Air Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  “Are we sure this is a good idea?” Riph Raph complained.

  “How?” Marcus asked.

  Mr. Z waved his hands over his head. “Why must you all speak when you should be listening? This is why I enjoy the presence of my spiral-shelled friends. Snails can go months without uttering a single word. And when they do speak, that single word may be so profound that they need say nothing more for another several months. Why, just last week, my good friend Helix looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Ubiquitous.’ Scintillating, is it not?”

  Kyja didn’t dare say a word. Partly because she was afraid the little man would freeze her again. And partly because she had no idea what either ubiquitous or scintillating meant.

  Marcus nodded half-heartedly. “Definitely, um, scintillating.”

  “Precisely,” Mr. Z scratched his head. “Now then, how was I? Where was I? Who was I?”

  “You were telling us about the air elementals?” Kyja suggested.

  “They prefer to be called Aerisians. They feel it’s more dignified. Which is rather amusing, considering . . .” He waved his hand and giggled. “But that’s really not my place. To answer your earlier questions. Now. Most definitely. And Drymaios.”

  Marcus looked at Kyja. She raised her hands palms up. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m quite sure you do not,” Mr. Z said. “But you will. Until then, yes, it is a good idea. We must leave now, if not sooner. And we shall get there on . . .” He pointed to the snail that Marcus had sat on earlier, which was now busily eating the old shoe Mr. Z had thrown it. “Drymaios.”

  Chapter 16

  At the Speed of Snail

  Marcus couldn’t help bursting into laughter. They were traveling to the air elementals on a snail? This had to be another one of Mr. Z’s bizarre jokes.

  “We’ll need to get you packed,” Mr. Z said. “You’ll want warm clothing—it gets cold where we’re going—food and water for the trip, and perhaps some comfortable slippers and worthwhile reading material. I favor free-verse poetry. But to each his own.”

  Marcus waited for the punch line. “I don’t have any clothes except what I’m wearing. I left them all back on Earth.”

  Mr. Z squinted through his silver glasses, which Marcus was pretty sure didn’t have any lenses. “No time for that anyway.” He stepped into the fireplace, right through the flames, and a second later returned carrying the backpack Marcus had left in Elder Ephraim’s room and a bag for Kyja.

  “How did you do that?” Marcus asked.

  Kyja looked through her bag. “These are all from my room upstairs.”

  “Make haste,” Mr. Z said, ignoring their questions completely. He hurried into the hall, stepping around the guard, who was still frozen in mid-warning. “Come, come.”

  “Is he serious?” Marcus asked Kyja.

  “Seems to be,” she said.

  It made absolutely no sense. The snail, which was not much taller than a large dog, hadn’t moved more than twelve inches at most since they came into the room. Even if the three of them could all somehow fit on the shell, it would take a week just to get out of the tower.

  “Not to be rude, but wouldn’t we get there quicker if we rode something a little . . . faster?” Marcus asked as he and Kyja followed Mr. Z out the study door.

  “Faster? ” Mr. Z took off his glasses and polished the space where lenses would normally be. “My boy, apparently you didn’t recognize that Drymaios here is a racing snail. Faster even than a jousting snail. If you’ve never ridden one, you are in for a treat. The thrill of pure speed, the wind blasting in your face, adrenaline pulsing through your veins as the countryside blurs past. Truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

  “O-kay,” Marcus said, still extremely doubtful.

  “Maybe it really is fast,” Kyja whispered. “It managed to stay ahead of us when we were following its trail.”

  “Or maybe the doorstop in a hat is nutty in the noggin,” Riph Raph said. “I’m not riding any slimy snail.”

  “That might be for the best,” Mr. Z said. “I wouldn’t mind leaving you behind. You seem to be rather a nuisance.”

  Riph Raph hissed.

  “All right then, gather ’round,” Mr. Z said once they were all in the corridor. “There are a few rules to remember when riding a beast this powerful and fleet. First, no spitting, dribbling, or drooling. Nothing worse than getting a face full of high-speed saliva from your traveling companion. Second, keep your arms, feet, and hands upon your mount at all times. I once saw an unfortunate woman allow her foot to touch the ground while traveling at a speed which took one’s breath away.”

  “What happened?” Kyja asked, clasping her hands to her chest.

  “We had to go back for her shoe, of course,” Mr. Z grumbled. “Took me completely out of my way.” He took off his top hat, somehow managed to completely flatten it, and tucked it inside his long coat. “Shall we go?”

  Kyja glanced toward the study, and whispered to Marcus. “Are we sure leaving without telling anyone is a good idea? Maybe we should talk to Master Therapass first.”

  Marcus knew exactly how she felt. Mr. Z had always been more than a little strange. Could they even be sure he was taking them to the air elementals? He turned to the little man. “How do we know we can trust you?”

  “Funny you should ask,” Mr. Z said with a laugh. “Now then, let’s ride.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Kyja said.

  Mr. Z nodded sagely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was an answer you were looking for. How about one of these? Red, forty-two, and the underside of a dribble fish’s dorsal fin.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. Talking to Mr. Z was like trying to have a discussion with a three-year-old, except that occasionally a three-year-old made sense.

  “Ready to mount up?” Mr. Z asked, rolling the sleeves of his coat to his elbows.

  Kyja sighed. “Fine.”

  Marcus looked toward the snail, who was still nibbling on the shoe back in the study. “Shouldn’t he be out here?”

  “She,” Mr. Z hissed. “Never, under any circumstances, allow a racing snail to hear you call her by the wrong gender.” He folded his arms across his chest and shuddered. “They do not take it well.”

  “Sorry.” Marcus thought of asking how you could tell a female snail from a male one, and decided he didn’t really want to know. “So is she coming?” After everything Mr. Z had said, he found that he was actually kind of excited to see the snail move at more than a snail’s pace.

  “Stand back,” Mr. Z said. “You don’t want to step into the path of a racing snail. Not if you value your toes.” He put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. “Drymaios. To me!”

  Marcus and Kyja watched intently. But the snail kept eating the shoe.

  “Impressive,” Riph Raph said flatly. “I’ve got goose bumps.”

  Mr. Z brushed at the front of his vest and whispered, “They can be a bit temperamental.” He whistled again. “Come, Drymaios! We have places to go.”

  This time the snail at least looked up. Then she pulled her head back inside her shell.

  Kyja put her hand over her mouth, trying not to giggle. “I think she went to sleep.”

  “Poor beast is exhausted from all her travels,” Mr. Z said. Marcus thought it was a lot more likely the snail was just full of shoe. “Would you mind lending me a hand?” Mr. Z asked Kyja, taking her by the arm.

  “With what?” Kyja asked.

  Mr. Z led her to the snail and leaned down to grab one side of the shell. “When I say three, lift.”

  They were going to carry the great racing snail out of the room? Marcus snorted.

  “One, two, three.” Mr. Z heaved up his side of the snail.

  Kyja lifted hers, her arms straining. “Who knew snails were so heavy?” she said, as the two of them shuffled around the guard and toward the door.

  “It’s the foot muscle,” Mr. Z grunted. “All that running builds it up.”

/>   “I think the only muscle is in his head,” Riph Raph said, and for once, Marcus agreed with the skyte.

  “There,” Mr. Z, said, once they were outside the study. Carefully, he and Kyja lowered the snail to the floor. He turned and closed the door. “No need to mess the place up with the speed of a fast takeoff.”

  Marcus looked at the snail, which still had her head hidden inside her shell. “So we’re going to ride her down the stairs?”

  “You would prefer to go out the window?” Mr. Z patted the shell. “You first, young man. Mind you don’t scratch her shell with your staff.”

  “There’s no saddle or anything,” Kyja said.

  “Saddle?” Mr. Z roared with laughter. “Oh, you are a gem. Why, if you tried to put a saddle on a racing snail, it would buck you off so quickly, your head would spin.”

  Marcus tried to imagine a bucking snail but couldn’t do it. “How do you steer?”

  “Do you think this is a wagon? Or a beast of burden?” the little man said, sounding offended. “Snails are some of the most intelligent of all animals. You don’t steer them. You ask them politely to take you where you want to go. Steer. Hah!”

  Feeling extremely uncomfortable with the idea, Marcus pulled on his pack, tucked his staff under one arm, and slid onto the shell.

  Kyja clamped her hands together in front of her chest. “What will Master Therapass say when he sees we’re gone?”

  “I would imagine something like, ‘Where did they go?’” Mr. Z giggled.

  “That’s not funny,” Marcus said. “Can’t you be serious for one minute?”

  The little man pressed his fingers to his temples as though his head ached. “If you do as I say and stop dillydallying, the wolf in wizard’s clothing will never know you’ve left.” He turned to Kyja and motioned her toward the snail. “Now you.”

  Kyja climbed onto the back of the snail—wrapping her arms around Marcus. “Don’t let us fall off,” she whispered.

  “How?” he asked. “There’s nothing to hang on to.”

  “This is nearly as bad as the time you almost killed us in that motor-thingy,” Riph Raph said. He hopped onto the shell behind Kyja, and clamped his beak onto the back of her robe.

  “Where are you going to sit?” Marcus asked. There was no more room on the shell.

  “I prefer an inside seat,” Mr. Z said. “The wind makes a mess of my hair, and I have to brush and comb it all day to get the tangles out.”

  “What inside seat?” Kyja asked.

  Mr. Z got down on his hands and knees, crawled around to the front of the shell and said, “Move over now. Don’t hog the entire shell to yourself, Drymaios.” Then he disappeared inside.

  Kyja leaned over, trying to get a better view. “I didn’t think you could climb inside a snail.”

  “I didn’t think you could ride one,” Marcus said.

  “Right then-en-en,” Mr. Z called, his voice muted and echoing. “Everyone hang on tight-ight-ight.”

  Marcus tried to find something to hold on to with his good hand. But the best he could do was place it flat on the shell. If this snail actually went fast, he, Kyja, and Riph Raph would fall right off.

  “I’m a little scared,” Kyja whispered.

  “Me too,” Marcus whispered back. What if they fell? What if that was how he killed Kyja? “Maybe we should rethink this,” he said.

  But it was too late. “Ready or not, here we go-go-go!” Mr. Z called from inside the snail.

  Kyja’s arms tightened around Marcus’s chest, and he could feel his heart pounding against her hands. He clamped his legs as tightly around the shell as he could and held his breath.

  Nothing happened.

  “Is she still asleep?” Kyja asked.

  “I told you he was a whack job,” Riph Raph said.

  Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. Keep holding on just in case.”

  Seconds passed, but still nothing happened. The snail didn’t move at all. Marcus’s arms and legs began to cramp. Right when he was about to suggest they get off, Mr. Z came tumbling out of the snail shell, his face flushed.

  “What happened?” Kyja said. “Why didn’t it go?”

  “What do you mean?” Mr. Z asked, wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “We’re there.”

  Chapter 17

  Icehold

  Kyja slid off the back of the snail. “We didn’t go anywhere.”

  “Really?” Mr. Z looked around. He pulled off his glasses and replaced them with another pair he took from his pocket. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course we’re sure.” Marcus climbed off the snail and slammed the end of his staff on the floor. “What was the point of all that?”

  Mr. Z put a finger on the end of his nose and turned slowly around. “No. No, I’m quite positive we’re here.”

  “Get this off me,” Riph Raph squawked, tugging at a bright red knit cap with a pom-pom on the top that was tied under his chin.

  Kyja suddenly realized that she and Marcus were wearing heavy coats. “Where did these come from?”

  Mr. Z pointed to the door to Master Therapass’s study. “What’s through there?”

  Kyja threw her hands into the air. This was ridiculous. “That’s the door we just came out of.” She turned the knob, pushed, and . . . dropped through the opening, landing on her knees in a bank of snow.

  All at once, she was grateful for her coat. She was freezing, the air so bitterly cold it was hard to breathe. Snowflakes blew against her face, stinging her cheeks. A moment later, Marcus landed in the snow beside her. Then Riph Raph came flapping, flopping, and squawking.

  Kyja looked around. They were in a snow bank that was piled at least twelve feet high above an icy street she’d never seen before. She raised her head in time to see Mr. Z leap through a rectangular doorway that floated in the middle of the air, three or four feet above her head. Through the opening she could just make out the hall where they’d been. Then the door slammed closed, and the opening disappeared.

  Kyja got shakily to her feet. She handed Marcus his staff and helped him up. It was evening, and people were moving up and down the snow-crusted street—some walking, several on horses, and others in carts or wagons. A few wagons were pulled by horses as well, but most were propelled by invisible flows of air magic.

  The people were dressed in furs or heavy, boiled leather. Many of them wore armor and carried weapons. They had broader shoulders than she was used to, and fatter faces, with wide noses and thick jaws. Everyone appeared to be in a hurry, as though anxious to get out of the cold. Kyja couldn’t blame them; her cheeks were already beginning to ache, and her nose felt like an icicle.

  Some of the people glanced in Marcus and Kyja’s direction, but only in the way they might notice a stranger, not in the way they would gawk at a boy and girl who had just fallen out of the sky.

  “Where are we?” Marcus asked, brushing snow off his pants.

  “I have no idea,” Kyja said. She cupped her hand to her face, trying to warm her nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere this cold before, except maybe the Windlash Mountains.”

  “We are in Valdemeer,” Mr. Z said. “In the city of Icehold.”

  Riph Raph squawked. “Are you crazy?”

  Kyja shook her head. “That’s not possible. Valdemeer is two months’ travel at least. And that’s on a fast horse. It’s in the far northern borderlands.”

  “Valdemeer,” Marcus said. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  Mr. Z tapped his fingers against his lips.

  “You said you were taking us to Air Keep,” Kyja said.

  Mr. Z nodded. “That I am, most definitely. But after a long day’s journey, even the most intrepid traveler needs food and rest.”

  Kyja opened her mouth to say she wasn’t hungry, and that they hadn’t traveled at all, before realizing that it had been the middle of the night when she pulled Marcus to Farworld. Now the sun was beginning to set. And she was tired. It was all she could do to
keep her eyes open. Obviously they had gone somewhere, even if she couldn’t remember doing it.

  Marcus’s stomach rumbled, and he stifled a yawn.

  “The Seven-Fingered Lady down the street serves the most scrumptious roast Lentus Beast with a fungus sauce to make the tongue sing. I’ve arranged rooms for the night,” Mr. Z said, scampering down the snowbank as if it were a staircase.

  Marcus and Kyja tried to follow but ended up slipping and falling most of the way down. As they stomped their feet and tried to clear the snow and ice from their faces, Mr. Z pulled his top hat over his ears. “Dinner isn’t for another hour or so. Why don’t the two of you toddle about until then?”

  “Are you joking?” Riph Raph said, hopping from one foot to the other. “It’s freezing out here. I think my tongue is stuck to my beak.”

  It was cold; if it hadn’t been for their heavy coats, they’d probably have frostbite. And once the sun set all the way, it would get even colder.

  “You might want to think about heading that way,” the little man said, pointing toward a side street. “It could be . . . informative. And wear your scarves and hats. It’s nippy out here if you hadn’t noticed.” With that, he turned and headed off in the other direction.

  “Scarves?” Kyja reached into her coat pocket and found a long woolen scarf and a knit hat—both the same blinding red as Riph Raph’s hat.

  “I think he’s trying to make us look like strawberries,” Marcus said. But he still put on the hat, scarf, and a pair of bright red mittens he found in the other coat pocket.

  Kyja did the same as they started down the street Mr. Z had suggested. They passed a shop that sold singing candies, a row of stands selling self-pounding nails, horseshoes that made your horse run faster, and a variety of other magical items, and not surprisingly a large number of places selling coats, hats, and various warming devices.

  “Do you think we really traveled?” Kyja asked, her breath steaming in front of her eyes. “I mean all day?”

  “It feels like we’ve been doing something. My back and legs are screaming. And if I don’t eat something soon, I’m going to gnaw my own fingers off.”