The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (136 page)

Of course, she felt responsible for the boy alongside her. She consoled herself with the thought that she had not brought him along for his fighting skills; he had none. His role was as an avionic pilot, and more importantly, as one who understood, at least partially, the workings of the four components. If trouble brewed, she trusted him to stay out of harm’s way.

Their goodbyes had been said in haste. After the defeated drach had sloshed ashore and sloped off dejectedly towards the island’s interior, Patris had been in a hurry to set sail, no doubt wishing to put the site of his recent incarceration behind him and to feel once again the surging deck beneath his feet.

Shann appreciated the sentiment. She felt a twinge of regret at having to stay behind—at having to forgo the unparalleled freedom and simplicity of life at sea. But there were larger concerns. She must try to stop Lyall any way she could. If she failed, then it would be up to Keris.

The former Keltar had bowed formally and wished her success, her earlier familiarity having seemingly evaporated in the afternoon sun. Despite all the time they had spent together, she still found it difficult to reach out to anyone of her own race. She had not spoken of Boxx’s demise since their discussion that morning. The papoose containing the Chandara’s remains was like a private burden of grief that she carried around with her.

It was Alondo who she found the most puzzling. He appeared to have grown calmer, but he was still too quiet. It was as if he had spent the day wrestling with his inner anguish and had finally come to a decision. He hugged her as usual, but it did not feel like him and she could not put her finger on why, which only added to her feelings of disquiet.

However, amid the hustle and bustle surrounding their departure, there was no time for soul-searching. Now on the windy clifftop, as she watched their little ship rise and fall with the waves, she felt the weight of concern for those cocooned within her protective wooden skin begin to lift.
Safe journey.

She glanced up at the boy next to her. “Time to go.”

“Which direction?”

Shann scanned the shelf of grey stone, which was interspersed with tufts of purple and yellow grass and gave way to a succession of steep-sided gorges gouged into the ancient rock before finally rising towards the line of distant hills that formed the island’s spine. She was hoping to see a thin line of smoke from a campfire, or some other telltale sign that might indicate where Lyall might be. However, common sense told her it was far too early for a campfire. They could wait till evening, of course, but even then, there was no guarantee that he would see fit to reveal his position. He had to know that they would be coming after him.
Perhaps that was his intention all along.

She shook off the disturbing notion and applied herself to the problem once more. Her mind went back to the valley where Lafontaine had shown them the great hu-man star vessel. The vessel would be gone now, of course; they had stood together and watched in wonder as it lifted into the night sky—a gleaming apparition in sapphire and gold. However, there was also the squat, stubby sky ship that their Captain—the Prophet—used to fly above the Great Barrier of Storms to visit her world.

Lyall was seeking an audience with the Prophet, and it made sense that the Prophet would return to his sky ship. Of course, the ship could have been moved for all she knew, but it seemed the most reasonable place to start.

She mapped out that part of the island in her head, remembering the flat upland where Lafontaine had first been introduced to the party. He had shown them a path which led down the sheer side of the valley to the rough timber-built cabin and ultimately to the wide floor of the canyon.

They could be there by mid-morning tomorrow. They would only need to descend as far as the bend in the trail to get a bird’s-eye view, at which point it would be obvious whether the sky ship were still there or whether it had flown the coop. If it were gone, well—she would just have to think of something else.

She started back down towards the beach, the wind ruffling her short dark hair and crimson cloak, and called over her shoulder, breezily. “This way.”

Rael opened his mouth, then closed it once more and trotted after her as if he would willingly follow her into the fires of perdition.

~

It was not until sometime later, long after the island of Helice had slipped below the horizon and Annata’s Reach was gleefully cutting a wake once more through the wide swells of the open ocean, that Keris realised something was wrong.

During the outward voyage, she had been content to leave the minutiae of ship handling to Patris and Shann. Patris had by far the most experience, and the girl was fascinated and eager to learn, which meant that Keris could concentrate on more important tasks. Now, with Shann left behind and Lyall embarked on his foolhardy quest to save his sister, the position of First Mate fell to her by default.

It was something she had not anticipated when she had agreed to conduct the Reach safely back to Kieroth. Her head was filled with new and unfamiliar terms—capstan and cathead, halyard and hawser. Even after repeated instruction, she struggled to remember the difference between a bowline and a buntline, causing a frustrated Patris to rush over more than once and grab the rope himself, muttering all the while. She showed little aptitude and even less enthusiasm for the various shipboard tasks thrust upon her. At this rate, it was going to be a very long voyage indeed.

It was during one such incident, when she had contrived to tangle the lines, forcing Patris to intervene and rescue her efforts for about the hundredth time, and she simply stood there, floundering, feeling as useless as a landed fish, that she suddenly remembered Alondo.

She excused herself, noting that Patris’s expression was more one of relief than annoyance, and headed for the sterncastle. When she thought about it, she hadn’t seen the musician since they had left the island.

Her first thought was that he must have fallen prey to another one of his bouts of seasickness. They tended to come on not long after the ship set sail and lasted no more than a day or two, but during that period, he would normally take to his bunk and not appear on deck.
Might as well check up on him. I’m not doing a lot of good up here.

She stuck her head around the door and checked the dimly lit interior, but it was empty. Frowning, she turned and headed for the forecastle. She stepped through the hatch and inspected every corner of the cabin, but there was no one there. Next, she conducted a systematic search, beginning at the foredeck and the ship’s prow and working her way aft. At the crenellations and side rails, she peered out over the turbulent ocean, looking for a splash of water, a waving hand, a figure sporting that ridiculous red hat, but there was nothing.

Patris looked at her oddly once or twice, but said nothing. She even lifted the hatch set into the lower deck and descended into the murky interior of the empty hold, creasing her nose as she sloshed through the shallow layer of bilge. Finally, she returned to the lower deck, where Patris was fussing with the sail as usual. “Alondo is gone,” she announced.

He stood up straight. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“He isn’t here,” she said, as if addressing a small child. “He’s not on board.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just searched this ship from stem to stern, as well as the surrounding sea. There’s no sign of him.”

Patris ran to the starboard rail. His eyes narrowed, accentuating his crow’s feet, as he scoured the water. He cupped both hands to his mouth and called at the top of his voice.
“Alondo.”
The sound carried over the sea, but there was no response other than the creaking of the hull and the gentle lapping of the waves. He strode to the larboard rail and called again. Still nothing. “When did you see him last?”

“Not since we weighed anchor,” she replied.

“Me either. If he left or fell overboard in the vicinity of the bay, then he probably made it to shore.”
And if he didn’t, then he’s almost certainly lost.
“Do you want to go back for him?”

Keris cursed inwardly. Alondo had been her responsibility. Shann had charged her with the simple mission of getting the others safely back to Kieroth and she had failed.
Mistakes,
her former mentor Mordal once told her.
Everybody makes them. The secret is knowing what to do when they happen. Most people panic. They overcompensate, which usually leads to a second error or a string of errors. Take a deep breath. Remember your duty. Accept your losses. Then move towards completing your assignment in the most efficient way possible.

She steeled herself and shook her head. “No. We are tasked with bringing this ship and its complement safely back to Kieroth.”

“That’s just you and me now.”
Not counting the deceased Boxx.

“Then we have a lot of work ahead of us.” For the first time, she regarded the flapping sail and its complex array of guide ropes with something approaching genuine interest. “Is there any way to coax more speed out of this thing?”

<><><><><>

Chapter 24

The cart bearing Yaron and McCann had barely entered the outskirts of Kieroth when the bombing started.

It began slowly, like the rumble of distant thunder overlaying the clatter of cartwheels on cobbles. Alex McCann squinted and stared at the unbroken blue sky from beneath heavy brows, hidden behind an upturned collar. His brows drew together into a frown. Before he could comment, the rumble was joined by another all-too-familiar sound—the rising whine of an avionic. He grabbed the reins from Yaron and pulled the juvenile graylesh to a too-abrupt halt, causing the striped beast to rear and yelp in protest.

Yaron’s olive face was staring up at him. “Wha’s up?” he demanded.

“Trouble.”

Boom.
An eerie silence followed, broken finally by ragged yells and jagged screams, as black smoke began billowing over the rooftops from one street over. The boy stared wide-eyed at the curdling cloud. McCann jumped down from the cart and flinched as a silver streak flashed low overhead, its twin fans emitting a high-pitched shriek.

Yaron still sat on the buckboard, transfixed by the sudden apparition. McCann reached up and grabbed the young Kelanni by the collar, half-dragging him out of his seat and down to the ground. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“Avionics,” Yaron said, stupidly. “They’re firin’ at us.”

“That’s right.” McCann cast about, trying to get his bearings.

“Our avionics aren’ fitted wi’ weapons.”

“No. But ours are.”

“You mean ’
u-mans.
But... they’re na supposed t’ have avionics. They’re na even supposed t’ leave their island.”

“It’s a closely guarded secret,” McCann’s mouth twisted. “Or at least it was until thirty seconds ago.” He could hear multiple engine drones now, coupled with the sound of distant firing. The air was charged with panic. People running. Frenzied shouts.

Up ahead, a phaeton floated towards them, humming quietly as curious occupants stuck their heads out the windows and observed the rising palls of smoke as if they were a new tourist attraction. He wanted to flag the driver down—to yell at him to get himself and his passengers off the street—but he was still a human operating under cover in an alien burg. He could not afford to attract attention to himself.

The whining grew in pitch once more and another silver dart appeared over the rooftops. Its nose dipped and it hovered for a moment, so that McCann fancied he could almost see the outline of the pilot. Then, a puff of smoke and a brief flash erupted from the machine’s port side. McCann had just enough time to shove Yaron to the ground and hurl himself on top of the boy before the opposite side of the street disintegrated.

He squeezed his eyes shut as dirt and debris rained down on the two of them. The eerie silence returned, except this time it was all around him, blotting out sound. Slowly he realised that his ears were ringing. The body beneath him stirred. He raised himself gingerly. Dust hung in the air and clawed at the back of his throat. He gagged and fell into a paroxysm of coughing. The sound was muffled, as if someone had stuffed his ears with cotton wool.

The alien boy raised a dust-covered face, looking like a character out of an ancient Bela Lugosi film. “Are you all right?” McCann asked, in a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone else.