The Maiden in the Mirror

by Scott Hamerton

  Captain Black drew a deep breath and peered down his beard at Squints. "You think we can't go over the pass, is that it?"

  Squints smiled apprehensively, appreciating the only sign of hope given to him since he began his protests. "I think we can, sir, but the men will be in no condition to fight. It's too high for us."

  Captain Black surveyed the landscape of ever-rising rocks and boulders. Far below them, in the depths of the writhing canyon, thousands of flying rocks hung in the air. Substantially larger ones remained near the bottom.

  The base of the pass offered much lower passage than any other passes in the range, but the plummite monoliths that blocked the canyons could fly higher than the peaks of the mountains themselves. Only the lightest ships could fly high enough when the tide of bedrock rose to its peak, and a captain never knew when one of the majestic titans would suddenly ascend while their ship was above it, or worse, descend while below it.

  "Fine, Squints. Have it your way."

  Squints exhaled with relief. "Thank ye, Captain. I will tell the men. Shall we tack 'round at the next widenin'?"

  "No."

  Squints glanced around with a sheepish grin, trying to decide if Black was mocking him.

  "If we can't go over the pass," Captain Black said, as he flicked his arm down from the wheel and punched a lever. "We'll go under it."

  A loud snap, followed by the rushing husk of a rope escaping into the sky, heralded the release of the topmost sail on all three masts. As the sails lifted away, the huge and lumbering form of the Phoenix creaked and groaned in the wind, and then dove nose first into the sunless depths below.

  Chapter 85

  Heaven Sent

  Endless blue skies draped over a sea of rolling cloud and thunder. High above the violent and powerful tides, a tiny blue ship drifted in the emptiness. The sails of the Skyraker shone with an inner beauty that cast a wondrous, luminescent glow across the tops of the almighty squalls below them.

  A wide crack split the mainmast of the Skyraker, from the skysail at the top to the course sail at the bottom. Small flames still licked it from within, dancing like a tongue within a lengthy smile. White ash, graced by a few vibrant sparks of gold, drifted in the frigid air above the mountains.

  Minerva inhaled the sweet scent of burnt wood mixed with the acrid odor of burnt hair. The ash that landed on the deck felt warm and soft, and she left footprints as she strode across the dried planks in stunned silence, staring only at the shattered remains of the crow's nest. At her feet, the twisted shards of a life lived in fear landed on the deck. Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, rings and more had all flown from the crow's nest as it erupted. Tiny specks of molten gold lay splattered everywhere, infusing the wooden planks of the ship. Minerva's hands shook in sadness as she reached down to retrieve a pair of golden cuff links from between her toes. On their outward side, a small golden owl, with silver trim and sapphire eyes, gazed back at her. Ethereal wisps of smoke still clung to their bodies.

  The twins came to her side and put their arms around her. She was grateful for their company when the strength in her legs gave out. Luff and Leech led her down to her cabin and lowered her to her bed. They sat beside her, saying nothing while she wept. Her brothers in grief wrapped their arms around her and held on tight.

  Minerva put her hands on her head and pulled at her hair. It was all her fault. She convinced the crew to weather the storm. She never should have believed him when he said that he would climb down.

  The twins left her when she asked to be alone. After they were gone, Minerva opened her cabinet and looked at all the gifts that Nezzen had ever given her. She took the beautiful hairbrush from its resting place and sat on the bed. She wanted to feel the comfort of his perfect stroke one last time, but she couldn't replicate it. It wasn't until the bell for supper rang that she gave up and returned the brush to the cabinet.

  When Minerva arrived in the galley, an exalted rally of voices burst from the crew. They jumped to their feet and chanted her name. She did her best to reciprocate, but there was no joy in it for her. She accepted her supper but only nibbled its corners, until it was cold and she sat all alone in the empty space. In the quiet of the galley, she realized that Big Jim had yet to return to the hall to handle the dishes.

  The door to the kitchen creaked softly as Minerva pushed it open.

  Big Jim leaped to his feet and wiped his forearm across his eyes. "Look at that, ye caught me cuttin' the onions," he said, and he faked a laugh as he pulled a red potato from a box and searched for a knife.

  Minerva hopped up to sit on the counter. "Those are potatoes," she pointed out.

  "Ah, yeah, so they are. Busy day, I guess. Got me all flustered."

  Minerva watched the big man struggle to contain his emotions for a time, and let him come to grips with himself on his own. After a moment, he pulled a silver ring out of his pocket.

  "He gave me this the first time I brought 'im supper. I was worried, ye know, since I hadn't seen 'im come down. He didn't have much back then, but I always brought 'im his supper. Everyone deserves to eat. After a while, I started to refuse his gifts. I always felt like I was taking somethin' from 'im and givin' nothin' in return."

  Minerva understood exactly what Big Jim meant as he turned the ring over in his fingers a few times.

  "Doesn't fit me no more. I got a lot fatter since then, an' it gets full of dirt and grime. No good in a kitchen. I always keep it on me, though." Then he turned towards her, very stern and serious. "Were ye there? Did ye see him?"

  Minerva nodded.

  "He was brave, then?"

  "The bravest."

  Every flabby wave of Jim's body wobbled as he wept, straining to contain his sadness. "I always knew that old coot would do something stupid one day. He could've warned me. Selfish ass. I might've liked to say goodbye, at least."

  Minerva laughed in sorrow with her friend.

  "Crazy bastard never could climb down. Been up there more than ten years. Caught like a cat in a tree. Don't know how he managed without me. I suppose ye set things right, though. I should thank ye."

  The words struck Minerva with a heavy sense of guilt. Not even the tiniest sliver of her mind dared to accept any thanks for what had transpired.

  "Probably would've died up there, one day," Jim said. "Ye gave him what he always wanted."

  "What did I give him?"

  "The chance to be a hero."

  In that way, Minerva understood why Nezzen turned into the storm, facing his death and choosing to die. He seized the opportunity to show his gratitude to all the people that endured the long and arduous climb to visit him, and to fight for his home, just once.

  All he needed to do was climb a little higher.

  "Ye know, for as long as I knew 'im, Nezzen always said that courage and sacrifice were a choice. That it didn't come naturally to nobody. The last time I talked to 'im, though, he said that he was wrong. That for some people it's not a choice. It's just how they live."

  "He talked to me about the same thing. I think I get it now, why it was so important to him."

  Minerva looked Jim in the eye when he didn't reply, and he smiled wide and glad, but shook his head in disbelief.

  "He wasn't talkin' to ye, Minnie. He was talkin' about ye."

  Chapter 86

  Over the Mountain

  The next day, Captain Glass informed the crew that they would be flying to the mountain city of Rahama Matha. From there they would resupply before flying further into the range, eventually seeking port within the foreign lands of the Provinces. Any sailor that wished to remain in the mountain city was welcome to do so.

  Minerva sat in the rigging, contemplating the ramifications of the decision presented to her. Would the others choose to stay, or would they abandon the wounded ship in favor of another, she wondered. Despite their high altitude, scrubbing the sails required no effort in the chilly air, and the currents flowed with a gentle softness.

  "How far is Rahama M
atha?" she called to the twins.

  "We'll be there – by nightfall."

  Minerva looked forward to sitting down and relaxing somewhere. She didn't have much money, and she didn't know how she was going to cover her expenses, but it would be nice to escape from a ship that had seen so much pain and suffering in such a brief time. Perhaps the Skyraker really did carry a curse, she thought.

  As they slipped through the stony passages, the captain kept the ship close to the mountains to hide. Completely disregarding their daring flight through the thunderstorm, he still feared that Captain Black and the Phoenix could come at them from around any corner.

  The further they progressed the more anxious Minerva felt. She wanted to see Rahama Matha. The twins said that a sect of monks carved the city entirely from the mountain, and built it more than a thousand years ago. The way the crew talked, it sounded like a magnificent place to start a new life of adventure and wonder. She still longed to find a way home, but as time went by, she only felt further away from that goal.

  As the day grew late, the moon rose high above the frozen peaks and the sun retreated from its presence, leaving its golden rays to fall softly across the sails of the ship. Several times, the Skyraker passed small stone houses that overlooked the passes.

  "What are those lookouts for?" Minerva asked.

  "They watch – the blind passes. They warn the captains – if there are other ships."

  "To prevent a collision?"

  The twins nodded in unison.

  Nearly an hour later, the Skyraker was rounding a lookout post on their starboard side when Minerva noticed the man inside waving a large yellow flag.

  "Captain!" she called to the helm. "Yellow flag to starboard, sir!"

  Captain Glass observed the man and then turned back to her. He replied with a nod and a vague salute.

  "What's the yellow flag mean?" she asked the twins.

  "There's a ship – below us. Let's rise – a little higher."

  Minerva brushed the sail and felt the ship lift roughly half its height.

  Soon, the Skyraker rose over a tight spot near a jagged ridge, where they would be closest to the other ship as it rounded under them. Just as they neared the edge, the shrill cry of a sharp whistle split the air.

  Minerva snapped her attention to the lookout to see the same man waving a large red flag. He was pointing emphatically at something that only he could see on the far side of the ridge. Naturally, her eyes followed his outstretched hand to where a black and red flag was rising over the top of the lookout, chased swiftly by an ascending mast. Minerva shouted in panic, but she was too late.

  The hulking prow of the Phoenix smashed into the keel of the Skyraker, ripping the spar out from under Minerva as the ship twisted away and inertia rooted her in place. Her hand shot out for the guide rope that was always there when she needed it, always in her hand when she expected to be holding it, and then it was. It lashed out, many times its own length, and placed itself gently in her palm. Unfortunately, in doing so, the line needed to grow in length, many times over.

  Minerva swung down towards the deck, and her knees met the chin of Captain Glass, sending them both tumbling into the rails. Quick thinking and experience brought her arms up in front of her face before she broke her nose a second time. Captain Glass was not so lucky, and lay unconscious in a heap beside her. The helm stood empty, beckoning a strong arm to break the slide and bring the ship under control. Minerva shook the captain, desperate for him to awaken, but his only motion was to slip slowly to the aft, as the ship rolled further back. She called for Olbus, terrified by the thought of guiding the Skyraker again, but the boatswain wasn't present. Desperately, she scanned for Luff and Leech, and found them dangling precariously in the rigging, fighting to maintain their grip.

  There was no one else. In moments, the ship would capsize, and the crew would fall to their deaths, so she jumped forward and gripped the guide wheels.

  A terrible sense of power overtook Minerva as her hands wrapped around the pegs. The red siding of the Phoenix shone as bright as crimson coals in a roaring hearth. The sun went dim, as if behind a haze of yellow smoke, and the mountains vanished from existence. She heard screams of fear within her body and shouts of anger and murder aboard the Phoenix. Everything, everywhere, was as the Skyraker could see it.

  At the same time, a primal rage that she could not comprehend consumed her mind. It assailed her will, forcing her own thoughts into hiding.

  Minerva unleashed her hair from its prison. It threw itself wild and free into the wind and flowed around her head on all sides, stretching to touch all that it could in its shining moment of freedom. Then she stabbed Velvet into the wooden rail before the helm and held tight to the wheel, stomping her feet down for balance as she assumed control.

  Wood splintered and groaned as the Skyraker slipped off the nose of the Phoenix. The frigate toppled sideways, throwing the bulk of its masts and sails into the rigging of the massive galleon, threatening to entangle the two ships. Minerva ran a hand through her hair, pressing it tight against her scalp as she went. The rigging of the Skyraker pulled back in response, as if an invisible hand held it away from the Phoenix, narrowly avoiding a catastrophic mess.

  Fire the cannon, a voice inside her head screamed, but she slipped her hair into mouth, dousing it like a wick in water, and the thought abated.

  Olbus appeared upon the stairs just then, but stopped when he saw Minerva at the helm.

  "We need lift!" she demanded, breaking his trance.

  Minerva spun the wheel and banked away, breaking off in the opposite direction of the Phoenix as Olbus nodded and ran back the way he came, ordering the riggers into the sails.

  The winds of the mountain passes turned in favor of the Skyraker as it retreated, saving them from any possible attack by the Phoenix. The huge ship of Captain Black chased the fleeing bird, and the damaged mainmast of the Skyraker failed to provide viable support for lift or momentum. The Phoenix rammed the Skyraker from behind, smashing the rudder and forcing the Skyraker into the cliffs. With little effort, the bulk of the Phoenix forced itself past the smaller ship, tearing the elegant blue paint from the carved wings that formed the figurehead of the Skyraker.

  Howls of pain filled Minerva's mind. She wanted to scream and thrash, and tear every insignificant plank of wood from the body of her opponent. On her port side, a high cliff pinned her against her the galleon, crushing her between a wall of stone and a broadside ship-of-the-line. Minerva turned to face the horrifying red hull of the Phoenix, and squared off against seventy-five cannons in lines as neat as garden furrows.

  Minerva stepped to the side, placing herself between the barrels of two of the destructive weapons. Then she put her hand to the rail that surrounded the helm, caressing it gently. "I'm with you," she whispered.

  Hair might not be as strong as spider silk, but if woven tightly enough, it can form a surprisingly sturdy cloth. Strong enough, perhaps, to hold back a flying cannonball.

  Smoke and fire exploded into the sides of the Skyraker with deafening effect. The sound of tearing fabric echoed back amid the cacophony of spark and powder, and Minerva felt the incomparable sensation of standing between two flying rounds of cannon shot as they sailed past her. The smell of gunpowder and the heat of the round washed across her body on both sides as the port guide wheel burst into splinters. The deck sundered, sails ripped, and the masts cracked and moaned. Then the shaking stopped, and Minerva held her breath as an army of men descended from the elevated deck of the Phoenix. Ropes and grapples flew from the ship to land among the rigging and masts of the Skyraker, creating the bridges that allowed waves of sailors to pour down. Weapons rang, voices cried, and Minerva ran to join the fray with Velvet in hand.

  Crashing shouts and banging steel spread like wildfire across the deck of the Skyraker as a menagerie of bodies battled in front of Minerva. Daggers and pistols flashed and boomed in the waning light of the day. Silhouetted over the bodies of her f
oes she saw countless wavering ghosts. One spirit of Velvet for every enemy. As Minerva entered the melee, she dodged and weaved beneath the lunging specters, focusing only on their translucent forms while axes and daggers fell upon the boards around her.

  Minerva found Olbus with two men at his front, while a third man crept up from behind like a circling wolf. However, even two men together could not match his size and strength, and he flung them away, but remained oblivious to the man at his back. Minerva rushed forward, knocking the third man down as he aimed a thin slice of metal at the spine of her boatswain.

  Perhaps because of her size and appearance, or perhaps because of her weapon, few men approached Minerva. Taking advantage of their folly, she knocked them down from behind, or pulled them off balance in time for Olbus to send them sprawling in heaps.

  Soon into the fight, Luff and Leech arrived from above, swinging down and bowling several men over as they landed. They held their brooms like weapons, employing them masterfully to both guard and attack. They fought as a single person, using each other to move faster and strike harder than a single man ever could.

  Then Gunner and his crew arrived, brandishing pistols and muskets from the gun deck, and the smoke from their efforts choked the battle.

  Across the Skyraker, the men howled like wild animals and tore at each other with abandon, and Minerva felt as though she was lost in a sea of murderous apes.

  A sudden crack of thunder pounded through the scrum, and something heavy landed behind Minerva. She spun fast, ready to attack, but stood stunned into silence as the massive girth of Captain Black loomed over her. In his right hand, he held a macabre pistol. Its golden barrel carried the shape of a gaping viper ready to spit its ashen might over any that would oppose it. A mundane dueling sword hung at his waist, still sheathed.

  Velvet's ghosts gathered around the giant man in droves, lunging and swinging, urging Minerva to act, but their attacks passed harmlessly through her.