Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One)

by Jonathon Burgess

  He was hauled out from the cage, along with Natasha. Fengel thought about fighting...but, no. His wife, however, didn't realize the futility yet. She bit, fought, screamed.

  The two of them were pulled up the stairs and out of the temple entrance. Outside, the sun was bright, heading on into mid-afternoon. The plaza was filled with the Draykin inhabitants of the city. Almost all of them were pointing and watching the conflict above them in the sky.

  The Dawnhawk hung nearby. Scryn swarmed over it, hellish red light illuminating the skyship. The irregular reports he'd heard were indeed gunshots. Fengel saw the defenders fighting off the flying vermin, and it seemed that they might be winning. Dead scryn hung from the gunwales and rigging, their black ichor staining the hull. Dead pirates lay about as well, a telltale hand or arm flopped out over the rails to signify their presence.

  Fengel was hauled off the top tier to a terrace on the side. Natasha was pulled behind him. Their Draykin captors forced them to kneel before two of the strange, squat statues there. Then they were tied up with their backs to the stone and wrists tied tightly together around it. They were left there while the lizard-people returned inside the temple, presumably to finish re-dressing the other crew.

  Fengel watched the city, the airship, the native lizard-men below. "This is your fault," he said to Natasha after a moment.

  "Go suck on a loaded musket," came her reply.

  There was a weariness to her voice. Fengel looked over at his wife. She looked tired.

  The two of them gazed out upon the city and the struggle up above them.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mordecai roared. He lashed out with a two-handed blow, bringing his weight to bear. The blade of his cutlass hit the scryn in mid-dive, cleaving it in two. Momentum carried the corpse, and the pieces slammed into him bodily. Mordecai fought to keep his balance. The deck was slick with scryn ichor. The pieces of his last attacker fell down to add its own bile to the mess, still twitching.

  He glanced up and around. Nothing else threatened him. The air was thinning as well. Against the odds, they were winning out. There were fewer of the attacking vermin around. There were also fewer of his own men and women still standing.

  His arms felt like wood. The attack seemed to go on forever. Discipline amongst the crew dissolved the moment the first screaming sky-beast fell upon them. Then it was pure survival, blade and pistol at hand. Mordecai had tried to rally some of the crew together. Even now, though, he couldn't say if it had been successful. Fighting the scryn was like fighting an ocean— a hissing, screeching ocean that spit poison. Those crew he'd called together fell apart, and soon enough Mordecai was isolated, worried about his own survival.

  Now the struggle thinned. "To me!" he called. "Everyone to me!" He took a swipe at a passing scryn, sent it tumbling to the deck with an outraged scream.

  One by one the crew heard his call and came to him. Those still standing, at least. After a few more minutes of furious combat, the last of the scryn flit overboard to avoid them. Mordecai leaned on his sword, panting. A glance around told him that the crew were similarly exhausted. Some stared numbly at the devastation around them. Others just stood there.

  Time to take control again. Mordecai raised his sword up high and shouted victoriously. Stunned out of their weariness, others took up the cry in ragged twos and threes. Mordecai let them feel their victory, then lowered his blade and examined the carnage on the deck.

  The Dawnhawk was a mess. Dead scryn lay everywhere. Their stinking ichors stained the wood of the deck, the rails, even the ratlines and cables leading up to the gasbag. Reavers lay among them, groaning, gasping, or dead. A quick headcount revealed that they were at less than half their number, and none of those on their feet were unmarred or unwounded.

  Mordecai called for order and picked a few likely faces out from the crowd. "Reaver Jane," he called. "Konrad." The two pirates looked up and made their way over. "Start getting people to clean up this mess. Get the Mechanist up here. Those propeller linkages look damaged, and we're not going anywhere without them in working order." Konrad grunted and turned away. Reaver Jane gave him an odd look.

  "What about the wounded...Captain?" she asked.

  He didn't like the tone in her voice. Jane had been staunchly loyal to Natasha. Would she give him problems now?

  "See to them," he said. "Get them taken below and checked out." He turned away to give other orders.

  The propeller systems turned out to be damaged indeed. Something had snapped a number of the linkage chains connecting the steam engines to the propellers at the rear of the ship. A stray pistol ball, cutlass strike, or enraged scryn, it didn't matter; they were stuck where they drifted for the moment. Other problems made themselves known. The gasbag frame had been torn, and one of the light-air gas cells was gushing its stinking contents down over the deck. It had to contend with the stench of dead scryn for most sickening odor on the ship, but Mordecai ordered it seen to immediately. An errant spark in the wrong place could be the doom of them all.

  There was something else as well. Reaver Jane wasn't the only malcontent. As they recovered from the shock of the attack and their weariness, Mordecai saw more dark glances, heard more unhappy muttering. His hold on the crew wasn't as strong as he'd thought. They'd been unhappy with Natasha, yes. But they hadn't wanted to overthrow her, not really. He'd engineered the Crewman's Vote to take advantage of their emotions. Now though, they were having second thoughts.

  Mordecai kept the crew moving, busy, focused on leaving. He was strict, though he used a lighter hand than he usually would. It wouldn't do have them resent him at the moment.

  "Mordecai...I mean Captain!"

  He looked up to see one of the Wiley brothers waving at him from the starboard rails. Mordecai didn't remember his name. But it didn't matter. Frowning, he sauntered over to the man.

  "What?" he asked, putting a slight edge to his voice.

  "Down there! It's Captain— I mean Mrs. Blackheart."

  Mordecai gave him an ugly look, then peered over the side.

  The Draykin still filled the plaza below. Most had moved back from below the Dawnhawk, avoiding the fleeing and falling scryn. Up on the temple just beneath them, a clutch of their warriors stood, spears in hand. They watched the airship above them. Now and again, though, one of them shot a glance toward a pair of humans tied to the statues on the terrace below.

  Both of the captives were almost naked, wearing little more than scraps. Yet Mordecai knew them instantly. Natasha, he could pick out at a three hundred yards, in the night, probably even blindfolded. And there was only one man alive who would dress like a savage, yet still insist on his hat and that ridiculous monocle. Captain Fengel.

  Tied up and held by lizard-pygmies, the two were quarrelling. Mordecai wasn't even remotely surprised. What did surprise him, though, was that Natasha was still alive.

  Other crewmen were flocking to this side of the deck. Wiley's words had carried. They looked over and called out in surprise. Before long everyone up top was gabbing amongst themselves. Some of what Mordecai heard was quietly regretful. That wouldn't do. He clenched a fist atop the rail and turned, mouth open to order the crew back to their tasks. Then he stopped.

  Isn't this just what I had railed against? He meant to leave. To take off, fly away and catch an aetherline, never looking back. Leaving Natasha behind him. She was an enemy now, and he was just...leaving her here. In some ridiculously contrived, dire situation from which she could never escape to cause him trouble again.

  Oh. Oh no. That won't do at all.

  One of the lizard-people stepped out of the temple mouth. It wore a shining golden headdress, obviously in some sort of commanding role. The creature pointed at Fengel and Natasha, and shouted something in its gibbering tongue to the guards. They leapt to obey, untying the captives and hauling them back inside.

  Mordecai tapped his fingers on the rail, thinking.

  The tromp of footsteps on the deck behind warne
d him. He turned to see Konrad, approaching him. The face of the aetherite was set and dour, his bushy blond beard outthrust. A long, ugly scryn-sting from the recent battle made him look even more ferocious. Others followed the aetherite and stood at his back, Reaver Jane and a small knot of several others. They looked defiant.

  "Captain," said Konrad. "We should not leave Natasha behind so. We voted her down, yes. But not off the ship."

  Mordecai smiled at him. "You know what, Konrad? I was thinking the same thing. See to the wounded, and prepare a number of ladders to go below. Reaver Jane, get that powder keg bomb Natasha wanted up here. Get it finished. I want those savages below us scattered." He faced them all, catching the gazes of those who hadn't approached him. "I may have erred, dropping the former captain below." He made a flippant gesture. "Something poorly done in the heat of the moment. But don't worry. We're going to go take care of Mrs. Blackheart. Maybe we can sort something out once we're back home."

  The relief on their faces was palpable. Mordecai made a note of each and every one for later. For now he needed them all. For the trip back...well. Accidents happened, and so did executions. They scurried off to see to his orders. Mordecai watched them go, then turned back to gaze down at the temple.

  I am not going to make the same mistakes.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The shining crystals she wore gave off no heat, but Lina's face was still flushed. "Do I have to do this?" she asked Rastalak.

  "Chirr!" said Runt.

  "You bear the accoutrements of the lost Voornenhai, the Great Ones. They are quite regal. I must revise my earlier statement. I believe this might work. You look to be one of their kind come again."

  Lina shifted the pleated golden skirt at her hips. "The Great Ones could have done with a bit more modesty," she said darkly.

  They stood in a long, vaulted hall. The walls were of the same smooth stone as the towering buildings that made up the majority of Yrinium. Niches were cut into the walls at either hand, each containing a strange artifact of alien construction. There were headdresses, bracelets, and other clothing. There were weapons like long spears, broad-bladed swords. And there were still stranger things whose purpose Lina could not identify; mechanical armatures shaped like men, covered in armor too fine and delicate to be worn by real people. Light came from a small, golden orb held in Rastalak's hands. He'd pulled it from one of the niches, then sang to the thing until it bloomed with golden illumination. He held it like a lantern as they walked through the old vault.

  The Draykin had led her down beneath the ruin into the bowels of the earth. Through half-collapsed tunnels and bizarrely formed passageways, they had finally come to this secret place. Rastalak seemed to know it well. He regarded the objects within reverently, and performed a small ritual when removing objects that might serve to disguise her.

  That was the plan, at least. The Draykin worshipped the old dwellers of the city as gods. Rastalak thought that if she dressed and acted as one, then maybe she could free her crewmates and steal the gemstone. All in all, it seemed a pretty weak plan, but they had to do something.

  The lizard-creature gave her a golden headdress, bracelets, a wide, pleated skirt, and sandals. All were made from some deep-golden metal that was warm to the touch. The headdress was wide and studded with gemstones as well. She put them on obediently, the headdress flaring to light like Rastalak's little lamp as soon as she placed it on her hair. She felt funny, but the head covering was still only slightly warm to the touch, and the light did not obscure her vision. She went for more clothing, only to realize that she had nothing to cover her torso. Rastalak told her that the Voorn did not wear such things.

  Now she stood in the middle of the hall, covering herself and glaring at the Draykin. Runt coiled in a nearby niche. Lina wasn't that upset; the reptile only seemed to care about her partial nudity out of artistic interest. But still, it was embarrassing.

  "Yes," Rastalak said. "I think that this will—"

  A deep boom sounded somewhere in the city above. The vault shook slightly with the vibration of it.

  "What was that?" asked Lina.

  Rastalak peered up at the roof of the vault. "I know not. Come."

  It ran back to the opposite wall, where an opening led back onto the stair they'd descended. The Draykin replaced the lamp, taking her hand and pulling her along. Runt leapt up crying, soaring after to land on her shoulders. Lina grunted at the weight of her pet but did not have time to adjust; her companion pulled her relentlessly. They ascended, clambering up the smooth-cut, corkscrew stairs, their way lit by the halo of light around her head. The trip back up seemed far more quick than their descent had been. The strange architecture gave way to half-collapsed tunnels after what seemed only moments. Then they were once again in the ruin up above, shafts of sunlight falling through cracks in the ceiling.

  Rastalak paused to listen. Over her panting Lina heard something as well. Gunshots, and enraged roars.

  "Those are cries of battle and rage," said the Draykin. "My people struggle. Come."

  He sprinted out the vine-covered entrance. Lina followed. She blinked back tears at the sudden brilliance of the city outside. Breathing was harder in the hot and humid air. The roars and screams were clearer here, echoing out from the Plaza of the Gods. Rastalak disappeared through the overgrowth. Lina cursed and ran after his lithe form.

  Bushes and branches pushed at her, trying to yank the headdress from her. Lina held the heavy thing on with one hand, cursing and muttering. Runt chirped its encouragement. The overgrowth became a thick tangle. I can't make it through this. Too thick here. Then the bushes gave way.

  She rammed into Rastalak, standing on the far edge of the lot. The little Draykin stared ahead. Lina followed his gaze and stopped as well.

  To their left and right rose the towering spires of the Voorn. But directly ahead lay the Plaza of the Gods; they stood on its very edge. The space was huge, half a mile on a side. Little statues carved of stone dotted it, all similar to what Lina herself now wore. Past these squatted the Temple of the Voorn, the huge stair-step pyramid that dominated the center of Old Yrinium. The Dawnhawk hung above its peak, rope ladders dangling down. Beneath it was chaos. The mob of Draykin that had gathered to watch the skyship now howled and screamed and threw spears. They tried to ascend after a clutch of sky-pirates fighting a retreat up the stair to the yawning entrance to the Temple. Near the base lay the wracked and ruined bodies of the Draykin. Some crawled and cried out, their friends and loved ones tending to them.

  Lina thought of the explosion they'd heard. A cannon? A bomb? One figure on the stair stood out. Clad in black, with a pistol in one hand and a blade in the other. Mordecai.

  She turned to Rastalak. "We have to hurry! That's Mordecai. They're going to kill the captain!"

  The Draykin lashed his tail back and forth. "It will not work! My kin are too angered, too agitated. What has happened here?"

  Stuff it, then. Lina took a breath and pushed past Rastalak onto the flagstones of the Plaza. She forced herself not to run. To stay calm. Still, she felt terribly exposed. The Draykin mob ahead were enraged. And she didn't even have a shirt. She had Runt. But the scryn seemed...inadequate.

  Regal. Regal and holy and like the Goddess come down to this Realm from the one Above. Lina pressed her palms together in prayer, forced her footsteps to a measured calm. She shook her arms and wrists slightly at every other step, so that the bracelets on her wrists jingled musically. As she passed the statues in the Plaza, they seemed to smile at her, more clear and elaborate in the brilliant halo of light emanating from her headdress.

  Halfway across the Plaza, no one had taken notice of her. Three-quarters of the way, and the pirates were atop the landing before the temple entrance. They disappeared inside as the first of the Draykin below looked right at her.

  Lina stood almost at the base of the stair. The air stank of gunpowder and blood. Before her lay the dead and dying. They screeched and hissed, clawed at the
ir wounds to hold them shut. The lizard-people had tried to kill her twice now, but still, she felt for them. Those who tended their wounded kin looked up at Lina and cried out in alarm, then fell silent.

  The shrieks from below reached the mob on the stair. Those at the back of the press glanced over their shoulders, only to stop. Like a wave, the Draykin paused in their pursuit of Mordecai to turn back and stare at Lina. Lina forced herself forward, held her breath as she walked out among the dying Draykin. The attention of the living and the stink of the bloodied dead made her queasy. Heart in her throat, she mounted the stair.

  Oh Goddess. Oh Goddess. What am I doing here? Hundreds of eyes were locked upon her, tiny chips of coal in reptilian faces. She climbed the stair toward them, focusing on the slow measured pace of her steps, her breathing, the rhythmic chime of the bracelets on her wrists. Even Runt stilled, sensing the danger.

  She approached the mob. Fifty feet ahead, then forty, then ten. Lina swallowed, wondering what she would do when she reached them. She couldn't go around them; a goddess wouldn't do that.

  The first of the Draykin knelt at her approach, shuffling back to one side. They turned their heads away from her brilliance as she drew close. Lina wanted to cry out in relief. Others followed as she climbed until a path was cleared all the way to the top. Cries and shouts echoed out of the temple mouth just ahead. Human shouts. Lina almost leapt forward, but forced herself to be slow, be steady. To be a goddess.

  She moved past the last of the Draykin mob and mounted the landing at the top of the stair. Lina was unable to hold herself back, and all but ran into the mouth of the Temple. The space within was deep and dark. And far from quiet.

  Lina stood on a wide ledge suspended out over a vast and empty space. To her surprise, the temple was mostly hollow. Stone stairs descended to her left and right, to further ledges extending from the stone walls that circled the interior until they met. Fiery red light shone up from the depths of the temple, where molten lava boiled and seethed. In the center towered a tall spire wrought with carvings and bas reliefs depicting the same figures as the statues outside. At its peak a wide ledge supported an altar beneath a gleaming, shining jewel. Four wood and rope suspension bridges branched out from the outer ledges to varying points up the spire.