EMPTY

8

With Mother and the children hidden away in the house, I round the workshop and bound up the ladder to the roof where my project is stashed. I forged a metal box to hold the fire and mounted a bellows on one side to pump in the air. The fire needs to be hot. Severely hot. It is hard to find enough fabric, because I only had one quilt from my bed. Fortunately, several weeks ago, I found some treasures in Grandmother’s loft. She was delighted to give me something of hers, a small hammock and a quilt. After removing the front from the backing of each quilt, I sewed all four pieces together edge to edge. I am not fast or good at stitching so I kept the sewing project on the roof of the workshop. It is the only place Father rarely goes.

The fall air streaming across the workshop roof is chilling, even though I am sweating as I light the fire in the metal box. I tie short lengths of rope from each corner of the blankets to the metal loops on the makeshift forge. Propping up the four sides of the blankets with several staffs takes finesse and a steady hand. If it falls it might hit the fire and go up in flames.

Stoking and feeding the fire, the hot air fills the space between the blankets. Pumping the bellows that are the length of my arm, I make the fire hotter and hotter. It takes some time until finally the hot air fills the blankets exactly the way I imagined. The staffs fall away as it floats above the tethered box. It is a huge version of the papyrus lanterns we release into the sky on Delineation Day.

I add more coal to the fire because it burns hotter than wood. Hopefully it will be enough to soar across the village and up the rocky side of the island. I face the wind. Excitement pumps through my veins when I realize the wind is blowing directly toward Ellery.

People notice the floating blankets above the shop. I untie the box from the roof and it lifts several feet into the air. I had removed some length of the hammock so it is perfect for sitting. I connect it with hooks to the underside of the box and quickly sit in it. The hammock cups me perfectly within reach of the bellows. The whole thing bobbles for a moment adjusting to my weight. Leaning back, I reach above my head and pump the bellows several times to get the fire hotter and hotter. I can hear the flames snapping above me as it lifts me into the air with each puff. I gasp, realizing it is working. The pain from my last attempt to fly hangs in the back of my memory.

The contraption drifts higher and higher and I hear my mother scream my name. The wind carries me toward Ellery. Grinning widely as I rise into the sky, I think to myself, my contraption works. I am flying! I can hardly believe it as I laugh like a wild man.

Puff after puff of the bellows, my village begins to look like a shrunken version of itself. The people scramble like rats toward the village square following beneath me. I see my father’s red face and his mouth shouting something, his arms flailing wildly.

I regain my composure and puff the bellows again. My course is set, the sky is clear, and the rock is nearing. Halfway to the island I waver. What if my father is right? What would I do if all of the Ellerians are just hiding and ignoring us? The thought throws my heart in an intense rhythm and my resolve plummets. Would they kill me for attempting to board their island?

Ellery has cleared the concealing clouds and hangs out in the open. The underside is like a cluster of dangling stalactites. To avoid the jagged rocks, I puff the bellows over and over again. The heat lifts me higher and higher. I miss the squeeze of Alouette’s hands around my waist. I would feel safer with her this high in the sky.

Nauseous with panic, I approach the floating island. I really should have thought about how to land the flying contraption, but I didn’t know if it would even get off the ground. The wind is my invisible friend guiding me toward the ledge where the castle stairs begin. I hold my breath and continue to glide through the air. The steps on the side of the floating mountain come faster than expected and I hit them with force. I land on my knees and the box topples to the side. A few red coals leap out. The hot air disperses, and my blankets quickly lose their air sprawling up the stairway. I scramble to my feet and kick the coals back into the box so I don’t lose their blaze.

My heart beats wildly, standing on the steps of Alouette’s home. I breathe for a few moments to get myself under control. Slowly, I realize I have succeeded.

Descending to the last step, I wave to my people standing on the outskirts of the village. They all scramble about like little ants. I don’t know if they are glad I came, but I am sure they are glad enough that I survived.

“I made it,” I shout and wave.

I realize after a moment that there could be people on this rock, lying in wait, ready to remove my head. So I fold up my blankets and tuck them down on the last step. That way, someone would have to come all the way out here to find it.

Now, it is time to find her.

There are so many sandy stone stairs leading up to the castle. The air is thin, and I am gasping for breath as I heave myself up each crunching step. It takes me a long time to climb them. The front of the beige stone castle has a wide archway, but there is no door or gate. I guess they don’t need doors to protect from wingless enemies. The front hall of the castle is more like a giant carved cave. The walls are smooth and the ceiling bears carvings of winged people. Halfway down are two smaller hallways heading to the north and the south. I stop and look down the southern hall. I wait and listen. There is no noise, no movement, no one.

When I reach the end of the grand hall I step out into an enormous circular courtyard. All the way around are doors and windows. Looking up, I see a railing swirling all the way up with more doors. I count sixteen floors above the first before I start feeling dizzy. My body sways to the side, forcing me to inhale deeply.

“There is no way I can search this whole thing in one day,” I say to myself. The sound of my voice bounces about the courtyard on the breeze.

“Hello?” I yell. The echo wraps around me. “Anyone here?” My voice swirls up the many layers above my head.

This silence is so strange. Dead and heavy. There aren’t even any passing gnats or bees disrupting the nothingness. But I’m not sure if that is abnormal or not.

I walk straight through the empty courtyard, past an enormous carving. It is an Ellerian man with bulging muscles and wings poised aggressively. It intimidates me. The statue stands on the top of a stack of tan stone basins. Like a fountain, except it is dry.

I walk to the biggest of all the doorways off the courtyard. It is arched like the first doorway of the castle. I enter the room. The taupe stone floors turn to a shimmery yellow color, as if paved in gold. The smooth golden tiles extend through the middle of the room from the doorway to a platform where two large sandstone chairs are positioned.

“Hello?” There is less of an echo in here but enough that I wait for it to stop before I enter. The walls are adorned with floor to ceiling tapestries. Sky People’s figures are intricately woven into them with grandly reaching wings. I don’t recognize any of them, until I get to the last one. She doesn’t look like Alouette, but there’s something familiar in her eyes.

I search the first floor of what must be the royalty’s homes. They are quite large and beautifully furnished with heavy carved bedchambers, intricate fireplaces, high arched ceilings and metal shined into an almost perfectly reflective surface. I stand in front of the mirror and gape at myself. I am a man, but my features are angular and immature compared to the muscular, toned men of Balfour. I look away and wish I could go back to thinking I fit in with them.

I don’t have time to look through all the houses. I find the stairs that lead up to more homes and another that descends into the ground. I find it odd that there are stairs on an island of winged people. It is dark and scares me a little. If there is someone here, they would have heard me by now. The realization hits me that my search is complete. My lungs deflate and shoulders droop. Every last flame of hope of finding her is extinguished.

Alouette is gone.

I collect a few bits of coal and wood from the fireplace in the grand dining room, just in case I don’t have enough for my contraption. I race back through the maze of Ellery, through the courtyard, through the grand hallway onto the front steps. My feet feel like bendy straw. I slow down so I don’t sail off the edge.

The sun is rising above Ellery like a giant eye peering into my soul. It exposes the ground with light where the Balfourians are still gathered beneath me. I step to the edge and wave until someone notices. Only a few wave and race around, most have their arms folded across their chest or poised on their hips.

It is difficult to get the hot air into the blankets this time without the staffs to hold them up so I drag it to the side of the castle. I lift the blankets and drape them across the craggy rocks on the outside wall. They snag and hold. After a little bit of balancing and puffing the bellows, it inflates and rises into the air. The hammock loops beneath me and I pump the bellows until it lifts me as well. Looking across the surface of the island, I run toward the edge of the rock and jump off, attached to a furnace and a bubble of hot air. My heart sinks as I leave the castle where Alouette had lived all this time.

Blinking back tears, I careen off the edge of Ellery. I don’t have time for tears. I have to think. I have to find her. The rocky underside of the island drifts higher and higher as I drop through the air. I pump the bellows every so often, but only enough to keep me from plummeting.

I have to find Alouette. I must report to my village the Ellerians are missing. Then, I will ride the island until I find her. As soon as I land, I’ll gather food, clothing, spyglass, a few of my tools and sewing kit, just in case I need to fix the float on my contraption. I lean in an attempt to steer toward the workshop so I can take off from the same spot, but the wind won’t let me sail against it. It stubbornly pushes me northeast and I land in the cow fields on the other side of the river where Hollis nearly drowned me. It is more of a crash landing and I leap from the hammock seat right before all the coals spill into the grass. I quickly stomp out the flames, scattering the coals. Heart in my throat from the ride, I take a deep breath.

Flint, I remind myself. I’ll need to bring flint to relight the fire.

Finally, I hear the Balfourians racing out to meet me. Excited to tell them about my ride, I’m sure I am wearing that stupid grin Hollis hates, but I don’t care. I can fly.

“Ledger,” Hollis screams and races into me. She grabs my tunic and pounds my chest angrily. “What in blazes are you thinking? They are going to skin you!”

With that, all the joy within me collapses like the air from my contraption.

“But I had to see if they were really gone,” I defend.

“The Elders are furious,” she says out of breath.

Tolliver and Angus are not far behind. They have the same tone as Hollis. I am confused at their fury. Their hands are on me, their voices thunder. Their breaths are short and faces contorted.

The villagers descend upon me in anger and screaming and judgment. I am on trial and no one is listening to me. The only words I can comprehend are “Trespassing,” “Flying,” and “Trouble.”

“No, please let me tell you,” I scream over the din. “They are gone.”

“Silence,” a man commands. Their voices trickle off like the dying of a storm. Thelonious breaks his way through the crowd. “Let him speak!”

Shocked that it’s my chance to speak, I momentarily fall short with words, stunned by the chaos.

“Speak, son, tell us what you saw,” Thelonious prods.

“They’re gone. All of them.” I describe their homes and the absence of any living thing. I tell them about everything, except the most important—Alouette. I look at Hollis. Her eyes are scrunched together with worry.