Airwoman

by Zara Quentin

  Jade’s head pounded. She wanted to get away. To fly.

  Tall One was still talking to her. He held his hand out, palm up. In it lay a pendant tied to a short length of string. “Do you know what this is?”

  Jade blinked, before picking it up to look more closely. A small pendant of three stones—red, blue and yellow—that were set into a circle of red and yellow gold. The metal around the stones was pressed into what looked to be flames. The pendant hung from three threads of different colours—again red, yellow and blue—tied together in a series of knots. Jade ran her fingers along the threads, but there was nothing uniform about the pattern. They weren’t evenly spaced, nor the same size. In fact, in some spaces, only the blue and yellow threads were knotted together. The length of the string was about right for some kind of bracelet, obviously handmade, though there was no clasp at the ends to join them together.

  “Magnus was holding this. Any idea what it is?”

  Jade shook her head. She’d never seen it before.

  Tall One shrugged, taking the item back. “I’ll give them to the Temple Executor to settle with the Will. It’s routine.”

  “Routine,” Jade echoed. He was wrong.

  Nothing about this was routine.

  5

  Jade was walking. Crowded into a space too small for her to fly, or even spread her wings, the darkness suffocated her. Not the complete darkness of night, rather the veil of deep shadows. Jade put one foot in front of the other; she had to keep going. A prickling sensation ran down her spine and she looked over her shoulder, certain somebody was watching her. She saw no one.

  This place smelt of freshly turned soil after rain. The space narrowed and soon she could not move without touching bark, leaves, spiderwebs. Vines curled about her ankles and wrists and grabbed at her hair and clothes.

  Jade swallowed down panic as a vine twisted around her ankle, making her stumble. She pressed into a run, but the trees were too dense, and she reeled from one trunk to the next. She fell and rolled, the slick mud coated her skin. When she looked up, she couldn’t tell which way she’d been going. Trunks and vines loomed over her, crowding her. There was no way out.

  She spun around, confused. Lost.

  She tripped over an exposed tree root and went down on her hands and knees. Mud squelched between her fingers. Vines wound tight around her ankles, holding her fast.

  Jade pulled at their tendrils with her hands, but they wouldn’t budge.

  “Help!” she screamed. Her voice echoed through the trees.

  “Jade!” A familiar voice came from somewhere close. She saw Papa, perched on a branch above her, his figure framed in huge leaves. She stretched up to him, but he was too far away, and fading quickly.

  “Papa!” Jade called out. “Don’t leave!”

  A thick fog swirled between them, obscuring Papa’s face.

  She kept her eyes on him—if she even blinked, he might disappear.

  Papa called again, faintly but urgently, “Finish what I started. Release me.”

  “Wait, Papa—don’t go!” Jade struggled against the vines binding her feet. “I don’t understand!”

  Papa’s response was a whisper on the wind. “Release me.”

  She screamed as Papa’s face disappeared into the fog.

  * * *

  Jade panted, and her eyes darted around in the dark. It took several moments to realise she was in her own room; her own bed. Her damp nightclothes clung to her. When she pushed her hair out of her eyes, strands stuck to her wet cheeks.

  Papa’s whisper echoed: Release me. Jade grasped at the last fragments of her dream, but they slipped away too quickly. She was left with a thrumming heart and a feeling of dread.

  The clock beside her bed said it was past midday. She sat bolt upright and rubbed sleep from her eyes, and a streak of bright red on the other side of the room caught her attention. There, her funeral clothes hung, waiting for her to dress.

  Her stomach tightened. It was Papa’s funeral today. Jade hugged her knees to her chest, too awake to go back to sleep, but unwilling to face the day.

  Unbidden, Papa’s lifeless eyes came to mind. The Chief Healer had visited yesterday, explaining Papa had died of natural causes. Probably stress, he’d said, before giving the go-ahead for the funeral. Jade pushed the memory aside, reaching for another way to remember her father.

  Instead, she thought about her childhood, flying with Papa along the coastline to the north where it curved around into the peninsula called The Claw. They had escaped Ingresston and sat on the clifftop, dangling their feet over the edge, watching the horizon. Papa had told her stories of strange worlds far, far away.

  Jade had looked up at her father, mesmerised by his stories. He’d always been so large and strong. So knowledgeable and wise. Somehow immortal. She’d never imagined one day he’d be gone.

  Tears welled, like a dam on the verge of breaking, as she thought of all she’d lost. Ever since she’d sat on those clifftops with Papa, she’d dreamed of following in his footsteps, joining the Traveller Force and seeing the worlds beyond the Portal. Now her dream—her freedom—was further away than ever.

  She wrapped her arms around her chest to stop herself from bursting at the seams. Her thoughts drifted to Axel and she imagined him wrapping his arms around her, folding her into his warmth. He would tell her everything would be all right. She squeezed herself tighter. She wanted to talk to him, confide in him—now, more than ever. At least, he would be at the funeral. Her stomach flipped at the thought. Jade hadn’t seen him since that day in Vertin Gorge—when she’d almost kissed him.

  Jade’s cheeks burned at the memory. Was that the reason for his absence? Then she wiped her eyes roughly. How could she be so selfish? Her father had passed, and she could only think about herself. Without wasting another moment, Jade grabbed her red shirt and loose trousers.

  It was time to release Papa to the Dragon-Gods.

  * * *

  Jade put the last pin in her hair and smoothed a hand over her funeral outfit. Her shirt tied behind her neck and under her first wing-joint and her pants were loose and flowing. Both were made out of a light, red fabric—the traditional colour for a Taraqan funeral. She appraised herself in the mirror but saw only the dark smudges under her eyes.

  Crash!

  Jade flinched at the sound of something breaking in another room. She braced herself for Mama’s shouts.

  And waited.

  She stepped away from the mirror and brushed aside the hanging cloth that partitioned her room from the rest of the house. Picking her way through the central hallway—now littered with old clothes, shoes and things usually buried away in the backs of cupboards—Jade peeked in Mama’s bedroom, in the twins’ room, and then in Basalt’s old bedroom—still set up, waiting for his return. She checked the kitchen and living area.

  There wasn’t any sign of her.

  Mama wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling anyone. Would she?

  Jade remembered the trance Mama fell into when Basalt had died four years ago. The hours she had spent staring at the wall, doing nothing. Sometimes she hadn’t even got out of bed. When she hadn’t been staring into space, she had been crying.

  Jade swallowed down a lump of worry. Another thump—one of the twins knocked something over—but no crying. She kept looking for Mama, moving faster now; she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She walked to a small storage room deep in the back of the house.

  There, Mama was crouched on the floor, her head buried in a storage cupboard.

  “Mama!” Jade breathed a sigh of relief.

  Mama didn’t turn around. Jade took in the cleaning products and the tatty, old clothes Mama was wearing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” Mama’s voice was muffled by the cupboard. “Can’t you see what a mess this place is? I’m cleaning.”

  “Now?”

  Mama was furiously scrubbing the bottom of the cup
board. Jade chewed the inside of her mouth, then crouched to place a hand gently on her back.

  “Mama,” Jade said, “We need to go to the funeral.”

  Her mother froze.

  “It’s almost time to leave.” Jade waited for her to say something. Do something. But Mama didn’t move. Jade cleared her throat, then heard another bang. The twins barrelled through the archway, laughing. Jade shot them an exasperated look, then realised they weren’t ready either. She sighed.

  “Slate! Flint!” There was false cheer in her voice. “Time to get ready!” Mama sat rigidly on the floor while Jade bundled the twins out of the room.

  With Flint under one arm and chasing after Slate, the entrance bell rang. She startled. Axel’s face came to mind and Jade’s heart hammered. Had he come to see her? She stood still, watching Slate fly in a circle without really seeing him. When he narrowly missed a vase of flowers, she let out the breath she’d been holding, then poked her head into the entrance hall.

  It wasn’t Axel standing in the doorway. It was her oldest friend, Neve.

  Jade’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. Then she saw the concern in Neve’s eyes and scolded herself. She lifted her chin and strode the length of the entrance hall to greet her.

  Neve was dressed in red, a long braid of blond hair falling over one shoulder. Long hair was unusual for Travellers—it was annoying in the air as the wind whipped wisps of it into the face and eyes. Jade’s own brown hair was much shorter, cut just above her chin, but even that sometimes felt too long. Most Travellers, like Kyssa, shaved their heads. At her back, Jade’s eyes were drawn to the asymmetry of Neve’s wings; one wing had been injured in an accident, years ago, and now jutted out at an odd angle, making her look strangely off balance. Jade quickly diverted her eyes from the sight of it, the old guilt added to the tumble of emotions crowding her chest.

  Jade forced a smile. Neve’s pale-blue eyes brimmed with concern. Neve clasped Jade’s free hand and squeezed it. Tears threatened to spill onto Jade’s cheeks. “I just wanted to call by,” Neve said. “I know how busy things will be at the funeral. Is it a bad time?”

  Slate yelled from the other room and Flint tried desperately to wriggle away from Jade. She gave Neve an apologetic shake of her head.

  “I’m sorry. I have to get these two ready. Later?”

  “Of course.” Neve nodded, but she didn’t let go of Jade’s hand. A strange look passed over her face. “How are you?”

  This time, the tears spilt over. “I… don’t…”

  Neve gently wiped her tears away with her thumb. “I’m so sorry. Is there anywhere we can talk?”

  Flint took advantage of Jade’s inattention, squirmed out of her grasp and skirted away. Jade blinked away more tears.

  “Sorry, Neve. Later, all right?” She said over her shoulder as she turned to chase her brother.

  After a struggle and some silent cursing, Jade wrangled the twins into appropriate funeral attire. Her heart sank when she found Mama still slumped against the cupboard, tears streaming down her face.

  “Oh, Mama!” She knelt down and put an arm around her. “I miss him too.”

  Mama covered her face with her hands. “How will I manage without him? How will I cope with the twins? Or the business? I can’t even keep this place clean. I can’t even get dressed!” Mama rocked back and forth.

  Jade stroked Mama’s hair.

  “I miss him,” Mama whispered. “How could he leave me?”

  “It’ll be all right,” Jade said. But she didn’t believe it. A great weight pressed on her: Papa’s burdens, the business, the family—who would take them on now? With her free hand, Jade clasped the neck chain hidden underneath her shirt, and ran her fingers over the charms until she’d found the kangaroo Basalt had given her not long before he’d been killed by a Yrax while on duty. A tear slipped down her cheek as she wrapped her fist around it.

  Later, her parents had always said. Now it would never come.

  The kangaroo dug into the soft skin of her hand. We cannot go backwards, Jade remembered, clenching her teeth. She felt a surge of anger that she was left to deal with it all. Abruptly, she stood. Mama looked up, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

  “It’s time to get ready, Mama. We have to say goodbye to Papa.”

  * * *

  Jade squinted into the glare of the setting sun. The heat of it warmed her face, but a chill crept in behind it—night was closing in. Jade’s eyes fixed on Mt. Reve looming over the horizon; the evening light bathed it in pink and outlined it in gold. A crowd of several hundred Taraqans gathered—a sea of red in the now vacated marketplace—but Jade didn’t hear a sound. The silence was a mark of respect for Papa, whose body lay on a wooden pallet at the edge of the cliff in front of the gathered crowd.

  Papa was so peaceful and still. She could barely believe it was him. The man who had laughed and played and taught her, now gone.

  Absent.

  He would never again tell her stories about travelling, or teach her about Merrynese trade customs, or instruct her in the use of some strange artefact acquired by an employee, or whisper advice at the auction house. Nor would he kiss her forehead, or pull her into a hug that squeezed the breath out of her. Jade blinked furiously, determined to hold herself together.

  The sun slipped under the horizon and darkness crept in. The High Priest, wearing the elaborate mask of Our Lady Taraqa, stood in front of the crowd. He held aloft a flaming torch and addressed them in a booming voice.

  “In the shadow of Mt. Reve, the dreaming place of Our Lady Taraqa, we beseech Her to admit our beloved brethren, Magnus Gariq, to pass into his eternal rest. O mighty Taraqa, Magnus was woven into the fabric of Your dreams, as we all are. One of the best of us, Your faithful Taraqans and Travellers, Magnus was a great man. He excelled at everything he put his mind to. First, a distinguished career in the Traveller Force, then later he built up Gariq Industries to be one of the largest companies in Taraqa. He worked tirelessly to make Taraqa a better world, a richer world, for all of Your people.”

  Jade heard murmurs of assent as the Priest spoke. Beside her, Mama whimpered, and the twins fidgeted. Next to them, Uncle Zorman stared rigidly into the distance. His face didn’t betray any emotion. Jade admired his strength, hoping her own demeanour was as composed. Discretely, Jade scanned the other faces in the crowd—company employees and senior officers of the Traveller Force. Kyssa stood with a group of Travellers. Neve stood among apprentices to the Healer Guild. The Chief Healer stood close to the front.

  In fact, the only face she didn’t see was Axel’s. How could he miss this? Everyone in Gariq Industries knew Axel was virtually second-in-command to her father. She looked again, but as Jade scanned the last faces in the crowd, her stomach dropped.

  Axel hadn’t come.

  She hadn’t seen him since that day in Vertin Gorge. Of course, she’d been distracted with the funeral preparations, but now it seemed strange. Why had he not shared his condolences? Why had he not bothered to see how she was? Her mind buzzed, and she barely noticed what was happening around her.

  She thought of their last meeting and fought the urge to cover her face.

  “Now it is time to return Magnus Gariq to his creator. O mighty Taraqa, allow Your servant to pass into the afterlife with You.”

  The priest’s booming voice brought Jade back to the present. The light of the flaming torch, held above his head, burned spots into her vision. The priest arched backward and turned his masked face up to the fading sky. He lowered the flames of the torch toward the mouth of his dragon mask. Then he snapped himself upright again, spraying a tongue of flames in a semi-circle. The crowd gasped with Jade as the pallet holding Papa’s body caught alight. Goosebumps rose along Jade’s arms, despite the warmth of the salty evening breeze.

  Uncle Zorman tapped her on the shoulder, then signalled to her. Jade held her breath as she walked towards the burning pallet, an unbearable heat enveloping her as she bent down to pick up
one end of the rope lying on the ground.

  Uncle Zorman took up the rope on the other side of the flaming pallet. At his nod, they leapt, synchronised, into the air. The rope strained against Jade’s grip, as the slack gave out and the pallet rose from the ground. Jade gritted her teeth, her arms and shoulders strained with the effort of carrying the heavy load. Smoke streamed off the pallet and she stifled a cough.

  The rope stung her hands, but Jade only tightened her grip. She wouldn’t disgrace her father by dropping him now. As they left the shoreline behind, a headwind pushed back at her and she had to beat her wings strongly against it. The wind whipped at her loose-fitting clothing, the fine fabric providing little comfort against the chill. Jade fixed her eyes on Mt. Reve. The fire blazed hot between them and she didn’t want Papa’s body falling into the sea before they’d reached his resting place.

  Zorman picked up his pace and she forced herself to match it. Mt. Reve loomed ahead, drawing ever closer. A billow of smoke curled upward from its crater, as though Our Lady Taraqa welcomed Magnus’ arrival. Every muscle on her arms, shoulders and wings protested.

  Not much farther, Jade thought, gritting her teeth.

  The most dangerous part of the journey approached. An active volcano, Mt. Reve could erupt without warning. When Jade and Zorman flew over, it could drench them in burning rock and ash and make it their resting place as well. Jade swallowed her fear, watching the ascending plume of smoke—a smudge against the deep purple of the fading sky. She hoped Our Lady would accept Papa without incident.

  Zorman raised an eyebrow at her. Now? Jade nodded, eager to get it over with.

  Her arms trembled as they approached the gaping mouth of the volcano. Zorman was the first to drop the rope and Jade felt the sharp tug as the weight of the pallet fell. She uncurled her stiff fingers from the rope and watched as Papa, now all ash and flames, fell into Mt. Reve where Our Lady Taraqa was waiting for him.