Faster Than Falling: The Skylighter Adventures

by Nathan Van Coops

  “I don’t know. He just said he made it for you.”

  Samra flipped a few pages of the journal and paused. “It’s . . . my stories.”

  Kipling leaned over and looked. Rufus had hand written some of their favorite imagined tales in the journal. He recognized character names from Samra’s imagination. She was staring at the book with a confused expression on her face. A little flicker in Kipling made him want to distract her from it.

  “What did you do this afternoon?” He shifted his hands to his sides and leaned back onto them.

  Samra slowly closed the book and looked up. “Got kicked off Minda Dona. Did you know Captain Bronks wants to be a colonist?”

  “Phssh. Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious. He wants to fly off on his own colony. Just be on a little patch somewhere and not even be a guardian anymore.”

  Kipling shook his head. “No way. He’d never do that. He’s captain of the Guard. He’s the most decorated hero in guardian history. He has 120 saves and he’s been awarded five patch defense horns. That’s more than twice what anybody else in the guard has.”

  “Doesn’t matter. He wants to go start a patch of his own.”

  “He was probably just saying that to make you feel better about having to leave.” Kipling regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Samra was staring at him now in a way that meant she might believe him. “Not that leaving isn’t . . . Look, never mind what I say. Bronks can do whatever he wants.”

  Samra frowned and looked away. “I don’t care if you don’t think being a colonist is important. Bronks said I’ll have to keep an eye on things . . . It will be important and you never know what might . . .” She trailed off into nothing.

  “Sam, I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me. It is important. I don’t know what I’m saying—I’ll never get to be a colonist so what do I know? I’m going to be stuck as a patch gardener all my life.”

  “Yeah, but the growers really are important. Without a grower, the patch wouldn’t have food. Or lift. Or anything to live on. Your dad is respected all over the colonies.”

  “My dad is. I’m not. Probably because all he ever lets me do is prune tangleweed. Any other job on the patch is better than what I’ve got.”

  Samra stared out at the distant mountains. “What if we floated away? Just you and me. We could go do anything we want. Nobody would ever hear from us for years and years until one day we came back, loaded with all the prizes from the adventures we’ve had. Everyone would love us and give us awards.”

  “They don’t give out prizes to people for having adventures,” Kipling replied. “And you don’t get awards either. You only get awards for doing something great like rescuing someone or fighting off predators to save the patch.”

  “Or being the Watcher?” Samra asked.

  Kip frowned and looked down toward the ocean surface where his own horn and his dream of being the Watcher had disappeared. “The Watcher horn is a dumb prize anyway.” He lifted his eyes back to the horizon. “Maybe we should float away. We could be anyone we wanted out there.” He let his mind relish the fantasy.

  “Or we could just be us,” Samra replied. “You really want to?” She had her eyes on his now, eager and ready. She would go. She really believed she could get away from the patch.

  “We wouldn’t even make it to the mountains,” Kipling replied. “The guardians would pick us up and have us in the council grove in ten minutes. Kaleb would love it, though. He’d still be the perfect son and Dad would put me on pruning duty all day and night. You’d probably never see me again.”

  “But if we did make it to the mountains, think how jealous Kaleb would be then. We’d be glorious adventurers and he’d still be a councilman novice.”

  Kipling allowed himself a smile. “We could bring home a bunch of Grounder treasures and impress the council. They’d be so amazed at our knowledge they’d want to make us councilors instead of him!”

  Samra grinned back at him, but then let her eyes drift back to the horizon. “I’d say no.”

  “What?”

  “I’d say no. If they wanted me to be on the globe council. I’d rather be off on an adventure with you any day, than be stuck in some boring council grove.”

  Kipling let the words linger in the air, considering her distant stare toward the horizon. The way she looked beyond the patch was optimistic longing, bold and unapologetic. He let his own gaze follow hers, out past the puffs of cumulus cloud glowing faintly in the starlight, to the dark ridge of slowly approaching mountains. Above the spine of the mountains, floating kelp towers blinked in the darkness.

  Kipling tucked his legs up under him as the breeze sent more purple petals fluttering down into the sea. “I’d rather be on an adventure with you, too.”

  Samra stayed silent, but as she watched the horizon, her cheeks had the faintest hint of a glow.

  7

  AMELIA

  Atlas had seen blood before. He’d certainly seen plenty of nightbeast tracks as well. Claw marks, acid burns, bits of teeth, and even the occasional carcass. But this was different. The gully between the rocks was littered with tufts of hair. There was no carcass. No remains. Just the bits of hair stuck to rocks, waving eerily in the morning fog—and one soaking wet red rag.

  Atlas stared at the dripping rag for a long time.

  There were no predators in the sky now. The rising sun had scattered all but the persistent fog. Atlas picked his way back through the gully, but paused when he heard the bleat. It was faint—timid—but there. He turned and followed the sound. The cleft between the boulders was nearly invisible in the mist, a switchback where sheets of rock had split and left a narrow gap at their base. Now the gap was jammed with the damp and ragged rear end of a goat.

  “Tildy!”

  Atlas wedged himself between the rocks and peered into the darkness of the cleft, letting his eyes adjust till he could make out the rest of Tildy. She’d wedged herself between the rocks as far as her fat belly would allow. Dried blood was caked on her rump and gashes marked her flanks, but whatever had been clawing at her couldn’t reach her well enough to drag her out. Another faint bleat escaped the goat as Atlas approached. She squirmed in an attempt to flee but couldn’t budge.

  Atlas climbed up the cleft and over the goat to the narrow hollow beyond. The goat bleated louder.

  “I’m trying to get you out. I’m going to save you.” He braced himself against the rocks, pressed hard on the goat’s shoulders, and grunted. “When my aunt sees you, maybe you can save me.”

  He wasn’t completely grounded, but he might as well be. As Atlas stared out the window of the one-room schoolhouse, he couldn’t help but think he’d never make it into the sky. Amelia had only watched quietly from the porch when he came home with Tildy. Cathy had set to work immediately on mending the goat’s injuries. No one talked about Murph.

  “Atlas, why don’t you join the conversation?” Mr. Merritt observed him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “You need to know this, too. Mayor Fillmore would like everyone on their best behavior during the festival.”

  Atlas pulled his eyes off the perfectly shaped clouds, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Most of his classmates were slumped in their chairs as well. Heather Lanford had her chin propped in her palm, leaning on her desk and gazing out the window on the far side of the room. She looked as lovely as ever, but equally disinterested. The Skylighter Festival was exciting. Learning the history of human-Skylighter relations was far from it. Shirley Georgen was the only one with her attention on Mr. Merritt but that was nothing new.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Atlas said, letting his eyes drift to the window again.

  “Of course you do,” Mr. Merritt replied. “Your grandfather has been to the patch itself and seen them in their natural element. I know for a fact that he’s told you a great deal.” He scanned the class. “Who can tell me what the Skylighter homeland is called?”

  “The Height
s,” Atlas muttered under his breath.

  Shirley Georgen’s hand shot into the air, but Mr. Merritt pointed to the back of the class. “Edison, how about you?”

  Edison Froe looked like he was daydreaming as well, but jolted alert at the mention of his name. “Um, they live in the . . . skylands?”

  “Yes, but there are many skylands. More specifically?” Mr. Merritt questioned.

  “They live in the Heights!” Shirley blurted out, no longer able to control herself.

  Mr. Merritt surveyed the rest of the class and sighed before turning to address her. “Yes, Shirley. And why do we only get to visit with them once a year?”

  “They usually live too high for us to see them.”

  She’d run out of air the fastest up there, the way she gasped when she talked. Atlas frowned at her and looked back out the window.

  “Yes, that’s true, but I meant why do they visit the village of Womble once a year?”

  Sean Werthen, the boy seated in front of Atlas, cautiously raised a hand. “Because they like us?”

  Mr. Merritt smiled and put his arms behind his back. “I certainly hope they do, but they also come to honor tradition. When our people first settled this valley, the Skylighters had been using this area as part of their patch breeding season for centuries. Our people had found shelter among the caves—safety from the nightbeasts. And when the Skylighters came, it was the first meeting of our peoples.”

  “I thought they were scared of us,” Mindy Tandry said, piping up from the seat behind Atlas.

  Mr. Merritt smiled. “Yes, Mindy. They were at first. They believed we had come up out of the ground itself. It’s why they refer to us as ‘Grounders’ to this day. But your great-grandparents didn’t mind. They adopted the name themselves over the years and it’s even become a common term for humans in other Old World colonies.”

  “Do they know now that we really came from the Old World?” Maggie asked. “Or do they still think we came from underground?”

  “We’ve learned much about each other’s cultures over the years. But it’s hard for us to teach them about the Old World since we don’t know that much about it ourselves.”

  “But we have the earthen relic to teach us,” Maggie said. “Can’t we show them that?”

  Mr. Merritt nodded. “The Skylighter High Council has come to visit the relic before, and they are very respectful of it. But our relic teaches us about growing plants that the Skylighters don’t use, and many of the skills we’ve unlocked are only useful to humans: metallurgy, animal husbandry, architectural engineering. Not much use for people living in the sky.

  “One day, if all the relic’s secrets are unlocked, perhaps we will discover more information that the Skylighters would want. For now, they are happy just to visit us and trade. The relationship is important to both of our cultures. And everyone in the village has a responsibility to take care of that relationship.”

  “My older brother said Skylighters have a hundred mouths under their clothes and they can use them to suck the blood out of little kids,” Sean said. “Is that true?”

  Mr. Merritt frowned. “Your brother should spend more time here at school and less time making up stories to scare you.” He turned to the rest of the class. “Since we’ll be sharing a meal with the Skylighters again this year, we’d best get that sorted as well.” He looked back to Sean. “The Skylighters have one mouth that they use for eating and also for breathing. What your brother may have been referring to is their lateral air vents. They have a variety of thin openings, mostly under their arms and down their sides that they use for inhaling oxygen and exhausting lifting gases. But it’s a good idea not to bring up bodily orifices when dealing with a different culture. It’s easy to offend someone.” He put a hand to his hip. “That’s why today we’ll be working on our manners. Edison, come up here and show me how you bow.”

  Atlas slumped into his seat a little farther as Edison shuffled past. It was clear Mr. Merritt wouldn’t be wandering into any topics Atlas found interesting today. Learning about the earthen relic was sometimes fascinating—especially the stories Mr. Merritt occasionally told about the olden days and the first colonists. They were real heroes—brave adventurers who’d journeyed across the stars to land here. Rune the Mighty, Garick the Bold. If there was anyone Atlas envied, it was them. Nobody would have made them sit around in school on a beautiful day like this.

  When school let out, Atlas raced along the path for home, determined to resist temptation, but when he reached the turn-off for Enzo’s farm, he paused anyway. Maybe he could see the Dragon for just a little while. Putting on the new control wheel wouldn’t take long. He could do it in fifteen minutes if he had the right tools. Five minutes there, five minutes back. Amelia couldn’t possibly miss him for twenty-five measly minutes, could she? He could say he was talking to his teacher after class. A special assignment? Staying after for a reprimand might be the most believable, but he didn’t need more reasons to upset her. Maybe Mr. Merritt took a few extra minutes letting the class go . . . Before he knew it he was racing up to the barn. Enzo was out front, tinkering on the Express.

  “Looks like someone’s excited to get to work,” Enzo said as Atlas struggled to catch his breath. The old man pointed a gnarled finger at the toolbox. “Use the joint pliers and a good solid pin. One of the big ones. A control wheel is one thing we never want coming apart in flight.”

  Atlas opened the drawer of the box eagerly and found pliers and a pin that would work for the wheel control, then raced inside with it to the cockpit. The control rod was a little undersized for the joint so he had to wrap it a few times with strips of canvas so it would be snug, then he fitted the control wheel over the joint and gently hammered the lock pin through. That in turn got some wire to keep it in place. When he was finished, he worked the control around, watching with satisfaction as the lateral fins responded. He craned his neck to check the tail and watched the pitch fins arch up and down, then used his foot controls to whip the entire tail section back and forth.

  “Ready to roll her out and take her for a spin?” Enzo was smiling at him from the side of the fuselage.

  “Doesn’t it still need lift bags and new air charges for the fans?”

  His grandfather smirked at him. “Got them all filled and installed this morning while you were at school. I had a feeling that you might want to take advantage of the sunshine, now that the mist has burned off. Good day for a maiden flight.”

  Atlas couldn’t keep from grinning. His Dragon was ready. It was really ready.

  “Come on. Help me pull it out of the barn,” Enzo said.

  Atlas hopped out of the cockpit and pushed on the root of the lateral wing fin. The Dragon glided forward easily, perfectly balanced with buoyant air bags in the nose and tail. Enzo had already counterbalanced the craft with ballast and, once they were aboard, they’d pitch it over the side and be the ballast themselves.

  It wasn’t until Atlas was in the cockpit and strapping himself in that he remembered his aunt. “Um, Grandpa? Do you think we could fly southeast for today?”

  “You want to overfly the schoolhouse, do you? The villagers will certainly get a kick out of seeing your Sun Dragon aloft. Thought you might want to fly over the farm first and let Amelia and Cathy have a look at your hard work. They sure know how much time you’ve put into it.”

  “I think maybe just the village would be good today,” Atlas said, as his grandfather swung a leg over the side and climbed into the front seat. There was a knot in his stomach, but he tried to dismiss it. Amelia would eventually understand how hard he’d worked on this, but he could tell her another day. He checked the sun overhead. Just a quick flight, then he wouldn’t mind being in the gardens the rest of the day. One flight would be enough. He could have it to remember and relive, and no chores would ever be as dull after.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Amelia’s voice came from somewhere behind him, and Atlas swiveled in his seat, his heart suddenly in
his throat. His aunt was sitting astride Destro, her speckled gelding.

  “Amelia!” Enzo smiled. “Excellent timing. Just in time to witness Atlas’s moment of glory.”

  “It’s a moment of something, all right,” Amelia replied.

  Enzo turned around to face Atlas and muttered in an undertone. “Anything you forgot to mention?”

  “I was on my way home,” Atlas declared to his aunt. “I was just stopping in for a couple minutes to help put the control wheel on.”

  “And go for a joyride,” Amelia said.

  “It’s not a joyride, it’s a test flight.”

  “The only thing you’re testing is my patience.” She swung down from the saddle and stood at the horse’s head. “Enzo, Atlas will be delaying his flight for a while because he failed to bring the herd in last night. I need him at home to get things sorted.”

  Enzo silently eased himself to his feet in the cockpit and put his leg back over the side.

  “But we were just going to do one quick flight,” Atlas sputtered. “It won’t take long, and then I can do all my chores after. I promise I’ll get them done. I’ll weed and take care of the goats and do the dishes. I only want to do one flight.”

  Amelia stayed silent. Her horse whickered softly.

  “I think you’d best leave the flight for another day, Atlas,” Enzo said. “Best to do these things when you’ve got lots of time.”

  “But it’s the maiden voyage,” Atlas said.

  “I used to tell your mother the same thing. A good pilot is never in a hurry,” Enzo replied. The old man hopped down from the lateral fin into the tall grass and waited for Atlas to follow. Atlas gripped the control wheel again and his stomach burned. He was so close. The clouds were right there, waiting for him. He only needed to seize the controls, open the air valves, give a few good kicks to the pedals, and he’d be aloft.

  He slowly unwrapped his fingers from the control wheel and stood.

  “I’ll put her away for you,” Enzo offered. “Go get your chores done. She’ll be waiting for you on another day.”