Night of Fire: The Ether Chronicles

by Nico Rosso

  Bright sky and dark earth flickered as the world spun and spun. She finally came to a stop, putting her hands out and sliding just at the base of a thick tree. Her breath burned back into her lungs. Shaking her head, she quieted the dizzying whirl that blurred her vision.

  Her first words came out in a croak. “Tom. Tom.”

  “Told you it was going to get rough.” He waved from a patch of grass about twenty feet away. “You hurt?”

  She flexed her fingers, tested her joints. “No.” Bruised but not broken. “You?”

  He pulled off his crooked goggles and staggered to his feet. “Nothing a slice of berry pie wouldn’t fix.”

  Leaning on the tree, she tested her legs to see if they would support her. It took a moment, but she was soon back on her feet. “I don’t bake.”

  “Maybe I do.” He dusted his hat off against his leg and walked to the charger. A wince tightened his face as he rotated his shoulder, but it didn’t slow him down.

  One step, and Rosa knew something was wrong. She shifted her balance and discovered her pistol was missing from its holster. Pacing away from Tom, she kicked through the leaves and grass until the gleam of the barrel caught her eye. Feeling complete with the Colt in her holster, she returned to Tom.

  He crouched next to the charger, running his hands over the metal panels. Lifting some of them up, he inspected the inner mechanisms, clicking his tongue with disappointment.

  “How bad is it?” She couldn’t see any damage on the exterior.

  “Could be worse. Ain’t good, though.” He glanced at her and hooked a thumb toward her pistol. “Gotta make you a lanyard for that sometime.”

  “Can the charger fly?”

  “Ether tank’s punctured. We were venting out the bullet hole. That’s why we were going so fast.” He unhooked a saddle bag and laid out a tool roll. “Might be able to patch the hole. If the catalyst isn’t damaged, we can refill the tank with water and fly.”

  “And we won’t know if the catalyst is damaged until we fill it.”

  “You got it.”

  “Well then, get to patching.” She pulled the water reservoir and unscrewed the top. “Unless you want to bake a pie instead.”

  Shaking his head with a little laugh, he placed some tools in a specific order. He poured powder from a tin into a small metal plate. “Give me a splash of water here.”

  She poured a little into the powder and he stirred it with a brass spatula. After a few seconds, it thickened into a paste.

  “Patch it up,” she said. “Let’s get back at them.”

  “Gotta keep stirring it until it changes color.”

  She couldn’t see the mountains to the east, let alone the mining machine. “They’re moving ahead, and we’re how many miles away? We don’t have time to be sitting around here.”

  “If I don’t do this right, we’re not going anywhere.” He kept stirring. “Believe me, I’m itching for some payback.”

  The scraping of the spatula in the metal dish was like a clock counting down to a midnight hanging. Tom finally seemed satisfied and returned to the charger. He reached inside and spread the gray paste on the ether tank’s bullet hole. The smell of hot metal rose, like in a blacksmith’s shop. The edges of the patch sizzled a little as it burned into the steel around it.

  “Franklin Song, I tell you.” Tom cleaned his tools on the grass. “Man’s a genius.”

  “At least he didn’t make any monsters, like that Italian lady did. If she had her way, science would be the new religion, with everyone going to laboratories to pray.”

  The paste stopped sizzling and Tom unclasped a valve behind the saddle’s cantle. “Give it a fill. We’ll see what happens.”

  Water sloshed into the tank, followed by a low hum. But Tom’s face didn’t brighten as the charger rose a bit from the ground.

  “Hear that buzz?”

  It sounded like a single bumblebee trapped in the tank.

  “We’ll fly,” he continued. “But not at full strength.”

  She reattached the water reservoir and pawed through his saddlebags. One of them had a coil of thin rope and she cut off a length with the jackknife she always kept in her left front pocket. “But we’ll fly enough to catch up.” She tied the rope into a loop and attached one end to the trigger guard of her Colt, slinging the rest over her shoulder.

  Tom finally smiled, admiring her work. “I’ll carry you there if I have to.” He swung into the saddle and put out a hand.

  It wasn’t necessary, but she took it anyway and mounted the charger behind him. She settled her legs against his. He took them up, and there was no adjustment necessary. They fit together well and balanced effortlessly on the craft. Rosa’s world had gotten so twisted around that Tom, the man who’d ran out on her on a moonless night, was now the surest thing in it.

  She placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned toward his ear. It was bold, but what the hell. “Heading into another battle.”

  Hunger flashed in his eyes when he turned to her. “Don’t mind if I do.” Everything disappeared as she closed her eyes.

  All she knew was his kiss and the buoyant feeling of rising up through the air. His lips moved over hers, as if searching for the same security and strength she did. They found it together.

  Ending the kiss, they pulled apart and collected themselves for the next round of the fight. He was right: the Sky Charger didn’t feel like it was at full power. It sagged a bit, keeping them close to the treetops. They pushed forward toward the jagged line of mountains.

  She craned her neck, but still couldn’t catch sight of the Crandall device. “How far are we?”

  “Couple of miles, I reckon. But the bigger question is, you still going to let me kiss you once the battle’s done?”

  Even though they flew ten feet over the tops of the trees, at a pace faster than a horse’s trot, the question swirled around her and wouldn’t go away. Part of her wanted to answer yes. Most of her, in fact. But the opposing voice was loud. Was it weakness? Falling right into her old life with Tom, as if he hadn’t broken her heart? But neither of them was the same anymore. Before, he’d been like a coyote without a pack: lean and hungry, always looking for trouble with restless eyes. Now he was more like a mountain lion. Determined and steady. There was no way back for either of them. If it was the real Tom with her now, fighting and sharing heat and sex. There might be a life ahead of them.

  “They’ve got Gatling guns,” she said, “an iron coach, rotary shotguns and men with ether packs. A kiss can’t be the only thing on your mind.”

  He cocked his head, considering. “It is.”

  “You’ll get a kiss when we win.”

  “Then you know I’m going to do everything I can to win.”

  “I’m counting on it.” She relied on him. It felt good, having someone to lean on.

  He checked his pistol and loaded fresh bullets.

  She did the same, testing the grip of her gun now that it was tied to the lanyard. The Gatling rifle waited in the scabbard. Clockwork, breech, trigger. She ran through the process of loading and firing it. The satchel held enough TNT to do some damage. The Crandall men were well armed, but so were they.

  Tom maintained his focus ahead. “You happy I’m back?”

  She remembered what he’d said about how she helped him in the war, as if watching. “I’d hated you so much in those three years.” When his mouth tightened into a scowl of regret, she continued. “I spent so much time trying to forget you, it just proved I never could. Looking back, I’m glad I could help you at the front. I’m glad you lived.”

  “So, you happy I’m back?”

  She’d built a lot of walls around herself. Then she had to push against them to keep the structure from collapsing. And if it did, she’d be crushed. She stopped fighting the press, letting the walls fall past her as she stepped forward.

  “Sí,” she finally said. “I’m happy you came back.”

  A long breath drew the tension out of his body
. He rolled his shoulders like a pugilist preparing for another round. “Those Crandall boys ain’t. Gonna make them pay for hurting my charger.”

  “They picked a fight with the wrong town.” She fought the urge to dig her heels into the metal flanks of the craft. “If Thornville’s still there.”

  “There’s the machine.”

  She followed his outstretched hand and saw the black rectangle moving among the distant trees. It was climbing the last hill before town. Once it hit the downslope, there would be nothing to stop it.

  “Más. Más. Faster,” she urged him.

  He pulled his goggles on. “I remember what you mean when you say, ‘Más, más.’ ” The charger lurched forward. He kicked another lever and they picked up more speed. “Pace ain’t the problem. It’s lift.”

  They brushed the treetops just underneath them. The charger couldn’t climb over some of them, and they slapped at her and Tom’s shins. The wind whistled past. Rosa covered her eyes with the goggles. Three playful birds darted up from the forest and kept pace with her and Tom. He noticed them, too, but barely gave them a glance. The birds flew close for a moment, but veered away, quickly disappearing into the green blur below.

  Tom gave a laugh. “They recognized us.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re in touch with the spirit world now.”

  “You saw how they skipped out,” he said. “They knew what we are.”

  “Which is?”

  “Predators.”

  He was right. The two of them were focused forward, heading toward a fight. “I never asked to draw on someone,” she said. “I didn’t want it.”

  “It wasn’t your choice,” he said. “Mine either. Hapsburgs attacked our country. Crandall Mining attacked your town.” The charger sped faster. He leaned low, weaving through the treetops. She pressed into his back. “But we ain’t prey,” he continued. “We’re the hunters.”

  An animal grin took her. The birds had scattered. Everything should get out of her way. Anyone who stood and fought her would be cut down. The mining machine came closer, and she felt that joined like this with Tom, their determination alone should burn it to ash.

  They broke out of a group of trees and into a clearing. The mining machine was about a mile away, cresting the last hill before Thornville. The iron coach still patrolled the path ahead, and the Whisperers were small dots around the perimeter.

  “Get us there,” she urged Tom.

  He snaked them through the next set of trees, then swung as high as the charger could climb. The mining machine lurched on the hill and started down the other side, picking up speed. The sounds of its engines doubled, echoing through the valley. Something was happening.

  Tom gritted out, “Sons of bitches.”

  “Dios.”

  The front of the machine started to unfold. It looked like a poisonous insect’s black limbs and sharp talons. Huge rotary saws and conveyer belts and grinding wheels stretched forward, ready to consume whatever got in its way. Just ahead of this ravenous beast lay the town of Thornville.

  Chapter Eight

  MAN-MADE TEETH AND claws were more terrifying than anything nature could devise. As they flew closer to the mining machine, Rosa saw the details of its destructive power. The rotary saw was at least ten feet in diameter. Nothing could stand in its way for long. Debris would fall on a churning conveyer, drawing it toward two offset grinding, spiked wheels. Their steel teeth gnashed together, ready to crush. From there, the unlucky victims of the machine would be drawn into its center, for sifting and sorting, she presumed.

  “That first building still the stable?” Tom leaned low over the charger and tipped only his head in the direction of town.

  “Yeah. They added on to it last year to accommodate iron coaches and their mechanics.”

  The Crandall machine’s engines screamed, heat shimmering in waves from the exhaust tubes. Metal ground against metal, and the rotary saw started spinning, singing like a chorus of demons. It was only about twenty yards from the stable.

  The two main doors to the stable swung open, and Parker waved all the horses out.

  “At least Parker came through,” Tom said

  Ears pinned back, the horses pounded away on panicked hooves. The din of the machine swallowed Parker’s shouting, but he was inside the building with no idea how close the saw blade was. If he didn’t get out of there soon, he’d be consumed by the ravenous metal mouths.

  “Get out of there, Parker!” She yelled as loud as she could, but her voice didn’t reach far enough.

  Tom pulled his Rattler and fired a wild shot toward the machine. It didn’t do any damage, but it did catch Parker’s attention. Rosa waved wildly for him to run. Parker finally peeked out the doors of the stable and bolted, sprinting as fast as his legs could take him.

  “Good man.” Tom slowed the charger a bit and started to circle the machine, about two hundred yards away. “But we also let them know we’re here.”

  The Whisperers ignored Parker to track the Sky Charger’s movement, weapons at the ready. The iron coach motored away from the machine, giving it space to maneuver and fight.

  A horrible screech tore the air. The saw blade chopped into the side of the stable, splitting the wood and scattering splinters. Shaking more than any earthquake she’d seen, the structure groaned and buckled. The saw continued as the mining machine moved forward. The walls and supports were ripped apart. Debris fell onto the conveyer belts and sped into the waiting metal teeth. It was worse than she imagined. A timber the size of a man was quickly reduced to dust.

  She shuddered with the destruction. “At least the horses are safe.”

  “It’ll take weeks to collect them out of the hills and forest.”

  “Now it’s the people we have to worry about.”

  All the commotion had driven the citizens of Thornville onto the streets. Some ran around haphazardly with fear. Others were frozen in terror, merely standing and watching the machine as it ate through the stable.

  The iron coach started firing, and Tom swerved out of the way. He grunted in frustration as he circled around the mining machine. It was two thirds of the way through the stable and would be on to the blacksmith’s shop next.

  “The problem is that you’re too good a sheriff.” He fired his rattler at a Whisperer who was bringing his shotgun around to bear. The man dove away, unhurt. “Keeping the citizens safe, so they don’t know how to fight for themselves.”

  “It’s never supposed to get this bad.” She slid the Gatling rifle from its scabbard and used the key to wind the mechanism. “This is worse than any nightmare.”

  He ducked them low, under the aim of the iron coach. “After getting into the war, I started looking forward to my nightmares for a little relief.”

  The ammo belt snapped into the Gatling rifle. She tried to steady her breath and brought the weapon to her shoulder. But aiming at the iron coach was nearly impossible as Tom flew in his erratic, evasive pattern.

  “Set me down.” A quick glance around the town told her there was nowhere safe. “I can’t line up from up here.”

  “Remember dancing the waltz with me?” He reached back and gave her leg a quick squeeze. “Put your hips into it.”

  Everything seemed to slow down. She allowed the movement to take her again, rather than fighting it. The rifle was an extension of her, sights zeroing in on the iron coach. A pull of the trigger set the rifle into quick action. The barrels spun and bullets flew, charged with the ether.

  A line of dents appeared on the side of the coach where her shots hit. More bullets sparked off the driver’s armor. He veered away, disappearing between two buildings.

  “It didn’t stop them,” she said, “but I scared them.”

  He flashed her a brief smile. “You’re dancing great.”

  “To be honest, it wasn’t dancing I was thinking of.”

  Tom brought the charger to an abrupt stop and fired his pistol twice. A Whisperer fell backward, firing his shotgun into
the air as he went down. Tom took the charger higher again. “Keep at the iron coach. You’ll get a shot into the slot eventually and hit the gunner. He’s the one we really need to worry about.”

  There was no sign of the coach in the town.

  “Where the hell is it?” she demanded.

  “Could be on the other side of the machine.” He started to bring them around the device as it finished consuming the stable. Its heavy treads crushed any part of the structure that wasn’t ground to dust inside the machine. The blacksmith’s shop and everything else in town would go that way if they didn’t do something soon.

  She just caught sight of the iron coach when a sense of danger flared through her like a thousand lit matches. And it all started with a smell.

  “Potatoes.”

  Luckily, Tom knew just what she meant and jerked the charger to one side as a bullet whizzed past them. Two Whisperers wearing ether packs streaked out of the sunshine. They were damn close. Tom swerved again so they couldn’t get a shot off with their ether pistols.

  “At least the iron coach’s Gatling can’t shoot at us while they’re up here.” He turned his head from side to side, trying to track the flying Whisperers, but they were moving too fast for him to shoot.

  “But the mining machine ain’t stopping.” It rolled toward the blacksmith’s, surrounded by the armed Whisperers. The townspeople backed further and further away, helpless to defend their property.

  “Now might be the time for that TNT—”

  His sentence was cut off as a flying Whisperer blindsided them, slamming into the charger. She fought to stay on the craft and tried to grip Tom, yet he was ripped from her hands.

  But he didn’t fall. He was lifted higher, locked in a struggle with the flying Whisperer. Leaving her alone on the charger.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” She instinctively called out, but the machine paid no heed. It spun wildly, unbalanced and unpredictable.

  It was a challenge just to move forward into the saddle while slinging the Gatling rifle over her shoulder, but taking up the reins didn’t solve her problems. Tom had been right—this was no ordinary horse. It was like trying to sit astride a dust devil. There were two levers at each of her feet and a set of valves at the base of what would be the horse’s neck. Yanking the reins, she managed to slow the spin a bit, but the bottom of the craft swung from side to side, threatening to throw her.