Falcon Quinn and the Crimson Vapor

by Jennifer Finney Boylan

  “You know, you don’t have to shock everybody with your electricity,” said Falcon “just because you can.”

  “You’re going to wish I’d zapped her,” said Jonny. “Trust me.”

  “Since when have I ever trusted you?”

  The windmill was before them now, and Falcon swept down and lowered Jonny onto the ground. The windmill seemed much larger now that they were up close to it. The blue sails slashed through the air like blades on the propeller of a giant ship. There was a high-pitched, almost inaudible wailing, like the voice of someone crying out from a dream.

  “Megan?” said Falcon.

  There was no reply. Falcon stepped a little closer to the windmill, but Jonny pulled him back. “Careful,” said Jonny as a heavy wooden sail whirled past, only inches from Falcon’s head.

  Falcon looked into the heart of the rotating blades. Something gray and luminous flickered there. For a single second Falcon thought he saw Megan’s face. He spread his wings, flew toward the blades, and tried to grab on to the whirling translucent form. But one of the slashing sails crashed into his shoulder with a merciless whump, and Falcon tumbled through the air and crashed.

  “Are you all right?” said Jonny as he helped Falcon back onto to his feet.

  “That hurt,” said Falcon. He didn’t appear to have broken any bones, but he felt shaken, and his shoulder ached.

  “Okay,” said Jonny. “So what’s our plan B?”

  Falcon rubbed his shoulder and thought. “There must be a brake of some kind. Maybe inside this—what do you call it, the engine house, where all the gears are. If I can turn on the brake, do you think you could catch her?”

  “Catch her?”

  “If she falls once the blades stop.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want to catch her?” said Jonny.

  “I’ll stop the windmill, you catch her,” said Falcon. “Just don’t shock her, okay? I don’t care whether you’ve got crossed wires or not.”

  “All right,” said Jonny. “I’ll play catch. Just be careful in there, Falcon. Okay?” He looked up at the old engine house. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Falcon said, and flew over to the far side of the windmill, giving the spinning sails a wide berth. There was a wooden door on one side of the old stone building, and there was a loud creak as Falcon swung it open and flew inside.

  The interior of the windmill was dark. As his eyes adjusted, Falcon saw the shadows of large, intermeshing gears. On the floor were some old grain sacks, and on the side of the sacks was written 100% RAW GUARDIAN BARLEY.

  Around the perimeter of the room, at about knee level, was a slowly spinning grindstone, a huge circular stone with a hole in the middle. It passed beneath a heavy stone roller on the far side of the engine house, where the grain had once been crushed into flour.

  There was a large glassless window in the wall above the grindstone, and dim moonlight slanted in. A small set of rickety, circular stairs curled around the outer wall and up to a platform high over Falcon’s head. Next to another set of spinning gears by the platform were two red levers. One was marked REVERSE, the other, STOP.

  There we go, Falcon thought. He rushed up the stairs, passing the window as he made his way up. Outside, the blades of the windmill swirled past, and through their swiftly moving forms he could see Jonny, who had his arms raised and his fingers spread. He yelled, “Stand back!” A moment later, there was a forking flash of lightning from Jonny’s hands.

  Jonny looked up at the windmill. “Better hurry,” he called to Falcon. “We got company.”

  Falcon ran the rest of the way up the stairs. The rumbling of the rusted gears and cogs here in the center of the windmill was deafening. Falcon reached forward and grabbed the brake lever. The iron was cold in his hands.

  From outside he heard Jonny cry out again. The inside of the engine house was illuminated by flickers of lightning.

  He was just about to pull back on the brake when he felt a sudden blast of frozen wind, like an ice storm in the heart of winter back in Cold River. The air around him turned into a freezing mist, and crystals of ice ran up his arms. As the cold crept beneath his skin and into his hearts, Falcon began to lose consciousness. His wings froze, and Falcon toppled off the platform like a dead thing. As he hit the floor, the ice that had encased him shattered, sending fragments of crystals and tiny broken icicles skittering in every direction.

  “You know what I don’t understand,” said a voice. Falcon looked up, and there was Vega in her long, white dress, carrying a scepter. “Why is it so important to you to free the wind elemental? Why would you even care what happens to her?”

  “Ow,” said Falcon, crawling forward and slowly staggering back onto his feet. “You—froze me.”

  “I am sorry about that, dear, but I had to stop you from making a mistake.”

  “You think rescuing Megan is a mistake?”

  “Oh, of course it’s a mistake,” said Vega. “I just don’t see why you don’t leave her whirling around in the blades? It’s not such a bad place for a wind elemental, really, the sails of a windmill. It’s like keeping a hamster in a cage.”

  “She’s not a hamster, Mom. She’s my friend.”

  “Ugh, there is that tedious word again.” Vega ran her fingers through her long, white hair. “Such a low bar you seem to set for friendship. Honestly, it seems as if all a person has to do to win your unending loyalty, Falcon, is to stab you in the back. Just as your friend Gyra did now.”

  “What did you do to Jonny?” said Falcon, looking back toward the door.

  “Now, don’t you worry. He’s keeping nice and fresh in the deep freeze. We can reheat him later, if you want.”

  Falcon’s dark eye grew hot. “Just because you’ve given up,” he said, “doesn’t mean I have to.”

  “Given up?” said Vega. “You think I’ve given up? No, Falcon. I am fighting.”

  “Fighting what?”

  “Why, Falcon. Fighting to protect the innocent, of course. To keep them from being pulled into the monsters’ world of darkness and horror—as I was!”

  “What did Megan ever do to you?”

  “Nothing yet,” said Vega. “That’s why we keep her imprisoned. Preventing cyclones, and hurricanes, and all the other trouble her kind are responsible for. Can’t you see, Falcon? Keeping her in the windmill helps people. It saves lives!”

  “Megan won’t do any of that,” said Falcon. “I know her!”

  “You used to know her,” said Vega compassionately. “Before she came into her powers. You’ll find her changed now.”

  “I’m going to pull that brake, Mom,” said Falcon. “I don’t care what you say. I’m pulling it.”

  Vega looked over her shoulder at the long, spiraling staircase that led up to the brake lever by the great wheel. “Well, you’ll have to get past me first, won’t you?”

  Vega lifted her hand and pointed a scepter at him. There was a blue jewel in it that was surrounded by ice crystals. Something about it seemed strangely familiar to Falcon.

  “Wait—,” he said. “That’s—”

  “The indigo madstone,” said Vega. “For freezing things that have grown too hot. Like your passions, Falcon.” Vega pointed the scepter at his hearts. “Let her go, Son,” she said. “Forget her. You’ll feel more complete when you let go of these attachments. After all, she’s just a little breeze. You can’t even see her.”

  “I don’t have to see her,” said Falcon, and shot a fireball out of his eye. It hurtled toward Vega. Just as it was about to hit her, however, a black figure stepped between Falcon and his mother and caught the fireball. Rubbing his hands together, the black creature extinguished the flame, then let the ashes fall from his fingers.

  The Crow nodded. “I’ll take it from here, Son.”

  Vega looked unsurprised. “Well,” she said. “Here we are. The monster and child reunion.”

  “Dad!” said Falcon. “I was—”

 
“Why don’t you go up those stairs,” said the Crow, “and pull that brake while your mother and I have . . . a little talk?”

  “We have nothing to say to each other,” said Vega.

  “Vega,” said the Crow, his great wings quivering. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Don’t I?” said Vega, raising the scepter and shooting a blast of frozen crystals at him.

  For a moment the Crow’s face was covered in ice, and he stood still like a marble statue. Then the crystals shattered and fell to the floor. A small blue flame flickered above the Crow’s head.

  “This was not the conversation I imagined,” he said, and stepped toward Vega once more.

  “Mom,” said Falcon. “Dad.”

  “Not now, Son,” said Vega. “Your father and I are killing each other.” She raised her scepter again, and a spear shaped like a long icicle flew through the air toward the Crow. He caught it with one hand, looked at it dispassionately, and then broke it over his knee like a stick. The Crow dropped the pieces onto the floor and his fire went out.

  Falcon looked up the stairs at the windmill’s emergency brake. “I’m pulling that lever,” he said.

  “Really?” said Vega, blocking the way. “And then what?”

  “And then I’m getting out of here. Leaving you behind. Leaving you both behind.”

  “But then where will you go?” said the Crow. “Do you really think there is somewhere in the world where you will not have to choose between us?” The flame atop his head relit itself once more with a woosh.

  Falcon looked at his father, then his mother. He pulsed his wings and flew toward the platform at the top of the stairs.

  “Stop,” said Vega, and shot him with another blast from the scepter, coating Falcon’s wings with ice. This time he crashed onto the grindstone that rotated around the outer perimeter of the engine house. He tried to move, but his wings were frozen to the stone. Falcon slowly rotated toward the crushing stone rollers.

  The Crow moved toward Vega once again. “You cannot freeze me,” he said, “without also freezing yourself.” He moved toward her once again, and now Vega backed away from him, slowly ascending the stairs.

  “I don’t even know what that means,” she said.

  “Yes you do,” said the Crow.

  “Dad,” said Falcon. He had rotated almost halfway around the circular grindstone toward the crushing rollers now. “I could use a little help here.”

  “Just a moment, Son,” said the Crow.

  “Dad!”

  Vega and the Crow kept climbing the stairs.

  “Explain this theory of yours to me, Eoghan,” she said.

  “We are linked, Vega,” said the Crow. “The connection we share is not our curse. It is our gift.”

  “Mom! Dad!” Falcon shouted again. He was almost to the stone rollers now. He could hear the grinding, scraping sound as the two granite faces rumbled against each other.

  Vega and the Crow had reached the top of the stairs. Vega shot another iceball at her husband, and the Crow caught it in his hand. He held it up so she could see the ice turn to water and run through his fingers. “Do you truly not remember?” he said. “The winters in Cold River? The fires that I built?”

  “That’s done,” said Vega softly. “I’ve put that out of my mind.”

  “I can help put it back in your mind,” said the Crow, and reached toward her with his suction-cup hand, slowly placing its tendrils against her cheek. For a moment Vega looked hesitant. She looked at Falcon and then back at the Crow. Then she pulled on the lever behind her marked REVERSE, and there was a grinding, groaning sound from the gears. Falcon stopped just a few inches from the roller. The windmill was still, for a single instant.

  After this fleeting pause, the giant wheel began to spin in the other direction, and Falcon found himself slowly rotating around the perimeter once more, back toward the other side of the crushing rollers.

  The Crow’s eyelids drooped. “Remember,” he said.

  “I—,” said Vega. “I can’t—”

  “Remember,” he said again. For a moment longer, a look of tenderness remained on Vega’s face.

  Then she slapped his hand away. “Get that away from me,” she said, and raised the indigo madstone once more. Ice crystals flew through the air, and the Crow spread his wings and flew to the left and right in order to avoid the blast. The fire atop his head flickered brightly now, like an industrial flame.

  “So it’s going to be like this, then?” he said.

  “Tell me,” said Vega, “what other way could it be?” She held one of her arms out to the side and blasted a thin sheet of ice between her body and her wrist, making a delicate, crystalline wing. She put the madstone in the other hand and did the same thing on the other side. Vega looked at her husband with contempt, then stepped off the staircase. She flapped her shining ice wings and soared through the air, firing off balls of ice and snow as she descended.

  Falcon had spun halfway around the mill’s rotating grindstone, still struggling to get his frozen wings free. He called out for help, but his parents were more focused on hurting each other than on saving their son.

  He watched as his mother and father flew through the air above him, taking part in a strange aerial battle—Vega on her wings of ice, blasting her husband with snow crystals and hail, and the Crow, sweeping around her on his black wings, returning her attack with balls of fire. Around and around the turning gears of the windmill they flew as fire and ice rained down into the darkness.

  The Crow reached up and put his deformed hand in the flame that roared above his head. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a flying disk of fire through the air, just missing Vega. He threw a volley of these burning, spinning disks at her, but Vega was too fast. They exploded against the walls of the engine house like fireworks. Ashes and embers drifted toward the floor.

  Vega sent a huge blast of ice toward the Crow’s feet, encasing them. This dragged the Crow down toward one of the spinning vertical gears, and his right foot, covered by a giant ice block, got jammed in the gear’s teeth. He managed to free himself just before the gear meshed with another, and the cracking ice flew through the air in a rain of shattered crystals. Vega swept in, ready for the kill.

  But the Crow just threw his head back and made a piercing, kawww sound, like the screaming of a bird. Vega paused in midair and held her ears.

  Falcon was nearing the rollers of the grindstone. He had managed to get one of his wings free, but there wasn’t going to be enough time to free the other one before he was dragged beneath the crushing round stone.

  The air filled with the sound of hundreds of flapping wings. There were sharp, harsh cries from the throats of many strange birds. Through the open window, a murder of crows swept into the engine house, encircling Vega. There were hundreds of them—hooded crows and jackdaws and carrion crows and forest ravens and rooks. The vast murder of crows descended upon Vega’s body, their wings fluttering, their sharp black beaks pecking, their harsh voices filling the air with avian screams. Somewhere in the midst of all those furious, angry wings was a flash of white hair, the fabric of a white dress being torn to pieces.

  The Crow flew up to the high platform and pulled on the lever marked STOP, and a set of metal teeth scraped against the gears, bringing the windmill to a halt. Falcon stopped just inches before the crushing rollers. His wings finally free, he hopped onto the floor. There, in the center of the engine house floor, was the murder of crows, screaming and swarming over the guardian queen.

  “Mom?” said Falcon.

  Then the Crow gave another earsplitting kawwww, and the birds all flew up in the air once more. They circled around the Crow, like a pack of dogs cavorting with their master, before flying out the window. In a moment, the windmill was silent, except for the sound of the crows kawwing as they all flew off into the night.

  “Falcon,” said his mother, and he went over to her. Vega, weak and dazed, had a multitude of peck-marks on her arms and cheeks.
r />   “What did you do to her?” said Falcon to his father.

  “I tried to show her—,” said the Crow. “That I loved her.”

  “That you—?” In spite of his father saving his life, it was all Falcon could do not to blast the Crow with one of his fireballs. “Did anyone ever tell you, ever, that you and Mom have the strangest marriage in the world?”

  The Crow kneeled and ran his fingers through Vega’s white hair. Then he glanced at his son. The flame atop his head went out. “Go,” he said.

  “Let me heal her,” said Falcon. “I can use my light.”

  “This is beyond your power, Falcon,” said the Crow. From around his neck, the stopwatch was ticking loudly.

  “I can heal the pecks of a bunch of birds,” said Falcon.

  “Falcon,” said the Crow. “Those were not birds. Those were the souls of the lost. They are under my command.”

  “Lost—?”

  “There is no time to explain. I must take her to one who can heal her, both her body and her soul. I will take her to the Watcher.”

  “Dad—,” said Falcon.

  “Go!” shouted the Crow. “There is nothing more you can do. There are others coming for you, guardians from the city, below. They are coming.”

  “But—”

  “Go!” shouted the Crow again. Falcon watched as his father gathered Vega into his arms and slowly got to his feet. The Crow pulsed his wings and flew up to the circular window in the windmill’s wall.

  Then he flew out into the night and was gone.

  Falcon ran to the door in time to catch a last glimpse of the Crow, who held Vega as they soared out toward the dark ocean. He went outside and was just about to run to the other side of the windmill to see what had happened to Jonny when a small creature suddenly blocked his path. He stood before him, growling and snarling.

  “Now I’ve got you, Falcon Quinn,” said Tippy, the tiny dog. He opened his mouth, baring his awful fangs.

  “Oh, for god’s sake” said Falcon.

  “And now you will meet your doom, Falcon Quinn! For I shall bite you at last, bite you with the poison fangs!”

  “Listen—,” said Falcon.