In all the commotion, Brendan had lost sight of the wraiths. The first had done enough damage to down the ship. If Peter wasn’t able to fix the blimp, the whole crew were going to lose their lives. And if Peter could fix it, well, then they’d just have to hope the wraith wouldn’t come back to finish the job.
We still have time, Brendan thought, but as he thought it, the weather found them. Snowflakes gusted inside the craft. The black clouds shrouded the ship in darkness.
Brendan yanked the wheel back and back, but it wouldn’t give an inch—not a single one. It wouldn’t climb, not without a miracle.
Behind him, Peter scrambled up the rigging and swung his legs over the dirigible’s framing. From somewhere inside his coat, the boy found a sewing kit—a needle, thread, and a thimble. He hastily strung the thread through the needle and began to sew the flapping canvas back together.
Brendan hazarded a quick look over his shoulder—just one. And in that moment, he knew all would be okay. He smiled proudly at the boy who would save the day.
We’re going to be all right.
Then a dark thought crept into Brendan’s mind. The wraith had slithered right through him on its way down.
“Your harness,” he yelled. “Pete, your harness!”
The boy looked down, found his tether, and reeled it in, attempting to show Brendan that it was attached to the rigging. In his eyes, Peter knew it was. But the boy found that the end of it had come loose. He went to hook it to anything there of value, and a gust of something blew through him, whether it was wind or wraith, Brendan didn’t know.
Brendan’s hold on the wheel slackened.
Peter fell, only slightly faster than the airship which was still intent on crashing to the earth.
“Never land,” Epik heard himself say. He’d seen the boy pulled free of the plummeting ship.
Epik’s spell took hold, and Peter floated away, taken somewhere else by the wind.
The airship, though, kept falling.
“Do something.” Millie tugged at Epik’s cloak, but he was still mesmerized at the sight of Peter flying away. She tugged him again. “About that!” She pointed at the ship.
“Right.” Epik maneuvered his wand toward it.
“Okay, on three,” he said.
“What on three?” Millie asked. “What spell?”
“I need to three to think of it.” Epik took a breath. “One. Two. That slow down time spell,” he decided. “Three.”
The ship lurched. It fell still, but now it fell in a quite leisurely way. It dropped a few feet and paused, dropped and paused, putting Epik in mind of a dowager sweeping regally down a staircase. It continued this extraordinary descent it missed the last step, hit the ground at speed and began to break up, burying itself in the snow.
When it looked like it was over, Epik undid the spell. A loud CRASH rent the air.
“I think it worked,” Millie said.
“I think so, too,” Kavya agreed. And she was the first one to head toward it.
Epik stayed back a moment—Millie’s eyes were on the sky. He looked up, too, but the snow was nearly blinding. “What is it?” he asked.
“Ursa,” Millie said. “I felt her. Did you?”
Epik shook his head. The witches were working on a spell to convert Ursa back from wraith to person. She’d been ghosting around Buster’s barn since their arrival.
“She must’ve come to help,” Epik said.
“Did she… did she…” Millie couldn’t finish the thought. “We’ll never see her again, will we?”
Epik put his arm around Millie’s shoulder. She was slightly taller than he was. “I’m not sure, but there’s always hope.”
Brendan’s crew began to climb from the ship. Epik recognized more than one face. He waved at both Brendan and Amber.
Even though he had failed to keep the airship from crashing, saving his friends seemed more important.
9
Snow Crashed
The storm blew in with them. Snow flurried from every direction until they were swimming through a sea of white. Epik led Brendan, the children, and the airship’s crew back to the Coven’s cottage.
It was bitter, and not just from the cold. Epik didn’t know why he thought the greeting would be a warm one—Brendan had just crashed an airship after all.
But Epik couldn’t hide the elation, seeing those familiar faces. He hadn’t seen or heard from either Brendan or Amber in the months since leaving for King’s Way. It was interesting to learn the tale of the joust tournament had made it all the way back to Dune All-En.
Amber eagerly discussed Epik’s newfound fame, but Brendan was standoffish. Once victualed, Brendan decided he and his crew would shelter in the barn rather than crowd the small cottage further.
Epik tried to help them get settled. Then he saw to Buster, putting a blanket over the pony, ensuring he stayed comfortable during the storm. Buster was fascinated with the newcomers.
“I hope you don’t mind company.”
Buster side-eyed the witch’s two dairy cows as if to say any company was better than theirs.
Brendan strode across the dirt and straw-laden floor to Epik. He, like Epik, had changed. Brendan looked more a man than a boy. He’d yet to smile, and even the smile lines above his lips had dwindled to nothing.
“How long will it take for this storm to blow out?” he asked, peering through a crack in the door. All that was visible was white.
Epik shrugged. “A day or so, I guess. Storms here aren’t strong, but they aren’t quick either. Judging from the last few, we’ll get several inches of snow over the next few days.”
“Really?” Brendan chewed his lip then sighed. “How will we ever get the airship to fly? We’ll be digging it out for weeks.”
“I’ll help,” Epik offered. “So will Millie and the other kids. They’ll think it’s fun4.”
“Great,” Brendan said. Still no smile. But he did turn to Epik with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Couldn’t you just magic the ship back together?”
“I honestly don’t think so.” Epik felt queasy, knowing it wasn’t that he couldn’t use his magic to uncover the airship. But he had already used too much in saving it. Schmilda wouldn’t approve.
“What use are wizards anyway?” Brendan might’ve been joking, but there was honesty in his eyes. He went on, “My dad used to read me stories. All of ‘em made out like wizards were incredible. They could do anything just by thinking it. And were good in any pinch, ya know? But in the years since my dad passed, I’ve yet to find the truth in this. What use is magic anyway?”
“It’s easy to be jaded,” Epik admitted. “But we can use magic to help. Everyone here has some at their disposal— some more than others. Oh, and I forgot, there’s Eddis.”
“Eddis? Was that the old man in there?”
Epik nodded.
“So, the fate of the airship depends on an old man and a few kids who don’t know how to put their toys back together.”
“You saw that?” Epik asked.
“Saw what?”
“The toys.”
“No, I was just spitballing, kidding.” Brendan sighed again. “When the storm dies out, we’ll need to go take a survey. See what’s left of the old girl. I never even named her.”
“Old girl? The ship?” Epik asked. He could easily be talking about any of the witches.
Brendan stared through the crack in reply.
“Well…” Epik pondered this. “If you make a list of what you need, I can sneak into the city and get supplies.”
“You can do that?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I guess I’ve seen worse odds.” Brendan put his fingers through the back of his hair. “Listen, Epik, I’ve got to complete this mission. It’s vital we destroy that train and the warehouse that supplies it. I don’t know how I know it, but I’m sure that those are key elements of the Grand Sovereign’s plan.”
“And,” Brendan hesitated a moment, verifying the
re was no one else within earshot. “I saw Todder out there.”
“Captain Todder was on the train?”
“Keep your voice down. Most of the crew don’t know what happened to him. Hell, I don’t know what happened to him.”
He looked to Epik for explanation.
“Long story. It happened so fast. The Grand Sovereign, he has this way of, I don’t know, of controlling people with his magic.”
“Could you do that?” Brendan whispered.
“I’m not sure. Maybe… But I don’t think I’d want to.”
“Right.” Brendan nodded. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t.”
“Epik, if they get this train thing moving again... Well, let’s just say it’s vital we get the airship back in the air.”
“I wish I could’ve really seen it fly.”
“You will.” Brendan stared off into the blur of shite.
10
A Midwinter Night’s Dream
Sometimes Gerdy thought she could smell Myra—just a fleeting whiff. And though she might be imagining it, those moments were all that made this bearable.
Dwarfish blood allowed Gerdy to see in the dark, and on top of that, the darkness heightened all of her senses. But if anything, Gerdy just felt numb.
It was a constant tedium, a silent stillness, the near perfect darkness, the frozen air. Not even dripping water. It was eating away at her. Her ears longed for any sound. She didn’t need a sonnet. Even the scritch-scratching of a mouse would be welcome.
And the thought of water forced her memory back to the bath after they’d arrived in King’s Way. How she wished she could go back to that day, to the beginning of this. She’d at least warn herself of the things to come.
Gerdy rested her head against the wall behind her. It was the same icy temperature as her skin.
It had been a few days since she met with the Grand Sovereign—a few days spent pondering. What had she been thinking? What had she even agreed to? He’d never said how she was supposed to lure Epik here. How could she do anything from this cell?
It didn’t make sense. None of it did. She just wanted Myra back. If she could only figure out how to get this magic of hers working, she could do it herself. She was sure.
Her eyes closed several times. Her breathing slowed, and Gerdy was off to a new dream.
Gerdy and Myra were walking in a wood. One so dense and full of vivid colors that Gerdy questioned it. Then she thought, No, I guess all woods do look like this.
And as is the case in dreams, there was no second guessing.
They strolled on, Myra leading the way. Gerdy’s hand was intertwined with Myra’s delicate fingers.
“Mye,” Gerdy said, “where are you taking me?”
Myra’s half-elf eyes were just as Gerdy remembered, green with flecks of blue. “Someplace safe,” she answered, whisking Gerdy further into the wood.
They ducked under the orange leaves of willoak trees and over blue paving stones in a golden stream.
They were skipping, frolicking, really. Myra kept turning back, smiling.
Out of the wood, they came to a wide and winding road made of yellow bricks. It led to a castle on a hill. Quite unlike any castle Gerdy had ever seen. It, like Myra’s eyes, was green with blue turrets.
“My castle,” Myra confided. “Our coach awaits.”
Then Myra did something odd with her hands. She flourished them as if they themselves were wands. She manifested a red coach drawn by purple horses on the road ahead.
Something nagged at Gerdy. The colors were all wrong.
Aren’t they wrong?
She couldn’t be sure. So, she rode with Myra, or she thought she would. But once inside the coach, Gerdy was alone.
And once she arrived, it was no longer Myra’s castle, but the one she knew all too well—the Grand Sovereign’s.
For the second first time, she was led inside the castle, and this time the Grand Sovereign looked as he did now—not as the fake persona Gerdy met those months ago. She followed the old wizard to the parlor, and inside it, on a small bed barely able to hold her was Myra, fast asleep.
Gerdy woke with a start. Each cold gasp was a stabbing pain. A single icy tear ran down her cheek. Gerdy instinctively knew what she saw was real. Myra was asleep somewhere in the castle, and she had been for a long, long time.
11
Wraith and Wood
True to the halfling’s word, it was several days before the storm let up and Brendan and company were able to go survey the damage to the ship. A heavy blanket of snow blanketed the world, but it wasn’t anything like a wonderland. The ground was mostly flat, save an occasional bumpy hill. The trees were sparse, one here and one there, no forest for as far as the eye could see.
And they could see for miles around. In a way, it reminded Brendan of being aboard the airship, just atop the clouds.
Before they left, Epik pulled Brendan aside.
“World’s Eye is just that way, beyond the horizon.” He pointed. “The airship,” he moved his finger, “went down over that hill.” Then Epik shuffled ninety degrees, still pointing. “If you squint your eyes just right,” he said, “you can make out the Tabletop Mountains beyond that elder tree.”
Brenden duly squinted, and again the halfling’s word was true: the faint outline of purplish mountains peeked5 over the horizon in the morning haze that lingered on the ground.
But Brendan could see no city, and only had a vague idea of the airship’s location after being led away in the blinding snow.
“Millie will help you get to the airship. You need magic to find your way to the cottage. Without her, well, I’m afraid Eddis and the twins may get lost. She’s made the journey as often as me.”
“Wait… you aren’t going with us?” Brendan asked.
“Not today. I have some training to do.” Epik smiled. “Trust me, this lot are up to the task. Anything you need, just ask them.”
“Sure,” Brendan said. As in, he was sure that wasn’t going to be the case. He rubbed his hand over his scruffy hair. Five children and an old man. What help could they possibly be? Then again, he was giving Epik, a halfling, a lot of credit, too. All because of magic.
And what good had magic ever done him?
No, Brendan needed to rely on himself, on his crew to repair the airship. Then, of course, there was completing the mission, destroying the warehouse and whatever was left of that train thing.
Brendan pulled a grubby piece of parchment from his pocket—the map Sergeant Tracker had handed him before going over the side against the wraith. Like the gun captain, Tracker had never climbed back up his rope.
“Causeway,” Brendan called. The corporal stumbled through the snow as keenly as one stumbling through the snow could.
“Yes, sir?”
“I need you to take over where Sergeant Tracker left off. Take this map, plot our current whereabouts against where the ship went down, then against the last known location of that train. Worst case, we can mount a ground assault against it.”
“Right-oh.” Causeway took the map.
“Oh, and Causeway,” Brendan pulled the young man aside again, “you’re promoted. Let’s go.”
Brendan motioned to the crew, and to the volunteers—if they were volunteers. Epik had sort of volun-told them to come.
Brendan and his men started the march, and Millie jumped ahead shortly after. She veered in the right direction where Brendan had veered toward the mountains. He squinted again, saw their purplish outlines, and cursed.
The girl crossed the snow without sinking so much an inch into it.
The benefits of weighing fifty pounds, Brendan thought.
Much the same could be said for the boy and the girls who followed. The twins, Doug and Gal, Brendan was only half certain which was the boy, and which was the girl—hair length never being a good indicator. Half his crew had hair down to their shoulders. And half his crew were women. And those weren’t the same half
.
Behind the children, oddly enough, was the old man. He wore funny spectacles. His hair, what was left of it, was as white as the snow he had no trouble at all traveling over. Eddis wore special shoes, longer and wider than his feet. They looked to Brendan like netting. If Brendan found some time, he might whip up a pair just like them for the way back because the old man trekked easily.
The same could not be said for the crew, who were all struggling to find footing. Causeway sank deep several times where Millie and Brendan had to wrench him free.
After what seemed hours but was probably minutes, the broken remains of the airship came into view. The stern and mast peeked above the snow. The framing of the blimp was all that was still intact. The canvas was deflated, and most of that was torn or lost beneath the snow.
“How’d we let this happen to her?” Brendan asked.
“Her?” asked Millie.
“Yes.” Brendan sighed. “All ships are girls. I never even named her.”
“Oh, well I’m sure we’ll get her fixed.” Millie emphasized the pronoun.
“All right crew,” Brendan called. “Let’s dig her out.”
The crewmen with shovels began to dig. Amber got down on her knees, digging snow away from the canvas with her hands.
Millie chuckled and everyone stopped to look at her.
“I can do this bit, if you let me.” She brandished a wand.
The crew nodded encouragingly.
She fixed her gaze on the sun. Then she waved her wand in the air, pointed the tip of it at the ship and—nothing happened. Or so it seemed. Then the snow began to melt into puddles of water and mud.
The real extent of the damage began to show. The ship was not only broken in half, most of the bow had smashed flat into the ground, splintering into fragments barely recognizable as wood. The pieces weren’t big enough to build a fire.
The stern, while mostly intact, had strewn its contents across the ground. Cannons, cannon balls, all of the crew’s personal items, their food, were frozen solid.
Sight Beyond Epik Sight: A Steampunk Fantasy Romp (Epik Fantasy Book 3) Page 5
