Rachel followed Eddie to the open deck. A crowd of crewmen bunched together, all wanting the best vantage point, and they obscured her view to this new gun. She gave a shrill whistle and the men parted, snapping to attention as she passed. By the look of the clenched notes in the hands of a few of the men, there were bets being taken, most likely on whether or not the weapon would explode.
It certainly looked impressive enough. The main cannon stood approximately where the old harpooner had, but it was accompanied by two cylindrical towers, conjoined across the top and bottom. They were roughly two feet high, set about a foot to the right and behind the gun itself. Rachel surmised they were the generators Silas had so much trouble with on his original design. Another change was the low platform on which they stood. Apparently, Silas had been very busy last night after she saw him.
“All right, Mr. Jensen,” Rachel pushed her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms, “what’s your plan for this demonstration? I hope you’ve considered any contingencies, should something unexpected happen.”
Silas looked up from where he crouched to tighten a bolt, his eyes magnified to bug-like proportions by the lenses in front of his face. “You mean, in case it explodes? Yes, of course I have. I’m not an idiot. We’re miles above the ground. I hardly think it wise to blow a hole in the thing keeping us up here.” He gave the bolt a final turn, dusted off his hands, and stood. “In case it overloads, which it won’t, I only need to pull this cord,” he paused to show the thin line, “and it will be launched into the wide open sky. You will, however, be out one harpooner should that happen.”
She examined the platform beneath the contraption. It was spring loaded and ready to let fly, should the need arise. Duly satisfied that every precaution was taken, she gave him a crisp nod, signaling him to proceed. Silas stepped forward and, after taking a deep breath, flipped a switch on the generator. Everyone took two large steps backward as the machine hummed to life, the noise gradually increasing in pitch and volume. With a swift kick, Silas disconnected the plug from an outlet. With the generators building up their own charge now, outside power was unnecessary.
Crackling sparks dancing back and forth in the space between the two cylinders broke the hum of the generator. When the noise plateaued, Silas stepped up and took hold of the handles on the rear end of the cannon.
“Eddie!” he yelled over the din. “Target!”
Nervously skirting the edge of the crowd, Eddie stopped at the railing. He held several flat metal discs under his arm and yelled, “Ready, Mr. Jensen!”
“Pull!” Silas bellowed and the first disc went flying through the air. With a flick, a clear lens with crosshairs popped up and he stooped down, turning the gun and searching for the metal plate. When he sighted it, his thumbs clamped down on the handles’ buttons, and the cannon fired.
A blue, ropey light ripped through the sky, directly at the target. It connected with the disc and, within seconds, it exploded in a cloud of shrapnel and molten metal. Rachel felt her hair blow back as the repercussion reached her with a soundless boom of air that vibrated in her stomach.
Silas repeated the demonstration once more, and then asked for a volunteer gunner. A younger man by the name of Ansel cautiously took up the challenge. He let out a whoop of delight when his target met the same fate as the other two, bursting into shards mid-air.
“Captain, it’s amazing!” Ansel gushed when he resumed his place in the crowd. “You must try it!”
It seemed safe enough, so she stepped forward. “May I?” She gave Silas a smile as she inclined her head and motioned to the cannon.
“Please do.” Silas grinned. His arms swept toward the weapon, presenting it proudly.
With only a twinge of worry, Rachel took her stance behind the gun, placing her hands as Silas had. The charged aura around it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. This was a bit unsettling, but she persisted through the discomfort.
“Mr. Maclaren, pull!”
A moment later, one of the metal discs flew through the air. Using the sight, she locked onto it, released the breath she was holding, and pressed down on the triggers. A tingle passed through her hands, then up her arms, into her shoulders, and down her back as the blue light shot towards her target. It connected, exploded, and she released the buttons, the tingle diminishing into a dull, physical memory.
Silas, standing to her left, reached behind her and flipped off the switch to the generator. His close proximity sent another rush of electricity through her, but of a different nature. She fought to keep the flush out of her cheeks.
“So what do you think?” Silas asked.
Rachel blushed. When she realized he was asking for her opinion of the particle cannon, her cheeks grew even hotter. She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. “It’s certainly impressive, Mr. Jensen. Your particle cannon appears to be a success. Congratulations.”
His brow furrowed, perhaps disappointed she were not showering him with praise. Rachel hesitated, not wanting to be too profuse in front of her men. “It’s quite the accomplishment,” she continued. “You’ve managed to do what no one else has ever successfully done. You should be quite proud.”
Silas gave her a satisfied smile. “I’m glad you’re happy with it.”
She turned to leave, then stopped and faced him again. “You’ll need to train the men on use and upkeep; Danton especially.” She said this last part slowly, almost apologetically, knowing animosity between the two still lingered. “Keep the emergency platform, but secure it well so it isn’t tripped by accident.” Rachel gave him one last, approving smile. “You’ve done a fine job, Mr. Jensen. Thank you.” At this, she resumed her retreat.
A man snickered quietly. “I’m sure she’ll be showing her appreciation later.”
She froze midstep, foot suspended above the floor. Rachel whirled, her skin flushing with red-hot anger. The crew shrank away from the one who had spoken so carelessly. Before he could react, she was in front of him, and then above him, her fist moving so fast into his face he’d not seen it coming.
“If I were you, I’d take the next few hours to pack up your belongings,” she said. “Good luck finding other transportation when we dock at the monastery.”
On that sobering note, the men gathered up their stunned, soon-to-be-former shipmate, and slunk away to resume their duties. Rachel ignored them, taking a moment to compose herself before stalking back inside the ship, disappearing down the passageway.
Iris, who observed the demonstration from the pilothouse stairs, considered following her captain, then decided Rachel needed space and time to cool down. She would fetch her later to assist with the docking process.
Lake landings were tricky, and the difficulty compounded when mountains entered into the equation. It required circling, gradually reducing altitude as you went. Mountains always made this problematic as their air currents fluctuated so powerfully, and the circles tended to turn into figure eights or ovals or some vastly complex series of turns that had no apparent pattern at all. Rachel made navigating these types of places seem effortless, as though her body was perfectly tuned to the infrastructure of the Antigone’s Wrath. Iris marveled at her ability. It reminded her of her grandparents, married sixty years and able to hold entire conversations without speaking a word aloud. But then again, Rachel’s father half raised her aboard this ship, only leaving her in the care of others when a job was too risky or took him into dangerous waters.
That was how Iris first met Rachel. The original Captain Sterling, Rachel’s father, made port in Calcutta, where Iris grew up. She didn’t know what drew her to the docks that day, but she threw a fit when her mother refused to take her along to do some trading near the pier. Tired and in a hurry, her mother capitulated, and Iris accompanied her. Rachel was playing near a fish stall when Iris noticed her. That was the first time she ever saw someone so clearly glowing: literally surrounded by light. An intuitive child, she knew this little girl with a dirty face an
d ripped stockings would be very important someday. Without hesitation, she introduced herself, and they became fast friends. Any time the Antigone’s Wrath came to Calcutta, Iris would know of it days before its arrival and be waiting at the pier when it pulled in, expecting her friend to greet her. Even during her studies at the monastery they maintained written contact. When Rachel’s father passed away, the Antigone’s Wrath dry-docked until Rachel finished school. Rachel took up where her father left off as soon as she was able, quickly creating a ferocious reputation. Even a strict British boarding school couldn’t erase the sailor she was at heart. When the letter requesting her help came, Iris joined the crew without a second thought. Her parents were none too pleased when she told them she left her studies at the monastery, but with their knowledge of Rachel and the bond she shared with their daughter, they were not surprised in the least. The man they planned for her to marry was exceedingly less happy about it, however, going so far as to track her down in Spain. When that confrontation turned violent, Hakesh ended up on the receiving end of Rachel’s knife. Truth be told, his death was an accident, but there was no remorse in her heart for it. He would have made for an ignorant, abusive husband, and Iris was glad no other woman would have to endure him.
She glanced at the map hanging above the controls on the starboard bulkhead of the pilothouse. By these calculations, they would reach the lake near Zhuqing monastery in two hours. She would give Rachel another hour before sending for her.
Chapter Eighteen
The Monastery
Jiao watched from the side as they approached the dock. A lone figure stood there, patiently waiting. The yellow of his uttarasanga gave him a happy glow, its vividness in bright contrast with the blood red of his outer robe. Despite the lengthy landing time, he showed no signs of impatience. He barely moved as the large, vessel pulled up to the pier, gusts of steam erupting from the tops of the masts. Several similarly dressed men, wearing dingy brown variations of the robes, joined him. These men caught the lines tossed down to them, attaching them to the bollards on the pier. The engine noise died as the anchor cut through the water with a splash. Finally, the gangplank was lowered to the dock below, and the three women disembarked.
Rachel led them, her hair pulled back into a braid. Iris followed, her bright orange kasaya looking garish in comparison to the subdued earth tones of the captain’s clothing. The procession was brought up by Jiao, uncharacteristically draped in plain, dark gray fabric. It was not at all flattering, but was what she had been instructed to wear. Jamyang Rinpoche said she must first learn humility and obscurity. “Fine plumage should be left to the peacock,” his letter said. She was quite unhappy about the itchy fabric, and cast the occasional coveting glance at Iris. She would endure, however. This was her calling. It was time to let go of the material things her father held so dear.
As she walked, she tried to remember not to hold her head too high. Here, she was not the daughter of a powerful Hakka leader. She was a brand new student with no standing; one starting on the path to enlightenment.
She stopped a pace behind the other two women and waited for an introduction. If she had learned anything about her new role, it was to remain silent until you were addressed.
In this case, it was Iris who took the lead. She pressed her hands together in front of her heart and bowed deeply to the monk in red and yellow. “Peace be with you. Thank you for meeting us, Rinpoche,” she said quietly.
He bowed in return, then straightened with a smile and placed his hand on her shoulder. “It has been too long, young one. It’s good to see you again.”
Iris returned the smile. “Allow me to introduce you to my good friend, Captain Rachel Sterling.” She hooked an arm behind Rachel, beaming proudly.
“Ah yes.” The wrinkles around his eyes bunched in genuine kindness. “I have heard much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
Rachel bowed, hands together, as Iris had. “This is a great honor, Jamyang Rinpoche. I have the highest respect for you and your patience with this one.” She grinned. “Having your student as my first mate has proven to be… a challenge, but a very rewarding one.”
Iris rolled her eyes, then turned and motioned Jiao forward. “Rinpoche, this is the one you sent for: Jiao Wu. I understand she is to be your newest student.”
He smiled again, a soft, welcoming grin. “Indeed. Welcome, child. I hope your journey was pleasant.”
Jiao bowed to her new teacher. “My journey was fine, Rinpoche. Thank you for the invitation. It means a great deal to study under one as wise and revered as yourself.”
Jamyang’s smile faded into a stern countenance. “Wisdom is subjective. No matter how much one knows, one cannot know everything, and will always remain ignorant in many things. It is not a service you do me by telling me a lie. I am not wise, I am simply less ignorant than some.”
Jiao swallowed heavily and looked abashed, like a dog caught stealing from the table. “I apologize, Rinpoche. Thank you for the lesson.”
Jamyang returned his eyes to Iris, smiling again, but less broadly. “Cela, please see your sister student to the monastery. You are expected, and my brothers will greet you. I must speak with your friend for a moment.”
At this turn of events, Jiao’s eyes widened. Iris looked to Rachel, but she seemed as baffled by this request as Iris. Without argument, Iris motioned Jiao away and guided her down the dock and onto the dirt path leading up to the monastery further in the mountains.
Rachel watched them go. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, waiting for Jamyang to say something. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the small man, but mystics in general made her uncomfortable.
After Iris and Jiao rounded a bend in the road, he finally addressed her. “I am sorry if this situation disturbs you.” He inclined his head apologetically. “I must speak with you privately for a moment, and this information has waited long enough to delay any further.”
“Information?” Rachel was even more confounded. “What sort of information?”
He sighed, and reached inside his robe. When his hand emerged, it held an aged envelope. He hesitated, staring at the yellowed paper, as if rethinking what he was about to do. “A woman came to us, almost thirty years ago, seeking some dangerous knowledge. We helped her as best we could, but, unfortunately, our best was not enough. By the time she found us, it was far too late to provide any assistance outside of making a promise.” With a worn out sigh, he handed Rachel the envelope. “Read it. When you are ready, your first mate will know where to find me. You’ll have many questions, but I encourage you to take a moment and consider all you know before coming to me. Process your feelings first, then proceed as you must.”
He left her there, her mouth flopping open and closed with a flurry of unspoken questions as he retreated up the path to the monastery. The puzzling words swirled around in her skull, unable to coalesce into rational thoughts. Thirty years ago, someone, a woman, left a letter for her with some monks in Tibet, impossibly knowing she would eventually end up here? Rachel’s eyes drifted down to the envelope in her hand. On the outside, written in large, looping script, was her name, “Rachel Sterling.” She flipped it over. An aged, red wax seal, impressed with a capital “E,” held the flap shut. She shivered, though she didn’t know why. Something tickled at the back of her mind, and she paused, saving the moment. This was important, maybe more so than anything she experienced in her life.
She bit her bottom lip in indecision. A feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that once she read this letter, her life would change drastically. Rachel took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. She would adapt to this new thing as she had every other new thing she ever encountered. All of this she told herself to prepare, when, in fact, nothing she could have done could ever have readied her for the words she read.
My Darling Daughter Rachel-
If you are reading this, then my deepest fear has come to pass, and I have failed to protect you. You
now possess the object I dedicated my life to obliterating. It has been with our family for many generations, hidden from those who would abuse its power.
I have entrusted the monks of this monastery with this letter, as it is inevitable that your quest will lead you here, as it did me. They will tell you what they know of the ring’s history. Learn from them. Use the knowledge you gain to complete our family’s mission.
I am sorry this burden falls to you. If luck is with me, I will end this horrible legacy and return to you soon, but outside forces are tracking me and I fear I am not long for this world. Should that happen, please know that I love you with all my heart and wish only for a life of peace and happiness for you. If that is not to be, then I wish you courage and strength: you will need it for what is to come.
All My Love,
Elise
She sank to her knees as a choked sob stuck in her throat. The shock was entirely too much. Mrs. Tweed said the ring was her mother’s, but this reality, this letter, was not at all what she expected, or ever could have imagined. She stared at the paper in her hand. What came next? Tears? Denial? A sense of purpose? This correspondence created more questions than it answered.
Gathering her wits, she remembered she was still on the pier. It was possible no one saw her moment of weakness, but there was no need to prolong this behavior until there were definitely witnesses. It wouldn’t do to make a spectacle of herself. Nothing would change. This letter would still exist, her mother would still be dead, and throwing a tantrum would not alter her current predicament. Mourning the past and rethinking her entire life had to wait. If what happened to her mother was any indication, time was not something she had in abundance. She stood and followed the path the others had taken.
Silas released the breath he was holding as soon as she was out of sight. Rachel would have killed him if she saw him watching her. His heart nearly broke as whatever was in that letter sent her to her knees. Seeing such unmistakable vulnerability in her rattled him. Whatever she read shook her deeply. He wanted to rush down the gangway to her, to be there for her to confide in, but that would be the quickest way he knew of to get knocked to the floor or gutted from navel to nose. It wasn’t his place to be her source of comfort, no matter how much he wished it to be so.
Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) Page 18
