Absolute Heart

by Michael Vance Gurley

  Gavin’s father pulled a lever down that caused cogs to immediately spin into action and twist their way up and down the contraption connected to the circle. In a tick the blue intensified, and the creature arched its back. It gnashed its teeth in pain. When it writhed in midair, its long hair fell back away to reveal, pointed ears and a gray, demonic face.

  They had captured a faerie. Faeries were in England again, and his father had somehow captured one. How on earth was that possible without magick? Magick had been outlawed on pain of death for hundreds of years. Yet before him there was a real live faerie. The faerie caught a glimpse of Gavin in the shadows and shifted its eyes directly toward him.

  This led the Council to turn and look in his direction, or more accurately, to the place he had been a moment before. Gavin had crawled halfway around the room to the side of a table. He settled in close to listen intently.

  “Enough, enough. I will show you, show you what prophecy you want to see. Yes, the prophets see,” the faerie said. “There is a war coming, one that will consume both lands. The Brotherhood’s circle and your inner circle of a Council of brotherless men. Ha-ha. Yes, there will be a war. Great death is coming.

  “Your faces do not look as if you want to see what I am showing you, but pay heed before you release me. There is one among you who will be your undoing. He will bring down your slippery moving towers, your spinning, coggy wheels and make a Council no more. It is his fate to change everything. Look for yourself.”

  The faerie struggled to make a gesture with its hand but was still able to project a small area of light within the blue bubble. The creature took a deep breath, closed its eyes, and the blue spread out until it enveloped them all, including Gavin.

  THE BRITISH Army was fighting in the sky against airships from Éire. A multitude of warlocks thrust spells at the ironclad British airships. A mad cackling filled the smoke-laden air. The blue glow of the battle snuffed out black, and the world was thrown into darkness.

  The blackness lifted like a giant theater curtain, revealing red flames from burning cities. The faeries were destroying them, throwing fireballs at people who ran in flames until they were overwhelmed and fell dead. Buildings crumbled to the ground, their black scorched walls damaged beyond repair. All went black again.

  In a flash of light, a boy and a girl in an airship headed directly to the ground, with no way to pull out. Then an orange glow began to exude over the sides of the ship to lift it up. The boy on the deck, dressed in pilot clothes and wearing brass goggles, tightly clenched the steering column, trying to pull out of the deadly decline. His hands glowed a deep orange hue, expelling powerful magick to save them.

  Gavin’s hands.

  The ship blurred away until Gavin was standing in a field fouled by dead soldiers, British soldiers, burning, the sky red. The Gavin in the vision hoisted some kind of stone, which glowed bright, burning as if aflame.

  GAVIN’S HEART pounded and threatened to crawl completely from his throat and land on the floor for them all to see when the vision ended. What had he seen? He had no magick. He was just a regular boy in love with the sky. Magick was forbidden. It was not possible.

  The faerie had shown the Council pictures of him, a councilman’s son, using magick to save himself and Landa from crashing. His immediate thought was it had to be a lie. Had it been? The angle of Landa’s airship crash from that morning had matched the one shown in the vision, and there was no possible way he had saved them by simply pulling out of it. It had been too late and he’d thought they were going to die. Had he really used magick? He had magick? He had magick. Wait, did the Council members see? He was a dead boy, son or no son.

  Gavin looked to his father to see him cover his mouth in shock. In true Jacobson fashion, he quickly steeled himself. “You lie!” he shouted as he flicked the lever down all the way, which sent the cogs and gears into spinning madness to deliver a blinding display of lightning.

  Gavin used the distraction to slip from the room. He sat, his back to the door, panting and holding back tears.

  What was he to do? If they believed the faerie, he would be hunted down as a user of magick and killed in the streets. And why wouldn’t they believe it? They saw it with their own eyes, same as he. It did not matter that his father led the Council. His father would be the one to lead the charge to have Gavin executed. The last person found capable of using it had been tracked across the countryside into the city and butchered in Trafalgar Square in front of hundreds.

  The tears would be held back no longer. They ran down his face to collect in pools in the individual brass eye sockets of his goggles, which had slipped down around his neck during the commotion. He needed to think of what to do, where to go. He could go to Landa’s home. She would help him without question. But should he? She would be hunted down for aiding and abetting a magick user, both of which were crimes against humanity.

  He got up and hurried from the room, careful not to slam any doors on the way out. He leapt up the stairs and bolted out into the commons. He pushed his exhausted body out into the streets to run, not sure where he would go.

  “Oh God,” he cried. “Landa.” He knew he could never see her again. His only true friend. The only person he loved besides his long-departed mother.

  Gavin forced himself on, knowing that, prophecy or no prophecy, he had to flee England or be executed.

  A Journey of a Different Sort

  ORION WAITED, hunkered down in a corner of the castle keep, for the guards to change like Rory said they would. He planned to slip out during the change, then head to the quay and board the specified airship Rory claimed would be waiting. On the other hand, his stepfather had claimed many things, like not murdering Orion’s mother. So what did his word mean anyway? But what choice did he have?

  The airship captain, a nonmagickal Spaniard named Gerardo, had always been a loyal pirate for the Brotherhood, if such a thing existed. If he discovered Orion, he would probably welcome him aboard and give him rooms. His men on the other hand, might not be so welcoming to an Irish prince. So, alas, he resigned himself to hide as a stowaway not to raise suspicions amongst any spies that might be aboard or on the docks. He didn’t want Blaylock knowing his every move anyway. Once at the midway point in the journey, past the magickal barrier, he would take the escape craft to England.

  He checked his supplies once more. He had stored plenty of herbs and charms. He had his dagger. He had his necklace. He wished he could have spent more time packing. Riley surely could have helped plan the provisions better if he could have worried him with the information he would be leaving on a long trip.

  Orion had pondered taking him along, since he was his servant ever since Riley failed his first magick test. The trip would be perilous and Orion wasn’t sure he would survive. He surely could not guarantee his servant’s, no, his friend’s, safety. He didn’t really have any of those. Friends. Most found him too arrogant, but Riley had always been there to listen to him, to sit with him. He wished they were friends. He needed to spend more time listening to Riley if he lived.

  The guards had started to change and, as predicted, talked to each other about the goings on at home, at the local pub, or, much to Orion’s chagrin, about him. They busied themselves with comments about his battle and his insubordinate nature toward the Brotherhood. One even said he thought Orion in need of a good lashing. He knew if he expended too much magick, someone might detect it, but he could not help doing something to them.

  He slipped by the guards, paused at the other end of the gates, turned, and gestured to the guard’s feet. Instantly one of them tripped and slammed headlong into the other guards, which caused them all to fall. They were so busy scuffling and throwing halfhearted punches and kicks at one another that they not only missed Orion walking by them to the street that connected the castle to the city, but they missed him quietly laughing at them.

  A quick jog later, his leather brógs nearly silent against the cobblestones, and he was satisfied the
sentries would not follow. He hurried along the dark streets to get to the airship before it left. His dark green cloak provided some level of invisibility while he walked in the shadows of torches and lights from windows, sliding in and out of vision.

  IN A castle window, high above the village facing the docks, Blaylock tracked Orion running down the street. He observed the lithe figure’s cloak flowing in the wind. The magick Orion held frightened Blaylock. What he had done on the testing grounds was nothing short of… the Mage himself. He studied Orion with great intensity.

  “All the pieces are in motion. The last son of Oberon soon will be on his way to England to do my bidding.” He shook his head. “It’s almost sad. Little does he know what will happen when he is successful and returns with the stone.”

  “Yes, sir. The boy will get aboard. It will be up to him to fulfill the rest,” Declan said. “At least across the Irish Sea, his blasphemy cannot harass you.”

  “Do not be fooled. He poses a threat, even far away in new lands.”

  “What troubles you, my lord?” Declan inquired.

  “The rest of the vision. This other boy.”

  “He will be sent running from London, just as you have planned,” Declan reassured him.

  “If the faerie you sent shows them the correct sights as planned, then yes. The prophecy showed this son of the councilman being driven away, directly toward Orion, to aid him,” Blaylock said. He ran his hand over his bald head, settling on his chin where he scratched thoughtfully.

  “It will work just as you have foreseen,” Declan added.

  “You were correct that there are many prophecies, and not all of them come to pass,” Blaylock said.

  “Yes, but…,” Declan stammered, his face pinched. “But you have planned this well.”

  “This councilman’s son is cloudy in all my scrying. There is something dangerous about him, something hidden about him I have not been able to see.”

  “The boy will help Orion get to the stone. Once he is in disgrace with his people and running for his life, he will be prone to Orion’s… manipulations. We will be able to handle anything that goes wrong,” Declan said.

  “Orion has seen fit to distance himself from any of the young warlocks, choosing to fight among them rather than to lead them. Why do you feel that he can earn this boy’s trust?”

  “He has the knack, sir. He frustrates his teachers, his masters, and all the other boys, but when he steps into a fight, they know,” Declan informed him, almost teetering on veneration. “They know that he has a plan and can win a fight, so they follow. If he put half the time he spends fighting into trying to build allegiances, he would be an actual threat—”

  “To whom?” Blaylock thundered.

  Declan backed away. “I… I only meant that he can get this prophesied boy under control, I swear.”

  “The faerie you ordered into England had better do his task successfully, or I will take it out of your hide.” Blaylock approached Declan and grabbed him around the throat, black swirls emanating from his hand.

  “He will. I swear it,” Declan managed. He glanced out the window where far below Orion would be boarding the ship to begin the mission.

  BEYOND THE prying eyes of the distressed leader of the Brotherhood of the Mage, Orion found himself kneeling on the edge of the quay, spying the airship as it prepared for takeoff. The barrier had kept warships from floating into Éire’s space for many years, but ships could leave or enter with permission. The Spanish ship was one of those free to leave.

  Spain had been conquered early on in the land grab between Britain and Éire. The map of the known world had changed almost monthly over the last two hundred years. England and Éire battled directly but also chose a strategy of expanding into advantageous striking points or into countries with precious metals or supplies that would aid the war effort. Even though the barrier and Britain’s massive airship blockade had prevented direct attack on each other across the sea, they continued to seek allies and outposts. Spain fell swiftly to the warlock airships and fiery destruction of their magickal cannon. Spain supplied many soldiers to the expanding nature of the war and food to the mainland.

  Orion sensed someone behind him only a moment before a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He brought up his hands with catlike quickness, dagger in hand. Riley fell back on his bum, hands in the air, a sharp blade dangling too close to his face. Orion sighed.

  “You nearly gave me a heart attack,” Orion whispered through gritted teeth as he jerked his blade back away from Riley.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Riley said.

  “How did you find me?” But he knew Riley memorized every passageway and hidden hallway in the entire kingdom.

  “Please don’t be mad at me.” Riley truly looked sorry.

  “Quiet down. We don’t want to be noticed by anyone.”

  “I brought you food. I didn’t know how long you’d be leaving for, and I didn’t have much time,” Riley said as he opened his bag and showed it chock-full of wrapped items.

  Orion paused to look affectionately at Riley. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  Riley’s cheeks flushed with the compliment. “Where are we going, my lord?”

  “We are going nowhere. I am leaving on my own.”

  “My place is by your side. I am coming with.” Riley puffed out his chest as if that would make the difference.

  Orion contemplated the idea of having an extra set of hands, a helper, and considered taking Riley with him. Obtaining the weapon would mean committing treachery to get it to the queen. Alas, he didn’t want the worry of having to watch after Riley, of him getting killed amidst all that.

  “No,” he declared with finality.

  Riley looked as if to cry.

  The guards walked away from the docked ship, its long stays attached from the dock to the sides swayed and grew taught and slack as it bobbed in the water. The Spanish galleon airship’s sleek wooden broadsides rose from four narrow levels in the front to a full and tall seven decks in the back, all four masts having sails and lookouts.

  As the guards passed Orion’s hiding spot in the predawn haze, he rolled behind the barrels blocking their view of him and walked briskly to the gangplank. Orion grabbed a scrim bag of what smelled of gunpowder, hoisted it over his shoulder, and carried it across the boards onto the massive ship. He thought that if not for spells keeping the galleon high in the water, it surely would drag and wreck itself across the quay bottom. He looked back to see Riley on the dock, shoulders slumped in defeat. He knew despite not being able to see his face in the darkness, it must be filled with tears.

  He wished he had let Riley come, but he made Orion feel things. And his mission would be dangerous. He didn’t know what he would have to do to accomplish it, but he was sure he had to focus. That meant being alone.

  Dockworkers flung the mooring lines away as deckhands pulled them up and rolled them around the capstans, the giant drums used to pull the ship into port, for safekeeping. Dozens of men climbed the riggings to start unfurling some of the massive foresails and mizzen sails. The staysails were also opened to help swing the ship into the wind. Orion considered why the flight warlock wouldn’t have done all of that for them using his power. He guessed it had something to do with not being bothered to help the Spaniards.

  The flight warlock. Orion had not thought of that before. Magickal ships did not need steam power to rise and lower like those inefficient, dirty British ships. These were enchanted to fly themselves. Well, as long as they had a magician skilled in the art of levitation on board. The same wielder could bring wind to fill sails if needed, but doing both proved taxing if done too long. Other warlocks were needed to arm and fire cannon and other offensive weapons. A single warlock could not do all of these tasks for long and hope to prevail in a battle.

  All of Spain obeyed the Brotherhood’s strict rule, but since the mission was such a secret, an unknowing magick wielder might turn the mighty ship around and
bring him right back. To be safe, he swore to himself he would maintain a low profile for the entirety of the trip.

  The Spanish galleon started to pull its heft from the water by the time it had reached midway into the river. Orion couldn’t wait to see the large squares opened up in the wind high above the countryside. The gleaming wood drained water from both sides. The fore royal and main royal sails were opened. They already drafted gusts of wind, which filled them and pushed them toward the open air of the ocean. In moments they pulled away from Éire and toward an unknown future, a perilous undertaking for a young man and a destiny Orion swore he would do absolutely anything to accomplish.

  Foul Winds Blow

  LANDA HAD the most difficult time keeping up with the long strides of the much taller boy she traveled with. Lucas’s skinny sticks for legs whooshed by one another, which left Landa behind until she was forced to take a couple quick steps to catch up. She had asked and then demanded he slow down for her, but he seemed too eager to wait. Landa knew her suspicions about his true intentions were correct when Lucas’s every turn on the trip had led them, by design, directly to Gavin’s house.

  He had been there before. He knew where Gavin lived, even though, to the best of her recollection, they had never enjoyed his company. She also knew Gavin didn’t really have any friends besides her. She likely could have been the only person able to tolerate his liberal political leanings and desire to do absolutely nothing that the ruling classes were supposed to enjoy. Gavin never mentioned Lucas, which meant….