by A. L. Knorr
"Sol. Welcome home," he said with a sleepy nod. His eyes drifted to Jordan, blinking slowly.
"Thanks, Pabs," said Sol. "How's the new position?"
"The shiftwork is killing me, but you can't complain about the view. Hello, miss," he addressed Jordan. "Welcome to Rodania." He took her hand.
"Thanks." Jordan looked down at where he turned her hand over to expose her palm.
Pabs produced a small silver device.
Jordan looked to Sol and he nodded reassuringly. Bringing the device to the pad of her thumb, Pabs murmured, "A little prick."
Jordan jumped as a small needle stabbed her finger and vacuumed her blood into a tiny reservoir in the same moment.
"Sorry, it only hurts for a second," Pabs said. Then he spotted the dragon curled up like a puppy in the tripod of Jordan's neck and wings.
Pabs put his glasses on his nose, obscuring his eyes completely behind dark glass. "Hello, little fellow," he addressed the reptile. Then he removed his glasses and peered at Sol. "Dragons aren't allowed in Rodania. You know this."
"Miniatures are," Sol said. "Check the bylaws. We'll wait. You can process her blood in the meantime."
Pabs looked doubtful but set his glasses on his head and stepped through the doorway into the dome. He moved to a small machine of blinking lights and switches. He flicked a switch, and a tiny tray slid out, into which he deposited the vial of Jordan's blood. The tray slid inward. The Nycht bent and blew over a sensor, and the machine chimed loud enough that Jordan and Sol could hear it from the deck. Then Pabs went to a wall filled with scrolls on one side and what looked like tiny vials of smoke on the other, all resting on their own little pegs. Pabs stood in front of the strange looking wall and scratched his head. He called something over to the other Nycht, who sat bent over a desk. His redheaded colleague looked up from his work and blinked at Pabs, nose wrinkling in thought. He looked almost as tired as Pabs did. He got up and stood in front of the wall, shoulder to shoulder beside Pabs, and the two of them blinked up at the wall.
"Why do they look like they've been in a barfight?" Jordan whispered to Sol while they watched this dazed and bemused play unfold before them.
"They're new. Pabs used to work in one of the mines in Lower Rodania," explained Sol. "And Innes used to apprentice with a millwright. They took the border-guard position a few weeks ago, but haven't adjusted to the daylight hours yet. It always takes a while."
"Oh, because Nychts are nocturnal," Jordan added as it clicked into place. "Toth told me."
Sol frowned at the mention of Toth. "Do you have the certificate the gypsy gave you?"
"You put it in your satchel," replied Jordan. "Remember?"
Sol put a hand to his leather bag. "Right." He retrieved the crumpled registration certificate. "I doubt this is legit, but it’s all we've got."
"Will it be a problem?" Jordan put a hand up to her neck and the dragon lifted his head, got to his feet, and tottered onto her palm. She cradled him in front of her stomach.
"Don't think so. But I have never tried to bring a dragon into Rodania before." He lowered his voice. "To be honest, because I work for the government, I almost never have trouble with these things. Even when maybe I should."
"Lucky you," Jordan said with raised brows. "Special treatment."
Pabs emerged from the dome with another device in his hand. "Looks like you're right. Miniatures are allowed, provided they are purebloods. "Uh," he plopped his glasses back onto his face, covering what looked like an expression of trepidation. "May I?" He held out his hand for the dragon.
Jordan lifted the reptile and looked him in the eye. "It only hurts for a second," she said into the shining black eyes, having no idea if he understood any of her words. Even if he didn't, maybe the meaning was clear. The dragon blinked.
"Says to take it from a haunch," said Pabs. "Right here." He reached a fingertip out and pointed at the fleshy part of the dragon's hind-leg. He raised the device and hesitated. The reptile whipped his head around to watch the device approaching, his jaws opened and his tongue flicked out at the device.
"Just do it, man," said Sol. "Dragons can smell fear."
"That's not comforting," murmured Pabs.
"It's alright," said Jordan. She touched the dragon under his chin.
Quickly Pabs touched the needle to the haunch, and the blood was extracted. The dragon rattled out a hiss and flicked his tongue at Pabs. He skittered up Jordan's arm to his safe place above her wings, shaking his hind leg like a dog that'd just peed.
"That wasn't so bad." Pabs blew out a breath. "His papers?"
Sol handed Pabs the registration.
"Name?"
Sol blinked at Jordan with a lopsided grin, waiting.
Jordan shot Sol a murderous look. "You knew he was going to ask for a name, didn't you?"
Sol shrugged.
Jordan let out a sigh. "Blue. I guess."
Pabs nodded. "Last name?"
"Uh…Kacy."
"I'll be right back." Pabs went back into the dome of his office. He repeated the same routine with the dragon's blood, only sliding it into a compartment on the other side of the machine.
"You twit," Jordan glared at Sol. "Now I have to call him ‘Blue’."
"You can change it if you really want to. It'll just cost about fifty coin." Sol gave her a wolfish grin. "Besides, it does suit him. You have to admit that."
She thwacked him on the shoulder. "A dragon deserves an awesome name. Something cool and noble and multi-syllabic."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Like ‘Archimedes’ or something."
"Archi-" Sol guffawed. "He's the size of a rodent! Why would you ever saddle him with a ponderous name like ‘Archimedes’?"
Blue gave a small startled sneeze, and Jordan winced and wiped the back of her neck.
"See, he hates it."
"I think he resents that you've compared him to a rodent, actually."
Just then the world went black for Jordan, and the pressure in her ears grew. She gasped and reached out a flailing hand. "Sol!"
"It's alright," he said, taking her hand. "It'll be over in a moment."
Her heart rate tripled, and her free hand flew to her face. "Why can't I see? What's wrong with my ears?" She flexed her jaw in an effort to pop them.
"It's better if you relax."
"What is with you Oricerans not warning people before you— Whoa!" Her vision returned, and the pressure in her ears released followed by a long dwindling whine as though a steamboat was sailing away into the great beyond and let off a blast of its whistle. What remained was a faint high-pitched ringing in Jordan's ears, as though she'd been standing next to a pounding speaker at a heavy metal concert the night before.
"Sol!" Jordan put both hands to her cheeks and gaped at the world that had appeared where, a moment before, there had only been blank horizon stretching out into eternity.
Three titanic islands stacked one above the other like an off-kilter cake loomed in the distance.
"Welcome to Lower, Middle and Upper Rodania," said Sol at her shoulder.
Lower Rodania was an island on the water, vast and mountainous; it was difficult to see where it ended. Only a short dash of ocean horizon on either side gave away its island nature. A foul yellow cloud hovered over the south side of the island, reminding Jordan of the haze over big cities back home.
"What's the pollution from? Surely you don't have vehicles and factories?"
"Sure we do!" Sol exclaimed. "Lower Rodania is the seat of industry and a very productive place. On days where the wind is still, dust and exhaust from the mines hangs there until the wind picks up again, and moves it along."
"Huh." Jordan's eyes tracked upward, to the archipelago hovering over Lower Rodania.
Middle Rodania was smaller than Lower Rodania and hovered far above and off-kilter to the landmass below it. Puffs of white cloud shrouded the bases of tower spires and jutting rock. A mountain range rose up in the center of
Middle Rodania, and a ring of architecture encrusted it like a crown of jewels. Sunlight glinted off granite, marble, and what looked almost like pearl walls. Middle Rodania threw a long oval shadow over part of Lower Rodania and the sea beyond.
"Is it…" Jordan squinted at the floating mass, "…moving?"
"Yes. Middle Rodania makes a long slow orbit around Lower. If you stand on Middle's edge and look down, you can see how the shore of Middle and Lower line up," Sol explained, gesturing at the sky to illustrate. "Like one huge cog rotating around another."
"Why?" Jordan breathed the question, for she was so awed she could hardly find words. How is this miracle accomplished?
"It keeps the shadow off any one area of Lower Rodania for too long. Lower Rodania is also agricultural and needs a lot of sunlight. Most of our food is grown there."
Jordan raised her eyes to Upper Rodania. So high up, it looked about the size of a cookie; all she could make out was the underside. Long jagged stalactites of earth poked downward through a pillow of fluffy cloud. The rest was invisible above the cumulus.
"Does Upper Rodania move as well?"
Sol shook his head. "It doesn't need to."
"Is it cold way up there?"
"On the contrary, it’s quite temperate." Sol gave a satisfied smile and crossed his arms. He was proud of his home city; Rodania was a marvel of nature and magical engineering. There was no other place like it on Oriceran, as far as he knew.
Jordan's eyes scanned the skies and the slowly rotating islands. "What keeps them moving?"
"Magic, of course."
"But you said Strix don't have magic."
"Not so much; although there are some among our number who have the gene for a few enchantments. We have many other talents and products, which we trade in exchange for Elf magic to keep our city aloft and in orbit."
Jordan's eyes widened. "Isn't that dangerous? What if the Elves decide they don't want to trade with you anymore?"
Sol laughed. "That could never happen. Not in our lifetimes, anyway. We have a five-thousand-year contract with them, an incorruptible deal."
"What happens at the end of five thousand years?"
Sol shrugged. "The same as with any other contract. We renegotiate based on the current economic value of our republic. It's part of what keeps our society progressive. We are always working to increase our worth. Our council members," he paused. "Whatever else they may be, are excellent business people. Rodania is extremely wealthy."
"But what if you can't renegotiate and have to break with the Elves?"
"In that case, the Elves would lower Middle and Upper Rodania into the sea, and we would become a nation of islands," he spread his hands wide, "instead of the famed floating city."
"Oh." This satisfied Jordan's questions about the elvish contract for the time being. "How come I couldn't see it before?"
"That is also part of our border magic. You weren’t registered, so it was invisible to you. You've given your blood, from now on, you'll always be able to see Rodania."
"I only have to give blood the one time?"
"That's right. The magic will remember you, now."
Just then, Blue gave a hollow whistle and shook his head as though to relieve himself of some fly, buzzing in his ear holes. Jordan stroked his head and he calmed at her touch. "I guess that means Blue can always enter Rodania too, now."
"Yes. He might even be the only dragon currently allowed in our city." Sol looked down at the little reptile, "It can happen, but generally Arpaks aren't known for taking pets." Sol crooked a smile at the odd pair.
"You hear that, Blue?" Jordan murmured as Blue pressed his cool scales into her palm. "You're a very special dragon." She looked up, craning her neck to gaze at the furthest floating island. "If Middle Rodania is that beautiful, what does Upper Rodania look like?"
"You're about to find out," Sol said with a grin, spreading his wings. "That's where I live."
CHAPTER SIX
A torrent of sound encased Allan and dragged him forward into blackness. A thousand urgent whispers filled his ears and clawed at his thoughts. Then a white-hot light blazed into view, and the whispers stopped. His crunched eyelids peeled back, yet he saw nothing. Nothing at all except whiteness and, slowly, a tinge of blue. The sensation of falling made him feel suddenly sick, his stomach clawing up his throat. Heat blasted him, and Allan slammed chest-first into a hot pile of dust. The breath knocked from his lungs as a cloud of fine particles puffed up around him. He sucked in a breath and promptly choked as his mouth filled with powder. He spat and squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them again. Sweat bled out onto his forehead, beads of moisture ran down his spine and gathered behind his knees.
Where am I? Jordan? His mind whirled, spinning like a top, slowly losing balance and momentum. Had he spoken the words or merely thought them? He wished he hadn’t had so much to drink.
Allan lifted his head and blinked in the glare. The heat was suffocating, and his pale skin felt scorched already. Heat waves undulated from the ground, blurring the horizon and the land into a haze of smudgy blues, whites, and browns. Allan's fingers clawed into the dust beneath him, and particles jammed up under his nails. Slowly his eyes focused on the golden terrain, blazing under a hot sun.
It wasn't dust. It was sand; very fine sand, nearly a powder. He'd landed right smack dab in the middle of a desert, from the looks of things. The sun–it has to be a sun, right? I can’t look at it directly–sat high above at its blistering noonday zenith.
"Jordan," he croaked, and received another choking mouthful of sand for his trouble. The sand was so fine it responded to the lightest of breezes, including an inhalation from a desperate mouth mere inches away.
He coughed and spat, then rolled onto his back. His joints creaked from the zap through time and space. The portal was gone. Nothing remained except a charred black stripe in the sand where it had opened. Wait, there was something. Allan reached for a stone that was flashing, stealing the sunlight and shooting it into Allan's eyes like a mirror. His fingers closed around the small hard rock, and he cried out at the heat of it and dropped it.
Desert glass? Has it always been here, or was it created when the portal opened? And where are the bugs? He cast about for the small bodies, watching for glints of light, but there was nothing but dunes and corn-colored sand stretching out into infinity in soft, almost elegant drifts. The terrain looked as though an endlessly moving sea had caressed it, pulling back and forth and lifting it into peaks.
Allan slowly stood, dusting sand from his clothing and skin and double-checking all his organs and limbs. Best to make sure he hadn't lost something during his interstellar journey. His dress shoes sank into the hot sand, and the fine powder filled them, making them heavy. He raised a hand and shielded his eyes from the sun. It didn't help much. Sweat had soaked through his shirt already. The air was hot as an oven, and Allan's tongue and lips already felt dry and swollen. There was nothing in sight.
No, wait. He could see a range of cracked, dark mountains rearing on the horizon. Allan cursed softly. He'd come through in a drunken state with heroism in his mind. Now he was here, wherever here was, and there was no sign of Jordan. Or water. Or anything else, for that matter. Nothing but inhospitable desert.
Allan cast around for anything of use, but not even the empty bourbon bottle appeared to have survived the journey. He stripped off his shirt, ripped off his undershirt, and put his button-up back on. He folded the white undershirt into one long piece of fabric then wrapped it around his forehead in a makeshift turban, tucking the ends up underneath. It helped cut down some of the sun's glaring heat, but not all. At least it would keep any sweat from dripping into his eyes.
He felt the sun baking the skin on his neck, his lips, and the backs of his hands. Allan had always burned rather than tanned; it was Jaclyn who had given her beautiful olive complexion to Jordan. This adventure wouldn't end well, he could tell already.
"No use sticking around," he said t
o himself with a chin-wobbling chuckle. This was one of those situations where if he didn't laugh, he would cry. He had to find water. Deserts have oases, right? Hopefully, this desert is like the ones back on Earth. Nerves erupted at that thought. Earth. He wasn't on Earth anymore. He was somewhere else, and he couldn't have named it if he tried. He bent and picked up a handful of the yellow sand, letting it trickle through his fingers. It was picked up by the gentle breeze, and drifted away like a haze of flour.
He took the first step away from the black skid mark and the desert glass, and then the second. He put his arm up to block the strange, snaking wind, which picked up suddenly and blasted the sand against him. The sting made his chest itch, but he didn't stop. He surveyed the lay of the land and–
The sand exploded in front of him. Four shapes rose from the ground, two short enough to be children.
Allan stumbled back, palms out, gasping in surprise. His heart tripped and hammered. He froze, his eyes widening at the creatures who had popped out of the desert sand like daisies.
Two men, yes, with dreadlocks and skin like crocodile leather. Goggles hid their eyes behind blackened, dusty lenses, and they grinned at him, yellow-toothed. But they weren't what drew his attention.
If Allan's heart had pounded any harder, it might have plopped right out of his chest and landed on the sand.
The smaller shapes weren't children. They were rats. Silver rats with too much skin. Walking on their hind legs rats. No, one was down on all fours, and they were naked except for a tiny loincloth and a belt which held it in place. The standing rat wore an eyepatch and rubbed his paws together, looking at Allan with a keen eye. A hungry eye.
"This one used a portal, yes?" the rat asked his companions.
Holy crap, did the rat just speak? Allan's mouth opened and shut, and a trembling hand fluttered to his mouth like a lady with a fan. He searched for words, but all that came to his mind was 'talking rat’. If his skin could've crawled right off his body, it would have. Suddenly, the scalding sun and endless, empty desert didn't seem so bad.
