Faster Than Falling: The Skylighter Adventures

by Nathan Van Coops

  Samra climbed to the second to last step and waited behind her parents. Khloe’s friends were whispering and sniggering behind her, but she did her best to tune them out. Just a short walk. Stand next to her parents when they are called. Smile as her father receives his symbols of duty. Bow with the family and listen politely while her father gives his speech. Then she’d be free.

  Councilman Thur addressed the crowd from next to Kaleb, his thin skin ghostly in the twilight. “And it’s our great honor to now introduce the newest globe chief and his family. The first chief of Cirra Sola, Mr. Donlo Coley.”

  Samra’s father stepped forward, beaming and waving, his wife at his side. Samra stepped up to follow them and was lifting a hand to wave as well, when her foot caught on something and she teetered. Panicked, she tried to wrench her foot free, but it was too late. The movement only propelled her farther forward. She inhaled instinctively to right herself, but the weight of the buoyancy belt had already thrown off her equilibrium. She crashed into the platform in a heap.

  The crowd of onlookers gasped and groaned, and a smattering of muffled snickers emanated from behind her. When she looked up, all eyes were on her. The entire front row of council members and the mayor of the Grounders were right at her eye level. Kipling’s mother looked concerned, but when Samra twisted to look up at her own parents, now at center stage, she only saw horror on their faces.

  Her father was frozen mid-wave. Her stepmother’s eyes were wide. She turned to look back at what tripped her and caught Dasha’s eye the moment before she looked away. Heat flared beneath her skin. Before she could even think, she was on her feet again and diving for Dasha. A collective “Oooh!” went up from the crowd, but the only thing she could focus on was Dasha’s hair wrapped around her fingers as she hauled the girl onto the platform. Dasha shrieked and flailed, but Samra only pulled harder, wrapping her legs around the girl’s torso and pummeling her about the head.

  “I hate you!” she shouted.

  Her skin was on fire now, the heat inside her roiling through her body as she and Dasha rolled across the platform. Strong hands gripped under her shoulders and yanked her free from the terrified girl, but she came away with multiple strands of hair. Samra squirmed and flailed at her new attacker, kicking and biting the arms that tried to wrap around her neck.

  “Get your hands off me, Kaleb Roose!” She kicked the boy hard in the stomach and scrambled backward till she was against the backdrop of the stage, staring at a ring of horrified festival hosts. Their eyes were wide and now they were keeping their distance. Samra was panting, and for the first time she realized her hands weren’t empty. Her left hand held a clump of Dasha’s hair, but her right held her cooking knife, blade pointed toward Kaleb. The older boy looked shocked and was cradling his forearm, one hand pressed tight against it. Stopping the blood?

  Had she cut him?

  The knife fell from her fingers and she began to shake, searching the faces around her for someone who might help. It was her father’s that she found first. His eyes were hard, his nostrils flared. He kept his distance, too, but he would, wouldn’t he? Stay as far away from her as possible—his failure of a daughter who had ruined everything.

  She fled. She pushed her way through the banners at the back of the stage and fell to the ground behind it in a heap. She was up in an instant and running through the festival grounds, swerving past event tents and Grounder carriages, getting as far from the platform as she could and making for the wide open fields beyond. She raced around the corner of a striped tent and ran directly into the chest of a man on the far side. She ricocheted off him and almost fell again, but his hands clasped her shoulders and steadied her.

  “Whoa, now!” It was Enzo, the old messenger pilot, his eyes wide with concern. “Samra, what happened? Are you okay?”

  She looked up into his dark eyes and saw he was confused. Was he frightened of her? No. His hands were firm on her shoulders. “I didn’t mean it,” Samra whimpered. “I didn’t mean to . . .” Her hands were still an embarrassing shade of blood red.

  “It’s okay, child. What happened to you?”

  “It just does this, I don’t—” She tried to stop her hands from shaking and dropped her eyes from the old man’s face. She instead stared at the necklace that had fallen out of Enzo’s shirt and was dangling beneath his scruffy gray beard. It was a triangular stone with lines etched into it. The lines glowed and pulsed faintly in the darkness. Viewed through watery eyes, it was mesmerizing.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay,” Enzo assured her. “Just breathe.”

  Samra choked on her own air, realizing that she had in fact stopped breathing. She gasped and then exhaled, trying to calm herself down.

  Captain Bronks was the first to discover her. He dropped casually from the mist and landed next to them in the grass. “Evening, Mr. Mooreside. Nice to see you again.” He seemed unconcerned with Samra’s reddened state.

  The tears on her cheeks had quickly evaporated from the heat of her skin and left cool trails down her face. Her hands had lightened again, fading back to a subtle orangish-yellow.

  “Seems we have a bit of a situation on our hands,” Bronks said to her. “You have a few people searching for you.”

  “Has our young Samra really done something worth all this fuss?” Enzo asked.

  “So it would seem,” Bronks replied. “Miss Coley does find herself in these predicaments from time to time.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Samra protested. “Dasha tripped me. Right in front of everybody. Nobody saw it, but it’s true!”

  “I did see,” Bronks replied. “And I assure you that Dasha will face her own consequences. But it doesn’t mean you get to attack her. Or the chief’s son.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Samra whimpered. “She made me. They always do.”

  Enzo laid a hand on her shoulder and stooped a little closer. “Hey. I ever tell you about how I came to be a pilot?”

  Samra shook her head, not sure what this story could have to do with her problems.

  “Had a bit of a hard time, too, when I was your age. Couldn’t even get out of bed for a long time. All the other kids were running around, having fun without me. At school they used to play this game called ‘frog pond.’ Silly game really, but it was fun. And all I wanted in the world was to join them. Problem was, I couldn’t even move out of my own way.” He pulled up the fabric of his pants and revealed that his leg stopped just short of his knee. From the knee down, his leg was entirely mechanical—a combination of rods and joints with cables running up and down to actuate the boot on the foot.

  Samra gawked at the contraption with wonder. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and wiped it off on her pants. She was in trouble, but she did have both her legs still.

  The old pilot rambled on with his story. “Boy, I was determined. I was going to run and jump and play frog pond with the other kids, or die trying. So I built my first mechanical leg. Made it in my room. I wore that leg to school, proud as could be. I joined that game, and fell flat on my face in front of everyone. They laughed at me something fierce.” He wagged a finger at Samra. “But I didn’t let it stop me.” He tugged his pant leg back down over his mechanical calf. “I went home and built another one. And then another. And you know what finally happened?”

  “You learned to jump?”

  “Nope.” The old man shook his head. “Never jumped once. Fell on my face every dang time. Never ran either. Failed completely on both fronts.”

  Samra scrunched up her face in confusion. “Why would you tell me this story then?” She flung a hand in the air. “You mean I listened to that whole thing just so you could tell me to give up?”

  Exasperated, she turned to Captain Bronks, but he was smirking at the old man.

  Enzo smiled. “Just trying to be helpful. You see, I had to realize that I wasn’t ever going to be like the other kids. I was going to be like me. I was never going to run or jump, but I learned other skills they never
needed.” He tapped his mechanical leg. “And then I learned to build that.” He straightened up and gestured to the aircraft behind him.

  Samra looked past the old man to the colorful wings of The Sunshine Express.

  “Sometimes you have to skip jumping and go straight to flying.”

  She was about to speak when her stepmother appeared, flying out from between the tents, ceremonial beads clacking around her wrists.

  “Oh, Captain Bronks, thank you for finding her.” She crouched at Samra’s side and grasped her arm in the same place Enzo’s hands had been, but Loara’s grip was pincers. “What were you thinking! A knife? And right in the middle . . . your father is furious. You’re going straight back to the aerie and you’ll stay there till we can come deal with you.”

  “Will dad still give his speech?” Samra stammered.

  “How can he? How can he go out there now?” Loara said. “Don’t you know what you’ve done? He’s worked so hard for this.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Her eyes welled up as she spoke.

  “Get back to the aerie. Don’t even think about leaving your pocket till we are home.” Her stepmother shifted her attention to Enzo. “I’m sorry if she bothered you, sir. I’ll have her out of your hair momentarily. Captain Bronks, can you please take her home? I’d like you to get her back to our aerie right away and see that she stays. Don needs me right now and we have to sort this mess out somehow.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Bronks replied.

  Loara gave Samra one last glare but didn’t speak; instead she spun on her heel, gathered up the bottom of her tunic and sped back across the grass toward the lights and the stage.

  Samra was back to shaking again. She looked to Enzo. The old man gave her a wan smile. “Bound to be a few crashes along the way.”

  Samra didn’t know how that was possibly supposed to help.

  “All right. Take off your buoyancy belt,” Bronks said.

  Samra fumbled at the bottom of her tunic but after the force of her stepmother pinching her arms, her fingers felt numb. She pulled the tunic up past the waist of her trousers but couldn’t get the belt undone. Bronks flashed a hand to her waist and sent the belt flying into the grass with one swift motion. The next moment he was hoisting her onto his shoulder. “Breathe now, girl. Up we go.” He took a deep breath and leapt into the air.

  The figure of the old pilot receded below them.

  “Samra!” Kipling was racing across the grass now, Rufus trailing behind. The pair sped across the grounds but grew rapidly smaller as she ascended.

  “Now isn’t the time, Kipling!” Bronks’s voice boomed down to the field below. The two boys reached the old pilot and stood staring upward as if to bring her back with their eyes.

  Samra watched the boys vanish into the mist and realized the fog from the hills had reached them. She let the darkness envelop her and closed her eyes tight. It was a mistake. All she found there was the image of her father’s furious face and the feeling of Loara’s fingers pressing into her arms. When next she opened them she was in her hammock and Bronks was closing the flaps of her tendril pocket behind him. He was blurry and watery in the darkness. He gave her one last glance, not unkindly, and closed the entrance.

  Samra buried her face in her arms and cried.

  9

  THE ARRIVAL

  “It’s about spending time as a family,” Amelia explained. “It’s not like the festival won’t be there tomorrow.”

  Atlas sat at the table and tried to understand her reasoning. “But I did all my chores already. That was the deal.”

  Cathy set the bread on the table and patted him on the shoulder. “This isn’t so bad, right? Extra lumpy cheese noodles and fresh bread. It’s your favorite.”

  The food did smell good. But it was the principle of the thing.

  “You said I could go if I got all my work done.”

  “You can,” Amelia said. “Tomorrow.” She eased herself onto the bench on the other side of the table.

  Atlas frowned at the food but stayed quiet.

  The tension on the farm had simmered over the past few days. Atlas had done his best to not anger his aunt and had been attentive at school. As much as could be expected anyway. He hadn’t seen Enzo at all, but he’d been counting on seeing him tonight at the festival. Now he wouldn’t even have that. He stirred the cheese into his noodles and tried not to think about what he’d be missing.

  The kids in town would all be at the festival feast tonight, sampling Skylighter food and swapping dishes from their homes. Was it the feast that worried Amelia? They had enough for themselves tonight. Plenty to have a good meal, but was there not enough to share in town? The cupboards did look bare. When was the last time Amelia had even been to town? She’d sent him on errands here and there, but never for food. Always other essentials. New saw blades. Horseshoes for Destro. He couldn’t remember the last time Amelia had bought anything that wasn’t a tool. Certainly nothing for herself. Meals lately had all been from the garden and the goats.

  Atlas contemplated the bag of coins he had hiding in his sock drawer. He’d accumulated a few tips from townspeople while running messages. He’d been saving for a control wheel, but now that he had one, maybe he could take the coins to town tomorrow and get something nice for Amelia and Cathy. It would make them smile and relieve some of the strain. And then once they were happy, he could get them to come to Enzo’s. They’d roll out the Sun Dragon and admire his work on it, and maybe even cheer for him as he took it up.

  He could get his flight.

  “What are you most excited to see tomorrow?” Cathy asked.

  Atlas debated the question in his mind.

  “Heather Lanford?” Cathy suggested.

  “No way,” Atlas retorted, but he could feel the color rising to his face.

  “You don’t think she’ll be there waiting to see you?” Cathy said. “You going to ask her to dance?”

  “No!”

  “Why not? I plan to ask Amelia to dance. We’ll be the stars of the ball. You and Heather will have tough competition.”

  “I’m not dancing with Heather . . .”

  “Scared, huh?” Cathy grinned. “You should be. We’ll put you to shame with our moves.”

  Atlas concentrated on his food. He appreciated that Cathy was trying to defuse the tension, but she was getting it wrong. “Heather Lanford won’t want to dance with me.”

  “Why not? You’re a handsome guy,” Cathy said. “She should be so lucky.”

  “She’s the prettiest girl in town. She’s never going to want to dance with a stupid goat farmer,” Atlas muttered.

  When he looked up, he realized what he’d said. Amelia and Cathy were both staring at him. Cathy was clearly hurt. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  “You think you’ll only be worthy of her when you’ve got your fancy airship, like Enzo,” Amelia said. “This life isn’t good enough, huh?”

  “I’m sorry,” Atlas said. “I didn’t mean that—”

  “Why don’t you go eat on the porch, Atlas,” Amelia said. “Go get some fresh air.”

  “I’m okay here.”

  “I don’t think you are.” Amelia glared at him and rested a hand on Cathy’s shoulder. Atlas got up and took his food. Halfway down the hallway he turned around to try to apologize, but Amelia had sat down next to Cathy on the bench and they were whispering to one another. He watched them for a few seconds, then continued to the porch.

  Fog had rolled in from the mountains. The canyon was blanketed in it now and more was cascading down from above, slowly filling the valley.

  There were still a few patches of sky visible, but they moved and shifted as the fog rolled in, the first few stars of the night blinking through the gaps. Down in the village they would be reveling in the light of the Skylighter patch, but even that would be hazy in this fog. He wouldn’t see much of the festivities from here.

  Atlas set his food on the porch bench and to
ok up the lamp lighter from the corner. He lit the wick from the small oil lantern they always kept burning and used the flame to light the bigger lanterns on the corners of the porch. The light from the doorway spilled out onto the porch and that would possibly be enough to frighten off nightbeasts, but the rule was always ‘the more lights the better.’

  At the corner of the porch, Atlas gazed east to the high crags that made up the wall of the canyon. A footpath ran up the cliffside and wound its way high up the ridge to the Beacon Bell.

  The watchtower light at the edge of the Rift was usually lit by now.

  Danson Merkle, the usual night watchman, was a common sight at the warren, as he passed through their property almost daily on his climb to the Beacon. Sometimes Atlas would blink him messages from the porch and Danson would blink back using one of the smaller lamps from his post high on the crag. They said it had been ten years since the Beacon Bell itself had last rung in warning, and the big mirrored lantern of the Beacon merely marked time now, a symbol of security, letting the residents of the valley know that the Rift was clear, and no dangers of the outside world were encroaching on their peaceful valley.

  Only tonight the lamp wasn’t lit.

  As the mist cascaded off the rocks, he only caught glimpses of the Rift in the gaps, but he could make out the windows of the Beacon, black and lifeless.

  Atlas stood at the corner of the porch and flashed his lantern toward the watchtower—his usual greeting to Danson—but likely ineffective with the patchy fog. He wouldn’t be able to blink a message, but perhaps just a hello? Danson could be having trouble getting the Beacon lit tonight. But he should have a lantern to blink back with.

  Atlas flashed for a solid minute, but with no response. He was about to head back to his bench when he saw the shape. It was moving slowly out of the Rift, bulbous at the top with sharp fins at the rear. The two curved noses probed the darkness and began to descend. As the shape pitched downward, it revealed twin tails that oscillated in tandem. The side of the shape shimmered with silvery scales, but the way it moved in the starlight was not that of a living thing. It was mechanical. It was a ship.