Skyborn

by Sinéad O'Hart

  “You’re not goin’ to use my mum’s mistake to hurt anybody else!” Bastjan cried. Heedless of the gun, he ran straight for the ringmaster. A sudden jerk of the pod threw off Quinn’s aim, sending the gun skidding over the floor. But just as Bastjan reached him, Quinn shoved the boy hard, knocking him out through the open hatch.

  The heavy metal door hit the side of Bastjan’s head as he fell and then everything in the world went dark.

  “Wares! What are you doing?” Alice finally caught up with her runaway dog as he stopped short, staring at the sky and barking furiously. Alice looked up. The Slipskin was right overhead, her gigantic wings spread wide, and it looked like she was about to do battle with the escape pod. Her head was reared back, her beak open. Alice watched in horror as the creature readied herself to attack – and then Alice saw something even more terrible.

  A shape, falling through the pod’s hatch, tumbling to the ground. Bastjan.

  “Crake!” she screamed. “Crake!”

  The pod hadn’t reached a very great height, but Bastjan was falling like a doll – he was floppy and uncoordinated, and he looked completely unconscious, or worse. Alice felt as though she was going to be sick. She turned and looked for Crake and there he was – getting unsteadily to his feet beside the airship, clutching at his chest. Blood poured between his fingers and as he staggered towards her, Alice could see the glint of metal, like a piece of armour buried in his flesh.

  “Crake, he’s falling!”

  As if she’d heard Alice’s cry, the Slipskin wheeled around, her body twisting in mid-air into something sinuous and quick, a creature thin as a ribbon yet wide as a river. She wrapped a fold of herself around Bastjan and turned her head to look at Crake, struggling across the snowy, rock-strewn ground. The Slipskin floated down from the sky, spinning gently in the air as though it were water and she some strange type of fish, uncurling herself once she was close enough to the ground for Bastjan to roll, unconscious, out of her grip. Her golden eyes met Alice’s for the briefest moment. Then, enveloped in her glow, she resumed her former shape, her armoured wings and terrifying beak shining in the sunlight. She pushed away from the ground and flapped her wings, gaining height as she focused on the pod once again.

  Crake ran to the spot where Bastjan lay. Alice wasn’t far behind. The strongman’s shirt was torn and his chest and arm were bleeding, but still he ran. He fell to his knees beside Bastjan, clutching the boy to his heart and sobbed, huge tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “I’ve got you, darlin’ boy,” the strongman wept into Bastjan’s hair. “I’ve got you now and I ain’t never lettin’ go.”

  Bastjan’s head was gashed and his face was grey. He was out cold. Alice placed her hand in front of his mouth; his breaths were shallow and fast, but he was breathing.

  A shriek from the sky overhead made Alice and Crake crane their heads back to look. The Slipskin was doing battle with the still-rising pod, trying to bat it out of the air with her wings. Alice could just see the figure of Cyrus Quinn standing in the open hatch, the harpoon gun in his hand.

  The creature raised her massive talons and took the pod between them as though she were a bird of prey catching a mouse. Then, with a screech of metal and the noise of smashing glass the pod, and the ringmaster within it, were reduced to smithereens, crushed into nothing by the mighty, unstoppable power of the Slipskin.

  Crake reached out to Alice and pulled her close, protecting both the children as debris began to rain from the sky, pieces of the smashed pod landing in the snow all around them. Alice whimpered as the gun, its harpoon still loaded, landed a few feet away.

  The Slipskin gave one final cry, circling the airship one last time, and then she was gone over the mountaintops. Alice watched her disappear into the distance. Tears rolled down her face, pooling at her chin, where Wares licked them off. She buried her face in his soft fur and tried to breathe normally, her heart aching with every thud.

  When she finally looked up, something shining and blue caught her eye, lying in the snow not far from where Bastjan had fallen. Her breath hitched as she realized what it was, and she pushed herself away from Crake, scrambling across the ground on her hands and knees.

  As she got close she could see that she’d been right – it was a fragment of the lid of Bastjan’s box, the fish mostly intact. She scanned the ground – here was the key and there the feather. A few feet further over were the tattered remains of his mother’s notebook. Her eye was caught by a fluttering in the whiteness; it was the childhood sketch of the Slipskin girl and Alice hurried to catch it before it blew away.

  She gathered as much as she could find, and by the time she made it back to Crake and Bastjan, she found they were no longer alone. Atwood and Clement were approaching, their faces contrite. Not far behind was Lahiri, looking dazed. Hubert was there too, being helped to walk by some of the other rousties.

  Following them was a woman in a black-and-white robe, her face surrounded by a veil of stiff white linen, with a bulging bag in her hands. Beside her was another woman, dressed in the same fashion. The second woman stopped beside Crake and wordlessly asked for Bastjan to be placed into her arms while the first got to her knees in the snow and opened her bag. There looked to be bandages and medicines inside.

  Alice slipped the remains of Bastjan’s mother’s belongings into her pocket and reached for Crake’s hand. She didn’t let go, not even when the women lifted Bastjan in their arms and took him away.

  Silent snow fell all around the mountain hospital. Alice hadn’t left Bastjan’s bedside since the moment he’d been brought in. His head was tightly bandaged and his face was still drawn and pale. He hadn’t yet woken up.

  “There is someone to see you,” said a dour voice. The words were English, but the accent was not. Wares, tucked beneath Bastjan’s bed, gave a small gruff of irritation, but settled as soon as Alice reached her hand down for him to lick her fingers. She turned to see a starched-looking nurse peering at her disapprovingly. Alice knew how lucky they’d been to have landed so close to this mountain refuge, one which was more used to dealing with lost mountaineers and their broken legs than boys with injuries like Bastjan’s. Still, sometimes she wished the quiet, forbidding women who ran it weren’t quite so unfriendly.

  “Someone to see me?” Alice asked, frowning. “Are you sure?”

  “You were requested by name,” the nurse replied.

  “Who—” Alice said, but the nurse sniffed and turned away. As she left, a small well-dressed gentleman appeared in the doorway. He wore a tweed suit and held his hat in his hands. His moustache was brushed, his hair was oiled and his eyeglasses were polished to a sheen. His cheeks were red and his eyes were weary, and he wore an expression Alice had never seen on his face, not in all the years she’d known him – one of sorrow and joy and love, all mixed together. At the sight of him she began to tremble and her teeth clenched tight.

  “Grandfather,” Alice whispered. She squeezed Bastjan’s fingers – she was, as always, holding his hand.

  “Darling,” Lord Patten said, stepping into the room. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “What are you doing here?” Alice asked, recoiling slightly. Even if she wanted to leave Bastjan’s side, she had nowhere to run.

  “I’ve been looking for you since the moment you left, Alice,” said her grandfather. He walked to the end of Bastjan’s bed and placed his hat on it. Then he stood, flexing his hands as though he didn’t know what to do with them. “I looked everywhere. I made inquiries with various –” he gestured vaguely – “street people, some of whom had seen you. I paid a large sum to a woman named Palmer in return for information about your whereabouts, to no avail. Then I received a telegram telling me you’d, somewhat unofficially, joined a circus, from someone purporting to be its ringmaster.” He gave a quick, incredulous laugh. “And here you are, in a mountain hospital in the Italian Alps. And here I am, so grateful to have you back.” He smiled, briefly, but Alice couldn’t return it.r />
  “You don’t have me back, Grandfather,” she told him. “I’ve found my people.”

  “Those circus folk encamped outside? They’re keeping vigil, you know. For this boy.” Lord Patten paused. “But they won’t be allowed inside, Alice. The nuns will not permit it.”

  Alice’s jaw clenched. One of the nuns spoke French and Alice had tried her hardest to explain how important Bastjan’s family were to him, but the woman had been unmoved. It was lucky she’d allowed Alice to stay by his bedside. I don’t look like I belong in a circus, I suppose. “I’m staying here until Bastjan gets better. We can go to them instead,” Alice said, turning back to her friend. Bastjan was frowning in his sleep and Alice squeezed his hand a little more firmly.

  “Come with me, Alice,” Lord Patten said. “Come home.”

  “I won’t go where I’m not wanted,” Alice replied. “You made your feelings very clear, Grandfather.”

  Lord Patten took a step or two towards his granddaughter and placed one hand on her shoulder. “I was wrong, Alice. I’m sorry.” His voice wobbled a little. “You look so like your dear father, you know, and I was very fond of that boy. He would be extremely proud of you.”

  Alice swallowed hard. Her nose ran and she turned away to wipe it on her sleeve. “I’m not leaving him,” she told her grandfather, looking up at him coldly. “I’m not leaving Bastjan. If you’re going to make me come with you, then you’re taking him too.” She stared at her grandfather, hoping this condition would be enough to send him away forever.

  “I’ve already settled his bill, darling,” Lord Patten said. “The nuns are preparing his papers now, for discharge.”

  Alice’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. “But what about his family? I can’t take him away from them.”

  “I can pay for excellent medical treatment in England,” Lord Patten said. “He needs expert care and he won’t receive it here. But if he comes with me – if you both come with me – I’ll see that he gets better, Alice. I swear it.”

  Alice turned back to Bastjan. His frown had become a definite wrinkle and, as she watched, his eyes fluttered open. “Bastjan?” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

  Bastjan blinked at her, confused. There was no recognition in his gaze. “Who’re you?” he said, in a creaky voice.

  Quickly, Alice fetched some water from the bedside locker and put the glass to his lips. He drank thirstily, then let his head fall back on the pillow.

  “I’m Alice,” she told him. “Do you remember me?”

  Bastjan looked at her for a long moment, taking in every detail of her face. Finally, he shook his head. “All I remember is fallin’,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed again.

  “Bastjan?” Alice said, tears pricking her eyes. “Bastjan?” But there was no answer. Bastjan had fallen unconscious again, into that dark place where nobody could follow.

  “I’ve already spoken to one of the men outside,” Lord Patten said, his voice low. “Large, red-headed. He told me he knew the boy well. I’ve explained that I want to bring him to England, pay for his treatment, and he eventually gave his blessing.”

  “Crake,” Alice whispered, her tears falling.

  “That was his name,” Lord Patten said. “Genial fellow. Ex-army. Showed me where the nuns had bandaged him up; he was lucky it was on the site of an old war wound. The metal plate he’d had inserted during his time in uniform saved his life the other day, it seems. Enjoyed his company very much. So does that convince you?” He paused before continuing. “Your choices are to stay here and watch your friend decline, my dear, or bring him home with me and watch him thrive. What will it be?”

  There was a knock at the door and Lord Patten turned as one of the nuns entered. Alice heard some low, mumbled conversation, in a mixture of Italian and English. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she watched her grandfather take out a pen and sign his name on a piece of paper. The nun nodded and left the room.

  “You promise to care for him,” she said.

  “Like a grandson,” Lord Patten assured her. “My carriage is waiting outside to take us to the Paris train. We can be there by nightfall and on the first boat across the Channel in the morning.”

  “And Crake really has given his permission?”

  “He told me to give you this.” Lord Patten patted his pocket until he found what he was looking for. He drew out a tiny key, a delicate enamelled fish on its shaft. “He said you’d know what it was.”

  Alice nodded, taking the key from her grandfather’s fingers. She slid it into her own pocket, where she’d been keeping the shards of Bastjan’s treasure box, and the remnants of his mother’s possessions, until she could give them back to him. She had the battered remains of the notebook, including the sketch of the Slipskin, the broken feather and the large key made of dark metal which unlocked a door that, one day, she hoped she’d help Bastjan find. Alice stroked some strands of stray hair away from his forehead and then looked up at her grandfather.

  “I also promised Lieutenant Crake we would return the boy to his circus family as soon as he’s made a full recovery. I intend to keep that promise,” Lord Patten said, his gaze steady. “They plan to travel home once they’ve completed repairs to their airship and go back on their performing circuit, or whatever it’s called, once they’ve found a new ringmaster. But my promise is on the condition that you stay with me from now on. No more running away, my dear.”

  Alice looked down at Bastjan’s pallid face. She knew she had no choice, but she tried to pretend she was making one anyway – and she hoped it was one Bastjan would forgive her for.

  “Let’s go home,” she whispered.

  I don’t know who they are, these folk. They keep callin’ me by the wrong name too – Bastjan, they keep sayin’, like I should know who that is. That ain’t me. I ain’t got no name like that. There’s a hole where my name is, where everythin’ is, everythin’ except gettin’ away. There’s somethin’ I got to look for, an’ it ain’t here.

  They’re kind – or at least, they’re tryin’ to be. The girl, Alice, keeps showin’ me this pile of rubbish she keeps with ’er all the time. Keys, an’ a feather, drawin’s an’ pictures an’ a pile of scribbles I can’t even read. She keeps talkin’ about “Ducrow’s Acre”, an’ how she wants to bring me there. I en’t got a clue what she’s on about. She looks so hopeful, an’ I hate tellin’ her it all means nothin’ to me. So instead I smile a bit an’ say things like “Yeah, I reckon I’m rememberin’ – no doubt it’ll all come back to me soon.” An’ then she smiles an’ leaves me in peace, fer a while at least.

  We’re on a train. A fancy one. It’s got shiny taps in the bathroom an’ little curtains on the windows an’ someone to hand you a plate of grub at mealtimes, but I know I don’t belong. Alice’s grandad, he belongs. He’s forever wrinklin’ up ’is nose when I slip Alice’s dog, Wares, a bit of grub underneath the table, or when I forget which fork to use. I know, if ’e could, ’e’d like to see the back of me.

  Sometimes, I do get flashes of … somethin’. Memories? I don’t know. But always, beneath it all, there’s fallin’.

  “Bastjan?” the girl says, in the mornin’, when we arrive. We step out of the train station an’ the day’s bright. It hurts my eyes. The buildin’s are tall and the streets are wide, with trees everywhere. Horses pull carriages. Men an’ ladies walk, arm in arm. People play music on the street. Someone juggles and it feels like a jab in my brain. I know that, I think. That’s mine. “Bastjan, we’re here.”

  You stupid thing! The voice roars in my head, the one that’s always there, the one I’ve got to listen to. I don’t know who this Bastjan is. I know my name, an’ it ain’t Bastjan. Thing. Thing. Thing. That’s all I know.

  “Where?”

  “Paris,” she says. “We’re getting the boat from here. The boat home.”

  She smiles at me, then, an’ I smile back, but I got one thing absolutely sure. Wherever this girl’s home is, it ain’t mine. I don�
��t remember where home is. Home is a nowhere place. I can never find it by standin’ still, is all I know. Home moves.

  An’ then there’s a boat right beside us, tall as a mountain, shinin’ in the mornin’ light. It floats in the water, up an’ down an’ up an’ down, an’ something else in my memory feels like a string bein’ plucked. But before I can think about it, it’s gone.

  “The Northern Jewel line,” says Alice’s grandad, in ’is shiny shoes an’ dapper coat. “This will see us home, you mark my words. And then we’ll have you right as rain, young man.”

  He’s booked us a suite on the ship, three cabins all stuck together. The door to mine is locked – at least, the door to the corridor is, the one that leads outside. But ’e forgot to lock the one that connects it to the room beside me. Alice’s room, where she’s asleep with Wares at ’er feet.

  I get up sometime ’round two. Alice is sleepin’ soundly. I tiptoe to the bed an’ look down at ’er, sayin’ goodbye inside my ’ead. She’s keepin’ the rubbish by ’er bedside – the lid of a broken box, looks a bit like a fish; the keys; the feather; the sheets of paper, folded so many times that they’re worn soft, includin’ one that’s got a picture of a boy in a shinin’ suit on it, a boy flyin’ in a silver hoop – an’ it makes me smile. But it ain’t enough to make me want to stay.

  She stirs in ’er sleep an’ I move away. The dog stirs too, an’ I reach down to pat ’im. He gives my palm a lick an’ I leave a treat beside ’im on the bed, a lump of steak I saved from dinner, wrapped up in a napkin. A gentle ol’ fella, this little dog. I’ll miss ’im.

  By the time I make it to the door of Alice’s cabin, I’m ready fer anythin’. I en’t got a clue where I’m goin’, but I do know this – wherever it is, I’ll go there by myself, by my own choice. I got a full belly an’ a smile on my face, an’ I don’t need much more.

  I close the door behind me as gently as I can, an’ slip away.