by Jeff Minerd
Tak fumbled for a lie. “I’m not going anywhere…,” he stammered. “I’m just going out for a midnight ride. To clear my head. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
Jon sighed and shook his head to convey that he disliked being lied to. His eyes went knowingly to Tak’s overstuffed duffel bag, sitting in plain sight on the bench, then locked with Tak’s eyes. Nice try.
Jon wore a traveling cloak over his workmen’s clothes. A standard sky rider pack was strapped to his back: parachute compartment above, backpack below. He also carried a heavy duffel bag slung over one shoulder. And the hand that wasn’t holding the mooring rope gripped a tall, double-bladed axe, nearly as tall as Jon was himself.
“Why?” Tak asked.
Jon thought about his answer for a while, and finally had to use words. He cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t go alone. I think my dad would want me to go with you.”
Tak closed his eyes and considered. A voyage across the Eastern Emptiness was a daunting, lonely thing. He knew this from airmen’s stories, but Brieze’s letter made it powerfully clear. If she, who was naturally so reserved and self-reliant, who seemed to need her solitude, had been reduced to an emotional mess, Tak could only imagine what the journey would do to him. And he had to admit he’d feel safer traveling with Jon. There’d be dangers out there, and Jon had proved he had Tak’s back and could handle himself in a fight.
Tak opened his eyes. “All right,” he said. “Get in.”
Jon dropped the mooring rope, tossed his duffel bag into the Arrow, and jumped ungracefully in after it. The Arrow listed sharply, then rocked as Jon scrambled for balance, using his axe to steady himself. Tak frowned. The Cutters of Pinemont flew in airships like everybody else, but they also lived closer to the ground, as people often said of them. They didn’t have an instinct for the finer points of flying. They spent much of their time in forests, with their feet planted in the dirt, hacking at trees. They walked ridiculously long distances, distances that other sky riders would travel only by airship. Walking was considered an unsophisticated and undignified mode of transportation by most sky riders, especially those on Selemont.
Jon shoved them off from the dock with the handle of his axe. Tak pushed on the tiller until the bow came around into the wind. He raised and angled the Arrow’s sail, then tightened the lines as the sail bellied full of wind and the ship lifted and glided out into the dark.
Despite Jon’s clumsiness, Tak’s heart was lighter knowing he’d have company for the journey. He couldn’t help grinning. “It’s gonna be a long voyage,” he said. “Know any good songs or stories to pass the time?”
Jon chewed the patchy beard under his lower lip, cleared his throat with a little growl, and spit over the side. “Don’t know any songs. Don’t like stories,” he said.
“Well, what do you like?”
“Quiet, mostly.” Jon pulled his cloak tighter around himself and settled into his seat.
Tak contemplated that for a while.
“Well,” he finally said with a sigh. “We’ve got to go see my parents before we get underway. Will you be polite and talk to them?”
Jon nodded an affirmative.
TEN
Tak’s father, Taktinius Spinner senior, sat at the head of the polished oak table in the Spinner’s kitchen, glowering. His shaggy, silver-streaked black hair was mussed with sleep. His eyes blinked blearily. His usually neatly trimmed black beard had grown bushy and unkempt. The collar of his nightshirt hung open, exposing the little hollow at his throat, just above the collarbone on the right side. An artery pulsed there whenever he was upset. It started pulsing the moment Tak’s loud knocking at the back door had roused him from sleep, and it was throbbing wildly now that Tak had explained his reason for coming and his plan to travel east.
“Unacceptable!” Tak senior pounded the tabletop with a fist. “Utter foolishness!”
Tak’s mother, Marghorettia Spinner, had ladled out bowls of her famous egg soup for everyone from the pot simmering above the hearth fire. At the thumping of Tak senior’s fist, everyone’s soup trembled and rippled in the wooden bowls. Jon, who’d been staring straight down into his bowl, shoveling the soup in methodically with a spoon, paused and looked up.
Tak was about to respond when his father fell into a coughing fit—a long, lingering one. The wet, raspy, drawn-out coughs made Tak’s throat ache in sympathy. Marghorettia got up from her chair and handed her husband a handkerchief, and then rubbed his back. Tak studied his father’s face more closely in the firelight and noticed his shrunken cheeks, the dark, puffy circles under his eyes. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Taktinius Spinner senior had been sick ever since the siege of Selestria. He’d been badly wounded in the leg, and he’d been taken by a fever that none of the physicians in the city of Selestria could do anything to stop. He’d tossed and turned and sweated in his bed, delirious, with Tak and Marghorettia at his side. The hastily stitched up wound in his thigh turned a swollen, angry red. Streaks of red spread from the festering wound up and down the skin of his leg. The physicians told Tak and his mother to prepare for the worst. Many of those wounded in the siege had already died from the wound fever, as it was called.
Once again, the wizard saved the day. As always, he had an outlandish theory. He said that a battle was raging inside of Tak senior’s body. Tiny invisible animals called “germs”—so small they could not be seen—had entered his body through the wound in his leg. The germs were attacking, and the fever was the body’s way of trying to fight them off. He rendered Tak senior unconscious by holding a rag soaked with a strange-smelling substance over his nose. He cut open the stitches and cleaned out the wound, then stitched it carefully back up. He gave Marghorettia a gallon-sized bottle of a greenish medicine that he said would kill the germs. She was to administer one spoonful three times a day. The medicine worked. The fever broke after a week, and in another week Tak senior was able to rise from bed and limp around, with the aid of a cane. He was growing a little stronger every day.
“My dear,” Marghorettia said, rubbing her husband’s back. “Did you take your medicine today?”
“I don’t need that stuff anymore,” he said. “I’ve been taking it for weeks, and I’m feeling better.”
“The wizard said three spoonfuls a day until the bottle is empty, even if you feel better.”
“The stuff tastes like goat piss,” he growled. “And who ever heard of tiny invisible animals? It’s nonsense.”
“That nonsense saved your life, and you will take your medicine.”
The look on her face prevented any further argument. She fetched the bottle and administered three spoonfuls of the medicine to Tak senior, who grumbled and winced as he swallowed each one. The large bottle was still half full. Clearly, there would be much more of the awful-tasting stuff to swallow in the weeks to come.
When his father’s grumbling had settled into silence, Tak ventured, “You voyaged to the Eastern Kingdoms once father. You said it was the best trip of your life.”
“That was different. I was part of a convoy. We were on a trading mission.”
“But Brieze is in danger. She needs my help.”
Tak senior raised an eyebrow. “In danger from what?”
“Nagmor. Pirates. And now maybe the Dragonlord.”
“Those are just rumors. And in any case, that girl can more than take care of herself. She doesn’t need any boyfriend rushing in like a fool to rescue her. She’d probably end up having to save you. She killed that Nagmor all by herself, if you believe the accounts.”
Tak’s mother chimed in. “Brieze very clearly said she didn’t want you to go with her. Won’t she be angry if you show up? You know how she gets.”
“I just got a letter from her. She kind of asked me to come.”
His mother narrowed her eyes skeptically. “Kind of?”
“She said she misses me and wishes I was there. She said she wished she’d invited me.”
“That’s not exactly an invitation.”
“Coming from Brieze, it’s close enough. How can I stay here doing dumb drills at the academy when she’s all alone over there and in danger?”
Tak senior pulled at this hair in exasperation. Tufts of it stuck out from his head at odd angles. “Dumb drills? All your life you’ve dreamed of the academy, and now that you’re there you want to quit already!”
Tak shrugged. “Things changed for me after the siege. I don’t know what I want anymore.”
“Exactly!” Tak senior pounded the table again. “You’ve hit on the crux of the issue. This isn’t about Brieze, it’s about what you are going to do with your life. I always wanted you to go into the family business, but I never forced you. I was proud when the king granted you entrance to the academy. And now you want to throw that away and make our family look foolish, for what? To go gallivanting and adventuring on the other side of the world? To spend time with your girlfriend? What are you going to do when you return? What profession will you enter? You need to get your head out of the clouds and get serious about your life.”
“Fine father,” Tak huffed. “I promise I will, when I return.” He didn’t try to hide his irritation. His father’s words struck a nerve, a raw one. On some level, Tak knew his father was right. And this rankled him. His face reddened.
Tak’s disrespectful tone fanned the flames of his father’s anger. “No!” he said, standing up so abruptly that his chair toppled backward. He leaned on the table with trembling arms. “You won’t do it when you return, because you’re not going. Your mother and I have been too lenient on you for too long. We’ve spoiled you. You will get serious about your life now!”
The word spoiled set Tak off. He hated it when people called him that. He stood up too, pushing his char back, and glowered at his father. “I am going,” he said with a clenched jaw. “Just try to stop me.”
“Tak…” Marghorettia gasped. Her son had never spoken to his father this way before.
Jon, his soup forgotten, stared at the two men as they locked eyes over the table. He was reminded of two rams, heads down and horns pointed at each other, about to charge.
For just a moment when Tak spoke so defiantly, Tak senior had looked shocked and dismayed. Then the anger washed over him, redoubled. If Tak had been a few years younger, he would have just grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck and forced him upstairs to his room. But his son was no longer a child. He was a young man. A strong and determined one. He’d fought in the siege of Selestria. Tak senior knew that in his weakened state he was no match physically for his son. He couldn’t stop him by force. And that made him furious. He had only one card left to play, and he played it.
“If you quit the academy,” he said, his voice full of venom. “If you anger the king and give people reason to laugh at us Spinners and talk behind our backs, as you have done all your life, I promise you this, there will be no place in this house for you when you return. You will be entirely on your own.”
Marghorettia gasped again. “Now just settle down,” she said. “Both of you. You’re not being reason—”
“Fine with me, father,” Tak sneered. At that moment, he hated his father. Deep down, those words hurt him more than any words ever had. “As you wish,” he spat. He turned his back and stalked out of the kitchen.
“You’ll be sorry!” Tak senior called after him, then fell into another coughing fit, longer and more violent than the first. His face reddened and he struggled to catch his breath. Marghorettia had been about to chase after her son, but she attended to her husband instead. She righted his chair and helped him sit down in it. She brought him a glass of water. She rubbed his back as the fit subsided.
Jon used the distraction to slip out of the kitchen after Tak. But not before picking up his bowl with both hands and draining it in one long gulp. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and grunted with satisfaction. The soup was that good.
Like most buildings in the city of Selestria, Ouranos Outfitters was built directly into the steep side of the mountain. The sprawling, three-story shop was fashioned from pine timber and blocks of mountain stone. It sat in the southeastern quadrant of the city, at the intersection of the Southeast Winding Way and the third turn of the Western Spiral Road. And as with all buildings constructed by sky riders, the main entrance was at the top story, not the bottom. A wide wooden dock projected from the third story, jutting out over the street below.
It was well past midnight when Tak and Jon tied the Arrow up at this dock. It was deserted, but the shop was open, as Tak knew it would be. The two lamps flanking the front door were lit, illuminating the sign that hung above it.
Ouranos & Sons Outfitters
Open Day & Night
Your Journey Starts Here
A bell chimed as the boys entered. Old man Ouranos himself sat on the high stool behind the counter, reading by candlelight. The older he got, the less he was able to sleep, so he usually took the night shift, then napped in the back while his sons ran the place during the day. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the Chief Sailspinner’s son in his shop at that hour. The boy had a reputation in the city. He had a knack for getting himself in trouble. He’d been hauled before the authorities on various charges more times than Ouranos could remember. But more recently, he’d fought in the siege of Selestria and received a medal of valor and a special commendation from the King himself.
What was the boy up to now?
Ouranos set aside his book and put on his best smile. The Spinners were good customers. And they made the best spider-silk sails in the kingdom. Sails that were sold in that very shop, and sold very well, at a nice profit.
“Young Taktinius, so nice to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
His voice echoed in the enormous room, a room that took up the entire top story of the building. The ceiling hovered twenty feet above their heads. And on every wall, from floor to ceiling, there were shelves. Every possible thing a traveler could need or want for an airship voyage could be found on those shelves. The place smelled of freshly cut lumber and freshly oiled tackle, of new rope and pine pitch. To Tak, who’d first visited the shop as a small boy riding on his father’s shoulders, the place always smelled like adventure.
Tak leaned on the counter. Jon stood behind him, gaping up at the stacks and stacks of shelves. They didn’t have shops like this on Pinemont.
“I need a few things,” Tak said, trying to sound casual. “For a trip I’m taking.”
“I see. A trip where?”
Tak hesitated. But he needed to tell Ouranos the truth. That way, the shopkeeper could make sure to supply him with everything he needed. “The Eastern Kingdoms,” he said. “The city of Kyo to be exact.”
The old man’s eyebrows shot up again. “Now? In winter?”
“Now,” Tak said.
“Do your parents know about this little trip you’re taking?”
“They do,” Tak said, meeting the old man’s eyes to show he was telling the truth. Some of it, anyway.
“Very well.”
It took an hour for them to gather everything that was needed and to load it onto the Arrow. Old man Ouranos scurried up and down ladders and hauled things off shelves. A lifetime of that kind of work made him strong and nimble. The Arrow’s cargo compartments were small—the ship was built for speed, not for long voyages. But they managed to get everything stowed or securely tied down. Tak frowned as he saw all the stuff accumulating on his ship. Packages of ship’s biscuit wrapped in waterproof oilcloth. Sacks of dried beans and goat jerky. Cask after cask of water. The supplies were heavy. They would slow the Arrow down, add extra time to the voyage.
They would also be expensive.
Ouranos senior tallied everything up on a slip of paper.
He wrote the total cost at the bottom.
It was a big number.
He cleared his throat and asked delicately, “And how will you be paying for this today,
young sir?” He looked at Tak as if he hoped the boy would reach into his pockets and pull out fistfuls of coins. Tak had some money. But not nearly enough. And he would need what he had for when he reached Kyo.
Tak fiddled with the ring on his left hand. It was a silver signet ring. Its flat head was engraved with a triangle composed of three curving lines, representing a sail in the wind.
“Shall I put this on the Spinner family’s line of credit, which is excellent and always good here?” Ouranos asked, though without enthusiasm. He strongly preferred cash up front.
“No,” Tak said, removing the ring and handing it to him. “Take this.”
The old man gasped. Jon’s eyes widened, and he looked at Tak. Are you crazy?
That ring was the Spinner family ring.
For the well-to-do families in the Kingdom of Spire, family rings were extremely important. They were worth much more than the gold or silver they were made of. They were beyond price. Handing over one’s ring was a symbol of defeat or surrender. There were stories of men who had refused to trade their rings for their lives.
It was not the sort of thing you traded for dried beans and goat jerky.
“I can’t accept that….” Ouranos sputtered.
“I don’t have anything else,” Tak said.
Ouranos pulled at the white hairs on his chin and considered. He was a shrewd man. He knew Taktinius senior would be beyond furious if he learned that Ouranos Outfitters had accepted a Spinner family ring as payment. That would be extremely bad for business. On the other hand, Tak senior wasn’t getting any younger, and he was rumored to be in questionable health. It was entirely possible the boy might one day be Chief Sailspinner. One day soon. How to negotiate this deal and stay on both their good sides?
“I tell you what,” he said. “I will not accept the ring as payment, but I will hold onto it temporarily as collateral in lieu of payment, until such time as payment can be made.”
