Amid Wind and Stone

by Nicole Luiken

  Knowing Grady might burn up or fall to his death at any moment made her frantic. Without giving herself any time to think about the danger, Audrey climbed through the hatch and started down the rope ladder.

  The wind instantly buffeted her, sending the rope ladder into an intricate figure eight. Grady would have lost his lunch; Audrey just clung harder and lowered her foot for the next rung.

  Ten feet down, the degree of swing was even greater. She clipped on her bracelet and put both legs through the ladder, using the rung like the seat of a swing, while she craned her neck trying to spot the burning sail above. But even at the far end of the swing, the bottom of the gondola blocked her view. She needed to go farther down.

  She’d just unclipped and stood up again when the zeppelin jinked madly, bucking and bobbing.

  Her hands slipped. Rope burned Audrey’s palms, and her thumb whacked against the next rung down. She shrieked as her fingers lost purchase entirely. She grabbed desperately, but the remaining rungs slipped by in a heartbeat.

  Then her body jerked to a sudden stop. The end of the rope ladder had knotted itself up and one of her legs was entangled. She hung almost upside down, dizzy, her heart pounding like a bass drum. Cold sweat soaked her back and hairline. The world spun below her, showing her first fog, then rocky cliff.

  Slowly and painfully, she curled her body up far enough to grab a higher rung and pull herself back upright.

  Winds, that had been too close—

  A flaming piece of sail fell past her. She looked up and saw Grady clinging to the strut. He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes closed. The strut had a definite downward slant now. It could go at any moment.

  And in the sky around, the battle still raged. Most of Queen Winifrid’s escorts had fallen to the zipships’ greater maneuverability and their fire globes, but the larger zeppelin still stayed aloft—a testament to her father’s skill and The Phantom’s timely aid.

  Smoke rose up from Donlon where dirigibles and zipships alike had crashed. All the tiers burned with separate fires while men and women the size of ants strove to put them out.

  She took it all in with a single glance before the rope ladder swung her away. Only this was no straight, back-and-forth swing but a mad gyration full of corkscrew twists and sudden up and downs as her father expertly navigated the gusts and undertows—and the constant course changes were even worse at the end of the wildly whipping ladder. Audrey entangled her legs in the two remaining rungs, but her shoulders ached from the strain, and her red, numb hands kept slipping. At least twice, the carabiner bracelets saved her life.

  Her stomach, usually of the cast-iron variety, protested the turbulence.

  I can’t hold on much longer. The angry screaming of the wind filled her ears and, on top of everything else, her head pounded from the dissonance.

  The ladder was coming closer to Grady again, but it was going to fall short of his position by ten feet and be slightly too far to the left. “Zephyr, push me!” she Called.

  The little wind tried, nudging the ladder to the left, but simply wasn’t strong enough to lift it.

  Crack! The strut finally gave way and fell toward her, still burning. Grady screamed, his tousled red hair framing a face that looked even whiter in contrast.

  Desperately, Audrey flipped upside down and hung by her legs so as to add an extra two feet of length to the rope ladder, and for the first time in her life, she Called a greater wind: “Mistral!”

  Mistral responded with a huge shove that put her straight in the path of the falling sail. Flames singed her hair, but Grady’s hands smacked into hers. She grabbed his wrists as the pendulum swung them away from the burning, falling strut. Pain shot through her arms as his weight swung from her shoulders and through her lower legs where they were hooked into the ladder rungs. Blood rushed into her upside-down head, dizzying her. But she gritted her teeth and didn’t let go.

  Thank goodness he was still on the runty side of fourteen.

  Before she could Call Mistral for more help, the inevitable happened: one of the little zipships got past The Phantom and scored a direct hit on the zeppelin’s balloon envelope. The silk caught fire, and the hot air inside rushed out. The zeppelin tilted to one side as the balloon deflated.

  The Queen Winifrid fell out of the sky, with Audrey and Grady still hanging underneath.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Saving Marta

  Stone World

  Dorotea wrenched her gaze away from the moving pictures showing the evacuation. She knew Qeturah’s plan was a trap, but she was too far away to do anything about it.

  All she could do was try to save her sister. Keep building the Four Worlds mirror.

  “Have you found any obsidian?” she asked Jasper.

  “No, but my brother Obsidian has promised to come as soon as he is able.”

  Dorotea bit her lip to keep herself from reminding him how urgent the situation was. Jasper knew.

  She hurried to the nearest desk holding a blank glass square and pulled loose the cords attaching it to the floor.

  “Can you hear that?” Jasper asked, tilting his head.

  “Hear what?” She carefully lifted the glass-lined box.

  “That low, basso chiming.”

  She shook her head. Jasper looked troubled, but helped her lay the flat box down in her mirror tray. He matter-of-factly deepened and widened the indent to better fit the box. Now all that remained was obsidian. Which meant waiting.

  “Dorotea, the gold wire gave me an idea how to stop this, but I can’t do it here. Will you be all right alone?” Jasper asked.

  No, she wouldn’t, but any chance to stop this madness had to be taken. “I’ll have to be.”

  “I’ll be as fast as I can,” Jasper promised. He hesitated a moment longer.

  “What?”

  “You are so fierce in your protection of your sister.” He smiled fleetingly. “Almost like a gargoyle.” Before she could respond, he sank into the floor. This time, the sight hardly fazed her.

  Dorotea busied herself, fussing with the mirror. She dusted off the glass and was relieved to see her reflection.

  A wheezing noise snagged her attention. Ice shot through her veins when she realized it came from Marta. Her sister’s lips were pale and bluish; she struggled for breath. Dorotea propped her up. “No, Marta! Hold on a little longer!”

  She divided her attention between her sister’s breathing and the rest of the cavern. The moving pictures showed Stone Heart Cavern empty, and the miners retreating through the river passage. Their faces were grimed with dirt and desperation.

  In Elect Cavern, two hundred feet away, a thick metal door in the wall had been opened. People rushed in and out carrying big black things. Guns? They all had hollow tubes like Elect Trudi’s smaller gun.

  Dorotea suppressed a shiver and stroked Marta’s forehead. “Just hold on. Help is on the way. You’re going to visit the True World. They’ll heal you, and then you and I and Mother will be together again. Martin, too,” she added for her sister’s benefit.

  Marta wheezed in another breath.

  Dorotea blinked back tears. “Hurry, Jasper,” she whispered.

  But the fleeing Stone Hearts arrived before he or Obsidian did.

  Pounding feet and shouting echoed from the connecting passage. A flood of people staggered out, many of them supporting others. Panic and horror painted their faces, as well as blood.

  The Elect healer and her Unskilled assistant hurried to help the wounded. “This man shouldn’t have been moved!” the healer snapped, pressing her hands down on a belly wound.

  Elect Harmon argued with her. “They can’t stay here. The gargoyles will arrive momentarily.”

  “High Councillor!” the healer appealed to the white-haired woman.

  “Take the emergency cases into the armory and bolt the door,” the High Councilor ordered. “Send the others up to the fields with some assistants.”

  Dorotea checked the moving pictures, try
ing to locate her mother or Martin. Had they crossed over to the other world?

  She searched for Jasper, too, but only caught a glimpse of him leaving Artisan Cavern, still burdened with several spools of gold wire. He didn’t appear to be searching for Obsidian.

  She stroked her sister’s forehead and watched helplessly as Stone Hearts with pickaxes and heavy mauls burst into Elect Cavern on the heels of their wounded. Their faces ran with sweat. At Elect Harmon’s direction, they lined up with the Elect gunners, facing the tunnel mouth.

  Ten gargoyles stepped out of the walls. “This is your final chance!” Flint bellowed in his deep voice. “Leave now before the Goddess crushes your artificial cave!”

  “Fire!” Elect Trudi ordered. Orange missiles streaked from the large tubes and punched into three gargoyles. They exploded into rock chips.

  A hundred feet away, Dorotea huddled over her sister’s body, ears ringing, terrified.

  The Stone Hearts cheered. The remaining gargoyles roared in rage and created stone shields. The next round of missiles splattered against them. Where a hole did punch through, the gargoyles promptly filled in again.

  More flashes of light accompanied the whipcracks of sound. The wall rippled, advancing a foot. Noise assaulted her ears as the Elect blasted away at it. Three of the moving picture boxes crashed down; the others all went black.

  Dorotea tensed, anticipating the gargoyles’ next move. A bald Stone Heart screamed as a stone hand closed on his ankle and pulled him into the rock.

  She averted her eyes. She didn’t even know who she wanted to win; she just wanted it to all stop.

  The fighting was too close. Any stray projectile could easily kill them, yet they had to stay near the Four Worlds mirror. She started to drag her sister to one side, then froze at the sight of Marta’s blue lips.

  Her sister had stopped breathing.

  Was she—? Shaking, Dorotea put her hand on Marta’s chest and felt her heart beating. “Healer!” she screamed, but even if the woman had been nearby, she wouldn’t have heard over the terrible cacophony.

  Marta would die if Dorotea didn’t do something fast.

  The memory of bringing Jasper mouthfuls of air underwater galvanized her. She inhaled and blew the air into her sister’s mouth, but it leaked away.

  “Pinch her nose shut!” a woman yelled.

  The High Councillor lay on the floor twenty feet away. Blood soaked her lower robes, and her face was as pale as porcelain. “Pinch her nose shut so all the air doesn’t escape. Put a hand under her neck to open her windpipe while you breathe in.”

  Dorotea stared in astonishment, and the old woman gave a ghost of a smile. “I was a healer once. Do it.”

  Dorotea slid her hand under her sister’s so-fragile neck and tilted Marta’s chin back. With her other hand, she pinched her sister’s nose closed, then breathed into her mouth. This time Marta’s chest inflated.

  “Smaller breaths,” the High Councillor criticized. “Her lungs can’t hold as much as yours.”

  Dorotea obeyed. Minutes passed, measured out in breaths. Dorotea concentrated on her sister, ignoring the flashes of light and cries of pain from the battle. Once rock chips stung her arm. She angled her body to protect Marta more and breathed into her mouth again.

  Then Marta gave a sudden gasp and inhaled on her own.

  Exhausted and tearful, Dorotea turned to thank the High Councillor, but the woman’s eyes were glassy and dead.

  Dorotea risked a glance at the battle. It had, thankfully, moved a little farther away. The gargoyles seemed to be driving the humans back, though she saw casualties from both sides on the ground: bloody bodies and jumbles of green jade and mica. She shuddered.

  A handsome gargoyle of shiny black stone rose out of the ground at her feet, nearly destroying the partial mirror. She shied back, but his voice was courteous. “Are you Dorotea? I am Obsidian. Jasper sent me to help you.”

  Relief poured through her like sand into an hourglass. She blinked back tears. Jasper hadn’t forgotten her. “Thank you for coming.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Marta’s near death had burned all the politeness out of her. “I need you to lie down and act as a mirror.”

  “Lie down?” He frowned suspiciously. His bald head gleamed.

  She resisted the urge to scream at him. “Yes. Fill that square there. It should only take a few moments.”

  “If you betray me—“

  She nodded impatiently. “You’ll snap my neck like a carrot. I know. Please.”

  He submerged himself in the rock so that his obsidian back showed. His chin rested on the ground. He watched her warily as she crawled forward and centered her reflection between the four mirrors.

  “Help.” She fumbled for the right words. “Look in a mirror.” What had Chris called his daughter? “Belinda, please, I need your help.”

  Mirrors must be plentiful in the True World, because her otherself appeared within moments. A single image replaced the four fractured ones: a girl with Dorotea’s face and long, dark hair falling past her waist. Belinda wore a blue shirt, wide-legged trousers, and strange silver jewelry on one side of her face.

  (hello? which one are you?)

  Words gushed out. “I’m Dorotea, from Stone World. My sister is in a coma; she needs help. Your father Chris promised me that if I woke the gargoyles, he would take her to the True World and heal her.”

  Belinda’s eyes widened. (you spoke to my father? when? I haven’t talked to him in months.)

  Dorotea’s anxiety ratcheted up. “She’s dying! He promised!” Her throat hurt like she’d swallowed sand.

  Belinda’s spine straightened. (the word of a Loring is always good. I will get your sister medical attention; I swear it.) A brief pause, then: (I’ve summoned help. send her through.) Two hands emerged from the mirror.

  Dorotea laid her sister’s head in Belinda’s hands, then lifted Marta’s shoulders and fed her through the mirror. “Watch her. She stopped breathing once already.”

  (she will be cared for.)

  In the reflection, adults in white clothing arrived and took over the care of her sister. Tears of relief formed in Dorotea’s eyes. An immense weight lifted from her shoulders. Stone World was dying, but she’d accomplished this one thing. Marta was safe.

  Belinda approached the mirror once more. (do you wish asylum? your location appears unsafe.)

  Dorotea hesitated, strongly tempted. The last few days had pushed her to her limits. The world was shaking to pieces around her: the gargoyles pushing her people Above, the Goddess about to wake. Both sides of the conflict were angry at her; she could easily die in the next few minutes. And what was there holding her here? Her mother and Martin had likely crossed over into another world.

  But then she thought about Jasper’s smile and their fragile new relationship, and she shook her head. It wasn’t safe, but she couldn’t abandon her home—and Jasper might need her help with his plan.

  (I will be in touch. farewell.)

  Her True self’s reflection faded. Dorotea crawled off the mirror. “It’s done,” she told Obsidian. “Thank you.”

  He rose to his feet. He towered over her, but Dorotea was too exhausted to feel fear. “I hope the little girl will be well. That was most strange.”

  She nodded heartfelt agreement. “Do you know where Jasper is?”

  “I can sense him,” Obsidian said. “Would you like me to send him a message?”

  “Tell him Marta is safe.” Was there anything else? That she hoped he would be careful? That she hoped to see him again? It was all too complicated to relay through a stranger. She shook her head.

  “Then it is time to go. This cavern is unnatural and will be destroyed.”

  Numbly, Dorotea accepted the gargoyle’s escort to the river passage and joined the stumbling line of exhausted adults and crying children survivors.

  They’d just reached Unskilled Cavern when everyone stopped. They heard the most terrible sound
of all: a vast, sliding roar as Elect Cavern collapsed in on itself.

  The roar was followed by an even more terrible silence.

  How many people had just perished? How many more would perish in the next hour, either here or on Air World? It’s the end of the world.

  At the bottom of the ramp, she saw Jasper working off to the side, in the cubby-like warrens. Gold wire and jewelry lay strung out on the halls in a spiderweb of gold lines. With a gesture, he melted it to slag. What was he doing?

  The answer came to her as he covered over the gold veins with a layer of stone: he was giving the Cave Lord back his blood.

  Hope and despair clashed inside her. If he could bring the Cave Lords back to life, it might blunt the Goddess’s anger. She might relent, and life could go on.

  Dorotea broke away from the mob. “Jasper! Let me help!”

  He tossed her a spool of gold wire, and she quickly began walking backward, laying it out while he buried it. A few people tried to stop them or demanded what they were doing, but Jasper snarled at them, and they went away.

  Finally, they finished. The gold sank into stone. “Does it work?” Dorotea asked. “Do the Cave Lords live?”

  Jasper grimaced. “I don’t know. They didn’t respond when I called them.”

  Suddenly, the ground shook and heaved like a blanket before folding. Dorotea fell, skinning her knee. An immense voice rang out: I am awake. Where are my children?

  Dorotea held her breath, expecting the roof to fall in, for the world to end, but instead, another voice shuddered through the stone, more vibration than sound, yet somehow she could understand it: [Here I am.] Then another and another, overlapping. [I am awake.]

  Jasper smiled. He squeezed her hand. “They’re answering. One, two, three—at least five. The Cave Lords live!”

  “I feared you had entered the long sleep. Who saved you?”

  [The boy. Your grandson, Red Jasper.]

  “And where is he?”

  Jasper took a deep breath and pressed his hand to the floor. “I am here.”