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WELCOME TO DRAGON AIRWAYS. Imagine how much better you'll feel without all that baggage.
—Tuck, dragon groom
* * *
AVOIDING AGGER'S JET wash, Casta Mett manipulated the controls gingerly. Every movement, every deviation from course consumed more fuel. No one could say if they would reach the fleet or have to ditch in deep water, far from any chance of rescue. If Admiral Meekam had disobeyed her orders, they were already lost. Given his openly professed opinion of her, this was her riskiest mission yet. All she could do was fly. The decisions were already made, the bones cast; fate would determine the rest.
"If you drop me in that cold water," Grunt said from behind her. "I'll drown you myself."
Casta did not bother to respond. It was not his first threat and wouldn't likely be the last. The fact that he could not swim provided some consolation. She smiled at the thought, but then Agger cut back across her path, and the turbulent air threatened to snuff the engine.
Boil him in oil, Casta thought, turning away from Agger's wash. The man had every advantage and continued to use them against her. He did not have a passenger, so weight was on his side. In these small aircraft, a tiny amount of weight resulted in a significant difference in performance. Casta would have vastly preferred flying alone, but Agger and Grunt were more weight than a single U-jet could bear and still maintain the speed and fuel efficiency required. Casta was not much lighter than Agger, but it was enough to force her hand. She knew they were just afraid she would shoot them down and be finished with them both, once and for all. It might have been tempting.
No matter how much she disliked the other Al'Zjhon, they did fight on the same side of the war, and Argus Kind would be most displeased if two of his hand-picked soldiers . . . disappeared. At that moment, she thought he might lose three at once. No sign of the fleet or land emerged. Not for the first time, Casta tapped the compass to ensure it floated freely and was not stuck.
"You've killed us all," Grunt said before punching the back of her seat.
Casta barely felt it. She had gone into the zone. It was something she'd learned during the cutting camps. When Argus Kind had put out the call for those willing to serve in an elite fighting force, many had answered; few survived. Most were turned away immediately, and others left early on, but Casta had stayed until the end, defeating her competition by being sharper and more focused than they. There had been better fighters, better strategists, and even those more capable of detecting magic than she—those she'd had to eliminate before anyone else became aware of their abilities. Even her own ability she kept a secret. It was not until Argus Kind himself had threatened to cut her that she revealed her true value. Not only had she completed training beyond the abilities of most men, but she could bring him that which he desired—magic.
Why he wanted it did not matter. He was in power, and that was what he wanted found, even though he'd proven wholly incapable of accessing it. Only items that could be operated by anyone were within his grasp; it was a closely guarded secret but not one that could be hidden from Casta Mett. Knowing this, she did not mind gathering magic for him as much. It coincided with her own desires and allowed her to do so with the full strength and support of the Zjhon nation. And there was no reason she had to give Argus Kind everything she found, so long as she was the only one capable of locating magic.
Argus Kind was not her king, but he was the king. Whether he liked to call himself one or not, he became king the moment he killed King Gareth. There were limits to the power of even kings, and asking your executioner to behead his own brother exceeded those limits. Argus Kind had not complained or given any indication he would refuse. It was still unclear whether King Gareth had even known Dogor Kind was related to his executioner. He'd been a good king but perhaps not as aware of the details of his kingdom as he should have been. It cost him his life.
Casta Mett had been there that day. It was the same day that taught her nothing was permanent or sacred, nothing was certain or indestructible. In an instant, the entire world could change, just as it had when Argus Kind turned his axe on the rightful king. No matter how much she and others hated him for that very act, no one could argue that Argus Kind had survived every attempt to remove him from power. The wise accept things they could not change; the ambitious find a way to turn those things to their advantage.
When again Agger seemingly intentionally cut across the air in front of her, Casta's finger drifted to the trigger. It wouldn't take much to bring him down. The U-jet's downfall, besides the weight limits, was its fragility. Future models would surely improve, but these experimental planes were just that. There were reasons Argus Kind had so many trained to fly. Many pilots were lost in battle, but others had been lost in the quest for technological advancement. It had been a costly effort for which Casta was grateful. Without those who had given their lives in the name of progress, she would not have been able to get back to the fleet so quickly—if she made it. Her finger itched on the trigger. It would feel so good to exact vengeance on someone who did his best to complicate her life.
"Do it," Grunt said from behind her. "Do us both a favor."
Grunt was not her friend, nor was he an ally. If she shot Agger down, he would have all the information he needed to have her killed. He was wrong. She'd be doing him a favor. Agger continued to move back and forth in front of her, making the urge to shoot almost irresistible. Then, beyond him, the fleet materialized. He was lining himself up to land on the carrier Terhilian. That left one other carrier with a clear deck—the carrier Arghast—Admiral Meekam's flagship. This ship was farther out, and she cursed Agger for not allowing her and Grunt to land on the closer carrier. He knew she would have burned more fuel because of the extra weight, and he also knew how much Admiral Meekam detested her. Knowing he did it on purpose, she considered shooting him down. It would be a difficult thing to explain away. She could almost feel Grunt gripping the seat behind her. He would probably have been grinning, knowing what Agger had done, but it also put his own life at risk. Agger might not realize just how close he was to losing the only ally he had. Argus frequently paired the two men up due to complementary skill sets. Grunt was not a man she wanted as an enemy.
Looking to her left, Casta pondered the yellow lever, which would blow the hatch. All pilots were required to hand assemble an entire plane before gaining flight clearance, and she knew every inch of this jet. The red handle would eject both seats. She'd hoped never to use either lever, but she also knew she could disconnect the charge beneath her own seat first. If she pulled the red lever without first pulling the yellow, Grunt wouldn't live to tell anyone anything. Slowly she reached down.
"Don't even think about it," Grunt said.
Cold steel on her neck made Casta freeze. "Just getting ready to land this thing," she said. "Agger put us at a disadvantage. We could run out of fuel at any moment. I can feel how light we are."
Grunt said nothing. His gun barrel remained where it was. At such close range, air rifles could be deadly. No matter how large the carriers were, they now seemed small. Twice before on this trip, Casta had landed her U-jet at sea to refuel; both times had been terrifying. Now she was lower on fuel than either time before. She could not afford a single wave off and would get only one chance at this. Towering waves tossed the ships, and a chill wind blew. The landing strip did not simply bob up and down on the waves; it pitched and rolled.
The jet engine's tone changed; fuel was about to run out. Grunt screamed as they dipped lower.
"We might have to ditch," she said through gritted teeth.
Grunt stopped screaming long enough to say, "Don't you dare."
Casta was torn. The pitching deck drew closer, but the U-jet continued to lose altitude. The deck crew waved her off. Too fast. Too low. The crew fled the deck, seeing Casta maintain course. Just before the U-jet struck the deck at an odd angle, Casta pulled back hard on the stick. The nose climbed until she could no longer see the ship at all. She and Grunt stared into the late-afternoon skies until the plane's tail struck the deck, slamming them down with concussive force.
Bouncing and skidding, Casta watched the catch rope approach and slip past without slowing them as it should have. Perhaps the only thing to save them was hitting the deck at an angle and getting turned toward the ship's support structures. Still moving at high speed and her engine fluttering, the U-jet slammed into the aft deckhouse. Fire erupted and Casta struggled to get her belts loosened. Grunt made not a sound behind her. Unbearable heat assaulted Casta. Yanking the yellow lever with one hand to blow the hatch, she unbuckled with the other. She barely heard the charge blow.
Grunt surprised her by making it out of the cockpit first. Grabbing Casta by the shoulder, he pulled her from the wreckage. Perhaps she would have made it out on her own, but she couldn't deny that he'd helped her. She was ashamed to realize she wouldn't have done the same for him.
"That's for keeping us out of the water," Grunt said. "Agger is going to have to eat soft foods for a while when I'm done with him." It was the nicest thing he'd ever said to her.
Firefighters arrived too late. Some fuel did, indeed, remain within the aircraft. When the fire reached the ejection seat charges, they blew, rupturing the fuel tank and creating a second, more powerful explosion that knocked everyone on deck from their feet.
Not long after Casta pulled herself from the deck, Admiral Meekam approached, flanked by two commanders. "What have you got to say for yourself?" he asked, his face mottled red and white.
"That was some landing," Casta said. "It's a shame your men were unable to properly operate a catch rope. Now look what your ship has done to my plane."
Admiral Meekam appeared ready to gut her there and then.
"You're going to get us both killed," Grunt growled in her ear. "I just saved your life. Don't make me regret it."
"The only reason we're here is because of you," Admiral Meekam continued. "And for what? Some flight of fancy?"
Casta remained silent but held the admiral's gaze.
He did not appear impressed. "If you brought us out here for nothing," he said, a dangerous glint in his eye, "I have permission to throw you overboard."
"And if I am right, perhaps I'll throw you overboard, Meekam," she said. It was an ill-advised response, but she tired of his mouth and attitude. "Take advantage of the time to prepare for battle, Admiral. Once I've claimed our prize, we sail for the Midlands."
"We'd already be there by now if not for the likes of you," Admiral Meekam said.
"It's my job to get our king what he desires, Meekam. It's your job to assist me. Be a good boy, and do your job."
Unable to contain his rage, the admiral stormed away, waving his arms and ranting. Sailors scrambled to get out of his way. Both commanders gave her looks of extreme disapproval before following.
"You're not very good at making friends," Grunt said.
Casta Mett ignored him. Grabbing a pair of flags from a stunned sailor, she signaled the closest airship to pick her up. The sooner she was off the carrier Arghast, the better.
* * *
EMMET HAD FOUND PARADISE—A place where magic always existed. Part of him wished to climb on Dashiq's back and bathe in the energy, but even the waves radiating away from the maelstrom were at times overwhelming, and the dragon needed her own time to heal. Being near the captain made Emmet feel safe, even if he didn't know the man's name. Perhaps it was his age that made him so calm, some wisdom found over the years, but he exuded no anxiety or fear as Riette always did. Somehow that strong confidence rubbed off on Emmet. He found himself doing things he'd never have dreamed of. Just the existence of this place was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. He never wanted to leave.
It occurred to Emmet that the captain's silence also put him at ease. Words antagonized Emmet, never coming at the right time. Yet somehow a gesture or a glance were all the captain needed. A hand on his shoulder was somehow reassuring. A long, calloused finger pointed. Movement finally gave away the snake the captain indicated. The finger shook in warning. If Riette knew . . .
The day before, they had harvested saltbark leaves from the near shore, but the trees were widely spaced, and the captain refused to pick more than a few leaves from each tree. It was smart, Emmet knew, but it made the search more difficult and perilous. Though he could swim on his own, the captain hoisted him up onto his shoulders. When he walked into deeper water, where the current was swift, Emmet was glad for the ride. He felt the inescapable rush pulling at them. Previously invisible rays cast off their camouflage and scurried away from the captain's footsteps. Each one made Emmet hold on tighter until a pair of fingers gently loosened his grip.
The brush was thicker on the far side of the channel, making it easy to travel by water. So close to the confluence, though, the shallow water mixed with deeper, colder water. Farther inland, Emmet had already experienced waters warmer than the baths at Sparrowport. A pair of saltbark trees grew in deep, swift water, jutting out into the flow. Swirling vortices danced in the waters just beyond the stiltlike root systems, which supported the trees and provided hiding places for fish, eels, and snakes. Emmet watched for signs of life in the upper leaves also. As he had before, he sensed a presence within the tree and was overwhelmed by the feeling of being loved and cared for. When he picked the leaves, he knew he did so with permission, which made him feel much better. The leaves weren't for him; they were for the dragon. She needed them.
As if his thoughts were heard, the tree responded by shifting in the breeze and offering up the largest bunch of leaves Emmet had seen in their three days of harvesting. When Emmet handed them to the captain, he stopped and marveled at the bundle before placing them in his basket. A long stretch of knotted scrub dominated the shoreline, and only a single saltbark tree clung to life there. The captain hesitated, perhaps considering whether enduring the cold water and currents was worth it. Emmet silently urged him to go. The tree seemed so lonely.
For whatever reason, the tall man waded into waters almost up to his neck. The shoreline beyond was rocky and nothing grew. This was the last tree in the saltbark grove. The captain couldn't do much but hold on to Emmet and keep the basket dry. Emmet did his best to be quick about harvesting what the tree offered, but the tree wanted him to stay. The dragon needed the leaves the tree offered, but the tree needed him. He could feel it. No words were used, only emotions, which Emmet clearly understood. Placing his hands around the trunk, he let the tree touch him as well. Leaves brushed against his hair, and branches rested on his shoulders.
Emotions rushed in and Emmet did nothing to stop the tears flowing down his face. He would have stayed, could have stayed forever. When the captain used two fingers to break his grip on the tree, he felt anger and resentment, but the man trembled beneath him. He didn't know how much time had passed—time really wasn't his thing—but the skies had grown dark. Any longer and it would be a dangerous walk and swim back to camp.
In spite of all that, Emmet wanted to stay, wanted to help this poor, lonely soul who so selflessly gave. He allowed the captain to pull him away, though, and as his hands left the delicate bark, he felt something in his palm. It was a brown teardrop-shaped seed streaked with white stripes.
"Friend," he said without meaning to.
The captain patted him on the leg and moved toward the center of the channel, but Emmet protested, reaching and pointing to a place along the shoreline between the pair of saltbark trees and the one all on its own. At first the captain resisted and followed his original course, but Emmet squirmed and kicked to convey the urgency. After grabbing Emmet's legs to stop him from kicking, the man turned and moved toward where Emmet pointed. Nothing grew there and the captain was a bit perturbed until Emmet showed him the seed. The tall man stopped and marveled, questions flowing in silence. But then he seemed to know what he must do. Lifting the boy from his shoulders with one hand, he lowered him into the water. Emmet knew what he had to do as well.
After sucking in a deep breath, he plunged into the cold water headfirst and eyes open. No matter the burn of salty water and the rays that scattered on his approach, Emmet reached into the sandy bottom and burrowed. In the impression he created, he placed the seed before packing the sand back over it. The captain held him by the breeches, ready to pull Emmet up any second, but the boy was not quite finished yet.
Placing both hands over the sand, he sent emotions to the seed, hoping to return the kindness the tree had shown him. Colorful fish in bright yellows and blues gathered around him now, as if drawn by the energy. It felt as if they approved of what he did and would be there to welcome his new friend when the time arrived. The captain's grip grew less tight, as if he somehow understood. Emmet was grateful. No one had ever really understood him before except Mother. She was gone. Eyes and lungs burning, Emmet thrust himself upward. The captain pulled him back up onto his shoulders, and Emmet clung to the man, shivering.
A cool wind cut across the shallows and bit deeply. The captain strode across the channel with speed and purpose. Seeing a large dorsal fin exploring the waters near Dashiq, he moved with all the speed he could muster.
Upon reaching the shore, he thrust Emmet unceremoniously onto the sand, handed him the basket, and pulled himself from the water with a long groan.
"Friend," Emmet said, shivering and pointing. At least this time he'd meant to say it. The captain nodded and guided him back to the fire.
"We were about to come looking for you," Riette said in disapproval. "Here, get warm," she said to Emmet.
He did as he was told, his teeth chattering. The captain also took a moment to warm himself by the fire before taking the leaves to Dashiq. The dragon hadn't moved from where she hovered, and Emmet marveled at her ability to remain there, as if the planet did not covet her as it did everything else. The shark seemed to have moved on, the dragon more than it wanted to tangle with.
When the captain returned from ministering to Dashiq, he came at the closest thing to a run Emmet had seen from the man. He waved his hand side to side at the fire.
"Help me put this out," Tuck said in whisper.
Emmet was already kicking sand and rocks onto the well-established fire and the surrounding coals. Even covered, it would be impossible to hide the smoke and steam rising from it.
"We need to get ready to go," Tuck added. "I'm not sure what he saw, but I know it's not good."
Riette helped Tuck pack their supplies and ready the carriage. Dashiq winged her way to them a moment later, looking half asleep. Emmet wished she could have had more time to heal in the land's energy. He, too, wanted to stay and soak up the magic he'd longed for all his life. A deep sadness filled him upon realizing he might never experience it again. He was not well traveled or well educated, but he'd never heard tell of such a place before. He could only hope other such places existed or that he might find his way back again, but the captain and Tuck wanted nothing more than to leave. It was unfathomable.
Airship engines became audible, and the rest of the world intruded once again. "There!" someone shouted. "I told you I saw something."
Closer the airship came. It was Midlands construction, but that didn't mean it was under friendly control. In times of war, there were often enemies on both sides.
"You need to get out of here!" a man yelled from the airship. Riette appeared crestfallen, as if she'd expected to see Brick, searching for her. Dashiq looked up to the airship and issued a trumpeting call. The Zjhon didn't have dragons. This was something everyone knew. "The Zjhon are coming!"
"How?" Tuck shouted back. It was the obvious question since this place was well beyond the range of most aircraft.
"They've built floating cities," the man cried back. "Huge ships that act as runways. It's insane." The audacity of the plan left the group speechless. "A few of them sank. We picked up some survivors. They say the Zjhon have come here for some event. Something's supposed to happen." Giving truth to the man's words, a Zjhon warplane flew high overhead, most likely scouting the area. "Best of luck to you! We must warn the people. We barely have enough supplies for the trip, but we must tell them what we've seen. May the gods be with us!"
The airship wandered the winds back toward the Midlands, and Emmet wished them good luck. With Zjhon warplanes in the skies, it seemed unlikely. No matter how urgent their departure, there was no rushing the process of harnessing a dragon. Every strap and buckle existed for a reason, and even the order in which they were secured made a difference. Emmet did his best to help but was mostly in the way. The captain appeared to appreciate the effort, though, so the boy did his best to be useful.
Night had not yet fallen, and already streaks of light knifed through the sky. Larger and brighter than any in the previous nights, these were far more personal. Those so far away had been uncaring and aloof. These paid this world a special visit, and their presence would not soon be forgotten. The air sang with their energy and smelled of sulfur.
The last straps were secured and double-checked by lantern light; shadows grew long and deep. Distorted and frightening, voices carried across water and land alike, nebulous and indistinct at first but growing louder all the time. The silhouettes of balloons and airships filled the skies to the east, the sinking sun disappearing beneath the horizon to the west, providing a colorful backdrop behind the mountain.
Emmet followed Riette into the carriage and began strapping himself in. His sister watched with curiosity and concern. He could think of nothing he'd done to annoy her since reaching the shallows. Perhaps that was what concerned her. It was in itself unusual.
Tuck's sucking in a deep breath wasn't the only indication something was wrong. A long peal of thunder lingered in unnatural fashion and grew louder. A bright flash preceded an explosion, and multiple streaks of light bisected the evening sky. The aircraft in the distance were fully visible for a brief moment, the scale of the invasion force overwhelming, especially considering this place was largely uninhabited. Although, they did appear to be correct that something special was happening—something important.
Roaring like an angry dragon, the next bright light was larger and closer than those before. A wave of energy struck the ground, flattening foliage. Emmet worried for the saltbark trees but would perhaps have been better served to worry about his own safety. This streak of light arced low and struck the rocky soil somewhere between them and the mountain in the west. A towering cloud erupted from the impact site. Another struck the shallows an instant later, sending fine mist into the air above.
Lights sprang to life aboard the Zjhon air fleet, bathing the land below in rings of brightness, as if it were high noon but only in certain places. Emmet had never seen lights so bright. The pillars were fully illuminated, and in spite of seeming so permanent, one toppled over as he watched.
Tuck and the captain boarded after final checks, and Dashiq took to the air with greater ease than Emmet had seen from her yet. It made him feel good to know his efforts contributed to healing the dragon who had saved his life and likely would again.
Flying low over scrub-covered foothills, Dashiq took them closer to where the meteorite landed. A single Zjhon warplane flew in low and fired on them as it moved within range. Dashiq was nimble in her evasion. Soon the plane turned off to avoid the dust cloud still hanging in the air. Dirt and pulverized rock rained on them, pelting Emmet's face. Riette covered his nose and mouth with a kerchief, and he was grateful. No matter how much he annoyed her, she loved him—this he always knew.
Still glowing orange within a rapidly darkening outer shell, a melon-sized stone rested at the center of a crater. Pocked and swirled, it looked as if it had been crafted by time itself. It pulled at Emmet and sheared his thoughts, tugging at his perceptions like a deep, black hole. It felt like everything was happening at once. The captain emptied two thick leather bags and put one inside the other. Then he climbed down and used his cane to roll the stone into the bags, which sizzled and smoked in response. Dashiq pushed the captain back toward his seat and grabbed the bags with one claw. It all happened so quickly. Time continued to compress once again, burying Emmet beneath a mountain of information.
Voices cried out, weapons fired, planes flew past. Lights scoured the land. Airships drew closer, some towing two or even three balloons with lights of their own. They had been seen. The Zjhon were coming. Planes were coming. Only then, when the captain took a moment to lay a hand on him before taking his seat, did Emmet realize he had his hands over his ears and was rocking again. Riette whispered to him, telling him everything was going to be all right, but he knew it wouldn't. In the light of multiple airships was a creature not so different from Dashiq but much larger and having no wings.
"Sea serpent," Tuck whispered, his voice trembling. "I knew they could move on land, but I've never seen one come so far inland. He's a big boy."
"Scary," Emmet said before squeezing his eyes closed.