Dreamwielder (16 page)

Voices carried to him over the alternating pistons.

“…got caught up in the market late yesterday and didn't want to risk the roads at night,” he could hear the woman say. “Cows need milking, so I'd like to get home by first light.”

“Have you seen anyone suspicious on your way through the city?” a man's voice asked.

“Just me and my turnips,” the woman answered.

“Alright, away with you,” the man said, and then the engine wound up again and they were rolling forward.

Caile let out a deep breath. With it, the last of his strength dissipated. He relaxed his right hand and felt the blood rush back into his fingers that were clenched around the mace handle. Everything had happened so fast it didn't seem real. He'd killed Lindy. And the guards in the corridor. He'd left Lorentz and his men trapped in the training yard. They were probably dead now, he realized, and the mere thought of them dead brought tears to his eyes. Before he could stop himself he was sobbing uncontrollably.
Stupid, stupid,
he told himself.
You're too old to be crying.
But he couldn't stop himself, and the noise of the steam engine drowned out the noise anyway.

Makarria sat huddled in the corner of the cramped cabin of the airship watching Taera. The princess lay silent and unmoving in the lower bunk bed along the back wall, as she had all night. She had not said a word or even made eye contact with Makarria. Makarria could not begin to understand what the princess was so upset about.
She's not the one who had to leave her grandfather behind on a burning ship.

Apart from the two bunks, the only other pieces of furnishing in the cabin were a small round table and two stools that were secured to the floor. Makarria had been relegated to the corner where Siegbjorn had tossed her aside, but the uncomfortable quarters were all the better as far as she was concerned. There was no escaping now, and if Roanna was powerful enough to know about and even influence Taera's visions, then she would surely notice if Makarria began dreaming and accidentally used her power in her sleep.
Better not to sleep at all,
Makarria had surmised the night before when she regained consciousness and, indeed, she had done little more than doze off and on throughout the night, mindlessly twirling her hair and repeating over and over again in her mind the song her mother used to sing to her.
Close your eyes, fall fast asleep
.
Rest your head, without a dream. When you wake, you will see, A bright new day for you and me.
Whenever Makarria did doze off, the image of
Pyrthin's Flame
bathed in fire forced itself to the forefront of her mind, and she would wake again with the stinging memory that she had left her grandfather caught in those horrid flames. She refused to believe that he was dead though.
He heard me yell, I just know it,
she kept telling herself.
He's fine.

It was morning now, and Roanna had left the cabin to check on Siegbjorn at the helm. Makarria considered getting up to talk to Taera, but she was afraid of speaking lest Roanna overheard them. Plus, Makarria didn't know that she had anything nice to say to Taera right now. Makarria knew it wasn't the princess's fault, but still Makarria had tried warning her back on the ship.

The door opened, letting a gust of cold air into the cabin and Roanna bustled back in, quickly closing the door behind her and rubbing her arms to ward off the chill.

“Are you awake and done pouting now, Princess?” Roanna asked.

Taera said nothing.

Roanna snorted and turned to Makarria. “How about you, whelp?”

“I'm awake.”

“Well, keep quiet then and out of my way,” Roanna said, sitting down at one of the stools. “And you, Princess, get up. It's time for the first of your lessons. We'll arrive at the caves tomorrow, and you must be prepared.”

Taera pushed herself up slowly from her bunk. “Why did you have to burn the ship?” she asked.

“Because it was full of worthless peons,” Roanna remarked, “and yet all it takes is one peon to see our airship and our guise is up. When the world finds out who you are, Princess, and what you are capable of, many people will be after you. Already the Emperor's agents sniffed out your presence. That is why your father tried to send you away. No, I think it's best that we keep your whereabouts hidden, and if that means killing a boat full of peons, so be it.”

“One of those peons was my grandfather,” Makarria said, unable to bite her tongue.

“And peons spawn more peons, so keep your mouth shut or I'll seal it shut for you,” Roanna snapped.

“Leave her alone,” Taera said. “She's just a girl. Why don't you go outside, Makarria. Get some fresh air.”

“By all means,” Roanna agreed. “Do us all a favor while you're out there and hurl yourself overboard properly this time.”

Makarria said nothing but got up and went outside as she was told. The air outside was shockingly cold, and the strong headwind whipped her hair back over her shoulders. Goosebumps covered her arms, but she ignored the chill and peered over the portside rail.
Pyrthin's Flame
and Parmo were long gone behind them. All she could see was the ocean glimmering in the morning light hundreds of feet below them, and far off in the west she could see the first hints of landfall. Makarria felt like she should be afraid so high up in the air, but strangely she was not. It reminded her of a recurring dream she used to have where she was a bird gliding on the ocean squalls, just like the seagulls she saw every day and knew so well. It wasn't like her dreams where she changed things, just a fun dream she used to have when she was a little girl.

“If you mean to stand near the edge, I would ask of you to keep ahold of the rail,” Siegbjorn said from the helm, no more than a few yards away.

Makarria had nearly forgotten about him, lost as she was in her own thoughts. She grabbed hold of the rail as Siegbjorn said and looked over the ship, now fully visible in the daylight as opposed to the night before when she'd climbed aboard. The entire front deck, from prow to cabin, was no longer than fifteen feet, and Makarria guessed the entire gondola was no more than thirty feet long.

“If a sudden crosswind were to come up,” Siegbjorn said, “and trust me, I have been captain of the airship long enough and seen it many a time—the crosswind will send you flying right over the edge.”

With the blustering wind, Siegbjorn's words blew past her in staccato, wavering bursts. He spoke, too, with a strange accent that made his words hard to understand.

“I know how to take care of myself on a ship,” Makarria said after a moment.

Siegbjorn snorted. “If that is the truth, then I would ask you to make yourself useful and take up the slack in that line you see flapping around.”

Makarria glanced at the loose line he indicated and saw it was merely an extra rope wound between two cleats on the deck. “It's just an extra line,” she remarked.

“Extra line or no, it should not be loose,” Siegbjorn said. “If you were to show me you could tie it off properly, I would be persuaded to let you help with the ballast lines and not throw you overboard. By ‘accident,' of course, as Roanna has said it.”

Makarria regarded him silently for a moment. She didn't know what to make of him—whether he was joking or serious about throwing her overboard. And she hadn't forgotten the fact that he'd hit her in the head and knocked her senseless. In either case, she knew he was testing her.
He thinks I can't do it because I'm a girl.
With a derisive snort, she tied the rope off and stepped back for him to look it over.

Siegbjorn nodded with approval and, to Makarria's disappointment, seemed unsurprised by her ability. “Grab then the first ballast line,” he said, “the one you see connected to the furnace vent, and pull on it with your strength.”

She did as he said, and a burst of flames shot upward into the hull above them. “We're going up,” she observed.

“We are getting closer to land, and it is nearing day. We cannot risk being spied by those below, so up we go. Pull again.”

Makarria gave the ballast line another yank and the ship lurched slowly upward again. “It's the heat, right? Heat always rises my grampy told me.”

“Yes.”

“But what's pushing us forward? I don't see any sails.”

Siegbjorn locked the steering levers in place and took two long steps to come to a halt right in front of her. His dark hair was tied loosely in a knot at the back of his head, and his woolly beard concealed his mouth so she could not see his expression. Makarria bit her bottom lip, fearing she had angered the man with her questions, but after scrutinizing her for a few seconds with his bay-colored eyes, Siegbjorn merely unwrapped a strip of fur he wore around his neck and draped it over her shoulders. “I will show you, but first you must bundle up. You are of no use if you are frozen and shaking. Make sure to keep your arms free, and you will be safe for grabbing on to the rails.”

Makarria gratefully wrapped the fur around her shoulders and chest, then followed after Siegbjorn who deftly guided his immense bulk along the narrow plank running down the starboard side of the ship. At the stern of the airship he pointed up to the tail end of the main hull above them where a propeller some ten feet long spun rapidly, driving the ship forward.

“It is powered by the same furnace that heats the air in the hull,” he said over the whirring of the propeller.

“What does the furnace burn? I don't see any firewood.”

Siegbjorn shook his head. “Wood is too heavy. This ship—it burns peat. Roanna and Kadar make it of metals and wood and magic, and I know not what else. It is light and yet burns long and very hot.”

“And how do you steer?” Makarria asked, glancing over the stern of the ship below them. “I don't see a rudder.”

“Rudders,” Siegbjorn corrected. “There are four of them, but they are not below, they are above: two on either side to control our elevation and two on top to control our direction.”

“But I thought the heat made us go up and down.”

“It does, yes. Certainly when we are not moving forward, but for the most, the heat only makes us buoyant, like a log in water is made to float. The rudders guide us up and down as we cut through the air.”

Makarria couldn't see the rudders from where they stood, but she pictured them in her mind and the concept made sense. Always being on a boat in water, she had only thought of rudders controlling their lateral direction—starboard or portside—but it made perfect sense that in the air a rudder could steer them up or down too. She was a bit peeved she hadn't thought of it herself, in fact.

A gust of wind rocked the ship and snapped Makarria from her reverie.

“We would be best to return to the helm,” Siegbjorn said and turned to lead the way.

Back on the main deck, Siegbjorn put Makarria to work. The cold wind froze the watery snot running from her nose, but Siegbjorn gave her a swipe of bear fat from a jar to keep her lips from chapping and cracking. During their idle moments—which there were many of—Makarria did as Siegbjorn did and tucked her hands beneath her furs to keep them warm. She bombarded him with questions, and if he was annoyed by them he showed no outward sign. The only questions he refrained from answering were those regarding Roanna and where they were going. Makarria was content to learn about the airship though, and was plenty curious to fill the time with questions of sailing the skies.

The two of them snacked on dried elk meat periodically and sipped on a sweet honey wine from Siegbjorn's scuttlebutt. The meat was hard to chew and salty, but the wine washed it down and warded off the chill, and Makarria found both to be an exotic departure from the typical fare of fish she had been relegated to eating over the last few weeks. By mid-afternoon they had reached land, and they changed course slightly to skirt the coastline far below them. Makarria could make out little apart from the irregularly partitioned fields; the farmers she knew had to be down there tending to the fields were much too small to make out. Siegbjorn steered the airship in a northwesterly direction and as evening fell, the Barrier Mountains loomed large in their path like a jagged, impenetrable wall. The temperature dropped drastically with the setting of the sun, and Siegbjorn sent Makarria back into the cabin for the night.

“You have been a good first mate,” he told her. “Get some rest and tomorrow you can help me land.”

“But don't you sleep?” she asked, realizing she was exhausted and that he must be more weary than her considering he had not slept the night before.

“I will sleep when we arrive. I am like a bear: I hibernate when I can, work when I must.”

Makarria smiled and turned to go back in but stopped and turned back to him. “Did Roanna really tell you to throw me overboard?”

Siegbjorn shrugged. “She suggested that she would not be angry if you were to fall overboard, but I say no men overboard on my ship.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Makarria said. She liked Siegbjorn, she decided. He treated her just like her grandfather did when they were on the skiff fetching their traps. “Goodnight, Siegbjorn,” Makarria said, then went inside where she found it to be significantly warmer.

Roanna looked none too pleased to see her. “You're still here?”

Makarria said nothing in reply and instead went and sat on the bunk beside Taera, who was slouched back against the wall, completely unaware Makarria was even there.

“Taera?”

“She's in a dream trance,” Roanna said. “And failing miserably.”

Makarria grabbed one of Taera's hands, and the princess blinked her eyes, slowly regaining awareness. She looked about for a moment, confused as to her whereabouts, then remembered where she was and realized Makarria was beside her.

“Your hands are freezing,” Taera said, seemingly drunk. “You've been outside this whole time. You'll take ill. I completely forgot. I…I…”