The Sail Weaver (3 page)

“Something was following you.”

“Yes, a large dragon.” Tristan laughed.

“No! There was a vehicle. They followed you from the compound,” Fenfyr said with a low growl.

“What are you talking about?”

“They followed you almost all the way here, they turned off right before you reached the canyon, but they were there.”

“Who was it?” Tristan looked over at the dragon.

“I don’t know, there were no markings on the
shuttlecar
. If it had been Guild, there would have been no reason to hide,” he said. “I tell you, this stinks of rotting flesh. Darius is worried. There is something about this ship that is concerning. We are not sure what’s going on, but the Naval creatures have been far too secretive in building it. We saw the dome at the docks, but they denied entrance to everyone. In fact, they have been claiming there was nothing there but two small ships.”

“No one’s checked?” Tristan suddenly felt like he hadn’t been paying attention to current events, even though he had. “Wait, we did check, there was a small runner in the dome, nothing else.”

“That was several months ago. No one has been in since. We’ve been watching. There is something wrong. I was just out there, it smells wrong.”

“You keep saying smells. Do you mean that literally?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.” The dragon sighed. “It’s hard to get a feeling for something when I am in space. I function differently there, so things smell different.”

Tristan nodded. Dragons were almost like amphibians. They could function in the vacuum of space as easily as in the atmosphere of a planet, even on worlds that would be toxic to humans. What looked like scales were actually small “feathers” that the dragons could extend to allow them to ride the Winds. Sometimes when he
saw dragons drifting in space, the dragons reminded Tristan of a leafy sea-dragon with wings.

“Do you think it’s the
Winged Victory
in the dome?”

“Yes, we believe so.” Fenfyr sighed. “Why did you agree to Weave the sails?”

“Darius asked me.” Tristan shrugged.

“Not because no one has ever made sails like that before?”

“No.”

“Of course not.” The dragon nudged him. “You are lying to me, Tristan Weaver.”

“What? No, I’m not.”

“So the lure of creating sails like that has no attraction?”

“Of course it does, but I am Weaving them because Darius asked me,” Tristan insisted, but heard the uncertainty in his voice.

“
Hmph
.”

“The dragons have never asked us to Weave for them.”

“True.”

“And these sails are unprecedented.”

“Also true.”

“The Weaving is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

Tristan cocked his head at the dragon. “You know me too well, Fen.”

“Your motives are different than you stated?” Fenfyr asked.

“No
…
”

“But?”

“It’s
…
” Tristan paused, trying for the right words, trying to express what he’d felt the first time he’d seen the plans of the
Winged Victory.
It was almost impossible to explain the attraction for the ship and the desire to be the one to Weave the sails for her.

“Ah,” Fenfyr said with a soft noise. “I understand.” He shifted his head, peering around the canyon. “You have come here seeking the Elements?”

“Yes, as soon as I saw the plans for the ship, I knew this was where I would find them.”

The dragon made a humming noise, encouraging him to go on.

“I’ve been here before, but never felt a pull like this. I already found a piece.” Tristan grabbed his pack and pulled out the wood
he’d found earlier, carefully unwrapping it and showing it to the dragon.

“I see.” Fenfyr bent closer, his head dwarfing Tristan as he examined the piece. “Yes, very good, very old, very beautiful. The willowisps will love it.”

“You think so?” Tristan asked hopefully.

“Yes. When have they ever rejected your Elements? You are the Master Weaver for a reason, Tris,” he said gently.

“Thank you.”

“You are worried about this Weaving as well.”

Tristan cast a smile at the dragon. “Yes, I am. The Navy and Darius asked me to do it. The sails are huge, and you are very right, there is something off in the whole thing. There is more here than we know and that bothers me.”

“If it makes you feel better, we have sent someone out to investigate,” Fenfyr offered.

“You have?”

“Darius and Rhoads and the Guilds. We are united in this and we are suspicious of the Naval creatures. You do not know, for we have not spoken of it, but there was some
…
trouble a year ago.”

“Trouble?” Tristan leaned forward, the dragon was agitated.

“Yes.”

“Fenfyr? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We cannot confirm the information, but there is a possibility that the Naval creatures managed to capture a Vermin ship.”

“They didn’t kill it?” Tristan asked horrified.

“That’s the problem, we aren’t sure.”

“But
…
”

“Yes, it violates the Treaty, it violates everything,” the dragon said softly.

“No, they couldn’t, they wouldn’t! It’s one of the Founding Principles of the Treaty. Fenfyr, if it’s true
…
”

“If it is true, our two people could be at war within a year.”

III

The small canyon was bathed in long shadows as Tristan reached the spring. He’d left the comforting shade of the cottonwood several hours before, knowing that the cool was almost more illusion than reality. This time of year the rock walls heated up to furnace levels by mid-day. The massive cliff that marked the end of his journey soared over his head. He was skirting the edges as he walked towards the spring that had been sacred since before humans had discovered how to forge metal. It had remained a stopping point for millennia, the graffiti that scarred its bright red walls showed this in intimate detail.

Tristan paused by one that he remembered from the first time he’d come here. He felt a connection to this man who had lived centuries before him, and it wasn’t merely because of the obvious. “Sgt. Tristan Means passed by here in the co. of Gen. Knox, 1853, lost all but four men, heading west.” He gently traced the deeply etched name and message with his finger, imagining what it must have been like, being alone out here, facing miles and miles of unrelenting wilderness. A dark shadow flickered over him, he glanced up, expecting to see Fenfyr.

Only it wasn’t the dragon.

A squat
shuttlecar
, about as graceful as an overweight beetle, hovered over the canyon. Tristan clamped down his first reaction—
anger that someone had violated the sanctuary—and pressed into a small crevasse in the rock. If someone was risking violation of the area, it could mean danger. He held perfectly still, in the cover of shadow of the rock, and hoped he wouldn’t be noticed. The vehicle dropped closer to the ground, still being careful to stay above the “red zone” that would trigger alarms. It turned slowly, for the first time ever Tristan was glad the cliffs were hot, the temperature would cover any attempt to locate him by body heat. He held his breath, not daring to move. Sweat trickled off his face and ran over his scalp, feeling like the feet of tiny insects.

The nose of the car swung slowly towards him, and Tristan knew they had a lock on him. He closed his eyes, waiting for what was to come. Suddenly, he heard the claxon as the
shuttlecar
brushed the top of the “red zone.” Opening his eyes, he saw it shoot off towards the north at high speed. Tristan let out the breath he was holding and slid down the rock, listening to the hammering of his heart, wondering what had happened.

“They can spot tiny you down there, but they miss me right here,” Fenfyr huffed from above his head. Tristan looked up, the dragon was peering over the cliff at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Tristan stood. “What did you do?”

“I just fanned my wings a little, just enough to push them into the alarms. This is a secluded sanctuary for dragons, how dare they invade it!” the dragon said, sounding aggrieved.

“Which is why you did it?” Tristan asked with a snort.

“Of course.”

“Thanks.”

There was a soft
whoosh
of air as Fenfyr dropped to the ground, by the time Tristan rounded the corner where the spring trickled out of the rock and into a deep pool, the dragon was stretched out
,
basking in the rays of the setting sun. Tristan set his pack down in the mouth of the cave at the back of the pool and unrolled his bed roll. He grabbed his cook-kit and carried it back out to sit beside Fenfyr. After heating some soup, with the comforting flame of the small camp stove lighting the walls and glistening on the dragon’s feathers, Tristan sighed and leaned back against Fenfyr.

“Remember?” the dragon asked softly.

“How could I forget?”  Tristan smiled gently at the dragon.
They had met in this spot when he was first in the Guild. Before Weaving his first set of sails, he was sent out to find the Elements for the Interface. It was his second day out when he realized that part of the test was surviving in the desert. He had been watching a huge electrical storm building in the west for hours as he headed towards a massive red cliff, hoping to find shelter there. The imbalance in the world caused by massive plasma and other weapons used during the last part of the Great Second War made for deadly storms if you were caught out in them. He guessed he had less than an hour before it struck, and he was hurrying towards shelter when he realized he wasn’t alone. There was nothing to confirm that notion, he just knew. When he reached the cliff and the spring, the rain was starting and he dove into the cave. A deep growl greeted him as the first strike of lightning slammed into the ground.

“I considered eating you,” Fenfyr joked, nudging him out of the memory.

“I expected you to,” Tristan replied.

“You were too scrawny, not enough meat. Besides, I like flavored protein soup, and I didn’t want to have to cook it myself.”

“You
are
lazy.”

“And diabolical,” the dragon added.

Tristan laughed softly. “Right, that’s what it is. I knew it was something like that.” Had he known that long-ago storm would bring this friendship, he would have walked into the desert more sure of himself. Their friendship was not well known
,
Darius knew, and for reasons only known to him, encouraged it. Brian Rhoads knew and was a little less sure, but it was generally not known that Fenfyr was more attached to the Weavers’ Guild than just “security”—that is, when he chose to perform his duties and not chase Naval shuttles.

“Why were they trying to kill you?” Fenfyr asked suddenly.

“I have no idea who ‘they’ even were, do you?”

“No, there were no markings on the shuttle, but they were so intent on getting to you, they didn’t notice me. And really,” he snorted out a burst of laughter, “you should watch out for dragons.”

“Very true.” Tristan laughed with him, feeling a niggle of unease at the base of his spine. “What were you saying earlier about the Navy?”

“It’s nothing we can confirm, but there is something going on,
and we think this ship you are foolishly killing yourself for is the reason.”

“Obviously, someone thinks I am not killing myself, Fen.”

“I don’t either.” A huge sigh buffeted Tristan. “But it is a massive undertaking, you know it is; and it irks me that it might be for naught.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think they want the sails at all.”

“They can’t fly without them,” Tristan protested. “There is no way!”

“But there is,” Fenfyr insisted.

“No! There’s…” Tristan broke off and looked in horror at the dragon. “No.”

“It’s what we fear.”

“They wouldn’t!” He turned to look at Fenfyr. The dragon was regarding him, his eyes dark. “But…”

“I told you, it could mean war.”

Tristan realized he was shaking his head in denial. What Fenfyr was proposing was
beyond horrific. It broke the T
reaty with the dragons, it tossed the Edicts aside. But that wasn’t the worst part of it. “You mean they…”

“I told you, they took a ship, and we believe it was not killed.”

Tristan swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he considered what Fenfyr was implying. During humanity’s first stumbling steps off-world they had sent generational ships. The ships, though traveling at less than light speed, had penetrated out into the galaxy. Most of them were lost, four survived
,
and it was one of these that started the battle in what would become the Great Galactic War, though most people called it The War.  The hapless settlers had stumbled into “Vermin” space. 

The Vermin were creatures that destroyed without thought or pity. No matter how hard the settlers had tried to make peace, that was not an option. They were killed and eaten. The last image to reach
Earth
was of the side of a ship bearing symbols that looked like VRM, since then humans had called them Vermin. The more they learned about them, the worse it was. The final blow came when the dragons broke their long silence and stepped forward, offering humans the spell to Weave the willowisps into sails for faster-than-
light ships. Humankind and
dragonkind
had a common enemy. Vermin found human flesh satisfying in many ways, and dragons—what happened to dragons that fell to Vermin was enough to make the toughest Naval Officer blanch. The aliens used captured dragons that they had essentially lobotomized and “slaved” to fly their ships in the Winds, it was a complex process, but the end was the same. The “slaved” dragons were still aware enough to know what was happening, and while there was no way to save them once they had been taken, they could at least be freed by death.

“Humans would never do that!” Tristan said, hearing the quiver in his own voice.

“They might already be doing that, maybe not taking dragons, but capturing a Vermin ship and planning to use the technology somehow on this ship you are Weaving.”

“Then why come to us?”

The dragon snorted. “A ship that big would be noticed; they have to have the Guild Weave sails for it even if they never intend to use them.”

“I don’t believe it,” Tristan said, leaning back against the dragon.

“I don’t want to either,” the dragon said softly. “You will seek the rest of the Elements tomorrow?”

“Yes, there is a planetary conjunction, it will increase the magic and I will need all the help I can get.”

“Sleep, Tris. I will watch.”

The soft light of dawn bathed the cliff in pink when Tristan woke. He had sat with Fenfyr until the moon began to rise, then settled down in the cave, lighting a small fire in the approved ring, more for comfort than warmth. As he looked out of the cave, he noticed the dragon was gone—he briefly wondered why, but knew if there had been something serious Fenfyr would have made sure he was awake before he left. There were enough clouds in the sky to give it an odd blood-red color. It wasn’t a good omen. He laughed to himself, the rest of the world might dismiss omens, but then again, the rest of the world was not entrusted with the magic to make sails.

Although fewer people dismissed magic now than they once had. Tristan remembered reading history books of the time before the
Third World War when magic had remained untapped. I
t wasn’t until a freak incident
on the battlefield that someone finally put two and two together and realized many of the “miraculous” things that happened were actually not good luck, but in fact magic. The first workers had mostly been healers, and there were still healers among the magic workers, although they all fell u
nder the auspices of the Weaver
s
’
Guild.

Those gifted with healing proved to be adept at another kind of Weaving. It was the second hurdle they had to jump before launching the first ship more than a century before. In order for the ship to fly, the sails had to come into contact with the Winds—but the crew still needed access to the masts and the decks of the ships. After several failed attempts at creating a ship with plating to protect the crew, they had discovered the spell that would create the other major wing of the Weavers’ craft. The Air Weavers could use their magic not to mend flesh and bone, but to Weave together the particles of space and make a bubble of atmosphere and gravity, creating an artificial environment that allowed activity on the deck and the masts while still leaving the sails free to catch the Winds. It was an eerie feeling, even Tristan admitted, to watch the great plates that protected the ship until the Air Weavers’ spell took over drop down, leaving the ship open to the stars. Some people never adapted, and when the Navy had resurrected the practice of “pressing” crews—forcing them to serve on ships whether they wanted to or not—more than one crew member died when the plates dropped. Knowing that there was nothing more than a spell between you and the vacuum of space was unsettling.

Tristan rolled up his things and tucked them in the pack. This morning he could hear the soft call of one of the Elements for the Interface. It might be all he needed with the piece he’d found the day before, he wouldn’t know until he found it, but now he had a definite direction to go. Pausing long enough to whisper a thank you to the spring for keeping him safe through the night, he set out to the west. The canyon turned and narrowed again. A small ground squirrel wandered under a scrub oak tree gathering acorns, and a lizard was lying on a rock doing the funny push-ups they always did in the morning sun.

The walls of the canyon were humming quietly as the sun rose
,
Tristan could feel the tug of the far-off alignment of planets as he walked and he hurried his steps. The Element’s call was getting stronger and the piece he had found the day before was vibrating in his backpack, letting him know that the other half of it was getting close. He rounded a corner, the cliffs soared over his head but were so close together it was almost like a cave, only a tiny slit of the red sun filtering through, and there it was. Tristan knew it the moment he saw it. A stone, egg-shaped and close to the size of an emu’s egg was lying partially buried. He realized he was almost running as he reached the rock and knelt beside it. Laying his hand on it, he felt the jolt of connection explode between his eyes.