Voyage of the Elawn

by Ted Neill

  In a soft voice, he said, “You are right, Gabriella.”

  Mortimer reached for her. But it was too late. The boards beneath him could not support his weight and began to give. As he slipped, Mortimer grabbed for a floorboard on the mid-deck. It broke off in his hand. Falik’s jewel spun up into the air. It hovered, a small moon orbiting Mortimer’s head. With his last effort, he reached not for the edge of the deck to stop his fall, but for the jewel.

  Both tumbled out of sight.

  As he fell, the sprig of Naema’s flowers that he had fixed to his button hole flew free and floated like a feather. Crushed and wilted, it danced on the breeze, as if it had a life of its own. The tiny bouquet took much more time to fall through the hole where Mortimer disappeared. For a moment, the flowers lingered on the edge of the hole then slipped off to follow Mortimer.

  It took a long while for the sound of the impact to reach them. All of them, even Dameon, stared, shocked, wide-eyed, at the empty space on the deck. Gabriella kept waiting for Mortimer to reappear, to heroically pull himself back up. It felt impossible for him to be gone. But the echo of the impact told her otherwise.

  When she shifted her weight, she saw the stolen goat’s skull staring back at her from the mid-deck, its jewels glittering like stars aligned in the heavens, with all the certainty of a curse come true. She turned her face from those hollow eyes to see Adamantus and Dameon searching for extra line, but the trunks of treasure were in their way.

  Exasperated, Adamantus kicked one box overboard and heaved two others after it with his antlers. Dameon wailed, a low, panicked howl that grew to a frustrated scream as he found a rope but could not dislodge it from beneath a treasure chest.

  Gabriella’s joist sagged downward. She knew she should wait, but panic gripped her. She tried to pull herself up. The additional pressure was just enough. The wood snapped. Gabriella fell.

  She knew it was a long way down. She tumbled out of control, watching the sea, the land, the clouds, the ever-shrinking Elawn and the sky visible through its traitorous hole. Out in the harbor she saw black clouds filling the air, as if a war party had just burned Dis, as if the sylphs had finally found them. Even if those demons had, Gabriella had escaped.

  Beyond those dark clouds, the sea was red, and the sky was pink. Gabriella had this last glimpse of beauty before the opposite cliff face came up and blocked her view. Now the steel blue of the harbor spread before her. She was reminded how before this view had made her dizzy and ill to look upon from the cliff. She now understood why. It was not just vertigo—it was premonition.

  Her horizon continued to shrink. Her body, in the falling air, was still accelerating, as if she were riding Adamantus at his swiftest. She realized she would miss her dear friend. The bottom of the cliff grew closer. She saw the ground in frightening detail. The wind was such a growing roar in her ears that she was sure she was completely deaf. She clenched her eyes shut. She did not want to see Mortimer’s shattered body on the rocks, smashed and broken the way she soon would be. She wanted to remember the pink clouds, the red sun, the blue bay, the autumn trees bending over the sleeping ruins.

  She braced for the final impact. She hoped it was quick.

  “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  It was not instantaneous. The pain struck her in her upper body first. She pictured her arms being torn from her shoulders, her head rolling forward, her legs splaying outwards, the blood rushing to them so that she felt her feet would burst. The feeling of deceleration was not immediate either. Strangely it was drawn out, as if miraculously by her own wishing, she was slowing just before she touched the earth. She wondered if this was that long moment just before the end, when time slowed and her whole life played out.

  Curiosity, fear, confusion forced her eyes open. Death was right before her, in the misshapen form of Mortimer. His head was hidden between rocks, his legs clearly broken with one twisted backwards at the knee. A few bones, pushed out by the force of impact, had split the skin of his neck. One arm was mangled beneath him, the other stretched outward, as if even in death he was reaching for the emerald that had landed in a patch of gravel just out of his reach.

  Gabriella was next, but she was perplexed by this experience of death, the slowness of it. She did not see her own body below her. She thought she could still hear her heart beating powerfully in her ears, so much so that it made the air tremble around her, rhythmically, as when an albatross took wing.

  Something screeched, like a bird of prey, like something unnamed. Gabriella had heard it before, in the caverns. At that moment she knew what the creature in the caverns had been: death, stalking them. It had known her time, and Mortimer’s time, and the princesses’ time—all had been running short.

  But death had a strangely uneven flight. Gabriella wobbled back and forth, worried she might even strike the cliff face. Mortimer’s body diminished. She was flying upwards. Was Mortimer experiencing the same flight now, in his own perception? Was he being lifted up by another such ghoul come from the underworld? And if she were going to the underworld, why move upwards? The ruins, the harbor, the sea, the sky came into view once more. They all looked the same in death as in life. Gabriella felt a tremor of fear to be returned to such a height.

  With her fear came the realization that she was not dead.

  She was floating, flying even, but not dead. She tried to reach up an arm but could not move it for the pressure on her shoulder. She could not even turn her head, but there was something holding her, something biting her. Hot blood ran down her sides. She could see it spilling into her shirt. She was bleeding, profusely, but she was not dead.

  The ground grew distant again. That vertiginous view returned. Would she be dropped? What would this bird, this creature that had snared her, do?

  The path of their flight took them higher than the cliff. Solid ground appeared just beyond the reach of her feet, then was gone again. Treetops swayed under her toes. A silvery river twisted between hills below. A sea hawk passed, its wings spread wide, feathers translucent in the setting sun. Then the Elawn finally slipped beneath her where Adamantus and Dameon stared at her with astonished faces. With a new flurry of wing flaps, Gabriella slowed and was deposited on the mid-deck. It was not until her limbs were folded beneath her on the deck that she felt release from the pressure and the pain.

  Dameon seized her, balling her sleeve in his fist. “You are all right.” It was part question, part statement, his breath coming in quick pants.

  “Yeah,” she croaked, blood trickling down her arms in rivulets. It felt as if knives had gouged her back.

  The creature landed on the railing. It was not a bird, but it was not unfamiliar. The bat-like wings, the rows of teeth, the brilliant blue scales, like a spring sky. Gabriella’s mind fumbled for an answer until the miniature wyvern let out a cry and lowered its face to hers.

  The cracked egg. The hatched baby.

  “Hello there,” she said, at a loss for any other words, and too scared to make any sudden moves around this animal whose talons were marked with her blood. Dameon returned from the cabin and pressed cloth bandages against Gabriella.

  “Thanks,” she said, touched by his thoughtfulness.

  At the sound of Gabriella’s voice, the baby wyvern leapt off the railing to the deck and pressed its snout to her chest. The creature was scaly and tough—hardly cuddly. Its snout was actually painful pressed against her body. It was like embracing a suit of armor. She tried pushing it away, but the young wyvern was like a friendly pup and much like a puppy it seemed unaware of its size, shape, or strength. Finally they seemed to wordlessly agree on a happy medium: it remained a comfortable distance from Gabriella, as long as her hand remained on its head or neck.

  “He must have followed your voice through the maze,” Adamantus said. “I never would have imagined.”

  “Nor myself. I thought I was lost.” Her hands, where they lay on the muscular neck of the wyvern, were still shaking. Suddenly she began to sob. Adamantu
s pressed himself against her. She went to hold his head in her arms, but the wyvern quickly intervened, jealous. It caused her to laugh and broke her out of her tears. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home”

  They moved some of the trunks into the bow, and a few they simply tossed overboard, Gabriella managing as best as she could with her wounds. They had more treasure than Gabriella had ever imagined they would need.

  Once the sails were set, she wrapped Dameon in the softest blanket they had and rubbed ointment on his wounds. She treated Adamantus and saw to her own injuries, then sat her brother next to her in the wheel well. Adamantus placed himself beside them. Gabriella spun the wheel. The baby wyvern squawked, dancing along the railing, and took short flights alongside the ship.

  Weighted heavily, the Elawn responded slowly but soon was headed into the west. She sighed with relief as she watched the growing space between the Elawn and the cliff edge. The ruined doors shrank to the size of normal doors, then doll house-sized doors, and soon they disappeared. The moss-covered ruins of Dis passed below them. Gabriella contemplated the millions they had onboard and wondered if they should dump a few more chests in order to increase their speed. They were already hopelessly late to pay off Mab Miller. A new, doubtful voice spoke within her, echoing Mortimer’s words—was it even worth it? Was her faith in the dead and the importance of the tower misplaced anyway?

  She knew she would have time to talk to Adamantus about her confusion on the return voyage. For now she wanted to savor the sunset, thankful she was alive to enjoy it. The ship rounded the final cliff at the edge of the harbor. She prepared herself for pink mountains of clouds.

  But night awaited them. Black, oily clouds spread like a net to capture the Elawn. Gabriella knew what they were before the ship even touched the edges of these dark masses. She knew from the clammy fear that seized her body, by the sudden rush of fatigue that enveloped her: the sylphs, those demons of the air she had accidently released from their prison on Harkness. They had swelled to prodigious proportions. It made sense to her, perfect sense. Hadn’t Omanuju said that they thrived off the fear of living beings? All this time they had followed, followed and fed on the fears of the shipmates.

  The sylphs had hunted that easy scent like sharks followed blood, but they had waited until the wyvern was dead. Now that the sylphs had grown so strong, they would overcome any resistance the four of them could mount. Each sylph was the size of many houses now. Their wavering forms expanded before her eyes. Gabriella could see a closing channel between them, but it was no use to try to pilot the Elawn through—they would never survive.

  She made an attempt to turn the ship, but as soon as she touched the wheel, she was sapped of strength. Adamantus collapsed beside her, the bandages rolling off his wounds. She used her last bit of effort to touch his fur with one hand and then touch Dameon’s hand. She would not die bereft of the touch of others. Dameon’s skin was wet and clammy with fear. Gabriella’s eyesight was fading.

  Beyond her brother’s slumping figure, the baby wyvern had landed on the mid-deck. It shook its wings and screeched. By its gasps and coughs Gabriella knew it was attempting to breathe fire, but it was as yet too young. She wanted to tell it to flee, but she was too weak.

  At least one should escape, she thought.

  Larger feet, identical to those of the baby wyvern except they were copper-colored, landed on the foredeck. The ship shuddered. Gabriella felt a strong breeze on her face. Boards splintered as the wood gave little resistance to the massive talons. The Elawn lurched to a stop. The sail bellied out in reverse. The black clouds of the sylphs shifted, repelled. A familiar smell struck Gabriella, that of dust and debris from the treasure house mixed with smoke and the scent of charred flesh.

  The feet, with familiar broken talons, pushed the Elawn like a toy. Gabriella slumped forward as the ship jerked backwards. A second shadow, of the mother wyvern’s wings, blocked out the sun. Dust from the collapsed treasure house floated down with each stroke of her wings. She released the Elawn and repositioned herself, taking the ship by the stern. She flapped her wings. Her offspring still squawked fiercely from the mid-deck.

  The black clouds moved in once more. The mother wyvern’s chest expanded. Air rushed in through her mouth and nostrils. Gabriella knew what was coming.

  The fire rippled forth across the Elawn. The baby wyvern howled. Gabriella cowered. But like her fall down the cliff, it was not what she expected. There was no scorching heat, only a pleasurable tingling sensation, like feathers across her body. She felt warmth returning to her limbs, moving in waves though her body to her head and to a point just between her eyes. She opened them wider. All three of the Elawn’s little crew were surrounded in flames, but this fire was not orange or red, but silver, infused with blue and tipped with gold.

  Adamantus had raised his head as he felt the warmth. The color of the flames was the color of his antlers, and his crown disappeared in the onrush of light. Gabriella was reminded of the colors of the stars that she had seen within Ghede. It was as if the Elawn had swept into the tail of a swiftly moving comet. The dried blood on the elk’s chest and leg disappeared, his fur was smoothed and cleaned so that it was as resplendent as on the first day he and Gabriella met.

  His eyes grew bright again. Gabriella became aware of how much she loved him, every inch, ever point of his antlers, every hair on his coat. She wanted to be with him the rest of her life.

  Her hyperconsciousness turned to her brother. She could see inside Dameon, all the parts of his mind that were unique and that would never be like other people’s. She could glimpse his abilities, like an illuminated subterranean cavern, whose depths went on forever. She envied him not, for the only thing greater than his abilities was the love he held for her, his sister, his protector, his best friend. Otherwise locked and hidden away in a mind that could not express it, she could see his love as clearly now as a burning sun in his breast.

  A tingling sensation on her back told her that her wounds were healing. Her hair, where it had been singed and snagged, grew back before her eyes, even into her eyes, so that she had to brush it away.

  As the fire continued, the black clouds of sylphs diminished. They cried out in hisses as their substance evaporated in the flames.

  Mage fire.

  It was just as Omanuju had described: a creative, healing force that gave Gabriella a wider vision, deeper wisdom, even if for a fleeting moment. The wyvern blew her breath of life over the ship longer than any normal breath would have lasted. It came to a gradual end, like a passing rainstorm. When it did, Gabriella felt emptied and filled at once.

  The sylphs were gone, their substance destroyed. Not a wisp remained. The baby wyvern leapt off the railing and performed a loop over the Elawn. Its quick and clumsy movements were a marked contrast to the graceful, ponderous gestures of its mother. She released the Elawn. A strong breeze from her wings propelled the ship forward, rocking and tipping, top heavy. The mother swam in the air alongside, dust still trailing off her body. Here and there a coin was stuck between her scales. Her eye rested on Gabriella. She knew the understanding she had sensed between herself and the dragon had always been genuine. They did not need language to know one another.

  What do you want? the dragon’s eye asked.

  “We want to go home. Harkness,” Gabriella said, forming a picture of the island in her mind and holding it there, aware that the wyvern could see it just as if Gabriella held up a picture in her hands.

  The wyvern flapped her wings and pushed herself forward. Just ahead of the bow-sprint, she cupped her wings and slowed to the same speed as the Elawn. Her tail passed over them, a looming tree limb, then fell across the bow. It sprawled across the deck and wound itself like a snake through the front railing and up into the complex mesh of rigging that suspended the sail. The ship shuddered as it shifted from being pushed by the wind to being pulled by the dragon. The planking and railings creaked. The sails filled backwards. Gabriella ran to the haly
ard to drop and furl the canvas. The mother approved: she flapped her wings, the wind rose, and the Elawn rocked forward.

  Chapter 22

  Harkness

  The Elawn cut through the sky with speed never equaled by her sails. Air rushed over the deck like a gale. Gabriella’s sable hair was flattened across her face. The mage fire had made it long and lustrous. She was forced to tie it into a ponytail just so she could see. Adamantus’ fur danced and rippled, and his antlers whistled in the wind as they had that first day they crossed the grasslands. The mage fire healed the scratches and bruises on Dameon. Gabriella wrapped him in an oversized rain cloak so that he would not catch cold from the draft.

  The sun was just over the bow, the eastern continent receding behind them. Gabriella scrambled to the mid-deck, placed her hand on the tail of the wyvern and spoke, “There is somewhere we must first go.”

  No sooner had she pictured the island of Vasan in her mind than the wyvern turned south. The continent, with the long shadows of late afternoon reaching across its hills and dells, passed along the port rail. Gabriella could sense the mother’s reluctance to go to the island. There indeed was something about the island that kept dragons at bay.

  Gabriella considered the goat skull sitting just inches from the dragon’s tail. Looking at it made her skin crawl. She would not try to plumb the mysteries of relics this day. Instead she joined Adamantus and Dameon on the mid-deck, taking one last, lingering look at the eastern shores. Gabriella guessed they all felt the same way: they must look now because this journey would not be repeated.