Cloudwalkers

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Conn watched Misty’s concerned expression change to empathy, and understood why Adaira was crying, why this evoked such heartfelt emotions in the ill-stricken girl. Misty wasn’t here to do her any harm, or expose her family’s terrible secret. No—she was here to save her, and her entire family, from everlasting shame. Through Misty, Adaira could, in a way, live a full life.

  “Promise me,” Adaira said.

  “Anything,” Misty responded.

  “That you’ll tell me every little thing about your new life out there.” Pulling away from Misty, she gazed at length into her eyes then placed her hand over Misty’s heart. “I want to know this too: your secrets. Also your hopes and heartaches. We are sisters now, in a fashion, and I want to know you.” She glanced over at Conn and smiled. “Be kind to her. To us.”

  Up until that moment Conn had maintained an emotional distance from the girls’ close interaction. But her words pierced his outer shell just as easily as arrows pierced through flesh. His own eyes welled-up with tears that he needed to blink away. “I will. I promise.”

  Adaira walked over to a polished wooden chest and knelt down before it. She ran the palm of her hand over its intricately engraved lid. “This was to be my hope chest—” She glanced up at Maggie. “—for when I got married.” She swallowed hard, then swung the lid open. She rifled around inside the chest for several moments before bringing forth a folded piece of tartan fabric. She held it up for Misty to take.

  Misty, doing so, unfolded the fabric. It was a kilt, with thick lines of green and burgundy on a field of bright red.

  “My Cloudwalker’s kilt,” Adaira said.

  After rifling more through the chest, another kilt was held up for Misty to take, in the same tartan colors. “My dress kilt.” By the time Adaira finished, she’d produced several white blouses and buckled shoes—the kind worn by cicerones—and an ancient-looking, collapsed rackstaff. “That belonged to my great grandfather. On my father’s side,” she said, humor glinting in her eyes.

  Adaira closed the chest and stood, kissing Maggie first, then Misty, on the cheek. Then her gaze focused on Conn, her expression as serious as any he’d ever seen.

  “I ask you a favor, but not for me, or for my mother, who is well past saving at this point.”

  Conn, listening intently, wasn’t completely sure to what she was referring.

  “Continue to do Dob’s work.” Adaira’s eyes turned to the bedroom door that opened out into the hallway, where two bedrooms and six small children lay sound asleep in their beds. “Please help them, Conn.”

  Chapter 49

  Conn waited upon the bank, some thirty yards from the Chrysler Building’s entrance. He’d stepped away from directing his own company’s early morning training exercises, leaving a subordinate temporarily in charge. Already close to an hour had passed, and he needed to get back, but he wanted to be there when Misty exited the building to be sure that she’d checked in okay, and was confirmed to actually be Cloudwalker Adaira Drummond. He wanted to be the first one to congratulate her, but was experiencing second thoughts. More than putting himself at risk, he was putting the realm at risk too, and for what? For a lone Grounder girl he’d known little more than a week? “I should get going, and attend to my responsibilities,” he argued aloud to himself.

  Conn looked out across the open cloudbank, first facing west, then east. Cloudwalker officers were barking out orders and giving directives to subordinates. Multiple companies—beneath flags flying the colors of their respective clans—contained hundreds of sept soldiers, all engaged in the rigors of various kinds of combat training, including archery practice, charging drills, hand-to-hand combat, and a variety of edged-weapons training. Tomorrow, war games would begin, clan versus clan: CloudMaster strategies versus CloudMaster strategies, and all under the watchful eye of the new CloudKing, Lidia O’Cain.

  Conn looked across to the southwest, the direction from whence the Jersey City forces would surely come. There, in the distance, he could see the opposing city’s skyline. It did not look too different from Midtown Manhattan, and it was populated by people not too different from those here. Celtic brethren all, but with one fundamental difference: Jersey City’s populace had turned desperate. The ever-encroaching quickfall put the masses living over there at great risk. Jersey City Skylanders endured now the loss of community life and fellowship, and even worse, the possible loss of Skylander living. Conn focused his attention back on the tall towers of Midtown. Would the Manhattan populace respond any differently if the threat of quickfall were reversed?

  He heard the sound of the Chrysler building’s front entrance doors opening and watched as Misty exited out into the morning sunshine. She’d dressed in Adaira’s Cloudwalker tartan kilt and her white button-down shirt. Hanging from a peccary leather thong at her hip was Adaira’s collapsed rackstaff.

  Misty, swiping strands of her auburn, windblown hair from her eyes, gazed out at the cloudbank’s vista. Spotting Conn, she neither smiled nor waved at him. The doors behind her opened again and a large bear of a man strode forth. Conn recognized him at once: CloudMaster Gunther Drummond, Adaira’s father. He too noticed Conn. He said something to Misty and together they headed his way. Neither one spoke, nor looked particularly pleased.

  Conn met them halfway. “A good morning to you, sir,” Conn said to Gunther, before giving Misty a nod of acknowledgement. They walked together until they stood in the shadow of the building, where they could not be as easily seen.

  Gunther Drummond easily weighed three hundred-and-fifty pounds. But he evoked vitality and strength, everything his ill, secluded family members did not. His beard was well-manicured and his hair worn short. Both were a dark brown shade, though there were invasions of gray splotches sprinkled here and there. His eyes, also a dark brown, bore directly into Conn’s own, making him nervous.

  “Boy,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “I want to convey my condolences. Your father was a good man. A true friend. What the Folais Clan did to him, was, well, best I just leave it at that. A price will be paid, which is all I will say on the matter.” As he glanced down at Misty, his expression turned more solemn. Anger, brewing deep within the man, was as obvious as the broad nose on his face. It occurred to Conn that quite possibly Gunther was here to escort Misty to the Dorcha Poileas headquarters in the Onyx Building. The elaborate plan for Misty to impersonate Adaira was not only insulting to the big CloudMaster, but also illegal. Misty was a trespassing Grounder, after all. Anyone assisting her would be guilty of a number of crimes. The penalty was imprisonment, possibly even death.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Conn. “Our scheme was probably ill-conceived. Put you in an awful position. It was my idea and I take full—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, get over yourself, boy. You misread my dilemma, my disposition. Look, I woke up this morn to find a daughter I almost did not recognize. I had forgotten what my Adaira’s smile looked like, what playfulness she was capable of. For that, I will always be in your debt. Yours, Maggie’s, and Misty here beside me.”

  Conn was tempted to mention Brig’s key assistance as well, but decided it was best to keep quiet on that.

  “It is a good plan. One I am willing to endorse, albeit at great risk.” Gunther

  glanced over at Misty, rubbing his beard with thick fingers. “But there is a problem. Too many within my clan will know this young lass is not my Adaira. Such close proximity to the other Drummond Cloudwalkers would not be prudent.”

  “But, sir, if she is to take on the role of Cloudwalker, she needs training. And she is required to train amongst her own clan. It is law.”

  “I am well aware of Skylander law,” Gunther responded, sending Conn a cold stare. “There is an exception. One that would allow her to change allegiance and do so in a perfectly legal manner.”

  Conn noticed Misty was purposely looking away, anywhere but at him.

  “Marriage,” Gunther said. “As the bride of someone from a different clan enti
rely, she would be bound to change her allegiance to that of her husband.”

  Misty finally looked up at Conn.

  Gunther paused momentarily, as if only now he was figuring out more of the details. “The same rules apply to one who is betrothed. She would immediately take on the colors of her fiancé. Adaira—Misty—would be wearing the Brataich Clan tartan, and training with Brataich Cloudwalkers who would stand no chance of recognizing her.”

  Conn had to force himself not to smile; not to appear overly excited. This was, after all, a business proposition, was it not? He turned to face Misty. Why does she look so sad? Am I that distasteful to her?

  “I have already spoken to young Toag Munna. He already knows young Misty’s true identity, and he is accepting of this plan. A win all the way around, aye?” Gunther asked.

  “Toag?” was all Conn managed to say.

  For the first time Misty spoke. Her voice’s inflection was soft, not that of a Skylander lass, but more like the Grounder girl he met on the streets below the cloudbank. “Yes, sir, that would be best. Toag is available. And he is a fine person . . . a good friend.”

  “But why Toag?” Conn asked.

  “Who else?” asked Misty. “Your brother is CloudMaster, which would draw far too much attention, and while Maggie’s proclivities are not forbidden in your culture, I’m told that marriage between two female Skylanders is still out of the question. And you . . .” Misty paused, averting her eyes from his gaze. “You are betrothed to another, Conn. To Lili Folais. CloudMaster Drummond tells me that Skylander law recognizes a betrothal as a legal commitment. One that remains in effect, even with the current situation, for both you and her, until you both formally agree to call it off.”

  Gunther’s penetrating stare moved from Misty to Conn, then back to Misty again. “Oh for shit’s sake. You didnae tell me this!”

  Conn looked to Gunther. “I’m sorry, sir? Tell you . . . ?”

  “Knock it off! I may be old but I’m not totally daft. It’s clear both of you would never want to be married to anyone but each other.”

  Conn shook his head, his face revealing just how preposterous an idea that was. “Sir, I assure you, that’s . . .” His words trailed off.

  Misty, vehemently shaking her head as well, wore a similarly contorted expression. How absurd the CloudMaster’s declaration was. Suddenly, she covered her mouth with her palm. Conn stared at her and could see she was clearly hiding a broad grin. Although she was doing her best to hide the smile, her eyes told a whole different story.

  Gunther laughed, a deep and hearty fat man’s laugh that carried far across the cloudbank. “No one will force you, Misty, to marry Toag. Not if you have your sights set on another fellow. But for now, it makes good sense.” He shook his head and laughed again. “I must return to my duties, and you must as well, Conn. I’m sure you’ll work it out.” He started to walk away then turned back to face them. “Careful with her,” he warned. “One who does not have the Sight should not be tromping around the cloudbank unescorted.”

  Conn nodded, but his eyes were locked upon Misty’s—and hers upon his. He listened as the big man’s footfalls became distant. She lowered her palm—attempting to look serious again.

  “So, Toag is the lucky man?” he asked.

  She raised her brow, raising her chin just slightly upward, as if in defiance. She said, “I suspect he would make a fine fiancé, and a fine husband, too, for that matter. Do you not agree? He is your best friend. Who knows him better than you?”

  “I know he’d be a far better fiancé—or husband—if he was the one you were actually in love with.”

  “Well, don’t get too fat a head there, Cloudwalker. I can see it in your eyes. I know perfectly well you’re in love with me.” Her eyes were bright and alive, her smile mischievous.

  A kettle drum pounding in his chest, Conn at that moment only wanted to rush to her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her. He wanted to tell her that he did in fact love her like he had never loved another. But that would be dangerous, and stupid.

  Then, throwing all caution to the Skylander winds, he strode forth, grabbing her by the waist, and pulled her to him, her face now inches from his own. Her eyes went wide and for a moment she looked hesitant. Then her eyes went to his mouth.

  She whispered, “I’ve never . . .”

  He kissed her and the world around them fell away. The kiss was slow and soft, intoxicating in ways he could never explain in words. His hand came to rest cradling her neck, just behind her ear, as his thumb caressed her cheek. Their breaths mingled. He felt her soft touch on his spine, pulling him even closer yet, until there was no space between them and their two beating hearts beat as one.

  Chapter 50

  When they separated neither one spoke. Misty felt somewhat dizzy and strangely out of breath. And she felt other things too, strange and wonderful sensations within her body.

  “Best we go,” Conn said. “Brataich Clan exercises are held off to the west of the Empire State Building.”

  She continued to stare at Conn, wanting to tell him how immensely happy she was. How right then, at that very moment, she truly felt her life had begun anew. How she loved his thick unkempt hair, and those sky-blue eyes which seemed to look right through her and read her very thoughts. And those lips that kissed her and made her want more. “Should I be using this thing?” she asked, taking ahold of the collapsed rackstaff on her hip. “Would any real Cloudwalker wander around out there with one just hanging idle?”

  “Good point. Go ahead and pull it free from the hook on your belt.”

  Misty, doing as told, clasped the staff by its wood paw.

  Conn casually glanced about them, checking to see if anyone was watching, then said, “You’ve seen it done a number of times by now, I’m sure. You’ll want to give it a double flick of your wrist, while spinning your hand in the process.” He then demonstrated the proper motion she should use with his own hand. “Try it. Don’t worry, you can’t hurt it.”

  Now it was Misty’s turn to look all about her. Mostly, she didn’t want to appear publicly ridiculous. And yes, she had seen many a Cloudwalker casually ratchet their rackstaff into its extended position. She’d envied them, the way Cloudwalkers wielded their rackstaffs with such confidence. It differentiated them from others walking upon the cloudbank. Gave them authority. And something else, too: mastery over the dangerous expanse of whiteness under their feet, which they made seem so deceptively safe. And the sound the rackstaff made. The fine mechanism, with all its intricately-made parts, first sliding and clicking, then—once engaged—a definitive locking sound.

  “Just try it,” Conn urged, prompting her again.

  Misty tried to remember exactly what he’d said to do. Give the staff a downward flick of your wrist, spinning your wrist at the same time. She tried it. The rackstaff immediately responded, and she heard those wonderful, mechanical sounds.

  “Okay, good first try!” he said.

  She thought it was down-right perfect until she noticed the staff had only extended half-way out.

  “That’s called ‘bringing about’ the lockwood. You can see a steel blade has unfurled. You are holding a Cloudwalker’s primary weapon. Don’t worry, we’ll teach you how to use it. But do not touch the blade. Not only is it dangerous—incredibly sharp—the acid on your fingers will tarnish the blade if it’s not well cared for. Also, it’s thought to be bad luck. Now, try it again. Go ahead and retract the lockwood.”

  Misty guessed that would require the opposite motion of the one she had just made. Doing so, the blade withdrew and the rackstaff returned to its fully retracted position.

  “Excellent! You’re a quick study. Now flick it twice and twist your hand, only faster this time. And with more force, angle it away from you a bit more. Like that, that’s right.”

  She did as he said and watched as the point of the rackstaff sprang outward, then locked into position, becoming six feet in length. Misty screamed in delight then quic
kly covered her mouth. They both laughed, and she immediately wanted to try it again—almost as much as she wanted him to kiss her again.

  “Come, walk with me. Stab the bank every few strides. Use it to test how firm the bank is, and try to look confident. Act like you see the proper course set out before you.”

  Nodding, Misty fell into an aligned stride with Conn. Again, she did as he said but quickly fell into a mild depression of sorts. How she wished she too could see what he saw; she wished she could differentiate between the subtle hue variations of the cloudbank.

  They walked in silence for a long time. Every so often she felt his shoulder pressing against hers, his mere touch electric. She figured a full mile had passed before he slowed and raised the point of his rackstaff. “My company is this way. I must get back to them. See over there?” He redirected his staff’s point to the far left. “That’s Maggie’s company. See, they’re doing charging drills. And there’s Maggie, standing up on that crate barking out orders.”

  “I see her!” Misty smiled at the sight of her friend taking charge.

  “Head on over there and get her attention. The path should be safe and clear, don’t worry. When you get there, take her aside and explain everything CloudMaster Drummond said to you. Ask her if you can join her company.”

  Misty nodded, but couldn’t keep a wounded expression from showing on her face. “You don’t want me in your company?”

  “You know I do. But it wouldn’t be smart. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. I’d worry too much about you, and be a terrible instructor to the others.”

  “And Toag,” said Misty slowly. “Would he not be a good instructor?”

  Conn tilted his head sideways, giving her an impatient look. He was jealous, and the knowledge sent a thrill through Misty. “Can’t you just head on over to Maggie’s company? For me?”