CHAPTER TEN - RISE & FALL

The wreckage of the airship lay strewn for a mile behind the final crash site, a long swathe of fallen trees and shattered branches draped with the remnants of sails and rigging.

Pain awoke Sorcha, a throb of agony encompassing her entire body and depriving her of coherent thought. It was dark. She lay in a tangle of wreckage, weight pressing down on her and sharp objects pushing up from beneath. Then the whole wreck shifted around her, the weight drastically increased only to suddenly vanish. With a creak of protesting timber, a chunk of wreckage was thrown away and sunlight spilled down on Sorcha. Through the sudden brightness, she saw the silhouettes of two men clearing a way down to her and heard the voices of DeSilva and his father.

“I've found her, she's alive! Sorcha, can you hear me!”

Sorcha tried to answer but was still too dazed to find words. A hand was thrust down to her and she took it, hauled up out of the wreckage by DeSilva's strong arm. He scooped her up and carried her from the wreck, his father close behind, heading towards a fallen tree where Hnasi waited. Nearby, Drake was helping Vashta from the crash site. Looking back, Sorcha saw Kam Daishen emerging from the wreck with Fethne slung unconscious over one shoulder.

DeSilva put Sorcha down and helped her sit on the felled tree to recover. Both he and his father took out their pipes in unison and lit up, DeKellia taking long to strike a match while DeSilva simply used his magic ring to get a light.

Sorcha's first coherent words were, “Where's Charn?”

“You should know,” DeKellia replied. “You pushed her.”

“I didn't! We were both falling, I bumped into her, she...” Sorcha trailed off, silenced by the identical stares of DeSilva and his father. “I did, didn't I?”

“Fine by me,” DeSilva said, glancing at his father. “I never liked her anyway.”

DeKellia shrugged, contemplating his pipe. “Who am I to talk? If I think someone needs killing, I kill them. So does Noth, so does Kam. So, if you had a reason, then fine. But don't pretend you didn't do it.”

DeKellia's psychotic pragmatism only compounded Sorcha's guilt. She sat with her head in her hands, still quaking with shock, mortified at what she had done.

DeKellia sat on the other end of the log, smoking his pipe and stroking Hnasi to sooth her. She sat close beside him, hiding her face in his chest with every tip of her fur on end. It was the first time Sorcha had ever witnessed the Hrin woman express any emotion other than jaded disinterest, but she was in no condition herself to pay much attention.

"Is Hnasi alright?" DeSilva asked, still lingering beside Sorcha.

"Just a bit shaken," DeKellia said. "Nice landing, son. Guillemot would be proud."

"We were over a bloody forest, what was I supposed to do about it?"

"Look," Kam Saishen said, while the others were still mastering the effects of shock; Kalidor had appeared among the trees, limping badly. DeKellia and the rest sat like statues as the Dacoit approached. Every step was a trial of endurance; Kalidor's left leg was broken, but his face betrayed no pain. His entire body was shaking by the time he reached the spot where DeKellia and the others sat. Kalidor stood for a long moment as if taking a headcount of the survivors. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the earth.

Kneeling to examine his brother, DeKellia swore. "His leg is broken in three places. I don't think he has a rib left intact. How's everyone else? Vashta?” The tattooed woman nodded, her eyes glazed with shock. “Fethne?” DeKellia added.

"She's fine," DeSilva said. "Not a mark on her.”

Fethne had lost her blindfold in the crash; Sorcha glanced once but shuddered and averted her gaze from the livid scarring around the blind white orbs of Fethne's eyes.

"The world turned upside down," Fethne said, dreamily. “What happened?"

"We crashed," DeSilva said. "Does anyone smell burning?"

"The coals," DeKellia said, "from the stove on the deck."

"You mean the burner?" Both men's eyebrows rose, father and son wearing identical expressions for a split second before they lurched to their feet.

"Back," DeKellia shouted, "get under cover, into the trees!"

DeSilva swept Sorcha up and was running before DeKellia had time to take Hnasi by the arm. Kam paused to lift Kalidor beneath the arms and hesitated, glancing back at the wreck. There was a wisp of smoke rising from the mangled airship; the burner had overturned in the crash and spilt its contents amid the wreckage.

As DeSilva half dragged and half carried her in a mad dash for the undergrowth, Sorcha looked back in time to see a tongue of flame spread up an accelerant-stained spar and touch the broken casing of the burner. The remains of the airship became a ball of fire that splashed fifty feet into the air.

DeSilva hauled Sorcha down and threw himself and his cloak over her, sheltering them both amid the bracken from the burning wind of the blast.

Even when the flash had passed and the echo of the blast faded, Sorcha did not move until DeKellia stuck up his head from the charred undergrowth. "Everyone still alive?"

There was a chorus of groans from the undergrowth. The explosion had scourged the forest like a burning gale; even under cover, Sorcha had felt the force of the blast. As she picked herself up and swayed for balance, she looked frantically around for DeSilva. He lay nearby, stunned but conscious.

Further off lay Noth Kalidor, his black garb smoking and charred. As Sorcha watched, the Dacoit's eyelids fluttered with a spark of consciousness. Then one hand reached out to claw the turf and he began to drag himself away from the blast site, lifelong training and superhuman willpower together sufficient to overcome the most grievous of wounds.

DeSilva roused himself and staggered to Sorcha's side. DeKellia stood with Kam Daishen, watching the airship and the surrounding woodland burn.

"There's half of Guillemot's genius," DeKellia observed, relighting his pipe now that the danger had passed. "You drive yourself mad trying to bring down one of his bloody airships only to wish you hadn't; the man had a sense of humour."

"Probably still has," the Daishen said. "Did you actually see his body?"

"You mean what was left of it? No, but I did see his precious flagship blown to smithereens above Narillion."

"How big is a smithereen?" DeSilva asked.

"It's a random division of a piece," DeKellia said, "enough pieces make 'stuff'; when you blow stuff up, you get smithereens."

"Very droll," the Daishen rumbled. "Should we not be looking for survivors?"

"If they didn't see that explosion then they didn't survive," DeKellia said. "We sit here and wait, get our breath back for a little while."

Rather than light a fire, the survivors of the crash returned to the blackened tree stump, within the heat of the burning airship. They had not waited long before Drake and Vashta found them, stumbling out of the woods to collapse beside Kalidor and Kam Daishen. They waited another hour, but Charn did not appear. As night drew in, DeKellia built a fire from the charred wood around the crash site. Vashta brought Fethne to sit near the fire and Drake huddled in his cloak opposite them.

Sorcha, very shaken, huddled against DeSilva while they sat beside the fire. DeKellia managed to retrieve a battered cooking pot from the wreckage of the airship, and Hnasi found a small stream nearby. DeKellia liberated some herbs from his smoking box and made tea; Sorcha did not guess that it was some narcotic substance until after she had drunk. Lethargy stole over her limbs, and she sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Dawn at the crash site found Sorcha already awake. Bruised and sore from the landing, she slept badly and woke an hour before light, snuggled against DeSilva beneath a shared blanket. In Charn's absence, all pretence had been abandoned; DeKellia already knew that Sorcha and his son were sleeping together. Nevertheless, she felt strange and uncertain to sleep and wake in DeSilva's arms beside the campfire with their companions around them.

She thought herself the first to wake, peeking from the folds of DeSilva's cloak to see their companions still slumbering around the fire. Then she saw that one was already awake; Noth Kalidor, the Dacoit Master, sitting back from the fire and still partially shadowed in the pre-dawn gloom. Sorcha was confused to find the Dacoit on watch, doubly so to see him sitting cross-legged; only the previous day, Kalidor had been utterly incapacitated by injury, his leg badly broken.

She was certain she had made no sound, but Kalidor turned his head and caught her eye, smiling faintly around his fangs as if he read her thoughts. Then he stood up smoothly, bent forward to touch his toes, and performed a back-flipping scissors-kick from a standing start. Landing gracefully, still smiling, he looked away as if to acknowledge that he was not a man who often showed-off his skills.

Sorcha nudged DeSilva with her elbow. “Did you see that?”

“Huh?” DeSilva blinked sleepily. “See what?”

“Your uncle just did a backflip.”

“I wouldn't be surprised.” Shifting to avoid the digging elbow that Sorcha had already withdrawn, DeSilva snuggled back down amid their shared cloak as if to go back to sleep.

Sorcha struggled out of the cloak, throwing off DeSilva's sleep-heavy arm, and stiffly got up to face the day. DeSilva made a vague attempt at sleeping on, but then sat up and cricked his neck, half-heartedly acknowledging that he was awake. One by one, their companions began to stir too.

Old man Drake climbed to his feet with the aid of his volleygun and limped stiffly into the woods, coughing heavily. Kam Daishen picked himself up in a clank of armour and went to sit on a log at the edge of the clearing, where he began sharpening his sword.

Vashta was up next, awakening first to check on Fethne before turning her attention to DeKellia. Sorcha, by now alert to the tricks of the family, could plainly see that DeKellia was already awake but had merely delayed in opening his eyes. Vashta leant close to him, her hand lightly touching his chest, but the intensity of her eyes belied the harem-trained devotion on her face. Then she glanced at Sorcha as if sensing the younger woman's scrutiny. Sorcha looked away, pretending she had not been watching at all, and only then did DeKellia stir.

Vashta greeted him with a kiss, which he returned before turning his attention to Hnasi. The Hrin woman was curled up against him like a cat; her only response to his attempt to rouse her was a low growl. DeKellia chuckled and winked at Sorcha, then disentangled himself from the human body-pile of his women, stood up, stretched, and jeered a greeting to Noth Kalidor.

“Showing off already?”

“No, just warming up for your daily rivalry.”

“Didn't we have an agreement about that?”

Kalidor nodded sagely. “One year from today, we race to Mount Karonan. The first to the top lies in ambush for the other.”

“I'll be there with a rifle,” DeKellia grinned, miming a gunshot with his empty hand.

“How soon in advance?” Kalidor smirked back. “I shall need time to lay enough mines for your arrival.”

“By the time you get to that mountaintop,” DeKellia said, his cheer turning false, “I'll have been there six months, married a local Kraag woman, and built a three-bedroom house.”

“And as soon as you've finished, I'll set off the mines in the foundations.” Kalidor grinned, baring his fangs, his eyes utterly cold.

Sorcha had known already that there was some rivalry between DeKellia and Kalidor, but now, with the shock of yesterday's crash still fresh and no new danger yet presenting itself, the two brothers dislike of one another became plain. Sorcha wondered which of them was the elder, and whether this was the root of their contention.

She expected DeKellia to make another rejoinder, but he just smiled and mimed again the single gunshot, clicking his fingers at Noth Kalidor's heart. Sorcha took a moment to grasp the significance of the gesture: almost twenty years ago, when she was a child, Kalidor and DeKellia had fought on the ramparts of Loth Kavnor. DeKellia had won, shooting his brother in the chest at point-blank range. Kalidor had survived the fall from Loth Kavnor's walls, just as DeKellia had lately survived a gunshot and similar fall from an airship. The rivalry between them had temporarily been set aside, but there was no love lost between the brothers Kalidor and DeKellia.

DeKellia now glanced around as if noticing the audience to his exchange with Noth Kalidor. With a wry chuckle, he sat back down near Hnasi and began nursing the coals of the campfire back into life. The Hrin woman stirred like a giant cat, but did not awake; with DeKellia beside her, she began to purr softly. Watching, DeSilva cast a sidelong glance at Sorcha, revealing his curiosity about the nature of his father's relationship with the feline woman.

While DeKellia made tea and Vashta began breakfast, Sorcha asked, "Can I talk to you?"

"Am I so frightening that you have to ask like that?"

"To me you are; I grew up hearing your name in stories.”

DeKellia glanced at their companions around the fire; old man Drake had not returned from his morning ablutions, while Fethne and Hnasi were still asleep. Kalidor and Kam sat on the log at one side of the clearing, the sound of the whetstone on the knight's sword their only conversation.

DeKellia glanced first at Vashta, then at DeSilva, then said, “Why don't you two find us some firewood or something?”

Vashta gave DeSilva a look but rose to her feet. DeSilva hesitated, then complied after a lingering touch on Sorcha's arm. DeKellia chuckled and lit his pipe. "Alright; what did you want to talk about?"

“How you do it.” Sorcha moved closer, almost kneeling at his feet. “How do you keep going, when life is like this?”

“How else should life be?” DeKellia paused, appearing to give the question deep thought before he went on. “You're either asking the wrong question or the wrong man; I live in the wilds, Sorcha, this kind of madness is all I ever see of civilisation. Some believe that I cause it, which is why I'm glad to be back out here in the woods. Do you have a question I can answer?”

“I was always told that warriors see the ghosts of the men they've killed,” she said, trying to come at the question from a tangent.

DeKellia nodded, his pipe hovering near his lips and his eyes on the campfire, saying nothing.

“I see ghosts too,” Sorcha confessed. “The other girls who were captured with me, the ones who didn't escape. I see my sister too sometimes, as if she was following me.”

“In a sense she is,” DeKellia said, and tapped the side of his head with his pipe. “In here. What did you really want to ask me, Sorcha?”

“What's wrong with me?”

DeKellia could only shrug. “How can I know? You were captured, held in a harem, but you've not said more than that to me.”

“I should have been able to fight,” she confessed. “It wasn't how you'd think, I wasn't overpowered or knocked out. They just took my mask. Two of them grabbed me and a third took off my mask, they didn't need to do anything else. I just froze, I couldn't react. They put us all in the hold of the ship, I don't know how long for; it was like a dream, I didn't wake up until...” She stopped, biting her lip, still unable to talk freely about sex in spite of her increasing direct experience. “I was just watching, like it was all happening to some other girl, right until they took me down to the cabin.”

“They?”

“He,” she corrected herself. “One of the Darians. He brought me out of the hold and took me to a cabin and then...” she bit her lip, hesitating to go on.

“You don't have to tell me about it,” DeKellia said.

“It was good,” Sorcha confessed, bowing her head. “Don't you see that's why I'm so confused?”

DeKellia nodded slowly, then relit his pipe and seemed to change the subject. “How did you make it across Heimjaro alone?"

“Someone saved me from the Jaro, a Goro archer...”

“Not old Menalowen?” DeKellia chuckled in disbelief. “Now there was a man after my own heart... well, almost a man, but he'd have been insulted if you called him human.”

“How could you know I meant him?”

“There's only one Goro in all of Heimjaro, and he rode there with me for years. Down on the Kephilkazpa Strait is where I first met Hnasi; we went to Far Hrinor together, but Menalowen...”

“...Was afraid of the sea; he told me.”

“He confesses that terror six times a day if you let him,” DeKellia said. “To his way of thinking, fear of fear is the greatest cowardice, so it shows great courage to admit when you're terrified. Of the very few people to ever laugh at him, none ever did it twice.”

“He brought me out of Heimjaro,” Sorcha went on, “all the way to Pen Korcha. Then he left. He gave me his horse and he said... he said...”

“Did you love him?”

Sorcha stared at DeKellia for a long time, her eyes wide and beginning to fill with tears. On a sudden she leapt up and fled the clearing. DeKellia called after her, but she did not look back.