by Jeff Minerd
Brieze devoted her last weeks aboard the Kinzou to learning as much as she possibly could, not just about the ship and its crew, but about their homeland, language, and culture. She asked the crewmen countless questions, and she spoke to them only in the eastern tongue, so she could get the practice. The men were delighted to answer her questions. They tried to outdo each other in giving her thorough explanations. The one thing they never did, though, was correct her when she made a mistake in the eastern tongue—and she made a lot of them. She had no way of knowing this, so she believed she was making great progress in her fluency.
More than anything else, she loved learning their songs. When they lit their colored lanterns and gathered on the main deck to sing at night, she was irresistibly drawn to them. She sat at the edge of the group and listened. She closed her eyes, memorizing the words and the melodies, whose strange dips and lilts didn’t sound as odd to her ears anymore. Soon, she began mouthing the words and singing under her breath. One of her favorite songs was a slow tune about longing for home, sad and sweet at the same time. In the western language, the words went like this:
In the land where the rising sun
Kisses the heads of the mountains
In the land where apple and cherry blossoms
Fall like snow in the spring
In the land where my loved one’s eyes
Search the sky at evening time
Hoping to see my ship’s sail
There my heart lies, there my breath sighs
Currents be kind, and weather be fine
And bring me back to my one true home
One night, as the men sang this song, Brieze joined in. She hadn’t meant to, it just happened. One minute she was singing under her breath and the next her voice leapt loud and clear from her mouth. Something moved her to join her voice with the others, and it was thrilling! The song poured out of her, and for a moment she felt the intense pleasure of belonging, of expressing the deep emotions they all shared. Goosebumps prickled all along her arms. She smiled broadly, eyes shining, as she sang.
And, one by one, the men’s voices dropped out.
Soon, she was singing by herself, until her voice faltered into awkward silence.
The men stared down at their feet. None of them would meet her eyes.
She jumped up, flustered. “I’m sorry…” she stammered. “Did I do something wrong?”
They gave each other uneasy glances. Riku finally cleared his throat and, still not daring to look at her, said, “Please…you sing. We listen.”
Brieze turned and fled, mortified. She scrambled down a hatch, bolted along a corridor, and hid herself in the captain’s cabin, slamming the door behind her. She flung herself on the narrow bed, punched the pillow a few times, and buried her face in it. From above, she heard the sound of men arguing on the deck. Hiroshi’s voice rose above the others, questioning. They answered in plaintive tones.
Soon, Hiroshi knocked at the door of the cabin. “May I come in?”
“Fine,” Brieze huffed.
He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. She kept her face buried in the pillow.
“You did nothing wrong,” he said. “It’s just that my men have such great deference for you, none would dare raise his voice above yours.”
“I only wanted to sing with them. Was that so wrong?”
“No, but you took them by surprise. They didn’t know what to do. Please, come join us now. We will all sing together if that is your wish.”
“Forget it,” she turned on her side to face the wall, hugging the pillow. “It’s ruined now.”
He sighed. “My men feel badly. They didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. They only stopped singing out of respect.”
“Respect!” Brieze spat the word as she kicked the wall. “That’s all I ever get, and I’m sick of it.”
Hiroshi fidgeted. He had no experience dealing with the hurt feelings of teenage girls, especially not ones who happened to be wizard’s apprentices. He decided that he’d done his best and it was time to beat a delicate retreat. “Tomorrow,” he said, closing the cabin door behind him, “this will be a storm that has passed.”
Brieze stayed shut in the cabin for the rest of the night, tossing and turning on the bed. She missed her mother, her father, and especially Tak. He was one of the few people who didn’t keep his distance from her. He hadn’t known who she was when they first met, and he’d been rude, obnoxious, even hostile. She didn’t blame him. She’d shot two arrows into his precious airship, after all, as he was trying to sneak onto the floating island. But his rudeness was refreshing. Exciting even. And then, they were thrown together into so many adventures so fast there was no time for distance to develop. They became fast friends. He treated her like an equal.
She missed his quick smile and his dumb jokes. She even missed his swagger and cockiness, just a little, though she wouldn’t admit this to anyone but herself. She missed his strong hands and the way they were drawn unabashedly to hers. She missed his kisses…
Ach, his kisses. Best not to think of those now.
She wished his arms were around her. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, and when she would see him again.
NINE
Tak’s unit of cadets gathered in their bunkroom after a day of drilling. They had a half hour of free time before evening mess. This was usually a loud, rowdy half hour as the cadets took full advantage of the lack of supervision and blew off steam. The long room with its orderly rows of cots and trunks along each wall was usually filled with whoops and shouts, good natured and not-so-good natured insults flying back and forth, and the occasional spontaneous wrestling—or shoving— match. Even the boys who were tired and wanted nothing more than a short rest before dinner managed to do this loudly, with an excess of stretching and groaning and complaining about the drill sergeant.
But not today. Today was mail day.
Every cadet found a packet of letters on his cot. And so, with pleased murmurs and grunts, they ripped open their letters and stretched out on their cots to read.
Tak found three letters on his cot. One from his mother. Another from his uncle Julius and cousins on Silkmont. And a third from his good friend Luff, a goat herder who lived on Gatmont. He opened and scanned his mother’s letter first, just to make sure there was no bad news about his father. Taktinius Spinner senior had been seriously ill since the siege of Selestria. But the letter assured him his father was still on the mend. So he put that letter aside and opened the one from Luff. He grinned as he read, because Luff liked nothing better than to poke fun at Tak for what he called his “fancy-pants, city-boy ways.” He did this by mockingly imitating the courtly language used in Selestria.
My Dearest and Most Esteemed Taktinius Spinner Junior,
This missive is to inform you that in one month’s time I shall be journeying to the city of Selestria with my father, on business of a hircine nature. I most humbly request an audience with you, in order to give your eminence an opportunity to redeem himself after the tremendous and most shameful spanking he received when last we raced our respective airships. I shall call upon you at the academy at my earliest convenience.
Your Most Obedient and Respectful Servant,
Lufftik Herder of Gatmont
Underneath his signature, in crude lines, Luff had sketched what looked like a Herder family crest, even though the Herders had no official crest. On the background of an oval shield, two goats were doing something rather vulgar, above the family motto, “Watch Where You Step.”
Tak’s laughter was cut short by the cadet on the bunk next to him. He tossed a letter onto Tak’s lap. “This was in my packet by mistake,” he said. “It’s for you.”
It was from Brieze!
It was addressed in her handwriting and sealed with a blob of red wax imprinted with the wizard’s seal.
Tak’s heart thumped. He tore the letter open. He read no more than a few lines, though, when he double-checked th
e seal just to make sure the letter truly was from Brieze. Yes, that was her seal. This was her handwriting, sort of. But the letter was unlike anything she’d ever written—or anything Tak suspected she was capable of writing. It read like it came from a completely different person. Her other letters to him had always been formal, perfectly composed, with meticulous penmanship. This letter was all over the place, and the writing was downright sloppy in places. Tak’s jaw dropped as he read…
My Dearest Tak,
I’ve been alone out here for forever now, and I would give anything for you to be here. I was an idiot not to let you come with me. I miss you more than I can say. It’s more than an emotion, it feels like a hunger, a craving, a physical need, deep inside of me that only you could satisfy. If you were here with me right now, I would wrap my arms around you and never let go. I would cover you with kisses, from the top of your head down to your toes…
Tak’s slack jaw widened into a dumbfounded, brainless, ear-to-ear grin. The letter went on like that for two pages, describing in detail what she would like to do if he were there and the things she planned to do when they were together again. She used a lot of big words he didn’t know, like tempestuous and delectable and palpitations, but he got the general idea.
And then the letter’s closing hit him like a frenzy of grekks.
Stay warm this winter with thoughts of me…
Love,
B
Tak gasped.
Love?!
She said love.
She never said love before.
Clearly, she was unhinged. The loneliness of the journey had gotten to her, scrambled her wits. That was not good. You needed your wits on a voyage like that. She could be a danger to herself. But here was a key question. Had her loneliness prodded her to confess something she truly felt, or had she used the word love only because she was so desolate, and unbalanced, and not thinking clearly? Arrrgh! It was just like her to say love from half a world away, when he couldn’t say anything back or ask any questions.
He read the letter again from start to finish, his heart thumping in his chest. Then he lay back on his cot and let the pages rest on top of his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as if he could breathe in her words, and he imagined he caught the faintest scent of her lingering on the paper. A scent like sun-warmed skin and wind through pines in springtime. He murmured some of her words and phrases. Then he sat up and read the letter again, savoring it slowly. But it was over too soon, so he read it just one more time.
By the time it occurred to him to look up and see what time it was, the bunkroom was empty. Everyone else had gone to mess. He was late! Hastily he jumped up, stashed the letter in a pocket, and dashed off to join his comrades for dinner. If he moved fast, he might get there before anyone noticed he was late and gave him a demerit.
Like most rooms built by sky riders, the academy mess hall was made to let in as much of the sky as possible. The ceiling was high—sky riders hated to be crowded by low ceilings—and inset with glass skylights. The windows were wide and tall, and even though it was winter they were open a crack, letting in a hint of the chill mountain air and the rosy light of the sinking sun. The rows of tables were crowded with cadets eating and talking fast. The hubbub of hundreds of conversations echoed off the walls. The noise seemed even livelier and more intense than usual. The room was buzzing. Excitement crackled in the air.
Tak grabbed a plate of chow from the kitchen in the back and found a seat at his unit’s table. As soon as he plunked his plate and mug down on the pine planks, one of them asked him, “Did you hear the news? Did she tell you?”
“Did who tell me?”
“Your girlfriend. In her letter. Did she tell you what she did?”
“How do you know I got a letter from Brieze?”
“Oh come on! You sat there reading it over and over, mooning over it and sniffing it like a scented hankie. Who else could it be from? Your mother?” There was a general chuckle at that.
“So did she tell you?” another pressed him. “What did she say about it?”
“About what?” Tak asked, flummoxed by everyone’s expectant stares.
“He doesn’t know,” one said.
“Know what?” Tak asked.
The cadet across from him took a deep breath and announced, “Your girlfriend killed a Nagmor!”
“And nearly wrecked flying through the Wind’s Teeth!” another said.
“And got attacked by pirates!” a third chimed in.
“But mostly…she killed a Nagmor!” The one across from him said. “She saved an Eastern merchant ship and its crew.”
Tak sat there and gaped, his food and drink forgotten. The information he was getting from his fellow cadets was so at odds with Brieze’s letter that his mind couldn’t make sense of it. His brain stalled out. There was nothing but luff and chatter between his ears.
So they explained it all to him. A delegate of Eastern ships from Kyo had arrived at castle Selestria yesterday, bringing much news, including news about Brieze. She was traveling to Kyo on a ship called the Kinzou. She’d saved the ship from a Nagmor attack, killing the beast with some kind of explosive device. In later versions of the story, she blew the Nagmor to bits using only the power of her mind. Such was the opinion of wizards in general and Brieze in particular. But the current version stuck more or less to the truth. The news had raced like the wind all over Selemont, all the way to the academy on Larkspur. No one in the history of the Kingdom of Spire had ever killed a Nagmor before. It was sensational!
The Eastern delegation brought more news. The Kinzou had passed through the Wind’s Teeth, nearly wrecking there and trading cannon fire with pirates to boot. And what was more, the whole reason the Easterners had come to Selemont in the first place was to warn the King that the Dragonlord of the East was up to something. His red and gold dragons were being sighted everywhere. The Eastern navy was on high alert. The King was expected to put the Western fleet on high alert too, especially since the Dragonbane had never arrived for its diplomatic mission to the Kingdom of Frost. The ship and all her crew—including Admiral Adamus Strake— were missing and presumed lost, perhaps due to foul play by the Dragonlord.
“The Eastern ships must have brought Brieze’s letter,” the cadet on Tak’s right said. “She didn’t mention any of this?”
Tak fiddled with the food on his plate. “Nope.”
“Well, what did she say?”
Tak dropped his fork with a disgusted sigh. “Apparently nothing.”
There was an awkward silence around the table.
“Well…maybe she didn’t want you to worry, you know?” someone offered.
Tak had no way of knowing that Brieze’s letter had been written before her adventures. That she’d made the mistake of sealing it immediately and had no way to scrawl even a hint of her latest news before the mail bag came around on the Kinzou. He stood up abruptly. Grabbed up his plate and mug. “I’ve got to go.”
As he dropped his plate and mug off at the kitchen, he caught the eye of Jon Cutter junior, the skinny giant. The boy was sitting at a table in the back with the other lumberjacks. Tak nodded to Jon but the Cutter boy only stared back at him. His eyes narrowed, studying Tak intensely. He chewed slowly and deliberately as if, even when eating, his jaw was disinclined to move.
Tak stalked out of the mess hall, aware of all the eyes on him and the whispered conversations starting up behind his back. He made up his mind. He was going to Kyo. He wasn’t going to formally request leave or a postponement of his studies. He was going to leave a letter for the academy president that night, and take off under the cover of darkness. That would have to do.
Brieze was half a world away, and in danger. Already she’d been threatened by Nagmor and pirates. And now this business with the Dragonlord. He needed to be at her side. He should have insisted on going with her right from the start. And she’d practically invited him to come in her letter. Right?<
br />
When he found her, she would have some explaining to do.
Especially about this word love.
With a parachute pack strapped securely to his back, and a heavy duffel bag crammed with clothes and gear over his shoulder, Tak snuck out onto the academy dock where private ships were moored. The Arrow was there, down near the end of the dock, bobbing on the wind and, as ever, tugging eagerly at its mooring ropes. It was dark, with a sliver of moon high up in the cloudy sky. The dock was not guarded. Still, Tak crept along as quietly as he could. He would have a hard time explaining his presence there to anyone who noticed and challenged him. It was well past lights out, and he should have been snoring in his cot in the bunkroom with the other cadets.
A light snow dusted the dock. A strong winter wind nudged the moored ships about. The wooden clunks they made as they bobbed and bumped against the dock, the slap of ropes against masts, the flapping of sails, covered the creak of Tak’s footsteps. With agility that came from long practice and familiarity, he hopped off the dock into the Arrow without making it list or rock. He set down his duffel bag on the thwart bench and undid the rear mooring line, casting it off. He quickly did the same with the front mooring line, casting the rope toward the dock.
Somebody caught the rope.
Tak yelped. A figure stood on the dock with the rope in one hand.
A tall, skinny figure. Nearly seven feet tall, to be exact. Moonlight glimmered in his wild, curly red hair. His eyes gleamed in the dark.
“Jon!” Tak said. “What are you doing here?”
From their last conversation, Tak gathered that Jon was a man of few words. But Tak didn’t know Jon had been unusually talkative then. He rarely bothered to use words when a look or gesture would do. His eyes and his face could be eloquent. At the moment, he was giving Tak a look that said, clearly as any words, I’m going with you.
