Back in the hangar, Doctor Buzzard worked on Brock’s engine with some strange tool. The boulders that comprised the Talus’s body were vibrating, causing the entire airship to shake, and stirring much panic among the passengers. Buzzard insisted it was safe.

Though he had no face with which to express his pleasure, Brock acted like a human enjoying a wonderfully relaxing massage.

Leira tried to shake Cort awake. But he kept snoring on. She slapped him across the face. The smacking sound rang off the metal walls.

Cort groaned and looked around with bleary eyes. “Sweet, unholy demons, what happened? Why’d you hammer nails into my feet?”

“Get up,” Leira said. “We’re leaving.”

“Alright, alright.” Cort stood and then fell over, giggling. Leira helped him back up.

“Where’s Gwil?” Cort asked.

“I’m here,” Gwil squeaked from atop Leira’s head.

“Pssht! I forgot you were so small. Idiot.” A small porthole caught Cort’s eye, and he pressed his face against it. “I forgot we’re in the sky. How are we gonna get down?”

“Buzzard gave us a jetpack!” Gwil said. Leira turned her back to show it to him.

“Ah, let me do that,” Cort said. “I have experience.”

“Absolutely not,” Leira said.

Cort crossed his arms. “Well then, I am not coming with you.”

“Don’t make me make you,” Gwil said.

“Okay, fine,” Cort said.

“Go on, say your goodbyes,” Leira said.

Cort held out his arms and stumbled into the embrace of the freed prisoners. He and several others began sobbing.

Someone came thundering down the hall. Ansoir, but it was his mother doing the thundering as she chased after him.

“You guys are leaving?” Ansoir said.

“Mhm,” Leira said.

“I forbid it as Burgermeister of Podexia.”

Leira laughed. “Sorry we ruined your life. But I don’t think you’re such a piece of shit anymore.”

Ansoir shook his head. “No. I was a waste of skin. Ignorant and cruel. But you all treated me with mercy and kindness for no good reason. I know things would’ve been easier for you if you’d just killed me.

“I was more worthless than any slave—erm, sorry. I’m working on that. But I was a monster. I’m glad you burned that terrible place.”

“You had a nice house though,” Gwil said.

Ansoir waved that off. “I don’t know what awaits. And I don’t know if I’m cut out for it. But I will work hard to make up for the suffering that I caused. Even if I only make a dent, it would be better than nothing. And you don’t have to believe me, because one day, you’ll see it for yourselves.”

“I believe you, Antelope,” Gwil said.

“Me too,” Leira said. She held her right hand out, then grimaced and switched to her left, and then she gave Ansoir a hug.

“Try to get Buzzard to make you a robot hand,” Gwil said.

Ophelia and Ansoir went to tend to the Burger, who was still splayed across the ground beside Brock.

Gwil waved to Brock, and the Talus raised his giant rock hand to his head in a goofy salute.

“Cort!” Leira said. “Hurry it up. Every second we spend flying the wrong direction translates to a lot more walking.”

“Clear the way, people,” Buzzard called.

The crowd squeezed out some space around the hangar door. Buzzard pulled a lever to throw it open. A torrent of deafening wind rushed in.

Cort lumbered over with a couple of escapees helping him stay upright. He raised his fist and yelled, “Wahoo!”

Buzzard helped Leira rig Cort up with a harness—she was already wearing hers. They also fastened Gwil and Leira’s backpacks to Cort’s sides and made sure to tie Cort’s hammer extra securely. It seemed like a lot of weight, but Buzzard insisted the jetpack could hold three times as much.

“Although, it would be optimal to have the larger person in the back and wearing the jetpack,” Buzzard pointed out as Leira attached the front of her harness to the back of Cort’s.

“No,” she said. “There’s no way he will remember to deploy the parachute.

Cort was half-asleep while standing up. Leira had attached herself to him. Her feet barely reached the floor as she tried to maneuver around.

Gwil dodged away from her hand as she tried to pluck him off her shoulder. He climbed up onto her head and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Bye! Thanks everyone! Good luck!”

The escapees whooped and hollered. Leira twisted around to wave, and then grabbed Cort’s limp arm and flapped it around.

“Don’t you worry, Gwil! I’ll keep that promise forever,” Limmy cried out. “Not a single one of these grimy fuckers will die on my watch, not as long as I’m alive. It’s for Isca, you hear!”

Leira caught Gwil this time and stuffed him into her pocket. She dragged herself to the threshold and grabbed the handrail against the buffeting wind.

Gwil pulled himself up to the hem of her pocket. Above him, Cort’s slack face flapped ridiculously.

“Ooh! Look at the World.”

It was endless. Pale dawn crept through the dark storm clouds. The misty spray of rain tasted cleaner than any water that Gwil had ever drank.

To the west, green plains and gentle hills. To the east, the sea, and a foggy horizon. Gwil could just make out the silhouette of a cluster of islands. Bye, Reverie. He grinned. We’re only going to go even further.

And straight ahead. North. The Stormlands.

There was no horizon—an enormous swirling mass of storm clouds devoured it. From this height, it looked like the clouds reached the ground.

An impossibly large, twisting wall. Flashes of green lightning bolted through the cyclone.

“Do you remember what to do?” Buzzard shouted.

“No shit,” Leira said. “Or I wouldn’t be standing here.”

She inched to the edge of the ramp. Gwil dropped down into her pocket and grabbed hold of the lining.

***

Leira leapt without thinking.

They plummeted. She oriented herself to lie horizontally, as Buzzard had instructed. The adjustment was easy thanks to Cort’s fat ass hanging from her chest like a sack of potatoes.

Is this how it feels to fly?

It wasn’t so great. The initial rush was wonderful, but it waned quickly, as all good feelings do.

Too big, too empty. Freezing cold. Nothing to do. And it was fleeting, anyway. They’d hit the ground soon, so what was the point? Maybe it was better for birds and griffin. They flew under their own power, and they didn’t have to come down.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

A light flashed on the altimeter mounted on one of the jetpack’s control sticks. Leira activated the thrusters, and they boosted forward, faster than she’d expected. Buzzard said they’d make up a lot of the ground they’d lost while aboard the airship.

The doctor had programmed the altimeter to signal Leira every step of the way, letting her know when to adjust the thrusters and when to deploy the parachute. He called it ‘foolproof’.

The World looked less ugly from up here. All the awful realities blurred into something obscure. A nice portrait of an empty landscape. A beautiful mask dressing a defiled corpse.

Jagged streaks of eerie green lightning etched the sky in front of her.

Leira was annoyed that she couldn’t see past the Stormlands. Buzzard had warned her of that perilous place while assuring her they’d be fine, stating that people crossed through the storm all the time. Apparently, there was no way around it. Here, the Mikaran continent was a narrow strip, and the storm reached from coast to coast.

But what lay beyond? They had so far to go. Ashkana was an entire world away. They say she’s been marching for a century.

Leira smiled. Their quest was equal parts daunting and thrilling. And to have escaped Anesidyra by a hair’s breadth… Leira knew the queen’s arrival was no coincidence.

The Centipede Queen hunted her, and Anesidyra was not a woman willing to relinquish her desires. It could only end with a fight, then. Leira just needed to delay that eventuality as long as possible.

With her heart of hearts, Leira believed Gwil could—would—defeat Anesidyra. But not yet. He needed to become much stronger.

The wind bludgeoned Leira’s face, and she was glad to have Cort as a partial buffer. The swirling droplets of water struck her like little pebbles.

She’d have to badger Cort about that Vermin commander he’d dealt with. They were wandering blind, and she hated that.

The altimeter blinked, and Leira adjusted the angle of the thrusters and gave them more power. She waited for the next signal… there. She ripped the cord and deployed the parachute.

The whirling scenery clarified as they decelerated in their descent. She could hear Gwil shouting and feel him squirming around in her pocket.

Leira spotted Podexia by the inky black crater that Isca had created and then scanned the surrounding landscape.

This had worked out quite well. They’d lost a bit of their northern progress, but the airship had carried them some ways west, further inland. They were gonna land on the opposite side of a mountainous ridgeline that they would have had to cross, and that would’ve been an absolute bitch. All in all, they’d probably gained time.

Five stories above ground, the altimeter flashed again, and Leira eased the thrusters back to a whisper. They’d land on the fringes of a sparse, torn-up forest, about ten kilometers from the storm wall.

Her feet touched the ground as gently as a fallen leaf and the parachute covered them like a blanket. Leira’s whole body shook with relief. Perhaps she’d been more scared of flying than she thought.

Rotten though it was, the ground was firm beneath her feet. This was free and wild land—they’d clawed themselves out of that Podexian nightmare.

She felt knackered, and falling out of the sky was the cherry on top of a shit sundae. Leira wanted nothing more than a bath, a fluffy bed, a silk gown, and a nine-course feast.

She collapsed, falling forward under the strain of Cort’s weight. The idiot was still sleeping. Leira closed her eyes. They were so heavy. Just a little nap. And then we keep moving.

Gwil crawled out of her pocket, feeling awfully dizzy.

***

The Leviathan warpship vanished. In its wake, a massive cylindrical tunnel that carved through the height of the canyon wall. The scorched ruins of the Jaqlov manor lay exposed to the sky.

Wisps of smoke trailed upward as rain fell into the cloven throne room.

A pool of water and blood blossomed beneath the corpse of an old man. Life and death in their forever dance.

His lips had peeled back, so his face bore a crooked grin. Perhaps he had a moment of peace, knowing he’d done right by his dead comrades. He best cling to that solace, and pray it burns eternal. It just might—Diom had proven himself patient and tenacious.

We can only hope that Diom feels the rain, the fulfillment of a small dream. He is still alive, after all. Death is not true. Death is a bridge.

Alas, the Hells await, insatiable.

And so, they have the First Dream.

***

Consciousness crept into Sheriff Jackson’s foggy mind. His first thought was a desire to suck on a fat lip of chew. The second was a suspicion that he would regret being alive.

He shouldn’t have fought so hard to heal himself. Too damn stubborn. Same as it ever was.

A groan escaped him as he tried to stretch himself awake and found that he could not move. Flat on his back, laying on a cold slab. Metal restraints bound his ankles, his waist, his wrists, his neck. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?

“Heh.” Jackson forced his eye open, and the blood that glued it shut crackled. It was too swollen to see anything more than a sliver.

He could feel the mushy lump that was his other eye. Half-way regrown. Erithist. I’m so fucked it’s almost funny.

The featureless metal room was not much bigger than the table upon which he lay. A too-damn-bright light hung overhead.

What an absolute motherfucker of a headache. Feels like there’s an axe stuck in my skull.

That psychotic little demon had beaten him past hell. Toothpick had it right—the kid was audacious. The sort of person Jackson could almost accept getting beaten by. Why didn’t you kill me, Gwil? I don’t deserve this.

The door slid open—it sounded like a gasp. Jackson lifted his head as much as he could against the collar’s icy chokehold.

A woman entered.

A centipede was curled around her neck, crawling in an endless circle. Jackson could hear its countless legs pattering, and he might’ve pissed himself.

The Centipede Queen was monstrous and ravishing—three meters tall with a statuesque physique. Jackson grimaced. Statues were the last fucking thing he wanted to think about.

Her skin looked like a powdered donut that had begun to mold. Chalky white, but splotchy, and flecked with black-green spots. Like a deadly fungus.

She wore black silk wrappings that hugged her body tightly in some places and hung loose in others.

Heels clicked against the metal floor, and she came to stand over Jackson.

Lush orange hair tumbled past her shoulders. Her eyes and lips were purple.

Twisted little horns wreathed her face, protruding from her flesh at the top of her forehead and running down the sides to her ears. They looked like thorns on a rose bush. The surrounding skin was scabby and flaking.

The queen regarded him, running her forked tongue across her lips. She smiled. Her teeth were a mess—jagged and hooked, and some stuck out from the roof of her mouth.

Despite it all, her beauty was intoxicating.

“Theodore Jackson. Do you know who I am?” she whispered, her voice husky, dripping.

“Queen Anesidyra.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I got no excuse,” Jackson said. “I fucked up.”

She reached for his face. Her fingernails were as long as her fingers, blackened and rotten. She caressed his cheek, and he felt a warm droplet of blood ooze down his face.

“A Kaia deposit was destroyed,” she said. “Talk.”

Jackson wet his lips, felt the prickle of his mustache on his tongue. “Some Hallowed kid started a prison riot. It got out of hand. They ran us over, bombed the Kaia. Our guards weren’t trained for any real fighting.”

“And you?”

“I was complacent. I’m old. The kid was strong. He beat me.”

“Tell me everything you know about this Hallow.”

“I dunno anything. He just showed up.”

The queen blinked slowly, seductively. She looked at her hand and fluttered her fingers.

Her hand blurred as she plunged her finger through Jackson’s remaining eye. As he screamed, Anesidyra cooed at him.

The pain transformed into overwhelming ecstasy.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“His name…” The sheriff swallowed. His spit was thick and foamy. “William.”

“William? What’s his surname?”

“How should I know?” Jackson said. “He came to destroy the Kaia mines. I didn’t ask him to fill out any fuckin’ documentation.”

“Do you have reason to believe that he is allied with the Vermin?”

“Could be,” Jackson said. “He told me he wasn’t. Just some lunatic who showed up out of nowhere and raised hell.”

“Did he not escape on an airship?” Anesidyra hissed.

“That was Doctor Buzzard’s airship. He was in cahoots with them.”

She ripped her hand free with her finger still lodged in his eye, tearing it loose. She swatted her hand and flung the eyeball away.

“I’ll let you grow it back,” Anesidyra said as she wiped her finger on her silks.

It didn’t hurt at all, and that was when Jackson realized how fucked up he was on her poison.

“Don’t use so silly a word as ‘cahoots’,” Anesidyra snapped. “I hate that. This is a serious investigation. Buzzard, though, really?” She shook her head. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“You’re telling me,” Jackson grunted.

“Any other accomplices?”

“All the fuckin’ prisoners for one,” Jackson said. “They all rallied behind him. Jaqlov’s son, for some godforsaken reason. Even Stondemaier wound up with him. And there was a woman with a flower for an eye.”

Anesidyra again flashed her terrible smile. “Oh, joy. I hoped she might be. It seems my little princess has found herself a new friend.”

The centipede crawled down Anesidyra’s arm and coiled itself in her palm. She stroked its raised head like it was a little kitten.

“A-are my men alive?” Jackson asked.

“Yes, I took them and everyone else in the town. They have been transformed. You are all mine.”

Anesidyra stuffed her fingers into Jackson’s mouth and wrenched down on his lower jaw. It snapped and hung loose. She was so swift and graceful.

The centipede crawled into his gaping mouth. Its legs tickled his throat. He laughed as he choked.

Good luck and good riddance, kid.

***

Dawn was breaking. While Leira and Cort slept, Gwil had looked around the place where they’d landed.

They were on the edge of a ripped-up forest. He didn’t stray too far. He was tired, and he didn’t fancy running into a bear, or even a rat, for that matter.

Gwil had gathered some twigs and branches to build a fire. It was arduous because of his tininess. He did not like being so weak and useless.

With the help of a lot of Nirva, he’d managed to collect a few log-sized pieces. But he could tell he was missing something important.

When he surged his Nirva while he was small, it felt overwhelming. There was just too much for his little body to handle, and a lot of it leaked out. He had to do something about that.

When Cort woke up, he gathered as much wood in two minutes as Gwil had in two hours.

Presently, the three of them were lying around the fire. Leira had bundled herself up in a cocoon of blankets. She stared at the flames. They’d eaten some dried meat from Gwil’s pack and then fallen into exhausted silence.

On the northern horizon, green lightning flashed without surcease.

Gwil stared at it while nodding off into delirium. He couldn’t sleep during those few hours that the others had. Too wired—he blamed it on the rush from falling out of the sky.

“That’s it,” Cort said. “You need to stop being small.

Gwil jerked at the noise. That was the first time any of them had spoken in a while.

“This is ridiculous,” Cort said. “If I’m stuck going around with you two idiots, you need to be a lot bigger than a bug.”

Gwil yawned. “Maybe I’ll wake up normal-sized.”

Cort lunged forward and grabbed Gwil. “I’m gonna fucking eat you like a peanut!”

“Ahhhh!”

Cort pinched Gwil by the foot and dangled him over his gaping jaws.

Pop.

Gwil came crashing down on top of Cort’s head.

Back at his normal size.

So ends the Second Tale:

Stone Cold Love