The Maiden in the Mirror

by Scott Hamerton

  "Ah, much better. See there, that really bright star?" Lintumen pointed into the sky and waited for Minerva to acknowledge him. "That's the Pole Star," he said, while peering through the eyepiece of his sextant, adjusting its angle. "Hero, then, should be over—" Lintumen interrupted his sentence to reference a book, and after running his finger down a table of numbers, took hold of the teardrop prism and rotated it, causing the landscape to spin wildly. "—there."

  When Lintumen shifted the position of the magnifying glass on the stand, what was at best a meaningless speck in the distance rocketed forward to fill Minerva's view. In doing so, he revealed the flying acorn-shaped city of Hero.

  Layer upon layer of wood and stone stacked high into the air to form the city, bulging and flexing with every new addition that had been applied to the massive structure. Hundreds of sails pulled up on thick chains spread around a wide plateau of courtyards, parapets, fountains, and walkways, that accented the flying metropolis. Public stores bigger than Waxley's, and monstrous manor houses that dwarfed the trees around them, all huddled together, while a river of gardens and interwoven streets meandered between their eaves. A network of bridges crisscrossed the landscape, completely disregarding the conventions of elevation, with houses and parks sometimes crouched like trolls beneath bridges, or docks and piers laid upon rooftops.

  At the very peak of the floating island, a white marble citadel dominated the already marvelous skyline. Below the city, a raging thunderhead sparked and flashed, sending bolts of lightning into long chains and anchors that dangled from the bottom of the city, gathering the power of the storm on which the whole city sat like a queen on her throne.

  Minerva found her voice as it struggled to escape her gasping chest. "That's Hero?"

  "Beautiful, isn't it? A shining jewel in the skies. Undeniable proof that ingenuity, creativity, and imagination can surmount any obstacle. This is what we magicians can accomplish when we master our power."

  Minerva found her way to her feet and stepped forward with her arm stretched out in front of her. Hero loomed large in her vision, as if she could be there by simply stepping out of the sky and onto its endless piers. She wanted to be there. She wanted to feel it, and smell it.

  Then she found the wall, the room reasserted its own existence, and reality smacked her on the bottom as she fell backwards. In her tumble, she knocked away the stand in the middle of the cabin, destroying the illusion.

  A troubled expression remained transfixed upon Lintumen, and when he turned to speak to her, the lines of his face pinched with worry. "Did you see those ships with the white flags flying in formation?"

  Minerva nodded. She had seen many ships, but a vast fleet of warships formed a halo that surrounded the city. They all flew the same white flag and their hulls were painted the same vibrant white.

  Lintumen drew a heavy breath. "I must inform the captain. A change of course is required."

  "Why? What are those ships?"

  "The White Fleet. The queen's navy of the Linoran Empire has formed a blockade."

  "Who are they?"

  Lintumen paused as though he intended to reply, but then went to a shelf and searched through the titles, scanning down the rows with a bony, outstretched index finger. When he found the tome he sought, he laid it open upon the table, revealing a map.

  "This is Vangal," he said, pointing at a small patch of territory, no bigger than a coin. It was nestled between the imposing Divara mountains on one side, and a vast sea on the other. "And this is Linora."

  Lintumen pointed at the page, moving away from Vangal towards sunset on the map. However, upon deciding that he needed a less precise method of indication, spread out his fingers and gestured with his palm in the vague direction of almost everything that was not Vangal.

  Minerva felt her skin grow cold, fearing the direction of the conversation. "They're our enemy, aren't they?" she asked.

  Lintumen returned his characteristic grin, but a deeper sense of sadness distorted its edges. "The skies of Vangal are an extremely valuable shipping lane. Traffic from the Sunrise Ports and the Provinces, and even more distant destinations, must travel through the Vangal Corridor if they are to reach Linora."

  "And we steal from them," Minerva concluded.

  Lintumen nodded, and his eyes twinkled as a grin swept across his face. "To enter Hero now would be suicide."

  Chapter 78

  Meeting of the Minds

  When Lintumen informed Captain Glass about the presence of the White Fleet, the captain called an emergency meeting, inviting only a select few. Those chosen gathered in the captain's cabin, but the rumor spread quickly, and the whole of the crew arrived on deck. So instead, the meeting moved to the galley.

  Captain Glass stood on a table to address his men. "Sailors of the Skyraker, a matter of some importance has come to my attention. As such, we will be discussing the future course of our ship and exactly how we are to deal with the challenges that we will be facing as a result."

  The crew murmured back and forth. The lack of details in the statement aggravated them. "What happened to Hero?" a man in the back called out.

  "There is a prevailing condition in the city of Hero right now that prevents our entry."

  "Out with it! What's in Hero?" a different man shouted.

  Captain Glass looked about nervously. "The White Fleet has formed a blockade." A stampede of voices burst forth, and Glass was forced to speak over them. "I know this looks bad but we have been through worse scrapes before."

  "Like what?" and "since when?" were the two most common sentiments.

  Captain Glass wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. "We simply need to find another course. There are other ports where we can repair."

  "Where?" Spit snarled at him from the front of the crowd. "What other course do we have? Back the way we came, into the waiting cannons of the Phoenix? How about across the range, cutting against the wind the entire way, until we're circled in by the rest of his fleet? Or maybe we'll fly through the endless squalls that cap the mountains this time of year? The White Fleet is as much of a death sentence as any of them!"

  Many voices spoke out in agreement, and Captain Glass stuttered and balked, forming and ceasing countless sentences in the span of a few seconds. The longer it took him to speak, the more riled the crew became.

  The twins attempted to usher Minerva from the room. "You should – get out of here," they whispered, but she resisted. "There's mutiny on the rise. You need to leave." Their words meant nothing. Something told her that she couldn't leave. An unspoken will that bubbled in the back of her thoughts.

  Minerva found herself standing on the table beside Captain Glass before she even realized that she put herself there. As she stood before the crowd, an anxious feeling tingled in her scalp, as if her hair was being brushed. She had grown accustomed to doubting the voice in her mind, but this time it said nothing in objection. If the crew mutinied, it would be useless to hide, and things were escalating fast.

  "Death by lightning!" she shouted.

  Over one hundred angry men shifted quietly where they stood, transfixing their attention upon her.

  "Why should we follow a witch?" Spit growled, while he worked up a good gob in his throat.

  "Because I'm the pirate with the biggest mark in this room," she shot back. "Because I'm the one whose hair is growing in the walls. Because I can summon my shadow to kill for me! Because I'm a witch! Because I said so! Because if you don't, then death has already found you."

  Minerva eased forward on the table as she spoke, emphasizing each statement with a rising crescendo of power. Somewhere down the hall, a porthole blew open and a frigid wind careened through the galley; it tossed her clothes recklessly and snuffed several lamps as it passed.

  Outnumbered more than one hundred to one, Minerva leaned into the hatred directed upon her, and in response to her advances, the crew stepped back.

  "There is no winning choice," she urged. "We are gambling
with our lives. So, do we bet on one of three certain losses, or do we choose the one option, that no matter the odds, might win it all? I have seen Hero with my own eyes. An entire city seated atop a thunderstorm. There is no reason that our ship cannot do the same. All you need to do is stand behind your captain, as you have so many times before. Together we can weather any storm. We are brave. We are strong. We are the unclaimed!"

  Chapter 79

  A Nameless Gift

  "I can't believe – they didn't mutiny!"

  Luff hauled Minerva in close and hugged her hard, rubbing his knuckles on her head at the same time.

  "Ow, stop it!" she protested, shoving him off and straightening her bun.

  "Ye really had us riled, girl! I felt the fury of the heavens in yer voice! Do ye honestly think we can do it?" Big Jim asked.

  Minerva held her head up high and smiled with confidence. "Of course. I can fly a whole ship by myself. A thunderstorm is nothing."

  "How do we do it?"

  "We do what Hero does. We catch the lightning."

  The gathering of men questioned if such a thing was even possible for their ship.

  "Tell me about the White Fleet," Minerva said, changing the topic.

  "What's to tell?" Gunner asked rhetorically. "They hang pirates without a trial."

  "Okay, but how would they even know that we're pirates?"

  Gunner pointed at the scar that marked his exposed chest, inducing a mild wave of panic in Minerva. The mark of a pirate wasn't just an oath, it was an admission of guilt to the judges of the White Fleet.

  "What are they doing in Hero?" she asked.

  "They serve the queen of Linora, and Hero is controlled by the Linoran Empire, even though it's in our sky. There aren't any restrictions on entry, but their laws still apply. If you're marked, you hang. Normally they don't search the crews, but sometimes they set up blockades."

  "Why?"

  "To assert their dominance," Jim said, revealing his spite. "And because they can."

  "Why were we going there, if it's that dangerous?"

  "It's like ye said. How would they know we're pirates? Well, some sailors, and some ships, are too famous. Captain Black and the Phoenix, they'd know 'im on sight. He can't get in, but we could."

  Minerva nodded at the men and smiled, feeling camaraderie in their company. Despite the many differences among them, they shared the same plight.

  The next twenty-four hours afforded little sleep and no rest for the crew of the Skyraker. Every hand worked fastidiously to ready the ship for what was certain to be their most perilous journey. The plan Minerva put forth was to use the flagpole as a lightning rod, and by stringing long lines of silk rope between the rod and the sails, they could fish for a lightning strike. To combat the winds and the rain in the squall, every sail on every mast was rigged with a hammer sail, and numerous kites lay waiting on the deck, tethered to the rails.

  Minerva carefully estimated the number of lightning strikes required to launch the Skyraker up through the top of the storm. She considered the factors of size and weight, comparing them against the size and weight of a city like Hero. Then she mentally appraised the spiders of the Loftwood and the force of their sparks propelling the ship upward. Although the extensive notable factors affected her estimate, in the end, she arrived at a decisive conclusion.

  One.

  In fact, by her estimate, they'd be lucky if it didn't just tear the masts off and snap the lines that held down the hammers. The crew tripled the yardage on every sail, as a precaution.

  As the day wore on, the air grew cold and the sky darkened. Luff and Leech said that it was always the same this time of year. Few ships ever challenged the squall-riddled passes of the mountains.

  "How long until we get there?" Minerva asked Nezzen, sitting on a boom outside his nest. It was almost nightfall, yet even in the waning twilight, she could see the rolling storms in the distance.

  "About twelve hours. Sometime around noon tomorrow, at the latest. I wouldn't sleep too soundly, though. Those storms move fast."

  Minerva shivered in the chill, so she joined Nezzen in his home, soaking up the warmth of his tiny stove. "You're going to climb down before we enter the storm, right?"

  "Of course."

  "Good. Do you need any help?"

  "No, I'll be fine."

  Minerva smiled at her friend. "I've been wondering, why do they call you Nezzen?"

  "Way back, it was just Nesting. Pirate tongues are lazy, though, and soon it was Nestin', then Nessen, then just Nezzen."

  Nezzen patted the floor in front of him and held out his hand. Minerva gave him the brush and sat down, taking in the beauty of the wealth all around. "Are you really going to just give this all away?"

  Scritch went the brush as it filtered through Minerva's hair.

  "I think so. I want to give it to someone special, though. Someone who will respect it."

  "I told you, I'm not taking it."

  "Fine, fine. I tried. There is one thing, however, that I will not allow you to refuse?"

  "Oh?"

  One last scritch went through before Nezzen put the brush down. Then he grasped Minerva's hair in his fingers and twisted it in circles, forming an extremely tight bun. The result clung to Minerva's crown, strong and neat, far more effectively than any technique she knew.

  "How did you know how to do that?" she asked.

  "I have a daughter," he said.

  "That's why you always want to brush my hair, isn't it?"

  Nezzen stayed his hand, mid stroke. "It is. Every night before bed, I brushed her hair. I hope that I haven't upset you, to use you in her place."

  "Not at all, I don't mind. I enjoy it. Where is she?"

  "In the empire, with her mother. Long ago, I provided them with funds from my exploits. As the empire tightened their borders, and I could no longer freely travel to see them, I lost the ability to transfer my wealth. And so, I hoarded what I could, always intending to send my spoils their way."

  "Why haven't you?"

  "At this point, I don't even know where they live. I haven't seen them in over twenty years. My daughter will be old enough to have given birth to grandchildren by now."

  A melancholic state overcame Minerva, and she desired to know a great deal more about the man that had become her friend. "Nezzen, what's your real name?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "I want to know your story, and I hate nicknames. Mine is the worst."

  Minerva let him take his time in deciding if he wanted to share or not.

  "Ezra."

  "That's a nice name," she commented.

  Nezzen cleared his throat, indicating an end to a conversation that she didn't expect to encounter.

  Chapter 80

  Storm Chaser

  Squints burst into the cabin of Captain Black, interrupting the huge man as he read charts at the table.

  "What is it, Squints?"

  "Th' Skyraker, sir. They headin' into th' squalls!"

  Captain Black thundered out onto the expansive deck of the Phoenix, spyglass in hand. At the fore of the ship, he yanked the lens out to scan the horizon. Cool winds blowing down off the mountain slowed their pace dramatically, so the Skyraker lingered within sight. When his eyes focused on the tiny blue hull of his quarry, he ground his teeth and cussed.

  "That daft fool is gonna fly right into it."

  Squints grinned his wicked, face-distorting grin. "Pro'lem solv'd then, aye cap'n?"

  "No Squints, it's not!"

  The small man recoiled in fear at the impressive boom in the captain's tone.

  "Take us around the rock and into Fly Stone Pass. We'll cut them off before they enter Rahama."

  "We could lose the ship in that pass, sir."

  "Do it anyway!"

  Squints swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "What if they fly 'nother way, sir?"

  "They won't. Captain Glass is a coward. He's running out of luck, and he knows it. If they survive that st
orm, he's going to take the safest route to the closest port that he can find."

  Chapter 81

  Victory Smile

  "Okay, Mr. Barrister, where do I start?"

  Minerva looked down at the coils of rope laid out before her. There was probably enough in the room to go from the top of the mainmast to the deck and back about twenty times. Twice what she figured the ship needed. A stack of her own clothing lay behind her, as Lintumen hinted that she would probably need it. Her goal was to transform the hemp rope into silk rope, a feat necessary for her plan to work.

  "I usually start by closing my eyes," Lintumen said. "If seeing is believing, then allow the belief to begin in the eye of your mind."

  Minerva closed her eyes and knelt on the floor in front of a hefty spool of rope. "Now what?"

  "This is where the difficulty begins, and there are a few important considerations. First, repetition builds expectation. Such as when you stretched the rope in front of the crew. It worked because you expected it to not pull tight, and everyone else expected it to stay with the captain. The only option left was for the rope to stretch. In that regard, think of an act that will build expectation in your mind."

  Minerva furrowed her brow in confusion. "I can't think of anything," she said.

  "Let's identify your best senses, then. Imagine that you're in your cabin. What's the first thing you remember?"

  "The straw mattress. It's prickly, and the smell reminds me of horses."

  "What is the first thing you think of when I mention the galley?"

  "Onions. Everything smells like onions, and the floorboards always feel warm from so many feet."

  "The common deck?"