Maledictus Aether (31 page)

I could never mistake that
posture.

“Aye, set a course for the
Charybdis
,” I order,
folding the spyglass and handing it back to the Frenchman.
“Intercept her, and prepare to board her. Keep to the stern and
avoid broadside – the worst she could fire at us would be mortar
shots, but we need to avoid the Tesla bolts at all
costs.”

Phillip turns and addresses the crew, shouting my order to
them while I pull my goggles back onto my eyes and keep them peeled
on the ship that I would, to this day, still be trapped on if it
were not for Captain Davis boarding her on a rumour.

The airship takes a burst of
speed that has almost every hand on deck rock on their feet, and I
step down to help secure the lines while they sail us ever nearer
to our quarry.

An indeterminable amount of time later the first shot is
fired and I hear my name shouted from the helm while I am in the
middle of helping another crew member pull on one of the lines.
With one last burst of strength I help her secure it, and shortly
thereafter the ship lurches to the side to avoid another shot, and
a shot is fired in turn towards the
Charybdis.

Then, a shot hits the hull of the ship, knocking everyone
off their feet and turning us off-course a moment. I stumble to the
guardrail portside, using it to keep myself on the ship and
grabbing another man’s vest to keep him from careening over the
edge. Once he rights himself I run up to the helm as best I can,
where Phillip is getting two pirates to get our Sailing Master
below deck, telling them to wrap up the wound to his head. I slip
slightly on the blood painting the floor, and without needing to be
told I take the helm and turn us back on course.

“We need to go faster,” I shout to the man over the almost
deafening sounds of cannons being fired – both from our side and
theirs. Below us, London is ablaze and the acrid smoke curls up
towards the battle happening above. He nods, disappearing from my
side as I tug the helm to the left, narrowly avoiding a shot to the
ship once more. The
Scylla
responds to my
every twist and turn without much protest, although at times it
becomes difficult to hold the same altitude thanks to the large
chunk bitten off the hull of the ship.

With a burst of speed the
airship covers some more ground between our target, almost within
boarding range now – however, as we need to avoid the broadside
cannons, it will not be easy. I shout the order to ready the swivel
cannons and to arm the broadside ones as well, and when a shipmate
shouts at me that they are all loaded, I give the order to open
fire.

A few shots go wide, some tear at the Aether sails, and
some hit home on the stern of the ship. One actually knocks a man
clean off the ship, and just as the bowsprit is about to hit the
ship in front of us I jerk the helm to the left, then the right,
keeping us as close to the ship as possible to deny them a clear
shot.

The broadside cannons open fire as soon as we get a clear
shot, hitting the hull of the ship and knocking two Tesla bolts out
of commission. The smell of gunpowder is thick in the air, and
their swivel cannons open fire onto the deck of the
Scylla
, knocking two men down and damaging the deck.

Then, the worst of it: the hum
of the Tesla cannons ready for deployment.

I shout the order to brace for
impact, ducking down a moment before the world tears itself
apart.

That is what it feels like, honestly; the lightning hits
the hull with an earth-shattering crash, the smell of fire burning
following very quickly afterwards. My ears are ringing, shot to
hell, and I feel a bit of blood pour down the side of my head
through my ears. When I open my eyes the world spins, coming into
focus, and as I pull myself back to my feet my hearing slowly
returns.

To the symphony of pained screams and cheering from
the
Charybdis
.

Another three men were hit by a
bolt, their bodies either charred to a crisp on the deck or flying
into the skies; there is a fire licking up starboard, but I ignore
all of this and shout the order to board the other ship regardless.
Those that can stand and can still fight grab the grapples we need
to tether ourselves to the Academy’s airship, and I assist them by
throwing one of my own and getting it on the rigging.

Once I am assured it is secure
I swing onto the opposite ship, the yawning abyss of the sky below
me not enough to deter me despite the fact that a member of the
other crew cuts the rope of one of the pirates, sending him falling
into the sky.

I land rudely on the rigging of the ship, and I quickly
pull myself onto the deck of the ship I once believed to be my
home, at least for a short amount of time. When my feet are secure
despite the rocking of the ship I unsheathe
Zenith
and
cross blades with another man, trying bloody well hard to keep my
ground as more pirates swing on board.

Then it is a bloodbath.

The sound of swords hitting one-another and cutting through
flesh fills the space between shouts and grunts, distant cannon
fire echoing the symphony of battle aboard the airship. I push my
opponent back through sheer force with my blade, pulling my steam
bolt from my thigh and firing a shot right at his chest, the
knockback of the gun keeping me from firing another time. As he
stumbles, his chest blossoming with blood, I dig my feet into the
wooden floor and twist on my heels, my right hand still holding my
gun at the pommel of my blade as I sheathe the blade through his
chest.

Blood bubbles through his lips,
and I pull my blade from his chest and turn towards my target, whom
I know will be in the Captain’s Quarters. I help one of the pirates
fend off a group of Fleet shipmates, blood dotting my clothes and
skin. The air around us is awash with a fine red mist and the smell
of copper and gunpowder, though despite that I forge onwards.

I fire another shot at a man’s
head, the bullet going through his skull and toppling him over the
guardrail, right before ducking beneath the swing of another man’s
blade. I push back up onto my feet, driving my blade into the man
‘twixt his legs and up at almost a vertical incline until the whole
of my blade is within him, having gone through his right shoulder.
As I pull it out, I hear a pirate laugh at the display and comment
on the brutality of this, at which I shout the order to let no man
live just before I knock the door to the Captain’s Quarters off one
of its hinges and enter into the room. Two pirates, one man and one
woman, follow me.

Inside, I find the man I am
looking for.

“General Stewart!” His name
leaves my lips in a roar, and I level my gun right at his head, my
hand tightening on the grip of both weapons held in my hands.

The man stands before me, as
immaculate as ever, with both hands resting on the pommel of his
sword standing in front of him. His dark hair is greyer than I
recall, his piercing blue eyes daring me to go against his will the
same way they did last time, and his black, white and gold uniform
is as pristine as the last time. There lies but a desk between us,
as well as four other men clearly trained more in the Forces than
the Fleet. They stand to either side of him, swords drawn.

He speaks no word, his lips
pressed into a tight line, and when he speaks my stomach hollows
out by sheer habit from having once had to follow his orders
without question, and to avoid his displeasure at all costs.

“We should have killed you when
you joined the Forces,” he states, his gravelly voice loud enough
to be heard over the chaos happening outside. I swallow thickly.
“Perhaps even when we knew of your birth.”

“You-”

“I would hesitate on your
actions here, boy,” he continues as if I never even spoke, stopping
me in the middle of taking a step forward. He then nods his head
slightly, and the man to his left reaches behind the desk and pulls
a woman out from behind it by the hair.

My heart stutters at the
sight.

“After all, we wouldn’t want
anything to happen to her now, would we?”

My mother lies on the floor,
clearly having been beaten in the most recent of days; the man
drops her hair from his grip and her head hits the ground heavily,
her voice kept quiet with the gag pulled over her lips. Her skin is
discoloured and bloody at places, her attire no better than rags
now and not in the slightest bit decent for any woman. A
prostitute, perhaps, but even that is a stretch.

We lock eyes for a moment –
just a moment – before I look back to the General and laugh
bitterly, grinning at the man.

“If you wanted something to
levy me, you chose the wrong thing,” I spit at him, my hands
gripping my weapons so tightly my knuckles are white. I can see the
shock etch onto her face in my peripheral, but I ignore it. “I have
no mother.”

The sound I could vaguely make out amidst the fighting is
substantially closer, and when I hear the
thud
on the ship
I step forward, holstering my gun and holding
Zenith
in
both my hands. He unsheathes his sword, holding a hand up to the
men beside him as he steps around the desk to intercept me halfway.
Those at my sides also step forward, ready to intercept the
soldiers.

“I do not have a mother,” I repeat, and when our blades
clash for the first time I lean in closely, grinning like a madman,
“but I
do
have a father.”

The window at the far back of
the Captain’s Quarters crashes inwards, sending a cascade of glass
into the ship as a familiar figure swings into the ship; the
General turns his gaze towards the event, lowering his guard.

“Do not mistake;
I
am your opponent
you bloody bastard!”

He turns around just in time to intercept the next swing of
my blade, and the fighting commences in this secluded area of the
ship. My mother lies forgotten on the ground as my father joins the
fray, helping the other pirates dispatch of the soldiers. My blow
forces him to step back, but as quickly as one could blink he
regains his composure and steps back, swinging his blade in a wide
arc for my side. I parry the blow, thrusting forward with one of my
own that he blocks with his own blade, the metal sliding against
one-another just over his shoulder. He steps out of it and strikes
for my chest, but I step away from it and twist to the side,
narrowly avoiding the strike; it instead deflects off my left arm
near my shoulder after slicing through the chain of my pocket
watch, and as he regains his stance from the shock I swing for his
ribcage with my own.

Mid-swing, my arm gives out and
drops heavily to my side, my sword rolling out of my grip, and with
a start I duck from his next strike and kick the sword back towards
where I’ve come from, grabbing my left arm just at the shoulder as
I step back.

Bloody hell this is going to
hurt.

I press the emergency release, a feature I included in my
model for just this occasion, and with a jolt of pain searing right
for my head the connection to my nerves is severed in an instant,
the bolts and rivets keeping the arm in place falling off. The
residue of the oil that has mixed with my blood seeps out through
these holes and it stains my shirt, but I ignore all of that and
pull my arm free from my sleeve, tossing it aside and blinking back
the stars dancing in my eyes. I step away from another blow,
crouching down and picking up my sword with my right hand just as
easily as when I held it in my left, warm liquid the mixture of
blood and oil running down my side.

I then stand straight once
more, a strike for my chest digging into my left thigh a little too
close to something else, and I step away from it and deflect his
blade, diving for his rib and getting a lucky shot to his arm. When
my blade hits the bone I can go no further, but I pull the blade
out and he presses his left hand to his bicep, spitting a curse at
me. His right hand comes back up despite the wound and he digs his
blade into my other thigh, right in the centre.

I grit my teeth to bite back my scream, using that moment
while he is driving his sword into my leg once more a bit too close
to something else for comfort; with a cry the mixture of rage and
pain and exhaustion I swing my blade and drive it home through his
skull, putting as much force as I can behind it with only one hand
to assist me. The bone gives beneath my rapier easily, a sickening
crack resounding at the same instance the bone shattering shudders
through my blade. It goes right through his head and even through
the roof of his mouth, slipping out the bottom of his jaw with a
cascade of blood the instant before it slices into his throat at
the hollow.

Despite the blade skewering my
thigh I keep pressing down until the man, already dead, goes down
with the weight and I drive myself to my knees to plunge it down.
As if I have to ensure he is well and truly dead despite already
being so.

When I can go no further and the guard of my blade is
against the black and grey hair on his head I stagger up, pulling
the blade from my thigh and keeping on my feet despite the pain
that tries to drag me back to my knees. After discarding the blade
I pull out my own, looking past the gore painted on both myself and
the area around me and looking back up, tuning into the rest of the
battle.

My father stands against a wall
with a hand to his stomach, trying to stop the blood from flowing
by applying pressure to the wound, one of the pirates is out for
the count and the other is finishing off the final soldier. Well
assured that he will win the scuffle I limp over to my father,
sheathing my blade in order to press my hand to his shoulder,
getting his attention. He turns his head towards me, his face pale,
and he laughs lightly at me.