They were two weeks into the fourth path – too far to turn back – but Camellia didn’t think they’d have to. Sotir, the Ischyros’ fortune teller, kept them beneath the patrols’ notice. They’d lost a few days, hiding behind a moon, and another few days, hiding on a tropical planet. Camellia’s hair still held the humidity.
The setbacks would get them home a week later, but still within the month. Things were looking up.
Camellia trailed her hand on the window frame and bid the warm planet goodbye. Clouds of white swirled above deep green and blue. Camellia glimpsed the last of it as the Fauchard broke out of orbit and back towards deep space.
The tropical world’s sun beamed into the window. Camellia shielded her face and backed away. She pressed herself to the opposite wall, ready to venture deeper into the Fauchard, where tons of metal would shield her from the starlight. Instead, she squinted out the window. The planet rose up in the view again.
Over the intercom came Rooks’ voice. “Two patrols just entered the system. We’ll need to land again. There are ten Volanter ships in total. Everyone report to your posts or your quarters. No exceptions.”
The ship rocked. It didn’t feel like much.
Then, an alarm blared, and lights flashed. Camellia ran for one of the bulkheads.
The Fauchard rocked again, and this time, a roar accompanied the motion. Wind pulled Camellia towards her destination, faster than she could run. As she slid over the deck, she focused on the quickly approaching bulkhead.
A door slid closed and blocked the juncture from Camellia’s section of hall. The wind stopped. Camellia’s hair fell to her shoulders, and she sat hard on the deck.
“No.” Camellia pushed to her feet and ran to the other juncture. She would have to travel longer to find a route deep into the ship, but she had no other choice.
The ship pitched, and Camellia felt a gravity stronger than that of the Fauchard. She slid forward again, toward her new destination.
Wind pulled at her, and its whistle grew louder.
Again, the door snapped shut. Camellia landed atop it with a bang. She heard a secondary, hinged door, swing shut on the other side.
Camellia was trapped.
“Automatic locks engaged. Potential for impact,” a computerized voice said.
“With me here?” Camellia said to no one.
The ship leveled, and Camellia plopped back onto the floor. She laid there and looked up. She could just see out the window, and from her point of view, it looked like she would be on the wrong side of the impact. Water waited below, but Camellia didn’t think the Fauchard would have a pleasant splashdown.
“If you’re trapped along the outer hall, call in,” Rooks said over the intercom. “We’re determining the best crash vector.”
Camellia rolled to her hands and knees. She got up and found a com panel. She pressed the button. “I’m on the outer edge.”
“Okay,” an unfamiliar voice answered. “Section…52A. Noted.”
“Wait. Is that it?” Camellia wanted to say who she was.
Rooks would probably give her preference, but this woman didn’t know Camellia or have a special connection to her.
“I can’t free you. We’re anticipating a hull breach.”
“I realize that, but…”
The woman piped up, sounding too chipper for the situation. “Don’t worry. You’re in a good position. Lots of people in your area.” The com buzzed out.
Camellia would take her work for it. She certainly didn’t see a lot of people.
Meladee crossed her quarters and ran to the door. She tapped the release button, but Benham tapped it again. Their door slid shut.
“We need to get to Halfmoon.” Meladee cradled a bunch of stuff in her arms. She always tried to take some stuff in situations like these.
“No, we need to help,” Benham said.
Meladee made a sound of frustration. “We would help from the Halfmoon.”
“Then, put down your stuff. No reason we need that.” Benham pointed to the bag and stray clothes in Meladee’s arms.
She glanced down at the things and felt she was seeing them for the first time. She had all her belongings gathered up. Most of her things sat in her bag. The things that she didn’t keep perpetually tucked away, she’d picked up. Every single one.
“Come on, Meladee. Leave it here.” Benham hit the release button.
The door slid open. Lights outside flashed.
“Like hell I will. Look, I’ll just drop it on the Halfmoon.”
“Are we not coming back?” Benham asked.
Meladee got in his face. “Don’t you know how this works? We need to get out right before the crash. Anyone who sticks around dies.”
The Fauchard shook and pitched. Meladee tried to walk into the hall, but the planet’s gravity pulled her back into her room. First, she strained uphill. Then, she ran in place. Finally, she dropped to her knees, hit her chin on her junk, and slid across their quarters.
The couch caught her, handily bolted in place as it was. Meladee stared up at their open door, and a random officer slid inside.
Benham sheltered against a chair. He gestured to the man. “See. He’s getting to his post. Without all the luggage.”
The man landed next to Meladee with an oof.
“This is not his post Do you mind?” she asked. “This is our room.”
The ship leveled.
“Aren’t you a mage?” the officer asked.
“I am.”
“Then, get out there and help.” He sprang to his feet and ran for the door.
“I was working on it,” Meladee called after. She pushed to her knees, still holding all her junk. “Halfmoon here I come.”
Benham sighed and followed.
Eva almost regretted her attachment to Engineering. Little leaks in the lines and cracks in glass hissed gas into the work space. Half the workers evacuated. The other half donned masks and kept at it. Needless to say, it was not Eva’s ideal working environment.
Eva wore no mask. She didn’t need it to breathe. She didn’t need to breathe.
She sprayed sealant on a pipe and ran to the next geyser of smoke. She passed a display that showed the Fauchard’s orientation. Engineering pointed down. Crash simulations played on loop, predicting a fiery end to Engineering.
Sten stopped at Eva’s side. “What are you looking at?”
Eva pointed to the warning screen. “The Curator realizes we can’t go anywhere if we don’t have an Engineering bay, right?”
Sten shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not intentional.”
Eva shook her head at him and ran to the next pipe. She squirted sealant, until the gas ceased its escape.
Sten ran by and sealed off two pipes as he dual wielded a pair of sealant cans.
Eva trotted beyond his position. She aimed for a cluster of pipes. “Is there really any point in this if we’re about to turn into a fireball?”
“It’s something to do.” Sten followed at her side. “And, who knows? They might right the ship.” Sten squirted his sealant cans over two nearby pipes.
Eva joined him by the leaking cluster. She sprayed a pipe closed. He aimed his cans in two directions and sealed another pair.
Eva smiled.
“Ah, a better mood. Excellent. Though, I regret our lack of copies back on Lurren.”
“I do not.” Eva continued to smile.
Sten sprayed the last leak closed. “I see. Well, must you smile about it?”
Eva began a response, but the sound of a great crack drew her attention. The engine’s metal casing seeped light.
Gavain tucked Aria into a corner of the gathering room. She closed her eyes and trusted that he’d found her a good place to be. Aural light shone on the other side of her eyelids. It blazed in yellows, oranges, and reds. Subtle blues crept into the mix, only to be washed away by the shades of panic and fear.
An officer yelled something.
Gavain yelled back, “She can’t see. I’m waiting for the room to empty out.”
The officer’s shouts turned to the room at large. “Out of the gathering room. If we crash too, you’re not going to like the view from here.”
Voices created a wordless roar, and Aria doubted that most heard the officer’s words.
“Is anyone leaving? When can we leave?” she asked.
“The civilians aren’t moving. They’re watching out the window.” Gavain’s voice seemed close, as if he knelt nearby. “They want to see themselves die, I guess.”
Aria wouldn’t be seeing it, no matter where she was.
“We’re going to be okay. As soon as a path clears, I’ll guide you out, and we’ll get to our quarters or the sick bay.” Gavain’s hand rested on Aria’s arm. “Sick bay would be best. Then, we can board an evacuation shuttle with the injured. I don’t know if they’ll take me.”
“I don’t want to be separated,” Aria mumbled.
Gavain’s voice sounded close to her ear. “What?”
She raised her voice. “I want to stay together.”
The colors still waited beyond Aria’s eyelids, and the cacophony continued.
“Aria. Let’s be realistic. If there isn’t a lot of room, they’ll take an arcane. They might not take me.”
“But, you’re my husband,” she said.
A shot went off in the gathering room. Footsteps stampeded for the exit.
“Don’t worry. Just a blank – I think,” Gavain said. “Anyway, he fired at the ceiling. We’ll be able to get free in a minute.”
Aria exhaled slow. During such a moment of panic, she didn’t think she would find freedom. She doubted she would ever open her eyes again.
Irini waited along the bridge’s outer walk. She watched the windshield. The planet loomed closer. Two screens in the upper left corner showed additional views, somewhere around the Ischyros. On one screen, a Volanter armada gave chase. A net of circles splayed from the ships and formed a web, pushing the Scaldin and Iruedians down. On the second screen, the Fauchard trailed smoke and drifted in a free fall.
“Look, they’re already injured,” Alban said. “Keep the Fauchard between us and the Volanter as best you can.”
Irini put a hand over her mouth. It looked silly in its freefall, but the Fauchard might not make it through the crash, especially with Alban using it as a shield.
“Too much,” Alban scolded. “Stay in the shadow, but make sure they won’t squash us. Any word from Curator Rooks?”
Irini stared at Alban. A short officer stood on tiptoe in the pit to report her negative findings. She shook her head. Alban towered above the woman, up on the dais.
The Ischyros wouldn’t crash. The ship remained intact. They would land instead, but what would they do without their ally?
Irini held up a shaking hand. She wanted to ask her thread what would happen, but it wasn’t the kind of question a thread could answer.
She could ask other questions, such as where were Kat and Chara?
The thread sprinkled its glitter and formed a path from Irini’s finger to the door behind Irini. She turned and faced the exit.
Where are Aria and Pan?
Two threads glittered onto her fingers. They also led out the door.
Irini waited at the head of the ship. Of course, everyone would be behind her. It was a stupid question to ask. Irini hung her head and started for the door. She’d be useless to Alban in this state.
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Where should I go?
All of Irini’s threads fizzled away. A weak thread took its place and glittered into the metal that blocked the bridge from the rest of the ship.
Irini glanced back at the bridge. The ship rocked. She turned away and followed the thread.
Pan held a ladder rung and waited beneath a hatch. She and Sotir had climbed into the Ischyros’ uppermost deck. He waited to the side of the ladder, with no intention of going out onto the hull. She clung to the ladder, ready to be the first. A group of officers lined up behind her, prepared to prevent a boarding.
“So, how does this turn out, by the way?” Pan asked.
Sotir rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned on his staff. “It’s going too fast. I can’t know. I’m still trying to figure out where the patrol came from. My best guess is they used my own circle against us again.”
“It’s their circle, Sotir.”
He pressed his eyes shut and tucked himself against the wall. “Hard landing.”
Pan hugged the ladder. The officers braced themselves too. Some grabbed the ladder; some the wall. Some had no choice but to grab a neighbor.
The Ischyros rocked hard and fast. Then, it swayed. Pan got a short bump on the head, but otherwise weathered the landing, thanks to Sotir’s warning.
“I’m going up,” she told him.
He opened his eyes and grabbed her arm. “Good luck. I’m heading to the bridge. Maybe, I can be of some use.”
Pan nodded and started up the ladder. She thought she heard Sotir proclaim his love for her. She couldn’t be sure, but she shouted it back.
Pan swiped her card over the hatch. The wheel spun and, with a swoosh and a hiss, the portal opened. Pan climbed into the open air.
A warm breeze pulled Pan’s hair into a dance about her shoulders, and the sun sparkled on a rippling ocean. It seemed the perfect vacation getaway. It had been for a few days. But, the Volanter shadows in the sky and those cast over the sea shattered her impression of paradise. The Fauchard also did its fair share to break the mood.
The great ship thundered into the water, mostly on a flat plane. It skidded over the surface and dipped inside. The crash started a great wave.
That wave rippled towards the Ischyros. Pan gained the hull just as the wave rolled over the ship. Spray hit Pan, and she staggered. The water broke, rocking the Ischyros hard.
Pan shook out her hair.
She conjured her familiar circle. She placed it over the open ocean. If the thing could breathe in space; water would be nothing to it.
The runes glowed and rippled, shooting green-tinged light through spray and waves. Smoke pumped into the air, and the dragon flew out.
“Let’s kill a few,” Pan called.
The dragon swooped onto the hull. It landed and stooped by her side.
“You want me to ride?” Pan asked.
The dragon maintained the position.
Pan slid onto its back and clung to black fur. A powerful flap lifted Pan and the dragon off the hull. The dragon pumped its wings and fought for the air. Then, it caught an updraft and soared.
Pan stayed low. Wind rushed overhead, probably cleaning stray hairs from her skull.
Pan peeked over the dragon and glimpsed a Volanter ship, lurking low over the Fauchard. Iruedian magics painted the Fauchard’s hull. The shield circles caught flaming balls of red and blue.
Pan tried to speak over the wind. The air rushed into her mouth and garbled her words, till she didn’t know what she wanted to say. The dragon didn’t need the words. It took Pan low.
She peered deep into the ocean. Then, she glanced up at the clouded Volanter ship and cast her portal ring. She pulled the ring around the Volanter. The ship disappeared – but only for a moment.
A quick glance down showed Pan that the Volanter hovered beneath the waves, where she’d sent it. Bubbles pooled at its edges, and the ship rose, looking green as it came to the surface. All the surrounding water looked green too.
Pan shouted. The dragon flapped strong, but the Volanter ship rose beneath them. They didn’t gain enough height before the ship crashed out of the water.
Pan got a faceful of spray. Her dragon’s underbelly got soaked. Then, they collided with the rising ship. The dragon scraped its claws on the Volanter hull and attempted to land. But, the sharp landing jolted Pan off her familiar’s back. She tumbled onto the Volanter ship.
Pan pressed one hand to the greenish metal. She imagined the portal circle but didn’t let it cast, until she got a good look at the water. Pan pulled her hand away, and a portal took her place. Water poured into the ship.
The dragon lightly knocked Pan on the side of her head. She grabbed its neck and pulled herself between its shoulder blades.
The dragon ran along the hull, and Pan conjured more portals. Water flooded into the Volanter ship.
The dragon leapt into a takeoff, and Pan left a seventh portal just on the edge of the Volanter vessel. Then, she hugged her dragon and stayed low.
As they rose higher, she glanced back at her handiwork to find the first few portals dispelled. The countered circles could do no more damage, but they’d sent a lot of water inside the Volanter ship. Pan didn’t know a circle for removing water from somewhere it shouldn’t be. She hoped one didn’t exist and that the water remained.
“We should flood them all,” Pan said into her dragon’s ear.
The familiar aimed high for the other nine shadowed vessels.
Ahead, someone screamed.
Meladee dropped all her junk. Her heart beat faster. “You hear that?”
“Yeah.” Benham drew his gun.
Meladee summoned her dragon – the ice version. The ship felt hot enough, with air from the tropical world seeping in.
The dragon stalked ahead. Meladee could hear its footfalls as the sounds of the Fauchard quieted and went silent.
The hum of a spell echoed, far down the hall. Meladee never heard it finish.
Benham aimed his gun ahead. “Sounds like we’ve got boarders.” He tucked himself against the wall.
Tentalces, covered in a shimmering shield, inched around a juncture. A torso followed, and Meladee saw it was connected to the face of Carex.
“Aw, damn. You?”
“Meladee.” Carex stopped, taking note of Meladee’s dragon. “We aren’t here to kill, just to capture.”
“Yeah, no thanks. We’d rather not.” Meladee cast her own shield. The bubble shimmered around her and Benham. After the cast, it went invisible.
The dragon lunged for Carex’s tentacles. He slithered back and curled the ends close.
Carex began a spell. The spell rotated fast and stayed in motion. Random runes floated in the air around it. The circle let off a fiery cloud. The dragon spit ice and caught the full effect. Two of the random runes sucked into the circle, and a spell of immobility crept over Meladee’s dragon.
The dragon froze, mouth agape. It moved its eyes, until the spell reached them too.
Benham shot at Carex, but the shot bounced off the shield.
Meladee cast a circle and looped it around the inside of the hall. She planted it in the area that Carex stood. The four rings set off fast. Vines of acid crisscrossed the space, scraping against Carex’s shield. He startled, and his rotating spell stopped.
Not before it let off a third effect that bounced off Meladee’s shield.
Carex growled and began what Meladee hoped was a dispellation. Acid dripped from the vines and landed atop his head tentacles. Acid pattered like rain on his shoulders. Acid dribbled little rivers along his lower tentacles. Carex’s shield wavered with each new drop.
“God, Meladee.” Benham shook acid from the tip of his gun.
“Get back in the shield.” Meladee tugged his shoulder.
“What a mess.” Carex cast a short single-ringed circle.
Just as Meladee hoped, the powerful and pure runes cleared the hall. They erased her dragon, the immobility spell, the vines, and both their shields.
Benham shot Carex, not once but three times. Carex caught one shot on his shoulder, one in his chest, but dodged the last as he slid into a portal.
“Where’d he go?” Meladee tried to see around the corner.
“Shh,” Benham hissed. “What’s that sound?”
Squelching and slithering.
“Oh fuck. We’re never getting to the Halfmoon.” Meladee dropped a circle on the floor. She scooped up her things and nodded for Benham to follow. “Can we get around?”
“We should be able to.” Benham put an arm around her shoulders. “I can think of two ways we might reach the hangar from the interior, hopefully we won’t find the stairs blocked now.”
Meladee glanced back at her festering spell. The circle molded itself to the floor, looking like a burn or shadow.
“If Rooks got the doors open, we can always try the outside and use a maintenance ladder to reach the bay.” Benham pointed his gun ahead but jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “What did you leave back there?”
“A trap.”
Meladee and Benham both paused, just able to peek around a corner and see the shadowy spell. A Volanter rider led his mount over it. A blast of spray and tentacles shot up from the floor and around the unfortunate rider. The would-be sea monster sucked him beneath.
“Oh ho,” Meladee half-laughed. “What do you think?”
“Not bad, but that was just one. There are…” Benham shook his head. “There are so many.”
He was right. There were.
“There’s a breach one level below us, Curator. We’ve sealed the level.”
“Elevator shaft?” Rooks glanced back. She stared at the bulkhead door that cut the bridge from the hall and the elevator.
“Seems tight.”
Rooks nodded.
Water would be unlikely to come up the elevator, but since it couldn’t come in the bulkheads on the bridge level below, the water might find the elevator to be its only route. If the water came up the elevator, it still had to make it through the bridge’s upper bulkhead. She assumed her small bridge crew remained safe from immediate contact with the flood, but the ocean would still fill the area around the bridge and weigh them down. The bridge would sink below the waves, while their tail turned up.
“We’ll be headed down, I suppose,” Rooks said.
“Actually, we’ve got a pretty even smattering of breaches. The back and front should sink at the same rate.”
Rooks almost rolled her eyes at their luck. “Get the engine patched up and fix our thrusters. Forget the hull breaches. Just seal them off. Open the locked passages and try to get trapped people to the center. We can still take off, and once we’re in space, the damage shouldn’t matter as much.”
The com fizzled. Alban’s voice just carried over. “Are you abandoning ship? I have some space on the Ischyros.”
“No, I can’t abandon ship. I’ll have to leave too many people, and our shuttle bay isn’t exactly easy to reach. The routes are cut off, whether by Volanter invaders or by some Girandolan design flaws.” Rooks checked her screen and saw a lot of enemy ships. “We’re going to try to get back into the air. I’m going to sacrifice the outer layers of the ship, so you might as well wait until we make it up.”
“Alright,” Alban answered. “We’re waiting on you.” His com connection quieted.
“Curator?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think the engines are coming back online.”
“At all?” Rooks asked.
“At all,” the officer reported.
Rooks debated calling Alban back, telling him to flee. Maybe, she would send some of her people over and abandon ship after all. They didn’t have to reach the shuttle bay. They could go out the many breaches. But the Ischyros would never make it without the Fauchard. Nine enemies remained and countless riders patrolled the possible escape routes. Rooks did not think home was on the agenda, unless they could escape the Volanter stronghold.
No amount of Sealant could close the case. Eva worked her welder. Sten worked his. Other engineers spread over the case and welded new metal onto weak spots. They fought a losing battle. Until someone could put out the interior fire, the cracks and weak points would return.
“Is it getting hotter?” someone asked.
Eva glanced at Sten. He nodded, but only for their benefit. He didn’t share the bad news with the worried someone.
“Is there any point in doing this?” Eva asked.
“It’s still something to do.” He withdrew his gloved hand from a hot point and repositioned it. “I should have made a copy.” Sten’s welder spit a stream of heat onto virgin metal.
Eva thought the welding might make the situation worse, fanning the flames inside. She glanced at a pair of engineers who diverted coolant into the case. Their gloved hands worked fast.
Eva looked skyward but saw only the ceiling. “I almost agree.”
“Really?”
“Almost.” Eva raised an eyebrow at Sten. “You aren’t home to initiate a copy of me, so it would be up to Tiny Tin. Knowing Tiny Tin - he’d definitely make several Eva’s. None of them would like it.”
“But, all would be a little different. He’d give them distinguishing physical features to help tell them apart.” Sten continued to weld. “Maybe, your hair would be different.”
Eva frowned and imagined herself with many hairstyles, none of which she wanted.
Eva didn’t say anything about the lack of soul. She was almost certain several new Evas would lack that aspect.
Eva let her welder rest and watched the upper casing. The metal spit sparks and started to melt away. She would climb up to fix it, but a crack started above and snaked its way down. When the fracture reached her eye level, she knew it was too late.
Aria and Gavain made it to sick bay. Irini waited there too, head bowed. Irini’s usual yellow melted into blue. Only a trace of anxiety showed through.
So, Aria was wrong that she would never open her eyes again. She got to see Irini, changed enough to be unrecognizable.
“I almost didn’t know it was you,” Aria said.
“My thread told me to come here.” Irini’s figure, a shadowy thing of blue, held up a hand. “I was on the bridge before.”
“What’s going on?” Gavain asked. “Any news?”
“We’re not going to win,” Irini said.
“Mother Tree, I hope that’s not what’s going on,” he joked.
Irini raised her head. Aria still couldn’t see Irini’s face, just the shape of her figure. But, Aria could tell that figure regarded Gavain.
Irini said, “You didn’t see it. The Fauchard is in bad shape. We needed their help.”
Aria sat beside Irini and put her face in her hands. “I would have liked one last chance to say goodbye to Pan.”
Gavain knelt and grabbed her wrists. “Aria.”
Aria spoke into her hands, “Let’s be realistic. We aren’t going to survive. Two ships against ten.”
“We’ll live.” Gavain let one of Aria’s wrists go.
She opened her eyes and blinked.
Gavain took one hand from Irini and one from Aria. “We’ll live. We’ll just end up living…”
A gasp interrupted him. Nurses backpedaled, and other civilians abandoned the sick bay’s waiting area. They left a mess of yellow and orange.
Three Volanter filled the doorway. Their auras seeped into the room in shades of blue and green. Tendrils obliterated the Scaldin auras everywhere they reached.
“Form an orderly line. We’re taking you aboard.”
Gavain stood and pulled Aria to her feet. He pushed her behind him and pulled Irini around his other side.
“Are any of you circle users?” the Volanter leader asked.
A nurse glanced at Aria and Irini.
Gavain’s aura flashed an angry red.
“Those two first, please. Line up here.” The Volanter pointed to the start of the line, just an empty space for the moment.
“I hate this,” Irini whispered.
Aria should echo the sentiment. She was about to be a captive of the Volanter. She’d live, but she’d live among them. Who know what that entailed? Aria felt no panic, and her aura remained grey-blue. She wondered if the Volanter could cure her problem.
She slipped out from behind Gavain and walked to the indicated spot. Her heart hammered as she stopped and began the start of the line.
To her surprise, Gavain and Irini followed.
“Not you.” A Volanter man pushed Gavain back. “We’re doing separate lines for men and women. You can go here.” He pointed to a place a few feet from Aria.
“But, she’s my wife.” Gavain gestured to Aria, and his red-yellow aura echoed the motion.
“We’ll decide which unions get preserved.”
Aria shot a panicked look at Gavain and saw his aura reach for her in pink and yellow. Her own reached back, in similar colors.
The Volanter shoved Gavain into place and blocked Aria’s view. The Volanter man slithered by and pulled Irini into line. He passed and collected more of the Scaldin, giving Aria a view of her Gavain again. Their auras could not bridge the one left by the Volanter, though they tried.
Camellia sat on the deck. Water sopped around her skirt, held back by her petticoat. She had a nice view of the ocean, trapped in the outer halls. She was getting a nicer view by the moment. Water ebbed and flowed around her skirt, and she finally felt some soak through to her legs. Moisture seeped into one sock, and Camellia almost took it off.
She took a deep breath. “I think I would have preferred if we landed on me instead.”
It would be a long slow death – drowning.
Camellia had tried it before and thought it was at the bottom of the totem for ideal deaths.
Camellia breathed in and out. She was going to enjoy air while she had it. “Good-bye, Florian. Hello, Cernunnos.”
The sound of magic hummed in the space.
Camellia stood up, wobbling on the titled deck. She steadied herself against the wall.
A Volanter shared her trap. “Come with me.” The Volanter woman held out her hand. Thin, slanting stripes of white marked the ebony flesh. “This ship will sink. We’ll evacuate as many of you as we can.”
Camellia bit her lower lip and reached for the hand. Suddenly, she withdrew. “Can you rescue my husband? He’s deeper in the ship.”
“I can’t go searching for one man. Sorry.” She shook her head.
“What if I waited here, until you brought him?” Camellia scooted back. Her skirt splashed in the water, and she felt it in her shoe.
“Are you threatening me with suicide?” The Volanter inched closer.
Camellia pulled a small dagger from her skirt. She kept it concealed. “I am, but only if you won’t retrieve my husband. I also have a couple of friends that I’d like to see on the other side of this.”
The Volanter reached again. “I think that would be a waste of time. You won’t care as much about them once we get home. Relationships formed outside the clan home tend to dissolve on the inside.”
Camellia frowned. “Why is that?”
“Relationships formed around events are not as pure and long lasting as those formed through true compatibility.” Water lapped at the Volanter’s tentacles. The tentacles reached for the water, welcoming the oozing sea.
Camellia glanced down and found that she’d inched into the sinking hall, up to her knees. “Well…that’s a touch insulting. How do you know my relationships aren’t formed through true compatibility?”
“It’s always the way of things. Anyone you would be truly compatible with would not be in such easy reach.” The Volanter reached for Camellia’s arm.
She splashed deeper and raised her dagger-less hand. “Hold on a moment. I would argue that life experience and culture play a large role in compatibility.”
The Volanter sighed. “I need to rescue you and move on.” She grabbed Camellia’s arm.
Camellia pulled the dagger from the folds of her skirt and dragged it across the Volanter’s neck. The woman gasped and sputtered. She fell forward, bleeding onto Camellia.
The Volanter’s tumbling body caught Camellia with its weight and pushed her beneath the flood.
The Fauchard and Ischyros both lay under nets of magic. The Fauchard sank below that net. The Ischyros bobbed undamaged. Volanter riders swarmed over the ships. They kept Pan off.
She couldn’t counter the nets, especially as the Volanter rattled off circle after circle. As far as Pan could tell, she was the only flying arcane for her side of the conflict. She felt like a worker bee, cut from the rest of the hive.
She debated another run at the ships in the sky, but without mages and arcanes to back her up, the riders quickly chased her off. She and the dragon stood out against the planet’s blue. They were easy to spot and easy to stop.
So, Pan sailed at the edge and watched rotating circles spew effect after effect. Runes hovered beside circles, only to be sucked into the circle, just as new magic spewed forth. It was something more than the single-ringed method, possibly something superior, given that the method could be used with one or more rings.
Two weeks ago. That’s when we made this mistake.
Could she manage two weeks? She thought so.
Take another path, Pan told her former self. Avoid the fourth. Avoid the third. Go for the first. The first is the only route home.