Hesketh Tolson
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Dawn Watch 21: Wind in Dry Grass
🕑 Added 2021-08-08 19:37:02 +0000 UTC21
Wind in Dry Grass
Ansel squinted into the sun, steering the little airship as close to the wind as he dared. If the ship tipped now it would be a long way down to the rocks. He had only installed one safety harness, and that was just a rope looped around his waist. Scant protection from disaster in the sky and no help at all for his companions.
They had a good start, but the ships of the Lochlanach fleet were rising from their berths like vengeful spirits. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Sky Lion and the Warspite surging forwards, their shadows scudding over the camp. Ansel had never raced, so he was not sure which was faster, but he suspected it was not the model airship he had built as a long-distance cargo hauler. She was designed to fly high and heavy, not fast and fleet. The nimble Sky Lion would catch them, and soon.
This was not how Ansel wanted to die, blown from the sky by cannonfire from the ship he thought of as home.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Wouldn’t let it happen.
Ansel turned away, and concentrated on the act of flying. Kip was huddled in the bow, his eye’s tight shut, moaning in pain. Jethro was trying to pour water over Kip’s burns, but he kept spilling the liquid as the airship buffeted. Gusts coming off the sea were short and sharp and there was nothing Ansel could do about them. Kjell was clinging to the railing, eyes narrowed as he watched the Warspite roll out her sails. He was clutching an arquebus tight, as if it might help but he might as well be taking a pea shooter to a cannon fight.
The wind shifted and Ansel had a split second to decide on a course of action. The flat expanse of the isthmus lay before them, water sparkling on either side of the narrow land bridge, while to their starboard lay great puffs of cloud, streaming over the mountains of the peninsula. He swung the wheel and headed for the clouds.
“Grab that rope,” he shouted to Kjell, pointing, “and when I say haul, haul! Haul!”
Everyone ducked as the beam swung overhead. The sails snapped, and for a moment the ship jolted to a gut-wrenching halt. Then the sails filled anew, billowing out and the small airship shot forward, racing for the high peaks.
Ansel leaned in and lit another set of runes. The ship lifted so high, so quickly they were almost tipped out.
“Hold on!” Ansel screamed, belatedly. A jar of cavorite spun over the side and smashed on the ground below, leaving a silver smear. Kjell hunkered down on the boards looking green while Jethro clung to the mast, his face between his knees. Kip was burrowed down so low that Ansel couldn’t even see him anymore.
Bang! Everyone jumped as a cannonball burst from the Sky Lion.
It fell uselessly into the void between the two ships and they watched as it crashed into the mountainside below, raising a plume of dust. But the Sky Lion was gaining. Looking over his shoulder Ansel could see faces. Was Ezra there? It didn’t matter. He turned resolutely to the fluffed heaps of cloud, almost solid in the afternoon light.
Moments later they shot into the towering pile and were enveloped in thick, wet silence. Ansel gulped. He couldn’t see the rope in front of his nose. He strained his eyes, trying to see but there was nothing but white. They were sailing through it, fast, the mist swirling in their wake before returning to stillness.
He had made a rough estimate of the height of the mountains and they should be well clear of the peaks, but they were moving at speed and he was unfamiliar with the terrain. If he flew too high he risked emerging from the cover of the cloud. He bit his lip and flew on, praying he had not misjudged. That they weren’t about to be smashed face first into an unforgiving cliff face.
The treacherous mountain wind shifted, and Ansel fought to keep the ship upright, everyone clinging on for dear life. The gust ended as quickly as it had come but the next time they might not be so lucky. He glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign of the predator airships. At least for now.
Taking great care to keep the craft level, Ansel started to extinguish runes one by one. The ship shuddered and sank.
“What are you doing?” mouthed Kjell. Ansel gestured to the sail, making pulling motions with his hands. Kjell hauled it in, a questioning look on his face.
“We’ll land on the mountain,” whispered Ansel, “and wait for them to pass over us.” Kjell nodded, understanding blooming in his eyes. The ship slowed, as the sails came in, and sank. Ansel watched for the ground, willing his eyes to pierce the gloom but there was only fog. Then suddenly they were racing over rock and tufts of tough mountain grass. Kjell pulled hard on the last of the sail and their motion slowed, but not enough for them to land gently. The hull ground into the plateau with a tortured ripping noise. They crashed to stillness, and waited breathless.
Kjell and Jethro leapt up to help him with the fins, and together they heaved the sail off the boom. They drew it over themselves, the white taupe blending into the thick blanket of mist. That done they huddled, silent and still, ears straining, wrapped in the chilly embrace of the cloud. Ansel peeked through a gap. A minute or more passed by with tortuous slowness. Just as he thought they were alone in the cloud, that the airships hadn’t followed them in, he heard it.
The creaks and groans of the wood shifting, the snaps of the sail; never before had they sounded so ominous. Ansel breathed in and out, willing his limbs to tranquillity. A shadow passed overhead. The Warspite, its massive hull briefly visible before it was swallowed by the sea of the mist. Where was the Sky Lion? No doubt close behind, or perhaps it had slipped by to one side? They stayed silent, counting the seconds as they passed. There were no more sounds. Were they alone? Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes became an hour.
Ansel stretched his cramped legs. He was cold after the exertion and adrenaline of the morning and his muscles were sore. It started to rain, a soft, soaking rain that chilled to the bone. The four of them hid under the taupe and waited for the hours to pass. At least, Ansel though, staring out at the ever-shifting wall of mist, the cloud was holding. There was no way Ezra would be able to find them in this thick blanket. Would it hold till nightfall? Then they could make a run for it.
It held.
As the light dimmed the taste of metal suffused the driving rain. Twilight fell and Ansel resisted the urge to set out as soon as it was dark. They were all freezing and uncomfortable but Ezra would be watching.
He looked over at his companions that he barely knew. Ansel sighed and shifted his legs in the dark. Would it be better to be alone? Probably not. His mind slid off the memory of Talcott, lying on the ground with the bullet hole in her forehead. He didn’t want to think about death any longer. Mourning could come later, it was time to live. Ansel removed the cover of the compass rose and watched the magnetized needle bounce. His eyes narrowed as he searched the veil of the cloud.
“Hang on,” he said softly, alerting the others to his intentions. “Get ready to haul.”
Kjell and Jethro sat up, eyes bright. Kip didn’t respond; lost in a dream or a nightmare, Ansel didn’t know. He touched a flaming finger to a rune, igniting the ship. His surge of magic was weaker now, like he was running low on fuel. He needed to think about that too, figure out how it all worked and make proper notes, but first they had to get somewhere safe. Safe. Where could they be safe in this monster infested wilderness?
The little airship rose, the mist swirling in eddies around her fins. With hand gestures he instructed Kjell and together they raised the sails and extended the fins, working as quietly as they could. The wind caught and they snapped taunt, and once again they were travelling.
Ansel angled the prow south-east, making for open waters, rather than the isthmus. At least according to his calculations. The land bridge would surely be watched and with no particular destination in mind they might as well fly across the sea. The sheer bulk of the peninsula’s mountains should shield them from view, at least for a little while. They sailed low, the stony mountain top flashing by mere yards from the bow. Without any warning they shot out of the cloud into the night sky.
The drop beneath them was suddenly vast. They had excited the cloud on the eastern flank of the mountains, as he had planned. There was no sign of pursuit but the ship rolled in the cross winds. Righting the vessel, Ansel grinned in sudden excitement. The air snatched at his hair and he flew them fast and low, skimming the treetops, heading for the open waters of the bay.
They were soon coasting over the rolling swells, watching as giant squid, gleaming with magic, leap from the waters to chase unseen prey. Fountains of spray flew up as they crashed back into the waves. The isthmus was a dark low lump off their port bow, while directly ahead reared formless mountains. Once more Ansel lit the high runes, taking them soaring high over the twinkling waters to make the most of the patchy cloud cover. Hopefully it would be enough.
A good hour later the peninsula had sunk into insignificance in the darkness behind them. Ansel slowed the ship, hauling in some of the sail.
“Any ideas?” he said, breaking the silence. His voice sounded hoarse. A little strange. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Where should we go?”
His companions looked at him.
“Somewhere hidden,” said Kjell, “where they can’t find us.”
“Somewhere safe from monsters,” said Kip, from beneath the taupe.
“Somewhere with running water,” said Jethro. “And access to food. We need to be able to eat.”
“Right,” said Ansel, biting his lip. “No problem.” He steered for the mountains ahead, picking one at random.
They went with the wind and the scudding clouds, skipping over rocks and crags. Up a gully they flew, and over a ridge, Ansel breathing a little easier. Every part of his body felt like it was made of lead, he needed to rest soon. But they had made it. That was all that mattered.
Peering over the edge of the ship he could make out only darkness. Thick shadows clustered deep and impenetrable, lit by only the cold light of the stars. Alongside a rushing river they flew, then up and over cliff faces as Ansel did his best to lose them in the valleys.
In the end, tired of night flying and desperate for sleep, Ansel brought the tiny airship to a halt on a lonely mountain ledge. The stone jutted from the solid sandstone cliff. There was no way up that he could see, and no way down. It had started to rain again, and sleep batted at his eyelids, so heavy as he blinked raindrops away. The last rune blinked out.
They were in pitch darkness.
“I’ll watch,” came Kjell’s voice. “You sleep.”
Ansel nodded, grateful. Fumbling, they pulled down the mainsail one more, using it as a cover. It kept out most of the rain. Ansel fell asleep almost immediately, lulled by the gentle patter of rain against the canvas.
The night passed without incident.
Then, sometime just before dawn Ansel was jolted awake by a scream. He scrambled for his sword, almost tipping himself overboard in his bleary panic but it was just Kip waking from a nightmare.
Ansel heaved a sigh of relief and then settled back down, his eyelids still weary, but it was no good. He was now firmly awake and rest would not return. His toes were cold and his stomach was hollow and aching.
“I’ll watch,” he said, to Jethro, whose turn it was. “I’ve had enough sleep.”
Jethro nodded, and curled up as best he could. Kjell and Kip were already back to sleep, Kjell snoring gently.
Ansel rearranged his limbs and then gave up trying to be comfortable. Instead he leaned over the side. An unfamiliar mountain was bathed in the steely light of dawn and he looked around with wary interest. Their precarious ledge was a beautifully protected spot. Unfortunately it was far too small for them to remain, unless they never planned on leaving the cramped airship. He stared up at the sheer cliff and then down again. The rain had stopped in the night, and everything was still damp. In the distance he could see some auroch moving and he wondered if they could kill one of the beasts and roast it.
Food was going to be a concern, he pondered. Basic survival even. The thought of food reminded him of the large hole where his stomach was supposed to be. He turned away to rummage in the ship's storage, being as quiet as he could. He located some old biscuits that he had stashed in case he needed a snack. He ate in silence, the reality of their situation settling on his shoulders like a leaden cloak.
And yet... it was exciting too. He cast his gaze over the ship, trying to make a mental note of what he had stored in it. Besides the jars and jars of cavorite paint. What could he do with it? What could he build? And he was not alone. Kjell was a solid man, and Ansel liked him. He was capable, a good fighter and a good craftsman. Jethro seemed nice and enough and obviously had skills that would be useful… and Kip… Ansel’s gaze went to the sleeping boy. He looked small and frightened even as he rested, his brow furrowed as he murmured in his sleep. What had Talcott said? Kip was seeing spirits, was talking to spirits. He shook his head and let them sleep. All of them witches, as well. This was something that Ansel had yet to come to terms with, since that moment on the beach. His world had been rocked and the stone beneath his feet had not yet settled.
When his companions woke an hour or two later, Ansel handed round the dry biscuits. They were eaten without complaint although Jethro looked like he might cry.
After a brief discussion they set off inland, into unexplored territory. They all agree that if they stayed too close to the isthmus they were bound to be discovered, sooner or later. Ansel had a feeling Ezra would not be able to just let this go.
They sailed on, spotting only one distant native village and no other humans, but no monsters either. After a day of travelling they found an interesting spot that they all agreed had potential: a fertile meadow next to a cascading spring and a vein of cavorite.
“Not that we need it,” said Kjell, casting an eye at the many jars Ansel had stored in the hull.
“You never know,” said Ansel.
A nearby mountain had the remains of some ancient structure built on top of it. It was uninhabited, and there was not a soul insight.
“Do you think we can sleep in the ruins?” asked Kip, eyeing tumbled down walls suspiciously. There seemed to be some kind of cave or internal chamber leading back into the mountain.
“I hope so,” said Ansel.
All of them were thoroughly sick of sleeping in the boat, exposed to the elements. Using the ruins as a base would save plenty of time, and was very defensible.
“I wonder what they were for?” said Jethro, as the four of them stood, inspecting the entranceway, “and why are they abandoned?”
Ansel pushed at a crumbling stone thoughtfully.
“We should put iron in the doorway,” he said, “before we do anything else. And we can start clearing them out tomorrow.”
In agreement they spent the day gathering food and hunting. That afternoon they sat around a sheltered fire and Jethro cooked them up a decent, if rather plain stew of auroch meat and scavenged herbs. The hot food made them all more cheerful, and they went to sleep that night resting on the valley floor, their heads full of hopes.
Just after midnight, Ansel was prodded awake by anxious fingers.
“What?” Ansel mumbled, half awake. Kip was staring at him with wide eyes. The boy pointed frantically and Ansel saw them - three hollow men shuffling towards the ship. There were more figures in the darkness, countless more shambling along by the dim light of the stars. How many? Too many. Cursing, he woke Jethro and Kjell, who exclaimed and started pulling on the ropes, trying to get the sails out.
Ansel pressed a finger to the runes, willing the fire to come. It didn’t.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Why now? Come on!” He dived instead for a flint and steel. He knew there was one somewhere in the cargo but there were so many things and he had not yet set everything to rights after their frantic escape.
The first hollow put its hideous, rotting hand on the railing. Kip swiped at it with a dagger and yelped as it grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him forwards. Kjell ran the creature through with his sword, and the creature crumbled into ash.
“Get back,” Kjell said, to Kip. He nodded and scrambled away, rubbing at the purpling bruise on his wrist. Another hollow approached. There was another behind it, and another behind that. Kjell ran the next one through, pushing the crumbling ashes off the ship.
“Do something!” cried Jethro, uselessly, and Ansel snarled, giving up his frantic search and turning instead to help Kjell.
“I can’t light the runes,” he said. “Kip, see if you can find something to make a flame.” He ran his sword into the next hollow. Kjell was dealing with the ones on the other side. Ansel swore and ducked as one of the undead things grabbed at him, narrowly avoiding its grasping arm in the confined space.
Jethro managed to get his arquebus assembled and was tapping the pan, his hands shaking. He got off a shot, the hollow exploding into ash. The noise was excruciatingly loud, ringing through the mountains but hollows kept coming. They were not difficult to kill but they just kept coming. Were they attracted to the noise? Or just the fact that they were living?
“We need to get the ship aloft,” said Ansel, wiping an ashy hand across his forehead. “Kip?”
“Which rune?” said the boy. Ansel pointed, and then ducked as undead hands swiped once more at his head. He swept his blade sideways, killing two at once. He spat the dust from his mouth in disgust.
“That one,” he pointed.
Kip pressed a flaming finger to it and the ship ignited, lurching up. Ansel caught Jethro, only just preventing him from tumbling over the side.
“How can you still do that,” asked Ansel, raising his eyebrows at Kip’s still flickering finger. “I’m all out. I thought we were all out?”
“Lad didn’t roast Reuben,” muttered Kjell. Ansel glared at him.
“Do you have magic left?” he demanded.
Below them the hollows stared up at them, silent and watching. There had to be at least fifty of them. Now the ship was floating out of their grasp, their stillness was uncanny.
“No,” conceded Kjell. Jethro shook his head likewise.
“You have to feed the fires,” said Kip.
“With what?” demanded Ansel, and his mind slipped back to the memory of Mammon’s grinning skeleton, roasting in the pyre. He shuddered.
“Anything,” shrugged Kip.
“Uhh,” said Jethro. “Can we talk about it later? When the sun is up and the… the things are gone?”
They all looked down at the waiting hollows. Every single one was looking up at them. Waiting, expectantly.
“Don’t look,” said Ansel. “They can do nothing too us here. We have plenty of cavorite, we can stay in the air as long as we need.”
“We can’t build in the air,” said Jethro, a little hysterically. “How are we going to survive? There are only four of us. We’ll get swarmed.”
“The natives survive,” said Kjell.
“And we’ll figure out how,” said Ansel. The wind huffed, and the prow of the boat drifted gently to the side. “But in the meantime. Who says we can’t build in the air?”
They looked at him in confusion.
“You are sitting in a floating ship,” said Ansel, patiently. “We can build other things. Rooms. Houses. A floating castle! The Warspite is essentially that, after all!” he warmed to his theme. “Who says we have to stay on the ground? We can make whatever we want.” He patted the jar of cavorite beside him. “I have lots of ideas…”
“A floating castle,” said Kjell, his tone doubtful.
“I mean, we can start smaller, but why not? But let’s anchor the airship and get back to sleep. We can talk about it in the morning.”
With some difficulty they manoeuvred the airship over to some trees, looping two sturdy lengths of rope to the trunks. One by one they fell asleep, the ship bobbing gently in the night wind. The hollows watched, patiently, and Ansel lay back with a sigh.
The stars above were bright and clearly visible.
He shut his eyes and dreamt of floating cities drifting through cloudless night skies.
