Chapter 13 - Radiancy

Alanea took her aeroship down a lazy current. The Prospector's sails were slack against the weak wind as she eased the wheel. Ahead of them, in the argo aerolithion, was an area between the skylands of Argo Redemption and Bastilion Orot. These lands were once joined together in a larger mass and had split apart eons ago.

Patches of bare stone showed themselves within its crooked fields. Within the dotting of floaters in this trench, houses were spanned together with loose bridges between them. Carnival banners hung limp and were bleached by decades of sourcelight. They were a brilliant violet long ago when they were first dyed, but were now thin, fraying rags.

Alanea, even after these days of constant alertness, had not relaxed her grip on the wheel. Her hands were wrapped in strips of cloth dipped in a salve made by Kuthe from leaves provided by Cowel's cat companion. She wouldn't be loosening that grip until they were well safe under the carnival's protection. Within this fourth of a redknot wide fracture, a square dock platform jutted out from the skyland edge. Its boards were worn pale by years of shoe scuffs and gangplank drops, but sturdy enough to land safely.

"They'll see us before we're fully settled down." She muttered partly to herself, the owl, and Kuthe, who was barely within earshot.

"I'm sure they knew long before we pulled in." Kuthe had his small leg perched up on the cabin deck rail. His tail twitched a little as he counted out some people on the dock. "Word passes fast in the settled world. This square knows about our little tussle with the frigate yesterday. You can be certain about that."

Cowel leaned over the dockside rail to look at where they would be disembarking. "It seems to be just a small group of villagers drinking." Some were shading their eyes with their hands. Farmers in plain tunics and boots with more straw stuffed around them than one might expect. They watched the ship dock curiously, as if they had not seen one before. This was not the case. Ships docked infrequently while traveling through this crevasse, but flew through often.

Edven adjusted the sail ropes with his automaton standing behind him, motionless. At least until he threw a rope to it. The machine caught the rope with its great stone digits and secured the line with one twisting motion of its fingers and wrist. A motion impossible for Edven's hand.

Likewise, the serval companion was pacing below deck, exploring the same area it had been for the last few days. Its ears twitched, following Cowel's voice that carried from above. It was using its energy to create, of all things, herbs like basil and parsley. There were also natural medicines growing along the length of its, quite literally, 'bushy' tail.

The Prospector's hull and nacelles were banded by a metal strip, which knocked gently into the sandy berth of the dock. Lines were tied off to the dock's posts to prevent the ship from drifting into the crevasse. The nacelle floatstones shimmered their yellow light across the platform, shadowed by the outcropping of hanging stone above.

Alanea eased the throttle back until the engines sputtered to cool, then stepped away from the wheel. "Dockside lines?" She rhetorically asked, even though she saw them being tied. This was a means to feign communication in an attempt to reduce suspicion.

On the dock, an older man with a long beard streaked in black and white stepped forward. His back bent, and he placed his hands on his hips. Then, raising one hand, he made an open gesture. "Carnival ship?"

Alanea walked next to the gangplank being levered down across the air between the ship and the dock. She leaned over the rail. "Prospector." The captain pointed down to the ship's name painted on the dockside. "Out of Bellflower. Just stopping for flour... maybe some wet food." They were not coming from Bellflower.

The man nodded slowly. "Ahh... we've got little flour this time of year, and the stone's cracked in the mill." He looked down at the gangplank as it hit the dock. Behind him, a girl no older than ten pulled on her brother's sleeve as she whispered in his ear. She pointed straight at Edven's automaton standing on the flight deck. Their mother caught her by the hand and shoved it down.

Alanea tilted her head up a little. "We can trade fair. No theft, no threats. We can pay." Her words hung until the elderly man gave a shallow nod, and the villagers pulled back to make space. She looked over her shoulder. "Kuthe, Edven. Go ahead and come with me. Cowel, you keep the deck, and don't wonder."

Cowel nearly protested, as he was always the one to leave with the captain. However, Prism snapped back from within his coat pocket. He pressed his hand over the bundle within as if he was struck by sudden pain. She was right. It was better to keep the stone on the ship and on his person if anyone decided to make it on board.

Half of this village lay low a few hundred feet from the top of the skyland, with the other half above. They built within the wall of the vast chasm, creating a network of interior spaces that stepped up its side to the skyland's true and natural surface.

Fields were terraced along its slope, with stones carefully set to keep soil and sand from tumbling down below. Only weeds and thistles were thriving here. They climbed high up the corrugations that were once used for irrigation flow over cracked, dry soil. A crook was lying against a wooden retaining wall bridging across a small stream, sided with minimal moss. The houses were starting to lean from the stone and would be unfit to live in within the decade. Wagons and doors were patched with planks from long-abandoned houses.

The elder led Alanea into the larger courtyard of the lower town. In its center hung a lantern scavenged from a stolen skyway buoy. Its lens was cracked, and the cyan gemin inside was barely clinging to life. Children were throwing the hoop of a barrel back and forth between each other, until an elderly woman shooed them off the street.

"We still get large caravans coming through twice each grad. Those supplies are enough to keep us fed, but nothing more. Flour, salt, and cloth. We send back what little we can still harvest. Lumber and root vegetables." The bearded elderly man looked out toward the lower dock. "The old carnival colors still fly, but gema hasn't touched this town in a few years."

Kuthe's black eyes narrowed toward the flags. "Why bother flying the flags?"

The old man stretched out his jaw. "A fleet from the carnival passes by at least once a grad. Actors, dancers, and masked performers. They take a small tithe and leave nothing but spectacle. They'd destroy what little we have otherwise."

Alanea knew this would never be enough to sustain them. They couldn't support them in the long term, so she only nodded.

Edven had already drifted his way out toward the small smithy and their blacksmith. On the tables were fittings coated in forge scale, bent nails, several barrel hoops, and a half-completed warbird beak muzzle. Edven picked up a hinge and asked about spare steel.

The smith was a broad woman with burn scars across both of her bare arms, taller than he was. She gave a dry laugh. "Steel? I can't remember the last time I worked with material that wasn't already in town. I'll take any 'you' have."

Edven checked his satchel for the cargo ledger. "Uh... Hey. We have a ton of copper we stripped from our old engine housing?"

"Copper? The brewer could use a new still. Alcohol is about the only thing we can still make around here." She looked for something she might be able to trade for equal value. "The only steel I have is an old half-barrel weight anvil. You can take it if you can move it."

"I'd be happy to take it off your hands. I'll drop by with a skid tonight. Thank you." He walked out and back to the captain.

Alanea had kept to the elderly man's side, as Kuthe floated around from stall to stall. He fiddled about with herbs and jars. Weighing each of them in his claws, he was looking for their value as medicine or incense.

Voices rose around them. The Murky Prospector's name spread quickly in the small village. Some were admiring the valuable-looking ship, while others were disdainful of its opulent appearance. A boy told his friends a made-up story about the captain being Lillyvon's personal assassin, but they quickly shut his mouth.

From the flight deck, Cowel leaned over the dockside and watched the townsfolk peep at the ship in quick glances from around the square. Prism's pulse could be felt in his chest. He closed his eyes to view what this warning might be.

"They would parade me..."

These were the first words spoken by the stone that he could understand. Cowel's eyes snapped open. He thought at first it had been his own inner voice, but no. He quickly pulled the stone free from his jacket. Still wrapped in silk, its colors seeped faintly through it.

"You're safe." He whispered as the serval brushed against his leg. Clearly, it too agreed. Prism understood that it was safe now. It was the future that it was concerned with.

Children crept nearer to the gangplank. One of them dared another to take a step onto it, but the young boy yelped and backed away when the mechanoid turned its head to face them. Cowel waved them back nervously, and they retreated giggling. The sound softened his heart a little.

Cowel's serval companion walked across the gangplank and sat on he dock, much to his disapproval. As the serval lay on the dock, the boards of its platform began to rejuvenate. The scratches and impacts from decades of abuse disappeared as splits in the wood readhered. It rolled across the air, running around the dock to various spots. Where loose nails had fallen out, it created knots, vines, and plugs that tightened the wood in place.

The afternoon dragged on with a growing list of small trades. Edven returned, hauling grain sacks back to the Prospector to be surprised by the changed appearance of the landing platform. With him, Kuthe carried a pouch of dried herbs. The kobald smiled, knowing that he had gained a far better value on his trade than he revealed. Alanea purchased a barrel of grain spirit, which she paid to the old man's son, the town brewer. He had nearly toppled it twice overboard on the gangplank in his eagerness to help.

Edven lifted the floatskid of old copper up by hoist through the grating at the center of the flight deck, keeping a small amount for engine repairs. He took it down the plank and into town to the smithy to receive his anvil. Salt, potatoes, ginger, and garlic also made their way on board. Herbs now hung in bundles from nails around the cargo hold. It was the best sale this town had made in a year.

When the work was done, villagers from around the town pressed closer to the ship. Curiosity was starting to outweigh their caution. A woman called up with a voice that carried across the platform. "Is it true that the queen flew her ship through the thread?"

Laughter crossed a few of the older adults in the small crowd. "No! She danced pomme drunk across the nacelles of ten ships, never falling once!" Tales flowed through the crowd like a river. One swore Lillian had intentionally swallowed a red gemin so that she could breathe fire. Another insisted she had three secret husbands hidden in different ports. Each story was reacted to with equal parts awe and dismissal.

Speaking of rivers, the captain's owl familiar, unbeknownst to her, spent most of the day flying around the town, filling all of the town's dry reservoirs with unfathomable quantities of fresh water. The trickling irrigation streams were just starting to pour into the dry soil once again.

Alanea kept calm as she knew better than to mock or confirm the crowd's allegations. Lillian's reputation thrived on this mythical personality, and members of Lillian's inner circle could be living in this cliffside village.

Kuthe leaned against the rail next to Alanea, who clambered under his breath. "Has she grown wings yet to fly above the source while clothed in a corona of light?"

One of the closer older women in the crowd whispered mockingly. "It wouldn't surprise me."

A senior man silenced the crowd. "Words are worthless. There is only truth in tribute, and we all know the queen can see all." His gaze snapped up to Cowel on the Prospector.

Cowel held the stone within his coat tightly. He thought the old man could see straight through it to Prism itself. If Lillian learned of Prism before their arrival at the carnival grounds, she would not need to provide them any kind of protection.

Conversation on the docks bled into the evening as many left to get rest for the tough day ahead. A man who somehow knew better than anyone else, shouted through the small town that the source was going dark. Just as he entered the town square with the lantern, night appeared.

The crew untied the Prospector from the now much better-looking dock. It was at this point that Alanea spotted the blue glow of her owl-doll familiar in the distance. At that time, it was performing what could only be called threadmancy upon the carnival banners around the town. Restoring them to their former beautiful color, embroidered emblems, and crisp weave.

The captain called out to her owl, whom she had just realized she hadn't named. Alanea then gave the order to lift the plank, and the ship laterally moved from the dock. The sails' wind was weak, so the Prospector's engines were heated up and the craft rose steadily with the nacelle shutters open.

On the pier, a few of the kinder villagers waved. It was not joyous waving, but one of pure courtesy. It was something they were supposed to do. Children stepped back quickly a few paces as their parents pulled them back. From the flight deck of the Prospector, the individual people became difficult to spot, as the dock was not well-lit. The fresh, bright violet banners were the only thing visible as their metallic embroidery shimmered under the nighttime sourcelight.

Their supplies were surprisingly full, and the town now had enough gema to octuple their next supply shipment.

"They'd hand us to her in a single breath if they knew." Edven mumbled as he wiped his face with a freshly washed hot rag.

"Yeah, they would have kept us captive for sure." Alanea leveled out. "They were nice enough." The owl-doll hovered silently over the captain's shoulder, unblinking. She remained blissfully unaware of what her keygemin had done to the village. Though she did notice the dock and its radical improvement. She tried not to think about it, and how much it would make the town talk about them when they were gone.

Edven's automaton stood, impressively, more stationary than usual. It was a complete statue, as if turned off. As Edven inspected it, it returned to sway as it normally did.

Cowel slid his hand into his coat and held Prism. As he did, he heard its voice again, flashing imagery of each word into his mind as it spoke.

"Do not let them see me."