Roar of Sky

by Beth Cato

  Ingrid stared at her hands in disbelief. Mana trailed from her fingertips in blue wisps.

  “I killed him?” she whispered aloud. She breathed in the horrid malodor of cooked meat, and turned aside to retch.

  She had killed him. She had. She was a murderer. She hadn’t just killed him, she had scorched a hole through him. She hadn’t even known her power could do that. She shuddered and fought against being ill again.

  As she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, the door flew open. The assistant, Ducey, stood there. He looked from Ingrid to Hatsumi and back, his face pale with horror. She waited for him to yell, to draw a gun, something.

  “The soldiers heard, too. They’re coming up from the first floor.” He kept his voice low.

  “You’re not—I don’t understand. What are you doing?” She remained immobile, awaiting judgment.

  “Did he hurt, at the end?” Ducey’s voice was husky, his words rapid.

  “What did he do to you?” she whispered, shaken anew at the cruel gleam in the man’s eyes.

  “Things that don’t leave bruises. You need to go.”

  She did. She could hear boots thundering up the stairwell. “Are there any other stairs down—”

  “No, I’m sorry, and the window is a sheer drop—”

  She was already moving that way. She lashed out the staff, shattering the glass, then swept the wood along the sill to knock out the jagged edges along the frame. Using the staff for leverage, she vaulted out the open window. The arc of her fall brought her near the neighboring building. Heat leached away as she adjusted her angle and slowed her descent. She impacted on the ground with a puff of dust and god-awful jolts of pain up both legs. She panted for breath, her heartbeat at a gallop. Shouts rang out from above.

  A buzzing swarm whirled around her. As the sylphs’ glamour covered her, Ingrid drew on her remaining energy to shield her skin against the fae magic.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I really should not make a habit of self-defenestration from the upper floors of buildings.”

  She started walking. Her left calf screamed in agony, the muscle locked from the impact with the ground, but this was no time to idle and work out the tension. She had to get off the dirt around the buildings and onto the pavement, where she would leave no tracks. Whistles pierced the air all around her. More soldiers came running. Several almost ran into her, but the fairy glamour diverted them at the last second.

  She made it onto the pulverized lava rock pavement beneath the masts. Airship envelopes blotted out sunlight like low, oppressive clouds.

  The Bug wasn’t far. She could see it. She could get there. She tried to avoid relying on her staff too much, lest the tapping give her away.

  we are hiding your sound. we will get you to nest. safe there. She sensed the sylphs’ anxiety for her. They were picking up on her pain and terror.

  Soldiers ran all around her. They’d likely shut down the dock soon and search all of the vessels. Someone had surely seen her go to and from the Bug the previous day. Even if the soldiers couldn’t find her, they’d nab Cy and Fenris.

  “Not letting that happen,” she whispered between gritted teeth. She pushed herself into a faster limp, her staff’s thuds striking a heavy, steady beat.

  She rounded a mast where workers had stopped to stare toward the entrance and wonder aloud at the fuss. The Bug’s mast was just ahead. Up top, the airship’s engine was on. Several dockworkers were at the top, ready to disengage. Cy stood there, too.

  Between them: some fifty steep stairs.

  She switched her staff to her left hand and gripped the rail with the right. Relying on her upper-body strength, she climbed, left leg dragging. She focused on one step at a time. Upward. Forward. Keeping a rhythm.

  Halfway up the mast, her foot dragged over a metal stair. She fell forward, catching herself on her knees and hands. Her face hovered just above the next steps up. She pivoted on her hip to glance down. The left elastic band had been sliced through.

  Her legs quivered as she pulled herself up. Unbidden, a few sylphs diverted their paths to help her stay upright. The others maintained the glamour over her.

  “Thank you,” she gasped, envisioning bonus pastries for them all.

  The wind picked up as she neared the top, bringing with it the clamor from far below. It sounded as though the whole damn A&A was mobilizing.

  God—would the murder of Hatsumi be blamed on her, or would it be shifted to the strikers? Or the Chinese? Had she just provided an excuse for all-out war against civilians?

  Ingrid was indeed too much like her grandmother and her father. Everywhere she went, she left death, fire, and destruction in her wake.

  She swallowed down her soft sobs as she reached the top deck. The stub-wing engines roared. The two dock boys conversed, their gazes on the entrance. Cy stared that way, but also had an eye on the stairs.

  She stood as close to him as she dared while still enabling the sylphs to encircle her. “I’m here,” she whispered, the words shaking as if she spoke through an earthquake. She sensed the sylphs allowing her sound to escape their geas.

  The change in his expression was instantaneous. “That’s it, boys. I don’t like the sound of that fuss down there. I guess I’ll need to give up on that last delivery.”

  Ingrid hobbled up the last few stairs into the Bug. Once she was inside, her knees dropped to the tatami, the staff falling from her hand. She willed the sylphs to disengage. Their heat dispersed, and Ingrid released the shielding on her skin. Sweat and tears poured down her cheeks.

  “Fenris!” Her voice sounded ragged and ancient.

  “Ingrid!” He scrambled toward her from the cockpit. “Do you need kermanite or—”

  “No! I’m fine.” Fine, as in not near death. “Are we ready to take off?”

  Fenris retreated to his chair again. “Yes! We just need Cy—”

  Cy’s heavy feet clanged on the stairs. He leaped into the airship, yanking up the hatch. She recognized the sound of the stairs jostling and falling flat as he latched the door into the floor. An instant later, he was on his knees next to Ingrid. He wrapped his arms around her with a soft, agonized moan. She buried her head against his shoulder.

  The floor wobbled and surged beneath them, the engines whining high. The Bug was aloft.

  “Oh, Ingrid. Oh, Ingrid.” Cy rocked them back and forth. “What happened out there? How did you get away?” He reared back to look her in the face, brushing a tendril of black hair from her sticky skin. “You’re not feverish or cold?”

  “No. I kept my energy in balance. Aren’t you proud?” Her giggle was high and hysterical.

  “Is she okay?” Fenris yelled.

  “Mostly.” He assessed her and grimaced when he saw her boot. “Damn, the elastic broke again? I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be. It only broke near the end. I wouldn’t have gotten far at all without the lift those rigs offered.”

  “What happened in the depot?” Cy asked.

  “Warden Hatsumi isn’t going to be spending the money he’s due for capturing me.” Her tone was light, but she pressed a fist to her stomach, sickened anew at the thought of what she’d done.

  “I thought I recognized him from Honolulu. Did he try to harm you?”

  “Yes. And I killed him.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Ingrid. You did what you had to do to survive.” His voice was soft. He understood.

  She nodded as she pressed her head against his chest, trying to force away the memories that threatened to overwhelm her again. His hand stroked the back of her head, her neck, easing the tension there. She closed her eyes, taking in the deep comfort of his touch. His heartbeat galloped against her ear.

  “Can you please come up here and involve me in the conversation so I know what the hell is going on?” Fenris yelled.

  Ingrid laughed a little shakily. Then she let Cy help her to her feet, leaning heavily on her staff. “Are we flying for California?”

  �
��Yes.” His grin was tight. “Situation’s not ideal, but what has been, these past few weeks?”

  Fenris was flipping switches as they entered the cockpit, his gaze flicking between the ocean view ahead and the panel dials. “Cy, I need you to take a seat. Ingrid, buckle up.” As if to punctuate his point, turbulence shook the craft.

  She wedged the staff between her knees as she fastened the harness with shaking fingers.

  Cy slid into his place while checking the panel and mirrors. “We have company.”

  “Pegasus gunship. It was aloft over Hilo. It’s been signaling for us to return to the dock,” said Fenris.

  The view ahead revealed a horizon in a gradient of blue and white from the ocean to the broad expanse of sky. “What’ve you said to them?” she asked.

  “This might impress you, Ingrid. The system of coded light-blinks that airships use to communicate underway has developed some succinct ways to advise a pilot to do the anatomically impossible.” Fenris turned the rudder wheel.

  “I’d like to learn that language,” she said, using her hands to adjust her legs to better brace herself.

  “The gunship’s reply is equally succinct,” said Cy.

  “Bullets need little translation,” said Fenris.

  “I don’t suppose our envelope is enchanted against bullets?” She grunted as the airship heaved hard to starboard. “I don’t recall if that came up the last time we were shot at.”

  “I regret to inform you that I didn’t choose that upgrade option. Most enchanters of that ilk are in federal employ, anyway, and the black market is booked up months in advance.”

  “Sometimes it’s worthwhile to wait in a queue, Fenris.” The Bug bucked to and fro, Ingrid’s stomach left behind with each lurch. Even the sylphs, retreated to their nest, sent her a flash of dismay.

  “Well, we’re not idling in a queue today!” Fenris cackled, and reached above the curved glass, to where a playing card–sized picture bowed out from between two dials. “Saint Pollendina is looking out for us!” A cloud bank swallowed them, gray mist whizzing past the glass.

  “Saint Pollendina?” Ingrid repeated with a gasp as her stomach jumped.

  “Patron saint of airship pilots and mechanics,” said Cy with a small shrug. “But entirely a joke, as the famed mechanic in question was an atheist. Still, it’s tradition for pilots to hail him in certain situations.”

  “Hallelujah!” said Fenris, with another laugh. They breached, and before them lay a prairie of cumulus clouds stretching out to the curve of the globe. He hummed a victorious-sounding song.

  Ingrid leaned forward, looking between Cy and Fenris. “What happened? Where’s the gunship?”

  “Left in our dust, to misuse a metaphor.” Fenris rotated in the seat enough to give Ingrid a smug look. “Pegasus gunships look sleek, but their gunnery and large portions of the ship aren’t made of orichalcum. That heaviness, plus a large crew, means they’re like inflated sloths.”

  “Not that we’ll be arrogant about this pursuit.” Cy glanced back at Ingrid as she stood. “I need to stay up here for a while to monitor our flank. Can you manage on your own?”

  “I’ll be fine. I need to massage my leg, wash up, and feed the sylphs.” She pressed a hand to her cheek, finding it stiff with dried tears, sweat, and dust.

  “We had to throw some freight onto the beds. If you need to nap, just shuffle things over,” said Cy.

  “I just might do that.” A nap sounded heavenly.

  She’d made it to the doorway when Cy spoke again. “I’ll let you know if I see any rainbow-maned horses gallivanting about.”

  She turned, gasping. “You were listening!”

  “Maybe.” He glanced over his shoulder, mischief in his eyes, then returned his attention to the mirrors.

  Ingrid staggered down the hallway. In a week, they’d be back in California, where, just maybe, they’d find Lee and Mr. Sakaguchi. Blum would expect them to land somewhere along the West Coast, too, but they had dodged her thus far.

  Not even the thought of Blum caused Ingrid’s determination to fade. There’d be troubles aplenty ahead, no doubt, but today she’d killed a man in order to remain alive and free. She would never again take such things for granted.

  Chapter 10

  Monday, May 14, 1906

  Ingrid had expected her return to her home state to be cathartic, that she would step onto the earth and feel a renewed connection to a place she loved and missed desperately. However, after hours of being docked in Southern California, she had yet to step onto actual dirt or to see anything beyond mooring masts, a cluster of buildings, and slightly rolling grasslands.

  She all but pounced on Cy upon his return to the Bug. He smiled and waved her back, his expression tense. “I apologize that it took me so long to get the lay of the land. We haven’t been to Los Angeles in a few years. I know you’re as restless as a selkie with a rediscovered pelt.” He softened the words with a kiss on her cheek. “The good news is that there aren’t any wanted posters for you posted at the depot here. Not yet, anyway.” Ingrid slumped in relief. “Fenris! We’ll be moved to our private hangar momentarily.”

  “Finally!” Fenris groused. “I need to tear into that stub wing again and—”

  “License numbers first,” said Cy.

  Fenris’s face twisted in disgust as he scurried past Ingrid down the hall. “My poor ship, not even airborne a month, and already living under a false identity.”

  “That’s what happens when you associate with the wrong sorts of people,” said Ingrid, earning a soft snort of amusement from him.

  Cy set a stack of newspapers beside her. “I didn’t even get a chance to skim beyond the front covers, but it looks like Excalibur has come to dominate the news.”

  Indeed, the vessel was shown in a picture on the topmost paper. “I’ll take a look,” she said, feeling the need to reassure him. His smile was tight as he turned to exit the ship. Fenris followed.

  Ingrid opened up the top paper, dated three days before. She had started on the next paper when the airship began to move. It was an odd sensation with the engines off and no one else aboard. She yearned to peer out the window to witness the ground crew pulling on the lines and guiding the ship into the private hangar, but she remained sitting in her bunk with her legs set indecently wide for balance.

  By the time Cy and Fenris came aboard again, she’d gone through the papers and was more than ready to head to the ground.

  A simple one-flight staircase had been locked into place against the open hatch door. She slowly descended in her elastic-rigged boots, staff in hand. The small hangar was sized for a Sprite-class ship, and stank of dust, oil, and the lingering mustiness of machinery.

  “How’s the earth feel?” Cy asked as he hopped down the stairs.

  “Normal. Los Angeles has fault lines aplenty, but there are a few geomancers stationed here to harvest from the flow.”

  “Any of them see auras?” Cy asked sharply.

  “No. That’s a rare skill. Rarer now,” she added softly, thinking of Hatsumi.

  “Good.” His brusqueness shocked her. “A person should feel regret over ending a life, but don’t waste any more time feeling guilty over Hatsumi’s death. He would’ve sentenced you to a life of torture that’d have caused countless more deaths, had he been able to go through with his plan.”

  She bowed her head. He’d said as much to her several times since they left Hilo. Whenever she’d drawn quiet and stared into the distance, he’d read her thoughts, sure as any book. “I skimmed through the newspapers.”

  Cy walked to the side of the hangar where supplies had already been delivered in wait of this second docking. “Tell me all as I ferry these to the stairs.”

  “Foremost, I didn’t find any word of your father, Cy. I’m sorry. Mentions of San Francisco were confined to local fund-raisers for money or goods to send to refugees.”

  Cy paused, a hand on more boxes. “I think I’ve come to accept that he’s dead.�
�� His voice sounded oddly empty. “That part of downtown was obliterated by the earthquake and then consumed by the fire. I saw it from the air. I saw it from the ground. I know what happened to the people there.” He shrugged, a helpless gesture. Tears stung Ingrid’s eyes. “If anything, we can hope that Captain Sutcliff was caught up in it, too.” He shook his head, a hand to his forehead. “No. I shouldn’t say that, not even about him. God help me.”

  “The other headlines didn’t bring any surprises,” she continued, worried that Cy would fall into a dark mood if she didn’t distract him. “Baranov figures prominently in articles and in ads for transports or supplies. There’ve been more Thuggee attacks in India, and subsequent British retaliations. Atlanta’s been hit by a bad influenza that has caused a quarantine and shut down a lot of manufacturing there. Then, of course, there’s talk of the Chinese.”

  “I can imagine how that reads,” he said over his armful of supplies.

  “Yes.” Ingrid thought of how Mr. Sakaguchi had recently railed against people who debated the citizenship rights of the Chinese. Now editorials questioned their very humanity—questioned if they had a right to exist in America or anywhere at all. She couldn’t grasp that way of thinking. How could someone look at Lee and deny that he was a living, breathing human being? But then, Ingrid knew some people regarded her in the same light. As other. As less. People like Warden Hatsumi. Her stomach twisted.

  “Ingrid.” The sharpness of her name dragged her back to the present. “Did you see anything about yourself in the paper?”

  “No. I even looked through the Deserters sections. As for Excalibur, an advertisement for a theater in downtown caught my eye. It’s showing a newsreel of the latest footage of Excalibur every Monday and Friday. You said the nearby tracks take us straight into the downtown station, right?”

  He paused, thoughtful. “Yes. The Pacific Electric line goes right to Main Street Station.” Their moorage at Dominguez Field was not along the coast like the major stops for freight and passengers. The way Cy described it, the clientele here wasn’t exactly dealing with black-market goods, but most folks passing through minded their own business. That was both a blessing and a curse, as it meant Blum’s agents might keep an eye on such a place, too. Fortunately, there were probably a hundred other docks like this in Southern California alone.