Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) (35 page)

Allen. Allen was always desperate to help. That’s why he was so ideal in testing Michael. She glanced over to where he tromped clumsily along, sweating like mad and gasping great huge breaths as he struggled to keep up.

“Allen! Get over here and help me with Runt—”

The look he shot her was cold. Cold and angry and hurt. At least until he slammed into a palm trunk and fell behind her.

Shouts of triumph echoed from up ahead. Lina pushed through a pair of ferns and found the even, open ground of the Castaways’ village. Something heavy had come through in a hurry, flattening and shattering the buildings here, snapping the long branches high up clean from the canopy. Huge, taloned footprints were stamped into the dirt. But the Dray Engine was nowhere to be seen. And gloriously, the
Dawnhawk
still hung up above, tethered in place with its rope ladder hanging down. Lina put all thought of Allen out of her mind and dashed across the dirt to her airship home.

“Hold!” shouted Natasha. She held out a hand and drew her cutlass, forcing Lina to a stop along with everyone else. Natasha glared warily about them, looking to the village suspiciously. “The Dray Engine came this way, which means that the Castaways were ahead of it. Where are they?”

“Maybe it killed them?” asked Andrea Holt.

“No,” said Natasha. “There isn’t enough blood spread around here. And there—damn it all to the Realms Below!” She spat, focusing on the rope ladder dangling down from their airship. “Omari left the ladder down! Just like I
told
her not to! I’m going to gouge her eyes out and ram them so far up her backside she’ll have to open her mouth to see where she’s going!” Her grip on her cutlass went white-knuckled, even as she continued to mutter curses and dark promises under her breath.

Everyone paused. After a moment Reaver Jane cautiously stepped forward. “Captain...the Dray Engine was chasing something when we saw it last. Those Castaways didn’t have any weapons—they likely kept on running. That aside...does it, or the aetherite, really matter right now?”

A distant roar echoed over the jungle canopy at them, brazen and mechanical. Natasha shoved her blade back into its sheath. “No,” she said. “No, it doesn’t. Though I’m still going to wring that witch-woman’s neck when I see her. No one ignores my orders! Now get back aboard the ship!”

A queue quickly formed. Lina took her place behind the young boy Paine, shifting Runt to her shoulders as she did so. “There, there,” she soothed her scryn. “There, there. We’ll be home in just a moment.”

Her pet chirped miserably, wobbling as she tried to coil herself into her usual position. She was too round to easily find balance, though, and slipped off continuously. Lina put up a hand to help, holding her pet in place by the smooth, drum-tight skin of her belly. Runt rolled into place more easily, and Lina smiled. Then she felt something twitch beneath the skin of her pet.

She stared at Runt in shock and amazement.
Was that a kick?

“Stone!” snapped Natasha from the back of the line. “Get a move on! That thing could be coming back!”

Lina started. She looked up to see the rope ladder dangling ahead of her. Paine had scrabbled on up, and now Allen, Michael, and the captain herself were waiting on her. Her soldier started to smile at her but froze as Runt let out a growl. “Aye, Captain.” she replied. “It’s...it’s just amazing. I felt Runt’s
babies—
”

“
Now,
” snarled Natasha.

Her excitement shriveled at the look on her captain’s face. Lina sprinted to the rope ladder and climbed awkwardly, using only one hand. The other she kept up to hold her miserable scryn in place.

The ascent seemed to take forever. But it was important that she go slow, even though the village inched past and the others groused at her from below. Why didn’t any of them understand? There was a
new mother
on her shoulders!

At last the old, familiar gunwales appeared above her, along with Etarin reaching out to help her aboard. She took his hand and swung carefully over. Runt abruptly lifted her head and hissed, spraying poisonous spittle at the older Salomcani man. He cursed and fell back while Lina put boots back upon the deck with a sigh. Then she pushed past him, making for an out-of-the-way place toward the middle of the deck.

Her airship home looked...ragged. The damage from the earlier fighting had compounded the wear and tear of their long voyage before coming back to port. Now the vessel looked like something from an old sailor’s ghost story. All the others milled about as they came aboard, seeing the ship with fresh eyes as well. Lina swore she heard faint groans echoing up from somewhere beneath the deck.

Oh. Right.
The Revenants
. Lina wrinkled her nose.
This is no place to bring newborns into the world, with the lot of those things shambling around below.
 

“You!” snarled Natasha.

Lina glanced back to see Captain Blackheart come up over the gunwales. She shoved past Allen and Michael Hockton, knocking them both to the deck, and charged straight for Omari. The Yulani aetherite was just climbing down from the ratlines leading up to the gas bag, her clothing disheveled and torn. She flinched at the shout and looked frantically about.

Too late. Natasha was there, slamming a fist into the aetherite’s gut and doubling her over. Runt gave a low moan as most of the crew flinched sympathetically.

“I told you to raise the damned ladder!” she snarled.

“I—”

Natasha kicked her legs out from under her, dropping Omari to the deck. “When I give an order, you obey!”

Runt made a weird trill and started to writhe on Lina’s shoulders.

“I forgot!” gasped Omari. “That monster started roaring out there, and I climbed up to get a better look!”

“At least tell me you saw where the damned Castaways went!”

Omari looked up at the furious captain from between her shielding arms. “Wh-who? I saw some men run into the clearing, chased by the monster...”

Runt chirred, waving her head back and forth oddly.

“Never mind that! I’ve about had it with you, woman. First you stow away on my ship, then you
raise Revenants
, and then disobey when I was clear—”

“Well, I wouldn’t have,” Omari snapped back, “if that damned great ape hadn’t insisted on playing cards! I tried to get away six times! It was only when that mechanical monster chased those men down below that it lost interest and let me go!”

“Um, everyone?” asked Lina.

“Hey,” said Paine. “That’s blood on the deck.”

“Yes, lad,” said Reaver Jane. “We were in a battle, you know.”

“No, it’s fresh blood, I think. Near the forward hatch.”

“Everyone!” shouted Lina. “Hey! Runt’s giving birth!”

Her crewmates fell completely silent.

“Not...not right now?” asked Allen, tentatively. The cold glare from earlier had been replaced by his more normal look of uncertain worry.

Lina quickly worked the writhing scryn down off her shoulders. Runt was hissing and curling and uncoiling her manta-like wings. Her belly pulsed soft red bioluminescent light. And her lower regions were positively swollen.

“Yes, right now!” she snapped. “Get over here and help!”

Everyone stared at her. Etarin and Farouk appeared horrified. Young Paine was wide-eyed. Natasha had her sword out, and utter revulsion was etched across her face. Omari scrabbled away from Natasha’s feet, taking the opportunity of the distraction to escape. Reaver Jane looked pale beneath her tan. Michael Hockton seemed conflicted, and Allen chewed on his lip. Rastalak watched curiously from the ratlines that lead up to the gasbag, having scampered up when no one was looking. Even Andrea Holt and Ryan Gae, her friends since the beginning, were at the far end of the deck, grimacing and trying not to be noticed.

“Michael? Allen? Both of you get over here right damned now, or by the Goddess Above, I’m going to dangle you from the ship by your stones and make you sing patter songs!” The tremor in her voice surprised her.

Both young men shared a sickly look. Then, as one, they inched their way forward, like two men condemned to the grave. The rest of the crew watched them go, horrified, but making no move of their own to help.

Panic warred with excitement in Lina’s gut, all underscored by a current of dread. What did they need to do? What if something went wrong? She soothed her pet and glared at the two young men, who held the squirming scryn down and were bitten, repeatedly, for their efforts.

Fortunately, Runt seemed to know instinctively what was needed. She moaned and yowled as she gave birth, writhing in pain. But her young emerged into the world.

They didn’t come like Lina had expected, as eggs. It seemed scryn gave live birth. The scrynlings were blind, stubby, and only a little longer than her fingers. They looked like miniature eels, and seven of them writhed in Lina’s cupped palms when the delivery was finished, slick with afterbirth.

A chorus of disgust echoed across the deck. Allen and Michael were white as sheets—where their skin wasn’t rash-red from exposure to poisoned spittle. Lina didn’t care. Her eyes were blurry and her cheeks wet. “Runtie,” she said, bending down with the wriggling scrynlings. “Look. Your children.”

Her pet raised her head wearily. “Chirr,” she said before thumping back down to the deck in exhaustion.

Lina sniffed. She turned to Michael. Holding up the scrynlings as they slithered across her hands, she tried for words, but her throat was too choked with emotion.

Allen and Michael both stood up abruptly, their bodies tight with tension and faces pale as sheets. The apprentice Mechanist abruptly turned and ran for the starboard gunwales. He shoved past the horrified Natasha, then clambered past the wreck of the exhaust pipe to vomit explosively over the side. Michael Hockton just stood there, still as a statue, obviously at war with himself.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” she managed at last.

The scrynlings stopped writhing about. They opened miniature mandibles and began to devour the wet afterbirth still clinging to their hides. Michael Hockton convulsed once, and then he covered his mouth with his hand, turning to flee for gunwales beside Allen.

“That...is...the third worst thing I have ever seen,” said Natasha. The pirate captain’s voice was appalled, and the tip of her cutlass never wavered.

“Oh, Goddess,” said Paine. “They look like worms covered in sick!”

The scrynlings all paused at his voice. They raised themselves up, shiny black heads waving back and forth.

“Hey,” said Paine. “What’s that? What’re they doing?”

The scrynlings all looked his way. Then they unfurled themselves, revealing tiny wings and pulsing red bellies. They hissed and launched themselves into the air, straight for the unfortunate youth.

He screamed and fled down the end of he deck, a swarm of miniature horrors trailing after him. The crew dove out of the way, swearing and cursing. Lina laughed—they were just like their mother.

“Don’t hurt them!” she called after the shrieking youth. “They just want to play!”

She wiped the mess on her hands absently on her pant legs. Then she froze.

An idea crept over her as she watched the ex-midshipman run in terror from the newborn monsters. The way he ran and yelled. She turned to Natasha, who shifted her cutlass defensively at her approach.

“Take another step, and I’ll kill you, Stone,” she said. “You wash those hands and burn those clothes before you come any closer.”

“I’ve got it!” she said. “I know how we can beat the Perinese!”

Her captain narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“The Stormhammer is broken and useless. There’s still something here, though, a weapon we can use.”

Natasha lowered her cutlass, a little. “Tell me.”

Lina laid out her plan as Runt chirped wearily from where she lay on the deck. Somewhere nearby, the Dray Engine roared.

Chapter Seventeen

“Stand!” screamed Admiral Wintermourn. “Stand firm, you sons of whores!”

The Revenants advanced with rotting claws upraised. They moaned as they came on, hungry for his flesh and thirsty for his blood. Neither musket balls nor the cut of flashing blades stopped them. The alley filled with their stink, just as it resounded with the echo of their infernal moaning, drowning out the battle raging elsewhere. The horrors seemed unstoppable, tearing at the desperate ranks of Bluecoats with abandon, which was the only thing standing between Admiral Wintermourn and a vile end at the hands of those unholy abominations.

Every inch of his skin crawled in revulsion. “The first man to let one pass will spend a year in gaol!” he almost shrieked, gesturing with his saber as if he could drive the monsters back through sheer force of will.

“Sir! Sir, it’s all right. We’ve got them now.”

Wintermourn whirled to face him. The Bluecoat officer, Sergeant Greene, jerked back as Wintermourn whipped his blade about. The man was scuffed and bloodied but otherwise uninjured.

“They’re...not that mean, actually. Sir. They’re tough, but we’ve got ’em licked, for now.”

Wintermourn frowned. He lowered his saber, taking another look at the fight raging in the alley ahead.

It was true. While they clawed and moaned, the Revenants weren’t actually doing much damage. His soldiers worked in tandem, shoving them back with musket strokes before using smallswords to hack off their rotting heads. That seemed to stop the things. A few of the men had fallen back here and there, tending to a worrisome gash, but they recovered quickly enough. Whereas the ranks of the dead were being quickly transmuted to a pile on the boardwalk. The fighting would be over in moments.

Still, Wintermourn held his saber, so hard that his knuckles were white around the grip. “Are...are you certain?” he asked, peering ahead.

“Yes, sir.”

By the Goddess in her Realm Above, I give thanks
. Wintermourn took a deep breath, and the air in the alley made him immediately regret it. Slowly he relaxed back into a more normal posture: spine stiff and chin thrust out. His relief proved only temporary, though. Sergeant Greene stood there, watching. Judging him. Seeing him at his weakest. Embarrassed anger washed over Admiral Wintermourn.