Faster Than Falling: The Skylighter Adventures

by Nathan Van Coops

  Kipling straightened up on the final landing and allowed himself a deeper breath. The air was thick. They were low now. Ground level? The piles of detritus and rotting wood scattered around made it hard to tell. It could very well be just another tier of the ever-climbing forest. Kipling was the only light here, though he wasn’t glowing especially brightly. The tree people seemed not to mind the darkness and gathered outside the ring of light.

  Atlas was deposited on the floor of this new grove. He glared at him. “Why am I still tied up? What did you tell them?”

  Kipling moved closer and crouched next to him. He kept his voice low. “They’ve taken us to someone. She called him the Knower. I don’t know why.”

  Atlas squeezed his nose and cleared his ears from the rapid descent. “What’s a knower?”

  Kipling didn’t have time to wager a guess. More shapes emerged from the darkness. A pair of towering tree-men were followed into the clearing by a shorter person in a gray, weatherworn overcoat. He had a wooden crutch lodged under one arm. The face was hard to make out in the darkness, but despite being bearded, he was clearly not of the Horokim. He was a Grounder.

  As the tree-men stepped out of his way, the man in the overcoat was preceded by a raspy, wheezing sound. He was laughing. He stepped into the glow of Kipling’s light, limping with the aid of the crutch, and loomed over the two boys.

  “And they told me they’d captured sky bandits. Naught but a pair of pups, you are.” The man leaned hard into his crutch and lifted his right foot off the ground. “They told me they captured a skyship, too. You don’t look like aeronauts to me.”

  “Bet I can fly better than you,” Atlas declared.

  Kipling frowned. ‘Never begin a conversation with an argument’ was one of Master Freebold’s first tenants of peacemaking. Atlas had clearly not learned that lesson.

  “Is that so.” The man reached beneath his coat and extracted a knife. Atlas’s defiant stare didn’t flinch. The man made a flicking motion with the blade. “Raise those hands.”

  Atlas complied and the man began severing the strands. Once Atlas was freed, he turned to Kipling. “And you must be one of the sky nomads. What do they call you? Cloud Burners?”

  “Skylighters,” Kipling replied. “My name is Kipling Roose. I belong to the clan of Corra Mara. My mother is chief of the globe council.”

  “I’m sure that means something where you come from,” the man replied. “But down here your mother won’t be helping you none. Don’t care if she’s the almighty queen of the moons.”

  Kipling kept his mouth shut. Rule number two from Master Freebold had been: ‘When opposition is met, allow opportunities for your adversary to reveal their own weaknesses. Do not burden the conversation with information you already know.’

  Atlas piped up next to him to fill the silence. He was eyeing the canopy of leaves overhead. “We need to get to my ship. How do we get back up there?”

  “You’ll have a rough go of that this time of night,” the man replied. He stood up to his full height and sheathed his knife. “It’s a far climb, and dangerous.”

  Atlas didn’t seem discouraged.

  “Plus, you’ll have to take it up with the locals. They’re the only ones who know where you left it.” The man brushed his hands off and looked like he was done with the whole incident.

  “Who are you?” Kipling asked, anxious to gather some kind of useful information from this encounter. “Why do they call you the Knower?”

  The man’s eyes turned to him. They reflected Kipling’s green glow. “Used to be I did know a few things worth knowing. Enough to teach these folk anyway. Little ones still learn the best.” He gestured toward the girl who had signed to them. “Shoa there is the brightest of this bunch. Couldn’t get the hang of speech, but she picked up the signing all right. Others are coming along, but she’s the shining star. Makes life more passable here. They didn’t have too much to offer in return that’s worth boasting about, but I’m still alive at least. They fend off the nightbeasts and keep me fed. Could certainly do worse in this forest.”

  “You’re a knowledge trader?” Atlas asked. “What’s your specialty?”

  “Seen a few traders in your day, have you?”

  “No. Not many. But my granddad told me about you. Said he’s traded with some before.”

  “Your people live on the trade route?”

  “I’m from Womble.”

  “Ah. Mountain people. I can see why you don’t get many traders. I was actually headed your way before I ended up here. Don’t think I’ll make it now.” He stomped his crutch up and down.

  “How did you hurt your leg?” Kipling asked.

  The man sniffed. “Same as most ground folk. I fell. Bleedin’ sinkhole opened up right underneath me. A wonder I didn’t break my neck. The low roads are getting harder and harder to travel these days.”

  The tree folk were still watching respectfully, keeping their distance but maintaining a circle around them.

  “Why’d you teach them to attack airships?” Atlas asked. He didn’t seem at all interested in avoiding confrontation.

  “The tree people didn’t start this fight,” the man replied. “Can hardly blame them for defending their territory. Didn’t need no prodding from me.”

  “What fight?” Kipling asked.

  The man with the crutch shifted his weight and surveyed the two of them. “Now that would be the kind of knowledge some might call useful. Especially a couple of travelers headed through the forest into what is clearly the unknown for them. Seeing as I’m in the business of trading knowledge and not just giving it away for free, maybe we might come to some sort of reasonable agreement.”

  “But we don’t know anything,” Kipling said. “What would we be able to tell you?”

  The man smiled and rested his free hand on his hip. “Well, I reckon you could tell me plenty about this sky people of yours. Where they go. What their fightin’ numbers are. You fill in a few of my blank areas, and maybe I’ll fill in some of yours, like where your airship is, and what kind of trouble you can expect on the other end of this forest.”

  Kipling frowned. He didn’t normally mind talking about patch life with Grounders in Womble, but he’d never considered that it was information that would be useful to anyone. The knowledge seemed suddenly more precious. “Why do you want to hear about Skylighters? We aren’t part of any fights.”

  The man with the crutch straightened up and turned away from them. “Trading the knowledge is up to you.” He hobbled slowly out of the circle of light, back the way he came. “You might not have noticed, but the sky’s gettin’ to be a crowded place. Way I see it, it won’t just be a fight. I’m getting ready for a war.”

  22

  ERIN

  Samra sat on the bow of the Restless Fury, and waited for her doom. When she died, they wouldn’t be able to say she shirked her duty. They wouldn’t say she lacked courage, but they might mention that she wasn’t even glowing when she went, and that would certainly raise a few eyebrows.

  It’s hard to fend off a nightbeast in the dark.

  She balled her fists and gritted her teeth, but to no avail. The more Samra attempted to light herself up, the dimmer she got. The most she had managed so far was an eerie flicker from her shins for a few seconds. Hardly an intimidating display.

  Perhaps when people told the story of her demise, they’d wonder why she chose to stay dark. Maybe they would think she was protesting something noble. She was fond of a good protest, but only her parents or Kip would be able to remember that. If she was going to die for a cause, she should have mentioned it to someone on the ship before now.

  She observed the silent and otherwise empty deck. These airmen weren’t likely to mourn her mysteriously noble death without a good morality tale behind it. Samra knew a thing or two about how to tell a story, and nobody ever wanted to listen to a tragic death where the heroine got eaten for no reason.

  What was wrong? Her glow had worked once.
Why not now?

  The Restless Fury was sailing on a southeasterly breeze along the outer edge of the Sky Forest. In the dark, the expanse of vegetation resembled a storm cloud. Lights flashed from the interior spaces and lit up the foliage, outlining various trees and casting others into deeper shadow.

  The sky overhead flickered as well. Drifting kelp towers blinked past one another in the dark or vanished beyond columns of real cloud, otherwise invisible in the sky. There were hardly any stars tonight. The Heights were masked by a flat, formless overcast.

  Danger weather.

  Samra had finally gotten her wish. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted excitement. She’d wanted thrilling action and feats of courage. She wanted some magic to take her away from the tedium of life in the patch. Now that her wish had come true, it felt different.

  She was scared.

  She fished in her pocket and found a hunk of obsidian she’d recovered from her tendril pocket before Cirra Sola was jettisoned. The glassy black stone had been a gift from Kipling. Registered, weighed, and legally obtained—as all of Kipling’s gifts came—the rock was a useless trinket to most, but in their imagined adventures it had taken on myriad roles. It was the eye of a seven-tentacled sea monster. It was the frozen heart of a cursed king. It was a talisman of untouchable virtue, or sometimes the secret source of all evil. In their imaginations it was priceless. Jewel. Artifact. Memory.

  Samra looked up at the eastern sky and wondered what Kip was doing now. Were he and Rufus in the hideout searching the sky for her return? She supposed she’d never know.

  A school of iridescent kettle rays swam beneath the clouds overhead, drifting lazily through the kelp towers. It was safer up there.

  Somewhere near the forest edge, claws scraped at bark and a long, piercing howl shattered the night. Shadow raptor. Or maybe a dreadwing.

  Despite the low altitude, Samra shivered. Death would come soon.

  “I think you’ve proved your point.”

  Samra turned and found Captain Savage at the door to the cockpit. She was holding it open and leaving room to pass.

  “You won’t actually be a whole lot of use to us dead. Come on inside.”

  “But I’m supposed to guard the ship from nightbeasts,” Samra replied. “The crew said so.”

  “And it’s a wonder we’ve lasted so many nights really, without you here to save us,” Captain Savage said. “I suppose we’ll have to suffer through one more.”

  Samra got up and moved toward the captain. In the soft glow from the cockpit lights, she looked younger. Not so much older than Samra really. Seven or eight years? It made Samra wonder what it must be like to be captain of a skyship. To fly wherever you felt like and have people do whatever you commanded. Could there be a better freedom?

  The captain let Samra inside and slid the door closed behind her.

  “Take a seat.”

  Samra eyed the few options for seating in the cockpit. There was a pilot’s seat, a navigator’s position, and the raised captain’s chair. The captain was still watching her so she pulled her eyes from the chair and settled into the navigator’s position. The seat was cushioned and soft and had a little desk attached to one side that wrapped around the front. The desk had pockets built into it with various instruments of measurement sticking out. There were pencils, too, and a small compass to match the big one that rode at the front of the cockpit. Samra noted the bundles of charts racked alongside the seat. She turned her attention back to the captain.

  “I bet you’ve never been aboard a skyship before, have you?” the captain asked. She stood next to the pilot’s position and toyed with the gust locks on the controls. Samra eyed the wheel.

  “I got to sit in the Express once. Enzo let me.”

  “Enzo, huh? He’s someone friendly with your people?” She leaned on the back of the pilot’s seat. “What’s he do?”

  The captain didn’t have the scowl on her face she’d maintained on deck with her brother. Here, without the rest of the crew around, she looked at ease. She no longer carried the whip and her eyes were actually friendly.

  “He brought us messages,” Samra replied. “And candy.”

  “Sounds like a nice guy. Why did your people choose him to carry their messages?”

  “I don’t know. He always has. Every time we come to the valley.”

  “Awfully nice of him. I suppose your people have some sort of deal worked out. Maybe they give him something in return?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He doesn’t get something from your people? Maybe some of those big pods to help him lift his ship?”

  Samra was noticing a trend in the captain’s line of questioning. She crossed her arms and turned toward the front window, but watched the captain out of the corner of her eye. The captain studied her quietly for a moment, then reached down and flipped one of the latches on the controls. “I’ll bet he never let you fly his ship, did he?”

  Samra couldn’t help but look.

  “Go ahead.” The captain gestured toward the pilot seat. “Give it a try.”

  Samra eyed her cautiously, but then slid across to the pilot seat. She settled into the cushioned chair and her fingers found their places on the sides of the control wheel.

  “These are the power levers,” the captain explained, pointing to a pair of handles to her right. “Push those forward and it will give the engines a kick. Go ahead, you won’t hurt anything.”

  Samra rested a hand on the twin levers and gave them a gentle push. Overhead, the big shark engines growled. The nose of the ship tipped forward slightly as the engines ducted more air through the nacelles and thrust it out the tails.

  “Uh-huh, now pull back on the wheel a little to compensate for the dive,” the captain said. She reached over Samra and rested a hand on hers, giving a slight pressure backward. Samra moved the wheel and the airship leveled out.

  Samra smiled.

  “There you go.” The captain released her hand. “See? You’re a natural.”

  Samra turned the wheel to the right and the nose yawed that direction.

  “She’s a bit of a dog in the slow turns,” the captain said. “But if you give her a little more power, the tail fins get more effective.”

  Samra pushed the power levers and the ship surged forward.

  “Here’s a fun trick for you,” the captain said. She leaned over and split the power lever inputs, pulling back on the right side while pushing the left farther forward. The ship kicked hard right and Samra was forced sideways in her chair. The captain reversed the inputs and the ship swung back the other way. Samra laughed.

  “That’ll wake the crew up,” the captain said.

  A moment later a rap came on the cockpit door and then it popped open. Sunburn stuck his head in and surveyed the situation. “Everything all right up here, captain?”

  Captain Savage leaned back in her chair. “Everything’s under control, Sunburn. No need to worry. Just giving our new airman a flying lesson.”

  “Aye, Captain. Understood.”

  “Everything all right back there?”

  “Oh, aye, Captain. Cogs came a bit unstowed from his hammock, but we’re all fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Also Wallace did mention that the state of his dinner is a bit precarious at the moment. Seems that might come unstowed, too, if you take my meaning.”

  “Tell Wallace to buck up,” the captain replied. “Can’t have him wasting good rations.”

  “Aye, Captain. I’ll pass that along.” Sunburn gave Samra a wink and closed the door.

  Captain Savage looked out the front window, then turned and smiled at Samra. “Want to do it again?”

  Samra grinned back.

  The captain showed her how to repeat the maneuver, and as the ship oscillated back and forth, it drew a cacophony of fresh swearing from beyond the bulkhead.

  Samra and the captain laughed.

  Once the ship settled, Captain Savage trimmed the contr
ols for straight and level again. “I suspect that’s enough for the moment. Don’t want the whole ship smelling like Wallace tomorrow.”

  The captain slumped in the navigator’s chair and let Samra manage the controls. Samra peered out the window and hoped there wasn’t anything ahead to run into.

  “I like it best up here at night,” the captain commented. “Peaceful.”

  Samra glanced back at the captain’s chair, then over at the lounging form of the young woman next to her. She seemed very different than when she’d first encountered her on deck. “Isn’t that other woman usually the pilot? The one I saw earlier?”

  “Landy? Yeah. When I want her to be. My ship, my rules.” The captain stretched a leg over the navigator’s desk. “But with Eckers dead, I need another back-up pilot. Who knows, maybe I’ll switch it up and make the back-up into chief pilot one of these days. Those are the perks of being in charge.”

  Samra grinned and took a tighter grip on the controls, imagining herself in the role. Samra Rose Coley: skyship pilot. She liked the sound of that.

  “‘Course everybody has to pay their dues and earn their promotions,” Captain Savage added. “Nothing comes free in this life. Especially for us.” She gestured back and forth between them.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” the captain asked. “Us. Women. Maybe it’s different where you come from, but down here a woman has to work twice as hard to get the recognition she deserves. At least on most ships.”

  “What about on yours?”

  “Well, like I said—my ship, my rules.”

  “What about on your brother’s ship?”

  The captain frowned. “Eric. Yeah. Let’s just say he’s the reason I need my own ship. And exactly my point. My father has a fleet of ships. I’m the oldest, but who did he pick to command his flagship? Eric, my baby brother.” The captain stared out the window. “I guess he connects better to my father’s brand of crazy.”