by Jeff Minerd
The bullies seemed to recognize the boy as a Cutter as well, judging from how they hesitated. The Cutters of Pinemont were well known throughout the Kingdom of Spire for their size and toughness, their ability to fell prodigious amounts of trees with huge axes, and for their bad tempers when crossed.
The bullies’ leader shook off his hesitation. “You two take the tall freak,” he directed his cronies. “I’ll handle our hero here.”
They leapt into action.
Things happened fast.
A loud whack! sounded in the clearing. The scrawny giant had swung his long arms, and his long branch connected with the skull of one of his attackers, evening the odds to two-on-two before any of the boys had gotten close enough to trade punches.
The charging leader closed on Tak and swung. Tak had little formal training in hand-to-hand combat so far, but he had good instincts and he was fast. He sidestepped and shoved, tripping up his attacker’s legs. The boy’s fist missed and he went down in the mud, falling to his hands and knees. Unfortunately, Tak lost his footing on the slippery ground and went down too, sprawling on his back. The boy was on top of him in an instant. As they rolled and grappled in the mud, each trying to get on top and pin the other, Tak heard another whack! of wood against skull somewhere close by.
The lead bully was bigger than Tak, stronger, and had the benefit of more training. He straddled Tak’s chest, pinning his arms with his legs. Tak writhed and cursed and kicked but couldn’t shake the boy off. The boy raised a fist to drive into Tak’s face. “This…” he said, gasping for breath, “is what happens to liars.” Tak shut his eyes and made a strangled sound.
The blow never landed.
There was a third and final whack!
The boy’s eyes rolled up into his head and he toppled sideways off of Tak.
The Cutter boy stood looming over him, leaning on his tree branch like a staff. He held out a hand and helped Tak up. He was an odd-looking one. It seemed that the features of his face had decided to stop growing in a coordinated fashion and instead race each other pell-mell to adulthood. His ears were in the lead. But his nose wasn’t far behind. He was too young to grow a full beard but apparently determined to do so anyway, judging by the thin, patchy, aspiring beard that was doing its best to cover his face. On his feet, Tak tried to wipe the mud off his uniform and out of his hair, which only coated his hands with mud, which he wiped onto his breeches.
“Who are you?” he asked.
As he would learn later, the Cutter boy had a habit of not answering questions. He was also a man of few words, most of the time. He took a piece of folded-up paper from a pocket and handed it to Tak. “You write this?” he asked.
Tak unfolded the paper. It was smudged with grime and old blood.
John Cutter, Pinemont was written there. Tak’s sergeant during the siege of Selestria had written that. This was the paper they pinned to Jon Cutter to identify him before his body had been shipped home. Below the name, in Tak’s hand, was written, He was a brave man. He loved you all. I am sorry. Tak Spinner.
Tak nodded and handed the paper back.
The boy grunted and looked Tak up and down, as if taking a mental picture of him. “Thanks,” he said. “It helped.”
“You’re welcome,” Tak said. “I’m glad. He was a good man.”
“Did he really say that, before he died? That he loved us?”
“He did.”
The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His ears turned red. He gritted his teeth. “I shoulda been there,” he said. “I coulda done something maybe.”
Tak shook his head. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Believe me, there was nothing you could have done.”
The boy’s fingers squeezed his tree branch, hard. “They wouldn’t let me go. I shoulda gone anyway.”
“If you did, you’d probably be dead too. And anyway, you’re too young to fight.”
“You’re too young, but you were there.”
“That was a mistake. Some bad luck.”
The boy took a deep breath. His ears faded back to their usual color. He held out his hand. “Jon Cutter junior, of Pinemont.”
Tak shook his hand. “Taktinius Spinner junior, Selemont. I’m sorry about your dad.”
The boy shrugged and looked down at his boots, out of words.
“Are you with the loggers?” Tak asked, to fill the silence.
It took a while for the Cutter boy to answer. “Yep. Followed you from the mess hall. Just wanted to say thanks. Gonna head to camp now.” He nodded a brief farewell and stalked off toward the woods. Tak was too surprised by the encounter to think of anything else to say. The boy said over his shoulder, “Might want to get outta here before those three come around.”
The three cadets on the ground were beginning to groan and stir.
“One more thing,” the Cutter boy said, turning around and looking Tak in the eye. “You need anything, just holler. Okay?”
“Okay,” Tak said.
The scrawny giant disappeared into the woods.
THREE
“Wait until the spring, until after the Wizard’s Summit,” the wizard urged. “Then I can go with you. I’ve been meaning to make a trip to the Eastern Kingdoms.”
Brieze shook her head. She wanted to go alone. And she didn’t want to wait until spring. The sooner she found and returned with Kaishou Fujiwara, and got the whole unpleasant business finished, the sooner her mother could get on with her life. If she left soon, she could complete the two-and-a-half month voyage before winter set in and the harsh temperatures and heavy winds made the trip more difficult and dangerous. Her plan was to spend the winter in the city of Kyo, searching for the man, and return with him in the spring.
The wizard had invited her out for a walk. They strolled along one of the paths that meandered around the island. The sky was a cheery morning green, the wind brisk. Dry leaves rustled on the trees and clouds chased each other overhead. They wore cloaks against the fall chill. Brieze knew the wizard would use the walk to try to talk her out of going. He never did anything without some larger purpose or intention behind it.
“I’ve tried to teach you patience,” he sighed, “but it’s not something that comes naturally to one of your age.” He took a parental tone with her because he was, in fact, her father. Legally anyway. Wizards don’t marry. They designate their apprentices as legal heirs. But since Brieze didn’t have a father, the wizard had gone a step further and formally adopted her, too.
Though he said the words in a kindly way, she bristled at the criticism.
“You think I shouldn’t go alone?” she asked. “Do you think I can’t take care of myself?”
The wizard frowned, deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. His usually serene blue eyes looked troubled beneath their white brows. “I know you can more than handle yourself,” he said. “You proved that when I sent you to talk to the Gublins. It’s just that…those wolves that attacked you…”
“That wasn’t your fault,” she said. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“But it was my fault. I never would have sent you if I’d known wolves had established themselves beneath the surface clouds. I didn’t think it was possible. My ignorance, my miscalculation, put you at risk.” The wizard halted, forcing Brieze to stop too. He faced her and took her hands in his. “There will be many dangers on this trip. I can give you protections against the ones I know. But it’s the dangers I don’t know about that worry me.” He sighed and offered her a sad smile. “Worrying. It’s a parent’s prerogative you know.”
Brieze dropped her eyes and chewed at the corner of her lower lip. A pang of guilt squirmed in her belly. For a moment, she doubted her decision. She would be gone a long time, and there would be danger. She would make the people she cared about worry. Not only the wizard but her mother. And Tak. Did she have the right to do that?
The wizard, as usual, seemed to know what she was thinking. He was not the type of person to manipulate anyon
e with guilt. “Nevertheless, you must follow your conscience my dear, and trust your instincts. If you spend your life trying to take care of other people’s feelings, you’ll find you have time for little else.”
Brieze smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you, father.”
He gave her hands a squeeze. They resumed walking. The wizard turned them down a path to their right. “Of course, you’ll need a sturdy ship for such a journey,” he said.
“I’ve been working on that,” she said. “I have a little money saved up. And I saw some ships at the auction lot in Selestria that would do.”
“You could try that,” the wizard said. “Or…” and here a certain lilt crept into his voice, and his eyes sparkled. “I might have something on the island that could serve.”
Brieze caught that lilt in her father’s voice. They had reached a little corner of the island that served as its tiny airfield. Just a clearing of bare ground surrounded by a few low-built wooden hangars and sheds where the wizard’s shipwright and his assistants repaired and maintained the island’s small collection of airships. The place was deserted.
The wizard never did anything without some larger purpose or intention behind it.
He led Brieze to one of the wooden hangars. Her stomach did an excited flip as he grasped the handle of the sliding door. “This is a prototype ship I’ve been working on with our shipwright. A voyage to the Eastern Kingdoms would make a good test run. I should warn you it’s not quite ready yet, but with a little extra work it could be ready soon.” A sly grin spread across his face.
An answering, wondering, not-daring-to-hope-but-hoping-anyway grin spread across her face.
The wizard slid the door open…
“Hot dragon’s balls!” Tak exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a ship like this.” He was grinning, exuberant. He’d escaped the academy with a weekend pass and come to visit Brieze on the island. He’d ditched his cadet uniform and was back in his old, comfortable clothes. She had, of course, taken him straight to the airfield to see her new ship. They’d agreed to take it out for its first flight together.
The ship wasn’t unusual in design or construction. The lines of its hull and the curves of its wings were similar to Tak’s Arrow, though less streamlined. What was completely, mind-boggling different about the ship was its color. Or to be precise, its lack of color. Inside the dark hangar, the ship had looked black. But when they dragged it out onto the bare ground of the airfield, it turned an earth-toned tan. When they dragged it a little farther to a patch of grassy ground near the island’s edge, the ship turned a grassy green. The hull, the masts, even the sail and rudder changed color. The only parts of the ship that stayed their natural hue were the ropes and rigging, the brass hardware, and the wooden deck, which was hidden below the gunwales.
“It’s a new pigment my father developed,” Brieze explained. “It assumes the predominant color in its environment. It should make for effective camouflage.”
“You’ll be invisible in the sky,” Tak said with a marveling grin. “How devious! You could sneak up on anybody.”
“Or sneak past anybody.” Brieze smiled. She liked that word, devious.
They strained and sweated as they used ropes to drag the ship to the launch ramp at the island’s edge. Small airships are built to be as light as possible. Two people can usually drag one easily. But Brieze’s ship was heaver. It was built for stability and endurance, not speed. When they reached the lip of the launch ramp, they rested, catching their breath.
Brieze gazed eagerly at the sky, using a nearby flock of birds to read the currents. Like every sky rider, she craved the weightless freedom of flying. The anticipation of it gave her a fluttery feeling in her belly. Her pulse quickened. Tak felt it too. And for sky riders there was nothing like taking a virgin ship out for its maiden voyage, watching it respond to the wind’s embrace, feeling it rise and soar and stretch its wings. Tak watched Brieze as she watched the sky. Loose strands of her silky black hair fluttered around her face. Her cheeks were pink with the wind. Her lips were parted. Her black eyes glistened.
“What?” she said, realizing he was staring at her.
“You’re beautiful,” Tak answered.
Brieze started to smile, then caught herself and quirked her mouth into a less approving expression. “Keep your mind on the sky, pirate,” she said with as much sternness as she could muster. “And your amorous feelings to yourself.”
“Aye aye, captain,” Tak said. “For now.”
Brieze bit down on her grin again.
They raised the sail, adjusted it to the proper angle, and made sure all the ropes and rigging were working correctly. The standard way to launch such a ship was to run it downhill off the slanting side of a mountain. On the flat-topped island, they had to use the ramp. They checked each other’s parachute packs. They clipped their lifelines to the aft mast. They each took a position behind one of the short wings that sprouted from either side of the craft, gripping an edge. They nodded their readiness to each other, then ran down the ramp, pushing the airship ahead of them.
As the ship gained speed, the air rushing over and under the curved front edge of the sail gave it lift. When they felt it rise, they hopped in over the gunwales. The sail filled and strained with a loud flap and a whuff—and they were free of the island, airborne, rising fast on an updraft. Every brand-new rope on the ship creaked as if letting out a little squeal of delight.
They grinned at each other wildly, their faces flushed and sweaty. Before he knew what he was doing, Tak threw his arms around Brieze and gave her a long, deep, joyous kiss. She kissed him back, her heart skipping beats. It was a perfect moment. The two of them weightless. The wind stirring their hair. They had kissed before, but never quite like this. For a moment, they wished they weren’t on an airship at all, but someplace where they could kiss longer. A lot longer…
But an airship is no place for making out. Not if you want to get back to the ground in one piece. Reluctantly, they parted. Brieze took the tiller—it was her ship, after all—while Tak lowered the keel. It dropped into place with a satisfying wooden clunk, and the rocking ship stabilized. Tak’s thumping heart settled down to a more orderly beat. They saw with delight that the ship had taken on the blue hue of the noon sky. But it was oddly disconcerting too. It made them feel as if the ship weren’t quite real, that nothing was holding them up in the air. They were glad the deck under their feet remained its reliable, substantial woody color.
“Let’s give this ship a shakedown,” Tak said. “And see how you handle it.”
When she told him of her plan to journey to the Eastern Kingdoms, Tak had insisted on taking leave from the academy to go with her. But she had refused him. For every argument he came up with for why he should join her, she countered only that she needed to make the trip alone. He finally relented with one condition—that he give her some flying lessons that would help her on her voyage. Unlike Tak, who began learning to fly on his father’s knee as soon as he was old enough to grasp a tiller and a rope, Brieze hadn’t done much flying when she was younger. On Footmont, there hadn’t been many opportunities. She was a decent pilot, but she didn’t have the instinct for flying that came from being raised with airships.
They headed north, keeping to the western side of the Highspire Mountains. Selemont stood immediately to starboard. Other mountains—Pinemont, Gatmont, Greenmont—stretched off into the northerly distance a few points off the starboard bow, losing themselves in the haze. A thunderstorm brewed above Pinemont. Anvil-like thunderheads congregated above its peak, with gray curtains of mist gathering beneath them. Tak stood in the bow while Brieze sat in the stern, working the tiller, ropes, and pedals. She used the mountain updrafts to climb to cruising altitude, angling the sail front downward for maximum lift.
“Let’s practice turns first,” Tak said. “Hard about to port.”
Brieze used the pedal controls at her feet to put the left wing flap up, the right d
own. At the same time, she pushed the tiller hard to the right. The ship banked steeply and suddenly, making a lurching, wobbling left turn that nearly tumbled Tak off his feet. He grabbed onto a stay to steady himself. Brieze brought the wing flaps back to neutral position and pulled in the tiller. The ship steadied and straightened out.
“Whoa,” Tak said. “That was a little rough.”
“This tiller is too sensitive,” Brieze huffed, her cheeks growing hot. “And the pedals feel stiff.”
“New ships are like that. They take a little getting used to and wearing in. Let’s practice some more turns.”
They practiced port and starboard turns for half an hour. Brieze got a better feel for the new ship, and her turns improved. But her earlier amorous feelings for Tak gave way to a creeping annoyance. She resented him, standing in the bow and barking orders at her like he was some kind of captain. She was used to giving orders, not taking them. She didn’t like it when people knew more than her or were better than her at something. Especially when they were her boyfriend. And especially when they lorded it over her like Tak was doing. She tried to suppress the annoyance, telling herself it was petty.
In truth, Tak was lording it over her. He couldn’t help himself. Sometimes, it was tough being Brieze’s boyfriend. She wasn’t just smarter than him, she was a lot smarter. She was better than him at nearly everything. Her marksmanship with a bow was better. She beat him at chess without even trying. One of the few things he could do better than her was pilot an airship. So he was enjoying himself. He tried to hide it and act nonchalant, but on the inside he was grinning and swaggering.
He wasn’t hiding it nearly as well as he thought.
“Your turns are much better,” he said. “Let’s try hovering.”
Brieze groaned. Hovering was one of the most complicated and difficult things to do with an airship. You had to pull on the rope that raised the front edge of the sail, creating wind resistance and slowing the ship almost to a stall. Then, just before it stalled out, you had to pull another rope, lowering the front edge of the sail and giving the ship speed and lift again. By alternately tugging on the two ropes, you were supposed to be able to keep the ship hovering, or at least bobbing, more or less in one spot. A seasoned flyer in a familiar ship could feel just by the tension in the ropes when to gently pull, when to slack, and keep her ship almost perfectly still. But Brieze struggled. She tugged one rope too hard, then overcompensated with the other. The ship jerked up and down, forward and backward. Tak gripped the foremast hard to steady himself.
