The Maiden in the Mirror

by Scott Hamerton

"Tobacco smoke and body heat."

  "My cabin?"

  "Cinnamon and candle wax, and your soft sheets."

  "The rigging?"

  "The grain of the spars between my toes and the feel of the woolen broom; and the scent of fresh air, of course."

  "Well, this is easy. You identify your memories most strongly with scent and touch. Olfactory and tactile, if I wanted to be professional."

  Olfactory sounded like a neat word, she thought.

  "Think of a way to use those senses to build up your expectations."

  Minerva contemplated Lintumen's advice. With her eyes closed, she experienced almost everything as touch or smell, so she began by picking up the rope in front of her. Her fingers felt the sturdy winding ridges that formed its spiral, the loose hairs that pricked her skin, and the burning sting of running it over her palm too quickly. Then she held it to her nose, inhaling the scent of the fibers and the musty odor of the hold in which it had been sitting for many months.

  In contrast to the rope, Minerva retrieved a blouse from the pile of silken articles behind her, and enjoyed the infinitely smooth softness of it gliding through her hands. When she sniffed it, it reminded her of soapsuds and a fresh spring day.

  "They're very different," she said.

  "So, find a way to make them similar."

  Minerva wrung the shirt in her hands, causing it to mimic the ridges of the rope.

  "Good," Lintumen said. "Repeat that for as long as you can."

  Minerva felt the rope, then the silk. Fully experiencing the coarse binding of the hemp versus the slick softness of the silk; the scent of must and fiber contrasted by cleanliness.

  Rope. Countless twisting ridges.

  Silk. Cool and comfortable.

  Rope. Dusty.

  Silk. Slippery.

  The sound of Lintumen clapping startled Minerva's eyes open.

  "What? What is it?"

  Lintumen gestured at the rope in her hands. It was clearly made of soft, elegant silk.

  "I did it!" she cried, in disbelief.

  "You did. Well done."

  "When did it change?"

  "When I moved them around so that you picked up the rope instead of the silk, thus believing that you should be holding silk."

  "You switched it? When?"

  "If I tell you, it might not work next time."

  Minerva's cheeks pulled back suddenly, forcing her to flash a wide smile. "Very clever, old man. Very clever, indeed."

  Lintumen laughed, wearing an earnest happiness. "This time, do it yourself. Don't wait for me to interfere. Relax and choose from the articles that you have available, but not always the same two. Let go of the memory of where you release each article and concentrate only on the feel and scent. Go back and forth until you lose all certainty of the item in your possession, save for the sensations in your hands and nose."

  Minerva did as he directed, switching between twisted silk clothes, silk rope, hemp rope, and back again, until she held a silk rope in her hands once again, and she opened her eyes. A second, sturdy length of beautiful, gleaming web hung between her fingers. "Did I really do that, or was that you?"

  "Sometimes, my dear, you ask entirely too many questions," he scolded, more mischievous than stern. "You are sitting here rewriting the truth of reality. Why in all the heavens would ask someone else to edit the facts for you?"

  "Okay, next line."

  Minerva went from coil to coil, slowly converting the ropes in the room. After several hours of crawling around on her knees, her focus waned. It was taking longer and longer to transform each piece, and success became elusive.

  "This is taking so long. I'm barely halfway done," she complained, stretching to unwind a muscle cramp.

  Lintumen surveyed her progress through the massive tangle of lines. "How many did you start with?"

  "Twenty lengths."

  "You've already completed sixteen. That's far more than half."

  Minerva looked back in her memory, but the details lingered in a hazy fog of uncertainty. Then she inspected the pile again. It certainly seemed like more than half, now that she took a second pass at it.

  "Do you think that will be enough, my dear?"

  "No," she replied with confidence, "I know that's enough."

  A sudden realization dawned on Minerva, and she tallied the lines again. With one simple statement that her exhausted mind refused to refute, Lintumen had used her own interests against her; he brought about the transformation of the rope by merely contesting her ability to count.

  Lintumen rewarded Minerva with a bright, victorious smile, as her discovery became apparent.

  "Oh, you're good," she said.

  Chapter 82

  Thunderhead

  A crack of thunder split the sky, washing over the crew of the Skyraker in the shadow of a looming thunderhead. The day limped towards mid-morning, but a dark and dreary world engulfed the Skyraker, concealing the sun. As they approached the storm, wild crosswinds cut through the rigging, pushing the ship off course until it could be corrected.

  Minerva stood exposed to the elements on the mizzenmast, attempting to estimate the distance to the storm. The twins gave her nervous glances every now and then, dividing their attention between the riggers and the massive wall of grey and black clouds. "Riggers. To the deck," they called, less vibrantly than usual.

  Minerva obeyed the order of the twins, taking her place among the crew. Numerous hammer sails lined the deck, prepped for scrubbing for the sake of lift, eliminating the need to be in the masts. She pushed her way through the crowd, from the aft of the ship to the fore, to stand with Olbus at the prow.

  The Skyraker shook violently as thunder rolled over it, silencing the sailors on board, and Olbus gave her a somber look as he glanced back at the crew. Every one of them turned in her direction, but none of them looked directly at her. Rather, they looked up to the sky, the clouds, and the storm. A harsh chill lingered in the air, and many of them shook, but not for the wind that cut across their skin.

  When Minerva looked at the faces of the men, she saw anxiety and uncertainty. When she looked into their eyes, she saw nothing but fear.

  "Why does the last line of the oath say to die with a smile?" she asked, turning back to Olbus.

  "The oath is a declaration of freedom," Olbus replied. "Freedom from a war that has plagued this country for decades. When the only life you've ever known is conflict, death is the only freedom."

  Another crash interrupted Olbus as he spoke, and the Skyraker shook as the ultimate terror of the skies burnt white hot in their vision. Several of the crew cried out in panic.

  "To die with a smile is to die by choice," Olbus continued. "Not because of a war that someone else started."

  The hair on Minerva's neck stood on end, and the scent of fresh rainfall assailed her nose.

  Up ahead, lightning flashed and ripped through the body of the bestial cloud, echoing across the plains and quieting the tiny men on their floating island. Darkened skies went bright as day in brief blinding moments of clarity, sending the sails of the ship thrashing on their tethers, like chained animals desperate to escape their fate. Every bolt and binding in the whole of the Skyraker strained beneath the power of the thunderous roar, as though it understood the torture that awaited it.

  Except the course was set, and the rudder held fast. The crew remained at their stations on the deck as the storm grew larger within their view, until at last the bowsprit of the Skyraker pierced the body of the cloud. Soundless and smooth, the thunderhead washed over the ship, seeping into every tiny crack and engulfing every surface, sequestering the ship from the world outside. Terror, absolute and undeniable, clawed its way into the heart of every man aboard as the terrible titan of the skies swallowed their insignificant vessel.

  It was as though death itself had opened its arms to welcome them into its embrace.

  Chapter 83

  Courage and Sacrifice

  Hailstones crashed down on M
inerva's exposed neck and back, hammering her skin and freezing to her hair. She swept a kite at the aft of the deck, scrubbing until her arms and lungs burned. Horrifying blasts of thunder and lightning tore through the skies around the ship, as if a furious beast was throwing its deadly breath into every cloud. The world pulsed in and out of existence in response, and when the ship fell without warning the men did the same, but Minerva never saw them fall; they were on their feet and then not. Up above, the wind tore across the sails, hurtling the ship in all directions as the crew scrambled to compensate. Then the rain came down in sheets, washing across the deck, so deep that Minerva's ankles froze beneath the tide.

  Minerva turned her head up to the tiny rod held high upon the mast, sick with the feeling that the storm was alive and trying to kill them. The iron pole stood in place, dangling its silken streamers throughout the ship, luring the thunderhead to bite.

  "All we need is one," she pleaded to herself.

  As they pushed deeper into the storm, powerful winds transformed the falling water into driving sleet. Captain Glass and the riggers on deck fought to control the lift, but a violent updraft tore several kites off the port side, and Minerva felt the ship list and sink. Sailors ran to secure the broken lines as the Skyraker writhed in the air, but the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and a massive, black shape swam through the mists.

  The Skyraker heaved as the crest of a mountain ridge tore through its hull. At the same time, violent winds ensnared the kites on the high side, threatening to capsize the ship, until Luff and Leech cut them loose.

  Minerva watched in despair as the flickering reflection of the sails sprinted upwards into the darkness. Like every other sailor, she stood breathless, and her thoughts and muscles seized, frozen by the intense cold.

  "You're trying to kill us, aren't you?"

  Minerva spun to see a sailor behind her with tears streaming down his cheeks. She didn't recognize him.

  "What did we ever do to you?" he begged, coming towards her.

  "It's not me!" she shouted, as she took a step back, but a powerful wind silenced her voice. As it blustered through the men, it picked up loose ropes and articles on deck and flung them overboard. When Minerva opened her eyes, the man was gone, likely blown to his death over the edge.

  "What in the hells was that?" another man whispered, wide-eyed, while the others around him stared at her in horror.

  The anxiety of them singling her out of the crowd chilled her further. "It's not me! It's just a storm!" she yelled, but her protests meant nothing. They had seen something that she hadn't.

  Minerva was about to repeat her claim when lightning rippled up the side of the ship behind her, leaving a trail of thunder in its wake that shredded the sails and sent splinters of wood raining down. A foggy image remained burned into the eyes that gazed upon it, still visible against the black backdrop of the sky. The image lingered in the eye, winking into existence each time a person blinked. To Minerva, its shape reminded her of a bird.

  "What was – that thing?" the twins cried out, and they gave Minerva a concerned look that lingered a little too long.

  "It's not me—" she said, for a third time, but trailed off as realization dawned.

  Minerva turned to the clouds that now crackled and sparked without pausing, showering the deck in dim light. In the darkness beyond, an immense form swam through the clouds. She could hear the low rumble of its passage tumbling through the air around her. "It's us," she whispered.

  "It's what?" Luff asked.

  "Our fear is making it real," Minerva explained, but the twins didn't understand what she meant. "We need to get out of here or the storm really will be alive!"

  Minerva barely finished her sentence when something burst upward from the depths of the squall, striking the keel of the Skyraker. It rushed down the length of the ship, thrusting it upwards before hauling it back down. Sailors, sails, and rigging flew from the deck and down into the darkness. If not for the twins gripping her leg, Minerva might have been among them.

  "All hands to cover!" Olbus bellowed, ordering the sailors below deck, just as he had done in the forest.

  A second assault from the thunderhead pushed the Skyraker nearly on its side while the men hurried into safety. Powerful winds whipped everywhere, and the ship creaked and groaned as it twisted in unnatural directions.

  "Get to cover!" Olbus commanded once more, as the last of the crew stumbled below deck.

  Minerva lingered near the mainmast, disobeying the command as Captain Glass rushed past her. She turned her face to the sky, allowing the wind and freezing rain to wash down her cheeks. "Do it!" she screamed at the heavens, feeling the numbness in her lips. Her chest tightened as her anxiety swelled, imagining that the rod atop the mast had fallen off, but she couldn't see it from the deck. "Just one," she pleaded.

  Then the monster in the darkness exhaled hell into the world, revealing the worst of Minerva's fears. The rod dangled loose, whipping freely as the ship swayed. Their only spark of hope was snuffed. A lightning strike now would tear the ship apart.

  Minerva ran for the shrouds, while howling winds thrashed the ropes. As she gripped the first of the rain-slicked stirrups, Luff and Leech yanked her off by the collar.

  "Are you – insane?"

  Minerva pushed herself up from the soaking deck. "The rod came loose! I have to fix it!"

  Luff grabbed her again before she could attempt the climb, while Leech leaned back and waited for a moment of clarity to confirm her statement.

  "We'll do it," he said over the roar of the thunder, as an incomprehensible shape smashed the spars together over their heads.

  Minerva caught the scruff of the nearest twin before he was off. "This was my plan!"

  "We're – stronger!"

  "Please!" Minerva begged, horrified by the idea her two best friends climbing up into the heart of destruction. Not just friends, she thought. They were like brothers.

  As the three of them shouted their convictions to each other, the life of the storm hurled fury and wrath, drowning their arguments. However, the voice of Olbus silenced their dispute, and at his command, they turned their attention back to the sky. High in the sails, at the very peak of the swaying mast, a wiry old man was climbing towards the fallen rod.

  The storm roared and Minerva's voice seized. Nezzen's frail and withered body clung to the top of their world. He reached out for the metal shaft, tucked it beneath his arm, and then climbed even higher.

  The wind blew like frozen blades, rain fell in pools across the deck, hail pounded into the siding, thunder and lightning screamed in the darkness, and in the middle of it all, Minerva's world stood still.

  Luff and Leech attempted to drag Minerva off the shrouds for a third time, but she thrashed her feet at their chins until they released her. Her voice cracked and tears slipped down her cheeks as Nezzen reached the top of the mast. Angry thunder growled at the audacity of the man that dared to climb into its world, and the Skyraker lurched in violent thrusts. In the wind and the rain, Minerva could barely move as she reached the first of the spars.

  Nezzen hugged the mast with his arms and legs as the motion of the ship flipped the wizened old man like a scarf on a stick.

  Minerva quaked under the strain on her heart, and her frozen limbs refused to comply with her will to climb. It was then that Nezzen looked down at her. When their eyes met, he smiled with confidence. Then he turned his attention to the sky and stretched his limb, lancing into the clouds with his metal spear.

  The storm bellowed in anger. Its arms of light crawled out from its body, crackling and snaking through the ether of the clouds as it adopted the shape of a monstrous bird looming over its pitiful prey. Its body lit the whole of the Skyraker as it shone in the darkness, and Minerva stared in awe of the behemoth that had grown before them. Then it dove down with abandon. Feathers of light pulled inward in a flash as it closed its wings, forming a single bolt that descended straight onto the weapon of the daring hero.<
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  Ash and splinters erupted down the mast in explosive waves, and a golden halo of molten glory burst from the remnants of the crow's nest. All the elegance of a lifetime of collecting flew from its resting place in a blast of gleaming, searing beauty that streamed down across the darkness.

  Minerva fell from the shrouds and crashed to the deck, hurled downward by the sudden ascent of the ship, as the thunderhead boomed in pain. The dying breath of the storm drove every sailor to their knees, while the blood of the beast coursed through the webs that would captured it forever. White light lit the deck of the Skyraker as the sails glowed like alabaster wings of unnatural elegance. The ship vaulted through the clouds, leaving the howling death throes of its fallen enemy washing across its body.

  As the ship climbed, the sails dried quickly, issuing forth a sound both sad and jubilant as they unleashed an aria of pain for a fallen comrade. The Skyraker itself sang like an angel as it bore the soul of its oldest friend to his final rest in the heavens.

  Chapter 84

  Fly Stone Pass

  Captain Black stood at the helm of the Phoenix, guiding the monstrous vessel through a tight, winding canyon. The sweat of the exhausted riggers sprinkled to the deck below as they worked to lift their ship above the narrowest spaces. All around the ship, tiny boulders drifted freely in the air.

  Squints stood at the side of his captain, far more worried than his pilot. "Captain, sir, wit' all due respec', this might be a bad idea. This is a high pass, sir, an' we've not yet crossed the peak. The men are gettin' weary an' the stones are gettin' bigger."

  The captain ground his teeth. Every half hour or so, Squints reminded him of the dangerous course he had chosen.

  "All I'm sayin', sir, is that Glass'll be back. There's nay much for a pirate t' do in the Provinces. If he wants t' make a livin' he has t' come back."

  Squints waited for the hollow grind of a stone beneath their hull to cease its objections to their passing, the telltale sign that the ship needed additional altitude.

  "Or maybe we could wait a few days. The stones 'ere don't always fly this high. Why don't we wait for low tide?"