things? Perhaps Aaden was right when he said that everyone has some interest in the conflict between the Topi and the Aven’ei—though my mother seems to be a rare exception to this rule.
I think the lot of us were simply unprepared to see anything macabre at that moment; we were so distracted and enthralled by our first view of the landscape, marveling at the unexpected appearance of the Aven’ei, and then…the bodies. Decayed and frightening and real. Unexpected.
Now, we sit quietly, each pretending not to have been bothered by the faces of the dead warriors. I suppose it is easier to feign disinterest than to admit being disturbed. Even the steward has not spoken, although I suspect it is rather out of deference for the general mood than due to any uneasiness of his own; he must be well accustomed to the grislier sights of the Continent by now. And at length, it is he who breaks the silence by coming up the aisle and announcing our imminent arrival at Ivanel.
I hear a rustling sound and the zipping of what must be Mrs. Shaw’s valise. “I’m quite sure I’m ready to get off this plane,” she says.
“I think we could all do with some fresh air,” my mother agrees.
Mrs. Shaw turns around and looks closely at my mother, who has reclaimed her seat next to me. “You poor dear—are you feeling any better?”
“No,” my mother says. “But the idea of putting my feet on solid ground has cheered me immensely.”
“A good meal with dark wine, and you’ll be ready for a new day,” says Mrs. Shaw with some authority.
The aircraft tips gently to the right and then straightens out again. Aaden looks over at me and gives me a soft smile. “You have a map of Ivanel, I assume?”
“Oh, yes,” I say. “I’m anxious to see it in person. I guess it’s the closest thing to the Continent we can experience firsthand.”
“Yes, and without that pesky war going on to spoil the view, am I right?”
“I—well, I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
He leans toward me. “You ought to. We mustn’t take for granted the security to which we are accustomed. Peace is a luxury, you know.”
“Our people have earned it,” I say. “It took centuries for the Four Nations to set aside the ways of war.”
He nods. “That’s true. But have we really come so far, when a tour of the Continent is so desirable a thing? We’ve traded our swords for treaties, our daggers for promises—but our thirst for violence has never been quelled. And that’s the crux of it: it can’t be quelled. It’s human nature.”
“I have to disagree with you there, son,” my father says, leaning forward from the back row. “I believe human nature compels us to strive for the very thing we have achieved in the Spire: peace.”
Aaden smiles. “Perhaps we do not all share the same nature.”
“Perhaps not,” my father says. “But I think curiosity is to account for any desire to see the war. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“What a quaint idea,” Aaden says. “I was not aware that you were a man of such philosophy, Mr. Sun.”
“I have my moments. Right, Vaela?” He gives me a wink and turns his attention back to the window.
“Philosophy, war, bodies swinging dead from bridges, what more shall we discuss before we even set foot on the island?” says Mrs. Shaw. “Really, I do hope everyone is in a better mood at dinnertime. This is supposed to be a holiday!”
Mr. Shaw leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “We shall speak of nothing but sunshine and cheer, my darling, if that is what pleases you.”
�
�I find that very doubtful,” she says, and sniffs. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Tuck into your seats, now,” calls the steward. “We are ready to land.”
I look out the window to see a flat stretch of land rising up to greet us. The heli-plane sets down with a soft bump and my mother gives a long sigh of relief.
After a few minutes, the door is opened and we file out along the gangway. The air in the hangar is freezing; my lungs burn each time I take a breath. My father puts an arm around me and gives me a little shake.
“Cold, isn’t it?” he says, the breath escaping from his lips as he speaks.
The walkway leads into a large building. Mr. and Mrs. Shaw are at the front of the group with Aaden trailing behind them, and my parents and I are hurrying along at the back. I can hear Mrs. Shaw complaining about the cold from twenty feet away; I’m not at all sure why she decided a trip to the Continent would suit her.
I think we are all relieved when we reach the lobby, which is very grand and, more importantly, very warm. The room is long and wide, with a high ceiling that boasts an enormous glass dome. The whole place is filled with natural light, and the bright and spacious area is a welcome change from the small cabin aboard the plane.
The steward turns back to my father and says, “I’ll just show the Shaws to their apartment and will be back for you momentarily. Please make yourself comfortable while you wait.”
“I’ll see you at dinner, Vaela,” Aaden says, and bows before turning to head down the hallway.
I smile to myself, then wander across the foyer, admiring the tapestries along the walls.
My father puts an arm around my mother and leads her to the other side of the room. In a low voice, he says, “I’m not sure I’m fond of that young man.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her lace an arm through his. “He’s perfectly harmless, Thomas.”
“He’s awfully sure of himself for a boy his age. He thinks he has the whole world figured out.”
My mother laughs. “I remember another young man who had quite the same affliction. I found it so appealing, in fact, that I married him.”