The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (35 page)

Zephyr grunted in resignation. “If Israel’s going, then so am I. Besides, none of y’all will be getting there without me. I have that map, so you’ll need somebody to navigate it.”

“You do? How?” Councillor Phyrrus asked, intrigued.

Zephyr grinned. “That’s for me to know, and you to wonder.”

“He pilfered it from my sister, who acquired it from my father,” Israel said with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Way to take the mystery out of it,” Zephyr grumbled.

“Your father had the map to Methuselah?” King Auric asked and raised a bushy brow. “And who, pray tell, is your father?”

“Captain Nemo Locke,” Israel said with a proud raise of his chin.

“The infamous sky pirate?” King Auric looked between Israel and Zephyr. “And would that mean that you’re—”

“Yes,” Israel said, “but none of that matters now.”

“Perhaps you’re right. These are dark times, and we need all the allies we can get. Now is not the time to cast judgment,” King Auric said.

Ramiro and Balin each agreed to accompany the others. Balin would follow Damir to the ends of Zoria.

“And I’ll go as well,” Elma piped in when all had agreed.

King Auric sputtered and swung his gaze to his daughter, who sat in her seat with her shoulders proudly back. A resolute glare had set in her brow, and her lips twitched in a stubborn line. King Auric shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly. “You will stay here, Wilhelmina. That is not a place for a princess.”

“Father, you need all the Animas Stellas. I am one. I can help them. I have trained.”

“I said no,” King Auric pressed firmly.

Elma made a disconcerted sound. Her face reddened with barely constrained rage. “Bardulf is out on the front lines as we speak, and he is set to rule!”

“Your brother is doing what is best for his country, as should you! Your place, Wilhelmina, is here!” King Auric bellowed, the last of his good nature washed away.

Elma jerked back like she’d been slapped. Her lip quivered, her expression crumpled in betrayal. She looked slowly around the silent table, her eyes hovering over Ramiro’s momentarily before she squeezed her eyes closed. She sucked in a breath, opened her eyes, and pushed away from the table. Without another word, she walked out.

King Auric pinched his nose with a sigh and watched her go.

“She is a song that cannot be silenced, my king. She is the war cry for which Kalrune and all of Zoria sing,” Councillor Phyrrus said softly.

Balin reached beneath the table and squeezed Damir’s thigh, recognizing the distant look that filled Damir’s eyes. No doubt Damir had begun to piece together the similarities between Princess Elma and his sister. Damir looked over at him and offered him a small smile.

“She can sing from her room,” King Auric grumbled, but Balin heard the doubt in his voice. He gave a shake of his head and returned to business. “You may take
Excalibur
. She is our fastest airship.”

“No, we take
Bahamut
,” Zephyr said. King Auric gave a silent nod.

“Then it’s settled,” Balin said. “We leave in the morning.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stowaway

They left at first light. King Auric gave them enough sovereign to supply an army. Damir and Israel bought supplies and rations. Zephyr replenished his arsenal of mithril-tipped and aether-tipped bullets for Qualerin and Zwist.

“Are you sure you would not prefer to take
Excalibur?
She is the fastest ship in all of Kalrune,”
King Auric had asked before they left.

Zephyr scoffed petulantly and said,
“And
Bahamut
is the fastest in all of Zoria. We will take her.”

It wasn’t until
Bahamut
had taken off that anyone noticed something amiss. Pyxis stumbled into the cockpit once Cessna had leveled
Bahamut
out.

“We’ve got a stowaway.”

“Bloody hell,” Zephyr cursed. “Who’s the yellowed bastard that snuck on my ship? I hope they can shit wings, because they’re getting the boot. No damn free rides!”

“Let go of me!” a familiar high voice demanded.

“Ow! She bit me!” Lazarus shouted and shoved Elma into the cockpit.

“Princess?” Ramiro said from where he stood at navigations. Elma straightened her shirt and glared at Lazarus, a proud gleam in her verdant eyes.

“Touch me again, and I’ll bite your fingers off,” Elma warned. Lazarus shook his hand as he grumbled under his breath.

“Fuck me. Cessna, turn the damn ship around,” Zephyr ordered.

“What? No!” Elma spun around.

“Your father wished for you to remain behind, Princess,” Balin said.

“And I ain’t about to piss off your father, so back you go, Your Royal Pain in My Ass,” Zephyr said.

“Time is of the essence. Returning will set you back, and you’ll risk General Gaius reaching Netherlune. He’s on his way to the Ice Fields as well,” Elma stated quickly.

“She’s right,” Ramiro added. Zephyr narrowed his eyes at her. “Let her stay. Just because she is with us doesn’t mean she has to fight. She can remain on the ship with Cessna and Lazarus when we leave.”

“Yeah, exact— Hey! No, I want to fight!”

Elma glared past Zephyr at Ramiro. Balin saw his mouth twitch with amusement.

“Fine, she can stay. We’ll work out what to do with her later. No one flies on my ship for free, though, princess,” Zephyr drawled out the title with a note of sarcasm, “So Pyxis can show you around and then put you to work. Hope you know how to cook.”

Elma’s face lit up with a short-lived triumph before she paled and screwed up her nose in distaste. Without complaint she allowed Pyxis to drag her out of the cockpit.

Zephyr returned to his map, which was spread out over a table. Balin shook his head and, after nodding to Lazarus, said, “I’ll be with Laz if you need me.”

He waved over his shoulder as he walked out. Balin could hear Zephyr issue instructions as the hanger doors closed.

“Steady as she goes, Cessna. Let’s pray there isn’t a storm blowing when we hit Netherlune.”

* * * *

Damir had moved onto the deck with Israel once
Bahamut
peaked. Under Israel’s direction, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the wind as it rushed through his hair.

“Inside you is aether. You must tap into that power and channel it. Find peace with it. Always keep your heart calm. If you let it burn wildly, it will one day burn out,” Israel said lowly, his voice as soothing as the wind.

Concentrate, Damir told himself. Feel the world. Feel life. Find peace with it—understand it.

They were part of the world. They were the spirits of the stars, more a part of the universe than mortal man. Damir could feel his hair along his cheek. The wind was warm. It tasted like the sun. It glided around him, blew through him.

“Find your center, and always keep it close.” Israel’s voice transcended, floated effervescently.

Damir could see it, feel the light that flickered inside him and glowed beneath the pale moon.

“Now harness it,” Israel said.

Damir grabbed ahold of the aether, pulled it close to him, and tapped into its roots. He found its source, an endless well of energy that coursed through him. There inside him, beneath his flesh and bones, trapped under the layers of muscles and nerves, was the universe and all its infinite horizons.

“Unleash it,” Israel commanded. His timbre never rose in pitch.

A fire swirled inside him, ran through Damir’s veins and extended from his fingers. He centered the power until it bloomed in his hand. It was hot, a sun that baked his skin as if for the first time after years of being hidden away in a dark cavern. Damir opened his palm and then his eyes; he stared down at the bobbing fire that buoyed above his hand.

As quickly as the flame had appeared, it smoldered out. A plume of black smoke rose up and vanished. Damir shook his hand like it had been burned, though he had felt nothing beyond the tremor of power.

Israel grinned triumphantly. “I do believe we’re making progress.”

* * * *

Elma proved to be a horrible cook. Damir came to the rescue with Allen’s aid when they found the distressed princess burning water and making a bubbling, gurgling mess of slop that was akin to glue.

“It isn’t my fault! I’m not a cook; I’m a fighter!” Elma sneered disdainfully.

“Well, you better learn if you want to stay on this ship,” Allen grumbled. “Captain don’t let anyone just float on by.”

The slop released a large sulfurous bubble. Damir grabbed the pot with a towel and disposed of it in the sink, turning on the water in hopes of subduing some of the creation.

“Perhaps there is something else you can do,” Damir interjected diplomatically. He looked at Elma, her green eyes holding the same determination as Elina’s. There were moments when he looked at her that he was overwhelmed with grief. The soft tilt of her nose and point of her chin were just as delicate as his sister’s.

Elma frowned and tipped her head to the side in thought. Damir wiped his hands on a towel and began to collect some of the vegetables they’d stocked. He instructed Allen to boil another pot of water—this time without starting a fire.

“How about I remain in the kitchen, Princess, and you can aid Israel?” Damir offered. “I’m familiar with a kitchen and don’t mind the work.”

Elma eyed Damir speculatively. He waited patiently with a smile. She conceded with a small nod. “I…I think that would be a good idea.”

As an afterthought she added, “And please, call me Elma.”

“Well, Elma, why don’t you go find Israel, then?” Allen said. He had begun to clean up a splattered, indescribable mess. It refused to come clean.

Elma sneered at Allen, her lip curled back. “It is Princess to you, cur. And unless you want to spend your pathetic life in a prison cell, you’ll address me as so.”

Allen’s eyes bugged out, and heat rushed up his neck. Damir laughed as Elma stormed out of the kitchen. No sooner had she stepped out of the galley than the entire ship began to shake, as if a great gale would blast it off course.

Elma braced herself against the wall and cried, “What’s going on?”

Damir grabbed ahold of the table and turned to Allen for guidance, unsure himself. Allen fell to the floor and called out, “Turbulence. We must be getting close!”

Elma let out another cry as the ship pitched left. She flew across the hall and slammed into the opposite wall. Damir staggered out, his body rocking with
Bahamut
. He reached Elma and crouched down. “Are you okay?”

“I-I think so,” Elma panted and, with Damir’s aid, righted herself. Damir kept a firm grip on her arm. He held her close as they continued to ride the shaky jet stream. It felt stronger than just a bad current. The ship seemed to pull in every direction, as if wrapped within the funnel of a cloud.

Something metal clattered to the floor in the kitchen, and Allen let out a loud curse. Over the speakers Zephyr announced, “Everyone prepare yourselves! We’ve reached Netherlune, and she’s pissed!”

Damir squeezed Elma protectively. He prayed Balin was all right in the engine room. He turned Elma so that she was pressed against the wall, his arms on either side of her and his legs spread wide to keep a firm stance. Over his shoulder he called out, “Are you all right, Allen?”

“Fine!” His voice sounded pained, but Damir couldn’t check.

The ship turned onto its side, and Elma clamped her eyes closed. She gripped Damir’s broad shoulders tightly.

“Fuck! Hold on, we’re going to have to land her!” Zephyr called over the speaker.

Damir jerked his head up and looked around. He grabbed Elma abruptly and shoved her toward a corner of the hall, well away from the open doors. She hunkered between the walls, curled in on herself with her hands around her neck. Damir pressed his chest to her side and fitted himself into the corner as best he could, one hand pressed high to catch the ceiling as the ship spun upside down momentarily.

They righted themselves for a few seconds, swung onto their side, and then flipped over. Damir kept his eyes focused on his surroundings, all the while silently praying. From around his neck, the jade pendant swung like a sporadic pendulum.

Lar, please watch over us. Let this ship land safely. We must go on. It cannot be over yet. Not when I’m so far away from Balin. Not now.

Bahamut
began a sharp nosedive. Elma screamed in terror. Damir braced for impact, prepared for the inferno of combusted fuel engines and the backlash of magic and shrapnel to engulf them. Suddenly
Bahamut
jerked up, pulled high, and bounced on the ground. Damir’s body pitched forward, momentarily defied gravity, and then slammed back to Zoria.

For a few unsure moments, he could feel his body press into Elma’s as the
Bahamut
slid an unknown distance before coming to a stop. Damir waited until his heart didn’t feel like it would burst, and then peeled himself from the wall and looked down at Elma, who had gone as white as snow.

“Are you all right?” Damir asked as he touched her trembling shoulder.

She drew in a shaky breath. With a slight nod, she whispered, “Y-yes, yes… I’m fine, thank you.”

Damir nodded and turned to the kitchen. “Allen, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said as he stumbled out, a dopey grin on his face. He swung his head toward the hall and said, “Come on. Let’s get to the cockpit.”

Elma moved on shaky legs. The ground still felt like it was moving to Damir. Balin moved to stand beside Damir when they entered the cockpit. Instinctively Damir grabbed ahold of Balin’s arm. His gaze shifted up and down the length of Balin’s body, looking for any injuries. When he found none, he pulled Balin close, took comfort in his safety, and murmured a mental thank-you.

“All right, ladies,” Zephyr said.

“Damn it, Zephyr!” Cessna shouted as she unstrapped herself from her seat.

Zephyr winced. “We hit a blizzard coming in. Doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon. Balin and Lazarus, you’re on damage control.”

“Okay, Cap,” Lazarus said with a salute.

“Now what?” Damir asked as he disentangled himself from Balin.

“We ride the storm out and then see where we are,” Zephyr said. He picked up the fallen map and placed it on top of the table, which was luckily bolted to the floor. “We had just hit the outskirts of the Ice Fields when we were slammed, so my bet is we’re still close to the coast.”