An ice-cold wind gusted across the plains north of Stormwatch. Their breath came out in icy gusts, and icicles dangled down from the corners of the scout’s framework. Morgane unpacked one of the blankets and threw it over them for warmth. Usually, this would have been an embarrassing proposition for Micah. At that moment, he had no complaints. He was already beginning to wonder if they’d packed enough warm clothes. Or if they were really prepared for this journey at all...
To take his mind off his worries, Micah struck up a conversation. The pair had discussed Micah’s childhood earlier, and his life in the mountain village, so Micah asked Morgane about her youth. What was it like to be the niece of a king, raised in a palace?
“I used to sit at the window, watching the children of Stormwatch play in the streets,” she said in a melancholic voice. “I wasn’t allowed to associate with peasants, or even to school with them. And since I was an only child, I spent most of my time making up stories of animals and fairy creatures who were my friends.”
“What sort of creatures?” Micah said.
“Pixies, will-o-wisps, flying unicorns. Things of that nature.”
“No dragons?” Micah grinned.
“No. No dragons.”
“What about your mother? What was she like?”
Morgane’s gaze went distant. “Tall, beautiful, elegant. She was just the sort of woman my father needed to compliment his social stature.”
“I don’t understand,” Micah said. “You make it sound like he didn’t love her.”
“He may have, once. Before he killed her.”
Micah turned to stare, the tracks ahead forgotten. “You father killed your mother?”
Morgane bit her lower lip. “My father was a... He was not a good person. I didn’t understand it then, because I was young. He was an addict. He was addicted to kavi-oil.”
“What is that? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a drug, an extract from a plant that grows in the southern mountains. Smugglers make it into an elixir and sell it on the black market. It affects men like alcohol, but it’s far more potent. In the way that ale can make one man violent but make another man weep, so it is with the kavi. They say that the plant has a spirit that infects men’s souls -that it seduces them until they can think of nothing else.”
“And this drug, this kavi-oil made your father murder your mother?”
“He beat her often. It was not unusual for him to do so. In a fit of rage, he once threw her to the ground. She didn’t get up. Her head struck the flagstones, and the blow killed her. My father was devastated when he realized what he had done. He swore to quit taking the elixir, but he couldn’t stop. He used it to sate his rage against his brother, to dull the memories of what he’d done to my mother. He continued down his dark path until it consumed him.”
“Ah!” Micah said. “So that was the poison that killed him.”
Morgane stared straight ahead, oblivious to the snowflakes landing on her face and eyelashes. “No. Not in the way you think. When Burk came to Stormwatch, he made an agreement with my father. He hired Burk to kill Dane and Socrates. In exchange, as part of the agreement, my father agreed to sell me to Burk.”
Micah’s jaw dropped. “His own daughter? How could he?”
Morgane narrowed her eyes. Slowly, she tilted her head to gaze into Micah’s face. “That’s why I killed him. I laced his elixir. I mixed the kavi-oil with a poison Shayla had given me, and when he drank it...”
Micah throttled the engine back and activated the brakes. The steamscout’s steel wheels locked up, screeching as they skidded along the icy tracks. Micah paid no mind to any of this. He was staring into Morgane’s face in complete disbelief.
“Shayla gave you poison? To kill your father?”
“I understand,” she said, sliding away from him. “You don’t want to share the blanket with me anymore.”
Micah caught her by the wrist. “Wait! I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to...” He took a breath, trying to form his thoughts into words that would make sense. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t like a drawing. It wasn’t like blurring a line, or sketching a texture. Finding the right words was an art unto itself. It took all of his concentration.
“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you. The way your father mistreated you all those years. He abused you. He locked you in that palace with no friends. He drugged himself, killed your mother- your mother!- right in front of your eyes. I’m so sorry about what happened to you.”
Morgane frowned. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything to me.”
Micah set his jaw. “I don’t blame you for killing him. If I had known any of this, I would have killed him myself!”
The look in his eyes was fierce. She had never imagined that he could be so savage, this diminutive and thoughtful artist. Micah had just said he would be willing to kill for her. Somehow, she believed it.
“Oh, Micah,” Morgane said. “I shouldn’t have told you this.” She reached out to touch his cheek and found herself gazing at him.
“Your eyes,” she said in a quiet voice. “I’ve never seen eyes that color before.” They were an unusual red-hazel that reminded her more of a dragon’s eyes than a human’s, but lacking the vertical slit of a serpent. And yet somehow friendly, she thought. In fact, they were strangely beautiful.
“You haven’t?”
She smiled. “Micah, you really are not like other men.”
He snorted as he released the brakes, and throttled up the engine. “I’m well aware,” he said in a grumble.
Morgane laughed. “Don’t feel that way. It’s a good thing.”
He gave her a cockeyed look. “It is?”
“In my experience, yes.”
The wind whipped up, sending an icy blast through the cab. Morgane pulled the blanket up and slid a little closer.
“So,” Micah said as they began to roll down the tracks. “Have you killed anyone else?”
Morgane giggled and rolled her eyes. “Not yet.”
Other than this brief delay, they drove at or near the steamscout’s top speed all day. They made far better time than they had in the Horse, and by sunset, they were almost halfway to New Boston. Throughout the course of the day, the barren lava flows of Danaise gave way to rolling hills dusted with snow. Mountains rose up in a sharp line in the west, and forests spread out across the foothills, in some places stretching all the way to the coast.
As sunset approached, Micah activated the steamscout’s work light on the front of the chassis, so they could continue after dark. Being able to see only a hundred feet or so ahead forced him to slow down considerably. They entered a dark section of woods an hour after sunset, and Micah suddenly realized they were barreling down on something big. He barely had time to lock up the brakes.
“Hang on!” he shouted. The wheels let out a ear-rending shriek, but the steamscout’s momentum carried it down the rails with frightening speed. He released the brakes and then tightened them back up, trying to get a better grip on the rails. The steamscout began to tilt precariously to one side.
“What are you doing?” Morgane said. She threw him a terrified, wide-eyed glance. She had one hand locked around the cab’s metal frame and the other braced on the back of the seat.
“It’s not me. The tracks are damaged!”
Before the words were out of his mouth, the scout tipped. It toppled into the ice-crusted snow. The chassis groaned and cracked, the hot engine and boiler sizzling. White powder exploded into the cab. The impact threw Micah forward, slamming his head into the wire mesh that functioned as the cab’s windscreen. Morgane vanished in a tsunami of white. The steam engine’s boiler ruptured, and white vapor gushed out in a cloud that floated down as fine, powdery snow. The sound of grinding metal faded as the engine came to a halt.
The silence that followed was both sudden and eerie.
Chapter 17
In a daze, Micah twisted around to get his feet under him. The cab was hal
f-buried in snow, and he sank into it as he moved. Blood trickled down his face in a warm stream, and icy cold moisture worked its way through the openings in his clothes. His hands shook as he began brushing through the snow.
“Morgane?” he called out. “Morgane!”
“Over here,” her voice came out of the darkness. Micah lifted his head and saw her dark silhouette stretched across the snow bank behind him. Somehow, she had been thrown free of the wreck. He reached up, grabbing the edge of the cab to pull himself free. He knelt on the framework at the top of the overturned machine.
“Are you hurt?” he said. He could barely see Morgane’s form moving in the darkness. The light had gone out the moment the engine stopped working. Morgane came staggering toward him through the snowdrift.
“Just bruises,” she said. “You?”
Micah touched the bloody swelling on his forehead. “The same, I think. Do you see my satchel anywhere?”
Morgane stared at him for a second and then doubled over with laughter. Micah frowned. “What are you doing? Did the crash knock you silly?”
Morgane straightened up to look at him, but her childlike giggling continued. She was hip-deep in snow. She was cold and shivering, but the starlight shown on her face and glistened in her eyes as she laughed, and somehow after everything, she was still beautiful. “Only you, Micah,” Morgane said. “Only you would be worried about such a thing at a time like this.”
He wrinkled his brow. “But my drawings. My maps are in there!”
“I’m sure they’re here somewhere,” she said reassuringly. “Hopefully, along with some blankets. And maybe flint and tinder.”
“Oh,” he mumbled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Morgane reached up to pat his leg. “How did you survive this long without me?”
He had no answer, of course. There really is no answer to such a question. Morgane walked up to the front of the wreck and said, “What’s this?”
Micah turned and realized for the first time what had caused them to crash. “It’s another steamscout,” he said. “Covered in snow. It must be the one Socrates sent to Sanctuary. It must have crashed here.” He turned, scanning the dark woods. Just down the slope, hidden in a dense copse of bushes, sat another large container. “There’s the cargo car,” he said. “I guess the starfall never made it.”
Morgane circled the two wrecks, arms wrapped tight about her for warmth. She stood at the edge of the tracks, gazing down at the wrecked boxcar. “Do you think we can shelter in there for the night?”
“It depends. If the starfall spilled, the container might be contaminated.”
“We had better go and see. We need to start a fire, or we’ll freeze.”
“The steamscout has a tool kit,” Micah said, clambering over the cab. “It should have a flint...” He slid off the back and spent a few seconds locating the storage area. The lid was frozen shut, but with a few strategically delivered kicks, it came right open. Micah removed the toolbox. He placed it on the snowdrift and sorted through the contents. Morgane hovered nearby, watching as he pulled out wrenches, files, a hammer, and finally-
“Aha! Got it!” Micah held up a device made of thick metal wire. The wire looped around itself, creating a sort of spring. A small flint was attached to one end, and a section of file at the other.
“What is that?” Morgane said.
Micah grinned. He squeezed it, forcing the flint to glide across the surface of the file. A shower of sparks rained down. Morgane’s eyes went wide. “It’s magic!” she said.
Micah laughed. “Not quite, but just as good.” He pulled an oily rag from the toolkit. He twisted it around the end of a long wrench, and with a few sparks, lit it up. Morgane watched in awe as the torch blazed to life.
“Truly amazing,” she said. “I wonder if the engineers in Dragonwall know of this.” She stared at him, her eyes wide with wonder.
“I suspect they do,” Micah said with a slight smile. “You really didn’t get out of the palace much, did you?”
Morgane reddened.
Now that they had a torch, it only took a few minutes to locate Micah’s satchel and their travel packs. The blanket they had been using was buried in snow, but thankfully not wet. They gathered up what belongings they had and hurried down the embankment to the derailed boxcar. It appeared to have skidded down the embankment after the crash, surprisingly without rolling over. The long sliding door on the side was slightly ajar. Micah tried to shove it open, but it was stuck in that position.
“Wait here,” Micah said. He dropped his satchel and pack, and slid through the narrow opening. Morgane came closer, peering inside.
“It’s no good,” Micah said. He pointed to the far end of the container, where two starfall vats rested on their sides. He walked a little closer, waving the torch as he scanned the area. “Now, that’s odd.”
“What is it?” Morgane said behind him.
“It’s... I just thought there was something else in here.” He turned to face her.
“Maybe it fell out,” she said.
“I don’t see how. It would need a larger opening.”
“Do you mean like that one?” she pointed at the ceiling. Micah raised his gaze to see a hole in the roof approximately a yard across. The sheet metal was torn, and Micah saw the telltale scars of claw marks marring the surface. “Ah,” he said, gazing up at the opening. “That would do it.”
“It’s an unusual hole. Do you think a branch hit the roof?”
“Uh... Yes, that could be it,” he said. “Here, hold the torch.” She reached through the opening to take it, and Micah headed for the end of the car. He drew his belt knife and knelt next to the containers.
“What are you doing?” Morgane said.
“This wood is saturated with starfall. A chunk or two of this should make a great campfire.”
“Will it burn?”
Micah snorted. “The question is when will it stop burning. If there’s enough starfall in this wood, it might burn all the way to spring.”
He dug his knife into the wood and started prying on it, trying to split it. The dense wood resisted, and Micah was barely able to penetrate the surface. He tried hammering on the end of his knife with his fist. This worked a little better, but not much. “This floor is tough,” he grunted.
“Use this,” Morgane said, offering her dagger. Micah took one glance at the jeweled hilt and shook his head.
“I need a hammer.”
Morgane pulled away from the opening, and the torchlight vanished. Micah found himself sitting in almost perfect darkness. The only thing he could see was a handful of stars twinkling through the hole in the roof. He stared up at them, wondering at the simple beauty. There is something special about the stars on a winter night, he thought.
A shadow seemed to pass across the sky, and Micah blinked. He couldn’t be sure if it had been real, or just his eyes playing tricks in the darkness. Morgane returned a minute later with the toolkit. She handed him a hammer, and Micah went back to work chipping at the floorboards. He managed to split off a six-inch splinter, but it was only as big around as his pinky.
“Will that do?” Morgane said.
Micah held it up in the light. “It will burn, but it won’t make much of a fire.”
“Hurry up. I’m starting to get cold.”
“Me too,” he mumbled. Micah went back to hammering. The truth was, he was having a hard time using the hammer because his fingers didn’t want to open and close the way they should. He was tempted to take his sliver of wood and hope it would be enough to get a real fire started. He might collect some branches from the surrounding woods and get those to burn, if the sliver had enough starfall.
Micah brought the hammer down for one last attempt, and heard a snap! Even before the sound reached his ears, he knew from the awkward twist of his knife and sudden give of the blade that he’d broken the tip. His heart sank.
“What was that?” Morgane said.
Micah held the k
nife up to the light. “This isn’t working.”
“Why don’t you just set it on fire?”
Micah reached for the sliver, which had been sitting on the floor next to him. “It’s small,” he said, holding it up so she could see it. “It won’t get very warm.”
“Not that, this.” She made a gesture with the torch.
Micah narrowed his eyes. “The whole boxcar? That’s crazy!”
“Why? It should burn, shouldn’t it? It’s not like we can stay in here anyway.”
Micah searched for the flaw in her logic, and failed to find it. “Good point,” he mumbled.
Micah sheathed his broken blade and hurried back to the door. “Give me the torch,” he said. “I want you to get as far up the hill as you can. Hide behind the steamscout.”
A look of concern came over her features as he spoke. “Is it so dangerous?”
“I won’t take any chances.”
“But what about you? How will you start the fire?”
“Don’t worry about me. Just get up the hill.”
“Micah-”
“Now!” he snapped. He was surprised at his own forcefulness. Part of it was due to the cold, but he realized that part of it was genuine concern for her. He suddenly felt guilty. Morgane gave him a pouty look, but she handed him the torch and started the climb up to the tracks. Micah stood in the entryway, watching her. I’d better apologize for that later, he thought. If I survive, that is...
Once he was satisfied that Morgane had gotten to safety, he climbed out of the boxcar. Micah took a few steps back, giving himself room to throw the torch and hopefully avoid the explosion that might follow.
“If I die, at least I’ll be warm,” he mumbled. Micah threw the torch. It made a whoosh-whoosh sound as it spun through the air. It was a perfectly aimed throw, and easily slid in the narrow crack of the door. Micah turned to run. Behind him, he heard the clattering sound of the wrench as it hit the floor. He dove into the snow bank, covering his head with his hands, waiting for the inevitable blast.
Starfall Page 10
