13. Skyward!
Skyward!
“Time to wake up.”
The water churned around me as I struggled in his hold. His fingertips dug into my shoulders, pinning my spine to the bottom of the metal basin. Bony. Unsparing. Stronger than they had any right to be.
My lungs were already burning. I locked my jaw against the urge to breathe. His distorted shape blocked the lamplight above me; only his eyes were clear, and the pleasure in them was unmistakable.
Behind him, the life mender waited. Agitated and impatient.
I jerked against his hands, kicked, twisted, tried to free the rope at my wrists. The water turned every motion into nothing. The seconds stretched.
His grin widened. He knew I was close. Close to inhaling. Close to giving him what he wanted.
“Wren, wake up.”
My back arched off the mattress with a large gulp of air, my arms suddenly free to strike at the now empty space above me.
Consciousness came to me in a hazy mess of blurry darkness and crusty eyelids.
This wasn’t my room. The crisp, cool smell of stone and musty air was instead the tang of metal and salt.
My scratchy grey wool blanket was now soft and cool, like worn cotton.
Where was I? I pried my lids apart only to see an enormous figure looming much too close.
Scrambling backward out from under the covers, I smacked my head into the steel-paneled wall at the head of the bed. I pressed myself into the corner. The figure’s hands shot up, and it took two steps back.
“It’s okay. It’s just me.”
Griffon. Just my friendly neighborhood assassin checking in on my sleep.
The last two days came tumbling back. I was no longer at the Citadel, counting the days until they offered me my freedom.
I was on the run. With a dangerous man—most likely a killer.
I couldn’t move. It was as if every muscle in my body seized while my mind sorted out my new reality.
My lungs throbbed with the foggy memory of agony and panic as I struggled to breathe.
“I wouldn’t...” There was a pause, and then his arms dropped to his sides in what looked like defeat.
His fingers reached down and closed around the hilt of the malachite dagger hard enough that I could see the tension travel up his forearm.
“Took you long enough.” His voice grew stern. “Just get up and get ready.”
He turned and stalked from the room.
In the quiet that followed, I drew a shaky breath. Flashes of the dream returned in fuzzy, shifting images that flickered in and out of focus. But the emotions were as sharp and clear as a polished mirror. Reflecting the terror, the pain, and the gut-wrenching certainty that I was going to die.
Those feelings clung to me like dirt on my skin as I dressed, ate a quick first meal, donned my cloak, and bid farewell to Charis and Gannet.
They lingered as Griffon led us through the streets to the docks where the airships waited.
It was as if a shadow had settled over me, one I couldn’t shake in the dreary dawn hour.
I was unsettled and jumpy. Those memories hadn’t haunted me for some time.
It was the stress of the past few days catching up with me.
Griffon, attempting to mask his concern with nonchalance, stole glances at me as we walked, but I had no desire to explain.
I was lost in my own thoughts, too far inside my head.
Besides, what was I supposed to say? “Sorry for the concerning wake-up reaction, just reliving some light torture. You know how it is.”
Multiple conversations went on around us in the scattered crowds waiting by the airships that departures were being delayed or canceled.
There was talk about the weather and possible storms. I glanced up at the white overcast sky but didn’t see the grey storm clouds that loomed over us during our trip in the small sailboat.
The row of rubberized canvas balloon envelopes lined up against the sky over the heads of the crowd. There were four large airships moored where the crowds were gathering, but Griffon led us to a smaller ship at the far end.
The dirigible had an oblong, cone-shaped balloon with a propeller on the back and ropes running down from the canvas envelope to attach to a small gondola sitting in the water.
It was only about three times the length of the sailboat we had arrived in.
There were two thin men, one old and one young, moving around the gondola, prepping for departure.
The older man noticed Griffon and stepped over the side and onto the dock.
“We’re almost ready to depart, sir,” he rasped.
Our captain’s stringy white beard and red knit cap framed a wrinkled, shrewd face.
His eyes flicked toward me, standing behind Griffon’s shoulder, and immediately an unease settled over me.
He had the warm, welcoming energy of someone who definitely knew where all the bodies were buried.
Possibly because he put them there. I was still shaken from the dream and couldn't help but stiffen under his unsettling attention.
“Are you sure it’s safe to proceed? I hear the weather may not hold,” Griffon replied.
The man focused back on Griffon. “Eh. The weather’s of no concern. Our speed ‘ill be affected by the headwind, but we’ll git there. You paid me to depart this morning, and that’s what we’re gonna do,” the old man answered dismissively.
“Regardless of the money,” Griffon pressed, “will it be safe?”
“Those idiots git scared when a vile cat swats their ankles,” he motioned toward the other airships, “I been doing this long ‘nuff to know when a bad storm’s a comin’ and when it’s just gonna be a weakly little girl.
” His eyes slid toward me again, but his gaze was somewhere below my chin.
Griffon took a half-step to the right, blocking his view.
How much did Griffon pay for this trip? It must have been a lot. What other motivation would make the men push to leave when so many were concerned enough not to fly?
I was aware Griffon believed it would be much more advantageous to leave as soon as possible. Koel would figure out where we were headed soon enough. The risk increased exponentially the longer we remained on the island.
Griffon turned his head, considering me for a second in his peripheral vision, and then faced the man again and bobbed his head.
He led us to the planks bridging the gap between the dock and the gondola.
It took all my willpower to ignore the sliver of lapping water below those planks.
As Griffon stepped over the threshold, the man put his hand out, as if to help me cross.
Griffon turned in that instant, grabbed my elbow, and guided me over the planks instead.
The last thing I wanted was for the old man to get anywhere near me, but Griffon’s grip was too tight. I shook it off when I was safely in the boat.
Nervous energy stirred in my stomach, like an agitated bird beating its wings inside my chest, fluttering wildly with the hazy memories of my dream and the thought that I would soon leave the ground behind.
Griffon turned stiffly and led us toward the passenger benches, motioning me to sit as I placed the bag with our midday meals under my seat.
I assumed he would sit next to me. But instead, he moved to the far end of the bench, on the other side of the boat.
It would have been nice to have someone to talk to during the flight, and I couldn’t help my disappointment at seeing he felt otherwise.
The balloon's intimidating canvas loomed overhead as the men finished preparing the airship for takeoff. Then they gathered at the back railing of the gondola. They knelt together, the old man removing his cap, before they both lifted their eyes to the sky. The older man raised his voice. “Oh great Keeper of d’Wind, may the warm breeze o’ your breath sustain our lives and fill our lungs wi’ your glory.
May we ‘ave your favor an’ grant us passage this day through your divine welkin.
” They lowered their eyes for a few seconds before standing and returning to their posts.
So reassuring. When your pilots feel the need to pray before departure, you know you're in for a smooth ride.
“Skyward!” the old man shouted.
The gondola gave a lurch, and then we were rising. Water ran off the bottom of the boat. The ropes creaked, and the air hissed out of the valves of the ballonets as the buoyancy of the helium pulled us into the air.
My heart jumped into my throat. Seagulls circled nearby. I held onto the edge of the bench and watched the people on the dock shrink to specks.
The world continued to unfold beneath us as we climbed higher.
I took a deep breath and felt oddly at peace.
The rush of wind and the murmur of the crew faded away, leaving only the sheer emptiness around us.
My eyes traced the horizon, still adjusting to the sudden shift in perspective with a mix of awe and anxiety.
The vast, unfamiliar world was expanding below us, and it was breathtakingly beautiful.
The shape of the island made itself known when we rose high enough to see the blue water surrounding it.
Soon, I could even make out the other islands to the southwest. It took me back to the many nights I sat studying the relief map on the table in the catacombs.
Plotting my adventures and wishing for them to one day come true.
And here I was.
Alright, I'll admit it. This was worth the creepy captain and the ominous prayers. Because in that moment, my heart settled. The uneasiness faded into the open air around me and became something else. A calming wonder. A sense of freedom.
The world drifted beneath us as I turned to look at Griffon, wondering if he felt the same.
He wasn’t looking at the islands below, but across the boat at me.
Resignation slid over his features. Then he reclined back against the side of the gondola, pulled his hood over his eyes, crossed his arms, and settled in for a nap.
“You're seriously going to sleep?” I called across the gondola. “We're flying.”