Palom

by L. L. McNeil

  ‘Give me your word?’ Amarah raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Indeed.’ He adjusted his hat again. ‘We’ve passed the first test. The hardest part is over.’

  ‘First? How many damned tests are there? You never said nothing about no tests!’

  The corners of Kohl’s lips turned upwards for a moment, the scars making his crooked smile seem disfigured. ‘It’s been so long…’

  Accelerating forward, Amarah pushed Khanna across the tundra. She rolled her shoulders, emboldened now they were away from the golems. ‘Jato gonna be there?’

  Amarah saw the Arillian flinch, and she smirked.

  ‘I… don’t know. Perhaps.’ He fiddled with the brim of his hat.

  ‘Won’t that be a brilliant father-daughter reunion,’ she cackled. ‘Now the love of her life ain’t around to enforce your exile, she can’t say nothing about you coming home. Who knows, maybe she’ll have missed you! I’m sure she’ll forgive you for killing Aciel.’

  ‘Why do you do that, Amarah? Are you hurting so much all the time that you must inflict pain on everyone around you?’ Kohl asked, watching her. ‘Is peace too much to ask? Is there another reason you want to resurrect Moroda?’

  The sky pirate snorted again. She didn’t have to answer. Didn’t have to justify anything she did or said. She saw him smile his crooked smile again and bristled. She couldn’t even put her finger on why it agitated her and resigned herself to complete the rest of their journey in silence.

  Kohl had other ideas, it seemed. ‘Topeko had such patience with you. Why did you not listen to his teachings?’

  ‘I don’t see what’s so good about those damned teachings of his!’

  ‘You’ve been through hardship, I understand. You were shunned by your loved ones and forced to strike out on your own. As was I. Yet…I did not resort to thievery.’

  His words stung. That was too close to home.

  She picked up her scythe and brandished the blade at her companion. ‘One more word. I warn you.’

  Kohl raised his palms and stepped back. ‘I meant no offense.’

  She took a deep breath. He was her guide. Without him, she would not be able to pass safely, nor return. She couldn’t let herself be riled by his every comment and jibe. At least he wasn’t malicious. The complete opposite of Sapora.

  She straightened her stance and lowered her scythe, though she kept hold of it. ‘Fine.’ Her breath formed in front of her face as she spoke. She thought to the practicalities that lay ahead, which calmed her. ‘If your village don’t get outsiders, where am I meant to keep Khanna? There’s no dock at all?’

  Kohl shook his head. ‘No, we’ve no need for them. Our children can fly before they can walk. We carry them if we must travel. There will be a plateau for Khanna to rest, protected from the worst of the snows by a bluff.’

  For all the times she had her rag-tag party on Khanna, Amarah had been beyond frustrated with their incompetence and inability to do as they were told. Now it was just her and Kohl, she almost missed her old companions. They had united and stood against a threat. Now everyone had split up, as was expected, she felt empty somehow. Perhaps she’d crew her ship with Arillians desperate to see the rest of Linaria? Arillians looking for adventure, glory, and riches. Perhaps.

  That had certainly been her dream, once. Still was, in some regards. The glistening of gold was a hard thing to resist—collecting it meant guaranteed food, shelter, comfort, even a little luxury when times were good. Things were lean, now. She was on the last of her supplies and hadn’t carried out a raid for the better part of a year, though she still owned a warship docked in Taban Yul, maintained among the rest of the Imperial fleet.

  Perhaps she could undergo formal training and become a warship pilot? It would be under Sapora’s rule, though, and she shuddered at the thought of that filthy snake commanding her. She wouldn’t be able to fight back then, and all the money in the world wouldn’t be worth that restriction.

  She twirled her scythe as darkness coated Linaria. Her weapon was unlike any other—ultra-light, with a sharp, twin edged blade, and the strength of dragons emanating from its core. It was this weapon that had saved her during that final battle, and it was this weapon that would keep her protected now she was deep in Arillian territory. She’d thank Palom a thousand times over for forging it. Valta Forinja, he’d called it. Not that the Ittallan words meant anything to her.

  If the Arillians took a disliking to her, she’d damn well make sure to take as many of them down with her as she could.

  ‘We’re here,’ Kohl said, breaking her thoughts. The first moon had risen, and the sun slipped towards the horizon.

  ‘What? Where? I don’t see no town?’ She looked ahead and squinted in the failing light, trying to make out any indication of a village: a torchlight, a flurry of movement, even shadows grouped together to form dwellings. But she couldn’t see anything other than darkening, snowy tundra. ‘Sure we’re in the right place? This snow all looks the bloody same.’

  Kohl smiled again and flashed a few teeth. ‘Arillians are creatures of the sky, Amarah. We don’t live on the ground.’

  Eyes widening, Amarah took a step back and looked straight up.

  The sight took her breath away.

  The fog which collected in extremes of cold had masked them as she approached, but she could see them now she knew where to look. Right above Khanna, about a league high, were a collection of floating islands.

  The bare, blackened rock underneath the islands hummed low and emanated power; an invisible barrier of some kind, which pressed against her face, slowly pushing Khanna away as it pulsed.

  ‘It…they, how…do we get up there?’ she stammered, catching her breath as she tried to collect her thoughts. She cast her mind back to all the rumours she’d heard of this place before, all the tavern stories and jokes. There had to be something to explain how to broach the islands.

  ‘If you can’t fly straight up, then I suggest a spiral approach, steep as you can,’ Kohl replied, staring up at the islands with an expression Amarah could only describe as longing. ‘I’ll stay on Khanna with you. Guide you through the storm.’

  Amarah looked back at him, ‘Storm? I can feel that…that force. That’s a storm?’

  ‘In a way. The elders can move air, not as wind, but as a kind of pressure. Like a shield. It keeps the islands floating and anything unwanted away. A superb defence.’

  She exhaled, ‘With those Golems standing guard, do you even need that barrier to protect you?’

  Kohl licked his lips. ‘Let’s go, before the light completely disappears.’

  Amarah knew he was right. She didn’t have time on her side. She clicked her tongue, adjusted her sails, and pushed forward on the throttle. Khanna would be the first ship to touch this undiscovered land.

  That meant something.

  As Khanna picked up speed, Amarah opened her large side sails and turned wide, curving around the perimeter of the bottom of the islands. Once happy with her speed, she pulled back on another lever, lifting the nose of Khanna and beginning her ascent. The force of air which shielded the islands grew stronger, shaking Khanna as she continued to climb, circling all the while.

  Amarah saw Kohl raise his hands and then the chill of his power washed over Khanna as he unleashed his own magic to challenge the islands’ defence. The force pushing against her slackened, as though he’d lifted the barrier, and she approached unimpeded.

  Sweat gathered at her temples from the effort of holding Khanna’s climb, turn, and speed, and her arms shook at the effort of it. Through Khanna, she felt every touch of wind, every air current, every shift in pressure and temperature.

  Some part of the hull groaned under the conflicting forces as Amarah pushed her ship to the limit. One of her already torn sails flapped wildly, and with a sudden screech, ripped away, lost in the darkness behind them.

  Amarah knew if she let go, even with Kohl’s aid, the strength of the islands’ barrier would fling he
r off into the darkness, following her lost sail. She couldn’t give up. Wouldn’t.

  Khanna groaned again, a low noise that vibrated under her. If Rhea existed, she prayed she’d keep Khanna held together. Her ship had survived hurricanes and storms at sea, the steepest of dives and the fastest, most strenuous of airship races. Khanna would pull through. She always did.

  The air crackled in front of her, like sheet lightning, as the islands’ magic fought against Kohl’s, and she willed Khanna to go faster. It was no wonder no-one had ever come here before.

  Amarah’s fur-lined boots slipped on the wooden deck as ice formed underfoot—a by-product of Kohl’s magic. She wore a double layer of gloves; lambs’ wool for warmth and leather for hardiness, yet the cold at this altitude numbed her fingers, and the barrier’s pressure threatened to throw her off the wheel.

  ‘Don’t let go, don’t let go,’ she growled, her teeth grinding together as the muscles in her arm spasmed. Wood splintered from somewhere behind her. She was balanced on the knife’s edge, a moment’s breath from being blown away into the tundra.

  As beads of sweat trickled down her face, the force suddenly intensified. It whipped around her, along the deck, buffeting her body and pushing her from the wheel and her controls. She bent her knees, leant into the barrier, and closed her eyes to the stinging cold. She could faintly hear Kohl calling out, but the wail of the air filled her ears and throat, and she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘Don’t…let...’

  The effort was too much.

  The wheel slipped from her grasp and the edges of her world dimmed as Khanna span wildly out of control, caught in the vicious force of the islands’ barrier.

  ‘Amarah!’ Kohl’s voice cut across the screaming wind, and she gasped for air.

  Her world brightened again. The rush of wind had disappeared, and she found herself sat on Khanna’s deck, Kohl awkwardly holding the wheel with one hand and looking at her, his other hand outstretched.

  ‘Amarah, we’re here. Amarah?’

  She shook her head, dizzy and sick from the forces playing with her body. She’d never been sick in the sky, not since she was a child, anyway. She breathed deeply, dazed. ‘Ugh.’

  ‘Take a minute to catch your breath,’ Kohl said, his crooked smile gentle. ‘That was quite the ordeal.’

  Rolling onto her front, Amarah leaned forward on her hands and knees, grounding herself with the feel of Khanna’s deck under her. It didn’t take long for the shaking to stop, and she pushed herself to stand. ‘Khanna okay?’ she asked, looking around for anything else that might have torn off during the ascent.

  Kohl shook his head. ‘Look past your ship. Welcome to my home, Amarah. Take pride in being the first non-Arillian permitted here. We must have a greater purpose after all.’

  Oren sprawled out under them, as well as other islands in the distance. Some were great rocks of ice, others were bare, others were covered with snow or grass, with mountains dotting most of them. Now they floated above Oren, Amarah realised the barrier had disappeared completely, leaving her to breathe in cold, fresh air.

  She smiled.

  ‘We’re on the main island. There’s four that make up the whole settlement. And other Arillian villages scattered about, too…But Oren is my home. Where I was born. I’ve…It’s been a while. Ignore any stares, please. They will know you mean no harm for the Golems to have let you through,’ Kohl said, his voice quavering as he took in the landscape before them.

  ‘Oh, if Topeko could see this. He’d wet himself!’ Amarah said, stepping up to Khanna’s controls and descending towards the main village. Her body ached down to her toes, but the elation of being the first visitor to breach this hidden world gave her renewed strength and vigour.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll return with him to show it off?’

  Amarah thought it over. ‘Or perhaps I’ll keep it as my own secret and not tell him anything.’

  Kohl shook his head. ‘Do you feel well after the climb?’

  ‘I’m fine, stop fussing.’ She breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath after the ascent. This was her best opportunity yet.

  Now she’d finally made it to Oren, she had the chance to learn all she could of the Arillians and get them to save Moroda.

  Chapter Three

  The heavy trudge of marching boots echoed across the houses and streets of the South Galeo district. Steel-capped toes scraped on the cobblestones where snow had been cleared. Thousands had gathered to one of the richest districts in Taban Yul to watch the procession as it passed by. Onlookers crowded along the edge of the main thoroughfare, countless more cramped in side streets and alleys, pushing and jostling with one another to catch a glimpse. When space on the ground ran out, people huddled on sloped rooftops and leaned off chimneys, gripping with one hand as they strained to see the column of soldiers who marched below.

  The red and gold armour of the Imperial Guard glinted in the bright winter sun, carving a line of colour through the city’s white and grey buildings. While Palom marched with the soldiers, he did not share their livery.

  He, along with countless others, wore ceremonial armour as befitting the last of the outside world the dead would ever see. Long feathers dyed red to represent phoenixes and their rebirth cycle had been stitched into the lining of his armour.

  The crest of feathers at his shoulders were bright, vivid red, but as they stretched along his back and down to his feet, they turned black and ashen.

  His Valta Forinja rested on his back—he’d not let the sword out of his sight—covered by a thin, black robe that fell to his knees.

  Palom and five others carried a litter on their shoulders, red fabric to match the armour of the Imperial Guard draped over the corpse. He’d tried to count the litters that morning as they got into position, but lost track after fifty. His stomach knotted at how closely death and glory seemed interlinked.

  Somewhere up ahead, near the front of the procession, drums beat. The Imperial Guard marched in time to the rhythm, but Palom—and scores of others who were not trained soldiers—shuffled along as they tried to keep up, beholden to their task. Princess Isa had permitted the survivors of Aciel’s war to carry the fallen to their final resting places alongside the Imperial Guard. Palom was grateful for that, even though Lathri had suggested he stay with her to lessen the emotional strain.

  As the street slowly descended, an enormous building of white marble came into view. Its curved walls and domed roof reflected the sun like a mirror, the light broken only by intricate gold embellishments protruding from the stone. The decorative features were fashioned into animals, the true forms of prominent Ittallan figures from the past. Lions. Eagles. Peacocks.

  The mausoleum.

  Palom had vowed never to return to this place of death, had avoided the entire district for as long as he had lived and worked in Taban Yul, but he couldn’t avoid it now. He knew more than anyone else there was no way to bring them back—but seeing the final resting place of so many people was almost more than he could bear. A physical manifestation of his guilt and sorrow.

  Names of lost loved ones flooded his mind, their faces flashing before him as he marched closer.

  In Val Sharis, where hatred between the Ittallan and Varkain ran strongest in Linaria, anything underground—or linked to the underground—was not only immoral, but utterly unacceptable. The Ittallan dead were not buried in the earth where snakes lived; their dead were honoured in flawless tombs where sunlight flooded in through the day and bathed in moonlight at night.

  The mausoleum in South Galeo was the largest in Taban Yul. Kings and queens from ages past were laid to rest here, as were councillors, decorated warriors, and others who were in the good graces of the current ruler. It was only fitting that those who’d given their lives to protect the city from Aciel’s forces would be able to rest in this prestigious building.

  Weeping and cheering from the gathered crowds broke through his thoughts, and Palom chanced a look around. His eyes met wit
h others echoing his sadness. Suddenly Lathri’s suggestion of remaining with her made more sense, and he had an urge to put the litter down, turn tail, and run back to security and comfort.

  But he’d sworn to protect those he travelled with. Those he had failed.

  Eryn.

  Moroda.

  Anahrik.

  Even his Valta Forinja, for all its power, hadn’t been able to stop their deaths. Couldn’t bring them to life.

  Its weight on his back grew heavy.

  Moroda’s body could not be recovered, but not for lack of trying. It seemed she truly was trapped in the Sevastos’s crystal along with Aciel. The teal-blue stone, immovable and invulnerable to damage, sat on the outskirts of Taban Yul. A handful of soldiers had been positioned nearby as guards, marking the point where the Arillians had come so close to wiping out the richest—and arguably most powerful—city in Linaria. Palom imagined it would become a landmark, some tourist feature to point out to visitors.

  She wouldn’t get the respect she deserved.

  He and five others carried the litter for Anahrik, his business partner—the one who’d introduced him to Taban Yul, who’d set up shop with him, helped teach him the common tongue and bring him into modern times. Anahrik, who’d introduced him to so many friends—many of whom lay in the mausoleum ahead.

  His eyes stung.

  After everything he’d been through with Anahrik, Eryn, and Moroda, for all his strength and power, the Valta Forinja he’d forged to turn the tide of battle—it was all for nought.

  He had survived, but Palom would gladly trade places with them, if he could.

  Now Lathri and her friends wanted to stir it all up again, getting themselves mixed up with Sapora and his plots.

  Palom never had been interested in the power struggles of Goldstones and nobility. Wars were fought and lost on the strength of someone’s claim to rule—be it over a plot of land or an entire country. Death followed in the wake of every ruler, and he didn’t want to have any part in it anymore. He couldn’t. Seeing his friends to rest was about all he could manage.