The Edge of the World

by Steven Lochran

  ‘These are your flight rigs,’ Sur Blaek explained, while Drake and Joss gawked at the machines. Hero remained unfazed, obviously well-acquainted, while Edgar hobbled back from his errand with three practice song swords and a stack of stools.

  ‘The equipment you asked for, Sur Blaek,’ Edgar wheezed as he placed the stack at the paladero’s feet.

  ‘Thank you, Edgar,’ Sur Blaek said, and the boy’s face glowed with pride as he handed out each of the practice blades. Of course Joss had handled such a weapon before, but every time he did he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be presented with a genuine song sword of his very own. He could only hope that the moment arrived with less controversy than when he’d won the Champion’s Blade.

  Watching them closely, Sur Blaek pulled himself up to his full height. ‘And what is this you’re all holding?’ he asked them. The prentices blinked at each other, wary of answering so obvious a question lest it be revealed as a trick.

  ‘A song sword,’ replied Hero.

  ‘Correct. And what can you do with a song sword?’

  ‘Fight?’ Hero replied again.

  Sur Blaek nodded. ‘What else?’

  ‘Defend,’ answered Drake.

  Sur Blaek pointed to Joss. ‘What else?’

  Joss thought for a moment. ‘Fly,’ he said.

  ‘Very good,’ said Sur Blaek, slowly pacing back and forth. ‘Taking a life or saving a life. Those are the terms by which we measure a weapon’s worth. But a song sword is not as crude as that. A song sword is equal parts weapon and instrument. Capable of violence and destruction? Of course. But capable also of conjuring sounds that can tame the wildest beast and motivate them to do your bidding.’

  Sur Blaek stopped to unsheathe his song sword and held it aloft, meeting each of the prentices with a penetrating gaze. ‘With this instrument in hand, you are more than what you are. What you were. What you have believed yourself to be. You are conductors of fate, performers of magic, masters of the extraordinary. With this instrument, you will make the wind itself sing. You will make your own fortune. Remember that.’

  Never in his life had Joss heard the customs of a paladero framed in such a way. He found it as confusing as he did inspiring, but now was not the time for musing on such matters.

  ‘Yes, Sur Blaek,’ he and the others barked.

  ‘Very good. Now, if I haven’t blathered on too much like a would-be warrior-poet …’ a sly smile flashed across Sur Blaek’s face, and the prentices couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘What say we hit the air soaring? I want to see how you all stand against that wind. To activate your rig you’ll need to do just as you would with the real thing. Approach the beast front on. Maintain eye contact. Draw your sword and perform a pacification song. You’re all familiar with the tune?’

  The prentices nodded, and Joss mentally ran through the movements he would need to perform. From memory, they weren’t that far removed from the entreaties one had to make when first winning a raptor’s trust, though the gestures were larger and slightly more intricate. Not to mention how long it had been since he’d last performed such an act.

  Holding the practice sword steady, Joss made the first tentative swipe. Then the second, and the third. Soon enough, the sword was humming in his grasp. It didn’t light up the way a song sword would with glowing runes and a harmonious tune, but it was enough to activate the flight rig and make it caw at him in a mechanical drone.

  ‘Very good!’ Sur Blaek called out. ‘Now all there is to do is take wing. Prentices, saddle up!’

  Joss and his brethren climbed onto the backs of their mechanical mounts. The contraptions responded almost exactly like real animals would, their heads pulling against the reins as they began to whirl and weave on their gimbals. Joss could feel confidence blossoming within him like a spring sapling. After so much arduous training in the Northern Tundra, he delighted in the prospect of proving to be a natural flier at Blade’s Edge Acres.

  ‘So you’ve found your bearings,’ said Sur Blaek, watching from the sidelines. ‘That’s good. But the four winds are temperamental masters that can flare up at any time. An untempered rider is a dead rider. Clockwise!’

  The mechanoid jolted to a standing position.

  ‘Ready the gale generator. Edgar, you may need to lend a hand.’

  ‘Yessur, Sur Blaek!’ Edgar enthused, rushing to follow the mek as it withdrew to a nearby shed. The pair soon returned dragging a turbine the size of a wagon between them, its wheels carving divots in the dirt. Noticing the noise, the fieldservs in the neighbouring paddock looked up from their work and elbowed each other, taking a break to line up along the fence and share swigs from a flask as they watched.

  From beyond silver seas, from out of blue skies, from the ruins of a lost life, there will come a galamor, Joss recited to himself from the Rakashi Revelations, his freshly reclaimed confidence wavering as Edgar and Clockwise set the machine in place. With right hand marked by fate and carrying a vaartan rhazh …

  If he could have, he’d have squeezed the grip of the Champion’s Blade to seek some reassurance. Instead, he could only hold on tight to the flight rig’s reins as Edgar and Clockwise powered up the generator. There was a high-pitched whine. The sound of air being hungrily sucked up. And then an eruption that hit Joss with the force of a hurricane.

  He was up in the air and flipping around and landing in the most painful crash before he’d even realised what had happened. Lying on the ground, coughing up dirt, he stared around in a daze.

  He could hear laughter in the distance, the fieldservs obviously enjoying the show, while his brethren were both still clinging to their rigs with steadfast strength and determination. The gale generator was barraging them so mercilessly that they had no chance to register the tumble he’d taken – unlike the fieldservs, who were now lobbing jokes and insults at him like rocks from a slingshot. He felt none of them land. He was too focused on the forge, staring at it to see if anyone there had witnessed his fall.

  Joss rolled over and tried to steady himself as the world continued to spin. He could only hope he was hallucinating from a concussion as three familiar faces stared down at him.

  ‘Hello, Josiah,’ said Sur Verity, with Eliza Wildsmith and – worst of all – Lord Malkus standing right beside her. ‘Off to a flying start, I see.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A PREDATOR ON THE HUNT

  IT was near midnight and Joss was still nursing his wounds. Every part of him felt bruised. His arms, his legs, his muscles, his bones. But most of all, his pride. He could still see Sur Verity’s face as she looked down at him in the dirt, with Lord Malkus and Eliza Wildsmith beside her.

  ‘Will you three be joining us in our training session today, my lord?’ Sur Blaek had called out from his place behind the control panel, ignoring Joss’s spectacular wipeout.

  ‘Alas, Sur Blaek, we’re setting off for home,’ Malkus had replied, before turning to address Joss. ‘We thought we’d come and wish you well on your training before we left.’

  ‘Seems I could use all the well wishes I can get,’ he’d grumbled, sitting up. ‘If this is what the flight rig is like, I can only imagine how a real pterosaur must be.’

  ‘Challenging. To say the least,’ Sur Verity replied.

  ‘Which is precisely why it’s so advantageous to train with them on your way to becoming a paladero,’ Lord Malkus added. ‘There’ll be many a time on your journey where you’ll be thrown in the dirt and want to quit. But you just have to pick yourself up again and dust yourself off.’

  Malkus offered Joss his warhammer of a hand and helped him to his feet. Not far away, Drake was struggling to maintain a hold of his flight rig while Hero rode hers with such ease that it looked like an extension of her body. Joss sucked at the fresh cut on his lip, fretting that he’d never be able to perform as well as that.

  ‘Remember, lad,’ Malkus said, his silver teeth gleaming like a good-luck charm. ‘Nothing is impossible.’

&n
bsp; The comment came with such a sense of knowing that Joss felt as if his lordship had read his mind. But then, a prentice’s doubts wouldn’t be too hard for a paladero as experienced as Lord Malkus to guess.

  Nothing is impossible, Joss repeated silently to himself, holding onto a sliver of hope. Nothing is impossible.

  ‘Good to see you again, Sur Blaek,’ Lord Malkus called out to their instructor, who saluted in return. ‘Make sure to keep a close eye on these young hopefuls, would you?’

  ‘I shall, my lord,’ Sur Blaek replied, just as Drake was sent hurtling from his rig to land with a wallop near Joss.

  ‘Owww,’ his friend groaned, nursing his rear.

  ‘You’ll need to ice that,’ Sur Verity told him, then turned back to Joss. ‘Ride well, Sarif, and we’ll see you back at Round Shield Ranch for the last of your training.’

  She gave him a bop on the arm, though he was too preoccupied with the possibility of her instructing him and his brethren to say much beyond, ‘See you there.’

  ‘It really was a thrill to meet you,’ Eliza enthused, following fast on Sur Verity’s heels. ‘Good luck with the rest of your training – I hope you make it through!’ Their farewells made, the trio from Round Shield Ranch began to make their way home.

  Joss pondered what it would be like to return with them, back to the predictable security of his life back at Round Shield Ranch, keeping Sur Verity’s armour polished, ensuring her weapons were sharpened and making sure the stables were clean. That daydream scenario lasted only a second as Sur Blaek called out, ‘If we’re all done socialising, Sarif, could you do me the favour of returning to your rig? And you can do the same, Drake. Hop to it now.’

  Joss climbed back on top of the metal pterosaur and readied himself for another round. He didn’t fare much better than the first. In fact, every time he thought he might be getting the hang of it, Sur Blaek would punch a button on the control panel and send Joss flying. Again and again. And again and again and again.

  Never in his life had he been thrown as much as he had that day. With every climb back into the saddle, Lord Malkus’s words repeated in his head, becoming a whole new mantra to sit alongside the Rakashi Revelations: Nothing is impossible, nothing is impossible, nothing is impossible.

  ‘That’s it for today,’ Sur Blaek said after Joss had taken his fiftieth or so tumble for the day. The skyborne paladero powered down the flight rigs and the gale generator with a flick of the controls, the sun a molten ball as it set behind him. ‘Get your rest. We’ll be starting bright and early tomorrow. The pterosaur that sets off at sun-up savours the saltiest seafood, as they say.’

  ‘Yes, sur,’ Joss and the others replied, before making their way from the field. They stopped midstride as Sur Blaek called out to them.

  ‘Prentices?’

  They looked back at him, and he smiled. ‘Good work today.’

  The Bladebound thanked their instructor, then said little else as they retired to their quarters for the night. Hero was still too lost in her own thoughts, Drake too uncertain to draw her out, Joss simply too sore. Every bruise throbbed to the rhythm of Lord Malkus’s mantra, mocking him with its promise. The words were still echoing in his head hours later, keeping him awake as he curled his bruised body up in bed and tried to sleep.

  He was finally managing to drift off when he heard the rusty hinge of the door in the common room. Someone was sneaking out, and he had a fair idea who it would be. He lay back, wondering whether he should do something about it, when he heard a second noise – a gentle rapping at his own chamber door.

  ‘Joss? Are you awake?’ asked Drake, his voice hushed but clear.

  ‘Just a moment,’ Joss replied. He threw a robe on over his nightshirt and opened the door.

  ‘Did you hear her leave?’ Drake asked. When Joss nodded, Drake added, ‘We should follow her.’ Despite the hour, Drake was as awake as he was adamant.

  ‘Should we?’ Joss asked, fighting off a yawn. ‘She probably just wants some privacy, and some space to clear her head. You forget how tough she is.’

  ‘She needs her friends,’ Drake said, his resolve only growing stronger.

  Joss looked at the chamber door opposite his. ‘What about Edgar? Should we take him with us?’

  ‘He’s already snoring. If we’re going, we should do it now. Before she gets too far ahead of us and we lose her completely,’ Drake said, and Joss agreed. After throwing on his clothes, he followed Drake out into the night.

  A path of flickering torches led the way down the corridor and out into the northwest yard. The flight rigs had been stored away for the night, while the forge lay dark and dormant. Again Joss wondered if Zeke had seen the ludicrous spectacle he’d made of himself, and then wondered if that was something he should even be worrying about.

  ‘He’s probably off somewhere carousing,’ Drake said, startling Joss with his insight.

  ‘What – who?’

  Drake stared at him knowingly. ‘We never discussed it, but it was hard not to notice your reunion at the wake,’ he said.

  Joss quickly looked away. ‘I didn’t want to bother Hero with it.’

  ‘Didn’t you just say that I forget how tough she is?’ Drake asked, and when Joss only grimaced he went on to add, ‘You know you can’t trust him. Right?’

  ‘Of course I know that,’ Joss said, somewhat snappily.

  ‘Good. Because he’s not worthy of it,’ Drake said, then stopped to examine their surroundings. ‘Now – where could she have gone?’

  Circling away from the forge, they came to the courtyard that adjoined the Great Hall. Guards lurked almost unseen upon the highest battlements, much like the holy Messengers that haunted the surrounding forests. They were so still that Joss mistook them as statues at first, then grew wary at all they might observe from such a high, unrestricted vantage point. No doubt this was Lord Rayner’s intention, installing Kardos’s men throughout the fortress to act as his eyes and ears. But for what purpose? To keep the order safe from outsiders? Or to keep watch over those within?

  Perhaps Hero would have had some insights to offer, if she were around to share them. But all Joss and Drake could find was empty yards and the same massive old tree shedding chestnuts with almost lethal force.

  ‘This is just like the night of the banquet, when she disappeared without a trace,’ Joss said as a chestnut ricocheted off his shoulder.

  ‘Maybe there’s a hidden tunnel or a secret door somewhere around here,’ Drake suggested, scanning the surrounding area before a chestnut fell on his head. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘That tree,’ Joss said, staring at the twisted trunk that rose up like a ladder into the sky, ‘has to be the most bloodthirsty creature this order has to offer.’

  ‘Well, what do we have here?’ someone called out, and they turned to see three wild faces leering at them from the darkness. Lynch had the look of a predator that had happened across a pair of fieldmice, while his cohorts grinned wickedly beside him.

  ‘I spoke too soon,’ Joss muttered to Drake, before stealing another glance at the battlements overhead. The guards that had been there only a moment ago were gone, either by coincidence or design.

  ‘Seems to me that a couple of students are out looking for a lesson,’ Lynch said, stalking towards Joss and Drake. ‘And we’re just the ones to teach it to ’em.’

  Lynch’s grin grew darker with every step, while Joss reached instinctively for the Champion’s Blade. He didn’t want any trouble. Didn’t want to fight. But if that was what this creature was craving, then he’d have no choice but to oblige.

  Standing his ground, he tensed for the encounter to come.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A GHOST OF THE PAST

  ‘LYNCH, isn’t it?’ Drake said as the wiry little prentice stalked towards them. Lynch’s eyes were glinting in the moonlight like twin blades, unsheathed and pointed at the two prentices before him.

  ‘That’s right. And you’re that scrawny lad from Starlight Field
s. Word has it you think you’re real smart. Though word also has it that you’re not so smart to remove a heavy coat when standing by a roaring fire. Wonder why that is?’ Lynch smiled as Drake’s brow twitched, then turned to Joss. ‘And you’re that Sarif boy. The one who stole the Champion’s Blade.’

  Joss glowered at the accusation. ‘I did no such thing,’ he said, and squeezed the sword’s grip.

  ‘Cheated to win it, then. Which would make it a Cheater’s Blade, by my reckoning.’

  The Brute and the Newt both enjoyed a belly laugh at Lynch’s wit. Joss’s scowl intensified.

  ‘Lynch – we’re not looking for any quarrel,’ Drake said calmly. ‘We’re just looking for our friend.’

  ‘Friend?’ Lynch sniffed. ‘You mean that duplicitous harpy who has the brass to go around calling herself “Hero”? Makes sense that a high-minded snob and a stormy cheat would name such a villain as their friend.’

  Any hint of affability drained from Drake, leaving only a warrior hardened by a lifetime’s worth of cold. ‘You take that back.’

  ‘Why should I?’ Lynch said. ‘Talk is that you all went off adventuring on the Silver Sea. Fought a horde of pyrates, saved some innocent townsfolk from the sword. But I know muck from the smell of it and I know lies from their telling. Yet here you are; a gang of cheats and frauds come to train at my order, stealing away the place of true and rightful prentices.’

  ‘Prentices such as yourself, I take it?’ Joss said, almost gagging on the words. Or maybe it had more to do with the odour wafting off Lynch in clouds. He was so close now that Joss could see the stains between his teeth as he smelt his reeking breath.

  ‘You take it right,’ Lynch growled, sending another gust blowing into Joss’s face. ‘And you’ll take a beating to go with it.’

  All the air in Joss’s lungs burst free as something smacked him hard and fast in the gut. Doubling over in pain, he looked up with watering eyes to see Lynch’s balled fist for the first time, just as a second blow was sent hurtling at his head.