by K. C. Julius
He held up one of the diagrams. “This was drawn over a millennium ago,” he said enthusiastically. “A ‘flight suit.’ It was the vision of Granfon am Brunnen, a Delnogothian count who lived in the last age of the Before. I’ve given the design to Frandelas, and he has the best of the elven artisans at work on them as we speak. They should be ready in short order. It’s lucky we’re here in Mithralyn, with access to fine elven silk.”
Halla peered at the detailed sketches of a whimsical costume, the sort a court jester might wear. It had wing-like flaps under the arms, stretching from torso to wrist, and webbing connected the ankles of the two trouser legs, like that of an oversized bat.
“The theory is sound,” Whit said. “But one needs to jump from a great height to get the full benefit, when the wind is forcing a thermal current from the ground and up higher terrain. Which means you have to jump from the right place.” He set down the diagram and stabbed at the map, his finger landing on Glieria, the only mountain in Mithralyn, just west of Lisalie Lake. “Warm air rises here, and it will keep you buoyant for the first moments after you leap.”
“You want us to jump off a mountain,” Maura said.
Whit’s eyes sparkled. “Yes!”
Leif’s face had gone pale. “And then what?”
Whit shrugged. “And then you’ll start to fall,” he said matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry, the dragons will come to your aid.”
Halla put a hand to her forehead. “This is your plan? You want them to put on some silly ancient suit, jump, fall, and hope the dragons catch them? That’s not flying. That’s… suicide!”
Leif let out a low groan and sank unsteadily to the ground.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Whit said. “It’s not just a hope. It stands to reason that the dragons will be present for the flight, to see whether these two pass their test. And it’s in the dragons’ interest that Leif and Maura survive it.” He started rolling up the map. “Look, you’ll both be fine—trust me. I’ve worked out the time you’ll have before the air beneath you cools to the point where you’ll drop through it.”
He turned one of the other diagrams toward them. It showed a graph with arcing lines, all of which eventually plummeted downward. He launched into an explanation of trajectories, tangents, and velocity, none of which made any sense to Halla, or, she was quite confident, the others.
“Sorry,” Whit said happily, “I said I wouldn’t get into the formulae, and here I am going on about it. Never mind all that. What’s important is I understand what you need to do.”
“Never mind?” asked Halla incredulously. “You’re not the one being told to jump off a mountain. I think it’s important that we all understand why.”
For a moment, it seemed that Whit might storm off, as he usually did when Halla challenged him. But he didn’t.
“You’re right,” he said. He rose and dusted off his fine trousers. “Let me try to explain another way. I’ve given serious thought as to why Master Morgan left me this.” He hefted the purple book. “Syiblotisis’s Guide to Theory and Theorems. There’s nothing about magic in here at all. I think it’s because I’m not supposed to use magic to help you. He wants me to employ mathematics and science instead.”
“But why?” asked Maura.
“I think I’ve worked that out as well,” said Whit. “For one, dragons are suspicious of magic. They have been ever since Chaos was enslaved by Rendyl in the days of Before. I think that’s why Master Morgan had to leave so quickly, too—wizards make dragons uneasy. Secondly, I don’t possess the sort of power—at least not yet—to enable you, or even myself, to fly by magical means. This is magic of the most advanced sort, which only a very few virtuosi have ever mastered.”
He paused, as if waiting for a response. When he received none, he said, “So… does that clarify it for you?”
Halla scowled. “What’s clear is that this flying suit idea is pure foolishness! I’ll wager these contraptions won’t pass their first test.”
“Oh, there won’t be an opportunity to test them,” said Whit. “There’s really only one way to survive this, and that’s with the dragons’ help. So we’ll just have to do it the one time.”
Halla couldn’t believe her ears. “Won’t be able to test them? Are you mad?” She turned to Maura and Leif. “Surely you won’t trust your lives to a theory?”
Leif looked like he was about to lose his breakfast, but Maura had been studying the diagrams carefully, and now she looked up. “I trust Master Morgan,” she said, “and I trust our dragons. They chose the two of you to assist us in becoming dragonfast, and they must have done so for good reason. I don’t believe Ilyria will let me fall—we’ve a sort of kinship already. And I trust you, Whit.” She gave a firm nod. “I’ll do it.”
Despairingly, Halla turned to Leif, who was looking far from convinced. She suspected that Rhiandra was not making the process of their binding as easy as Ilyria, and wondered how much faith he could put in her.
“I don’t think… I’m not… I can’t…” he muttered.
“I’m sure it will work, Leif,” said Whit, patting his shoulder. “Just leave it to me. Maura’s got the right of it: Master Morgan and the dragons have charged us with helping you. They must trust that together we can do this!”
He stooped to gather up his papers. “I’ll go over the basics with you two over the course of the next few days. By then your flight suits should be ready. The best time of day will be at noon, when the sun is hottest. We’ll get some of those surefooted elks to take us up Glieria, and you’ll need to tell your dragons before we go, so that they’ll be in the vicinity to witness the feat.”
“We’ll do that,” said Maura, her face brighter than it had been for some days. “Thank you, Whit!”
Halla felt powerless to put a stop to this hare-brained plan, and she seethed that Whit could be so insensitive to Leif’s obvious fear regarding it. But unless she could come up with a better course of action, it seemed Maura was prepared to opt for Whit’s, and Leif would be sure to follow her lead.
Halla would have to go along as well, for the present. “Is there something I should do?” she asked.
Whit had already started across the yard. “Oh,” he suggested airily over his shoulder, “I suppose you could ask Frandelas if you can help with the sewing.”
Unfortunately, by the time she’d snatched up a handful of pebbles to pelt his insolent back, he had already rounded the corner.
Chapter 35
The following evening at dinner, Leif barely picked at his food. He’d been looking woeful all day.
Halla lingered with him after the others had left. “What ails you, Leif?”
He forked a mushroom and pushed it around his plate. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? I disarmed you eleven times today, and you don’t touch the blackberry tarts?” She lowered her voice. “Did something happen with Rhiandra?”
Leif finally met her gaze. “No. It’s just that… I didn’t really think about what flying might be like. Not at first. And now that I have, I can’t get it out of my mind.”
Halla sat back. “Well, I can understand that. Whit’s plan is entirely harebrained, and—”
“No, it’s not that!” cried Leif. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “The truth is, I’m frightened out of my wits… I’m… I’m terrified of heights.”
“Ah.” Halla released a slow breath. “That is a complication.”
Leif hung his head. “Master Morgan already tried to teach me to face my fear, but I failed miserably. And if I can’t… then I’ll never become dragonfast.” He swallowed hard before adding, “And neither will Maura, since her fate is tied to mine.”
Halla didn’t know what to say to that. She had come up with no alternative plan for the two of them. She sat in frustrated silence as Leif pushed back from the table, his face a study in misery, and trudged from the
room.
* * *
Three days later, the flying suits were finished. Halla, Maura, and Leif joined Whit at the glade, where he already had four of Elvinor’s magnificent elks harnessed and ready for travel. Maura looked remarkably calm, but the dark circles under Leif’s eyes told another tale.
As they rode in silence on the trail that would take them to the top of Glieria, Halla couldn’t help but be reminded of a funeral procession. It took them the better part of the morning to reach the mountain summit, during which barely a word was spoken by anyone other than Whit.
When at last they arrived at the peak, the midday sun sparked the lake below with diamonds under a cerulean sky. Somehow, the beauty of the day made Halla feel even warier.
Whit immediately set about unpacking the costumes he had commissioned—flimsy-looking things, Halla thought. His buoyant spirits were almost more irritating than his usual glumness.
“See here?” he said to Leif, stretching the fabric wide. “This part of the suit will act like a bird’s wing. Actually, I think it’s more accurately described as a leaf, like from a tree. You’ve observed leaves falling, surely?”
“You mean we’ll fall as slowly as that?” Leif asked, his expression suddenly hopeful.
“Well… no,” admitted Whit. “But it will slow you down. Just keep your arms and legs stretched out to create the greatest surface area, like I taught you. That’ll allow for the maximum lift from the thermals beneath you.”
Leif frowned. “Tell me again—what exactly is a thermal?”
Halla knew Whit had been over all of this with them in their training sessions, which she had insisted on attending. The poor lad was just stalling.
“It’s an updraft of heated rising air,” said Whit, with surprising patience. “It’s caused when the sun heats the ground, and then rising heat from the earth heats the air above it.”
“How will you know if the thermals are there if you can’t see them?” Maura asked.
Whit seemed pleased by her question. “I’ll be watching the birds, and from their movements, I’ll be able to identify when a thermal is present.”
Halla walked to the ledge and peered over. From here, Mithralyn stretched north, a verdant carpet of trees as far as the eye could see. To the east, the woodland gave way to haze and mist, beyond which glinted the distant sea. And directly below the ledge was a dark swathe of shoreline bordering Lisalie Lake.
Her stomach lurched. It seemed a very long way down.
She turned back to find that Maura was already garbed in one of the strange grey suits and stood with her face to the sun. She looked very small swathed in all that billowing silk.
Leif was standing back from the edge, wrestling with his suit. Halla went to help him.
“Do you remember everything Whit taught you?” she asked as they pulled the webbed material over his head. “About how to catch the wind?”
Instead of answering her, he mumbled, “It’s safe…I just have to believe…”
“Leif?” she said, taking hold of his shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”
But Leif only drew a deep, ragged breath. “Maura wants to do this.” His eyes were dark with fear as he started toward his companion in this madness.
Whit was looking up at the sky, and Halla strode over to him and grabbed his arm. “Listen to me!” she hissed. “You need to put a stop to this! Leif is terrified, and I don’t blame him. You could be sending them both to their deaths!”
“I’ve done the calculations.” Whit shook her off, his gaze on a pair of hawks soaring high above. He pointed to the white cloud billowing beyond them. “These are sure signs that conditions are right. It will work. Now let me get them off before the thermals drop.”
“I don’t like it,” insisted Halla. “We should wait for Master Morgan to come back.” She scanned the sky. “And where are the dragons?”
“Maura said they promised to be here, so I’m sure they’re around,” Whit said dismissively. “They’re probably hiding—they won’t want to expose themselves for all the elves to see.”
“But what if—” Halla began.
Whit cut her off. “Stop seeing problems where there are none, Halla! You’re just put out because this wasn’t your idea!”
Stunned, Halla watched him stalk over to join the others. Does he really think I’m as egotistical as he is? He won’t even entertain the possibility that he might be wrong!
To her horror, she saw that Whit was already drawing Maura closer to the edge. “Ready?” he said.
Maura gave a small nod. “I’m ready.”
Her heart in her throat, Halla bolted toward them. “Maura, wait—”
But it was too late. Maura spread her arms wide, the webbed silk billowing around her, and dropped from sight.
Halla raced to the ledge to see Maura plummeting toward the ground. The thermals, the wings—they were doing nothing. Leif cried out in alarm, and Halla tasted blood from where she’d bitten her lip to keep from doing the same.
Then Maura arched her neck, bent slightly at her waist, and stretched her arms wide… and a miracle happened. Amazingly, she arced outward, tilting into a slow turn, and her descent began to slow. She seemed to hang for a moment in mid-air, riding the current, and then she was lifting and gliding in a spiral away from the mountain’s face.
“I told you!” crowed Whit, as she wheeled in lazy circles. “You can see it’s work—”
But his words died on his lips, for from one instant to the next, Maura’s flight transformed into a dizzying, headlong fall.
“Spread your arms wider!” Whit shouted. “Maura, wider!”
“What’s happening?” cried Halla. “Why is she falling so fast?”
Whit’s face was the color of parchment. “She must have moved her arms too quickly. Or maybe she’s lost the thermal!”
“Do something!” Halla screamed. “Help her!”
Maura was now tumbling head over heels, whirling in eerie silence toward the lake below.
And there was no sign of the dragons.
Halla grabbed Whit’s tunic and heard it rip. “Use your magic! Oh merciful gods, save her!”
But it was Leif who heeded her plea. Without a word, he stepped off the ledge and dropped after Maura like a stone.
Halla wheeled on her cousin. “You… you… killed them!”
Whit stared after Leif, his mouth slack. “Why did he…? When he saw that she was falling?” He turned his ashen face to Halla. “Why?”
Tears streaked Halla’s face as she raised her fists and beat them against his chest. “You!” she shouted, striking him with each raging word, “And your stupid tangents! If you’re such a master of magic, why couldn’t you save them? You… you… murderer!”
Whit made no attempt to protect himself from her blows. “Why?” he repeated.
She gave him a final shove. “Why? Why did Leif jump? He jumped because he was the truest of friends! You’ve probably never had one, so you wouldn’t understand!” She dropped her fists with a ragged sob. “‘If one of you fails, then so shall the other’—remember?”
Whit’s legs seemed to fold under him as he slowly dropped to his knees. “It should have worked!” he said hollowly. “I checked and rechecked the calculations…”
The taste of bitter dread filled Halla’s mouth as she turned her back on him and ran to the elks. Leaping astride her mount, she raced down the trail at breakneck speed.
Leif and Maura had made the Leap—but she had to find their broken bodies and lay them to rest.
* * *
At the foot of the mountain, the water lapped gently against the shore, and the birds twittered gaily as though no tragedy had just occurred—as though two lives had not just been sacrificed to Whit’s stupidity and the dragons’ cruel whim. A fruitless hour’s search had resulted in no trace of eithe
r Maura or Leif. All the while, Halla’s rage—at Whit, at the dragons, at the wizard—bloomed like a canker within her.
Any obligation she felt to Master Morgan was now nullified. He had entrusted Maura and Leif to the wrong people, knowing that it was entirely possible that she and Whit would fail to properly prepare them for their dragons’ trial.
She would leave Mithralyn that very day, she decided, and seek Bria and Florian in the south. With this decision came the unbidden memory of the time her friends’ old baba had taken up her hand and studied the lines etched in her palm. The ancient matriarch, her hair twined in grey braids, had lingered long over it in dense silence, then suddenly released it. When Baba Veta at last met her curious gaze, Halla had been unsettled by the alarm in the old woman’s clouded eyes.
“What does the future hold for my friend, Baba?” Bria asked. “A fine husband and many babes?”
Without comment, Veta lifted her cup of wine to her lips, a bit of the golden liquid splashing onto the ground.
“Why, you’re trembling, Baba!” Bria cried, and leapt up to wrap a shawl close around the old woman’s shoulders.
Halla was also shivering, and not from the cold. She had seen what Bria, turning to lay wood on the fire, had not: the quick emphatic forking of Baba Veta’s fingers—the å Livåri sign to ward off evil.
Well, evil had found its way into Halla’s life with this day’s tragedy. Perhaps this was what Master Morgan had intended to happen all along. She would not linger to find out.
But first, she would find her friends. It seemed they must have somehow drifted out and fallen into the lake. Not to be deterred from her quest, she had just pulled off her boots when shouts rang out behind her. Whit was hurtling toward her on his elk, the other two flying behind him.
“Go away!” she thundered.
But Whit came on, his elk bounding to the shore and coming to a halt that nearly catapulted him over its neck. Amazingly, his face was alight.
“Halla! Halla, look up!”
Halla raised her eyes to the cloudless, deep-blue sky. It seemed too cruel that Maura and Leif should meet their deaths on such a glorious day.
