113

Stillness the Dancing

Ansel swore and ran after her, but it was too late.

Talcott hurtled through the crowd, pushing people out of the way with unnatural strength. Her hands flamed like glowing beacons. Men turned towards her uttering cries and yells of consternation. She was dripping liquid flames down to her wrists, and they flared brighter and brighter as she worked her way towards the pyre. People went flying as she shoved. Some of the airmen drew their swords, surprised to discover that their attacker was a small boy dressed in powder rags with burning hands. Some of them ran away.

“Witch!” cried Ezra. From his platform he had a good vantage. He pointed at Talcott. “Somebody grab him, he can burn with the boy!”

“Talcott!” Kip screamed, twisting and squirming in his bonds. “Help me!”

“I’m coming!”

She ran, desperately, scrambling to reach the platform. Ansel charged after her, sword drawn, fear and anger mingling in his veins. The chaos was palpable. Everyone was shouting and pushing, no one sure what was happening.

Several red robed inquisitors blocked Talcott’s path, and she set fire to them with a shriek. Ansel pushed through the flailing bodies, surrounded by gasps and screams. The cries mingled with the smoke, with the acrid scent of burning human hair and with Kip’s shouts as he begged and pleaded from the stake. Talcott was nearly there. Anger surged through Ansel’s veins as he ran. This time he wasn’t five years old. He could do something. A shot fired, and went wide, hissing into the soil. Ansel jumped, his dark thoughts threatening to drown him. Who was shooting?

“Ansel!” screamed Ezra, looking up from his smoking barrel, “stop her!”

Talcott heard him and turned back to Ansel, her eyes suddenly wide with doubt. Behind her Lothor reared up, the old inquisitor’s sword gripped in two hands, raising it high over his head, reading to plunge it down in a killing blow.

“Watch out!”

Lothor’s eyes glinted and then he just… stopped, his eyes bulging. A dribble of blood trickled over his lips, staining the pure white beard scarlet. Talcott twisted around, her eyes staring at the blade sticking out of Lothor’s gut.

Kjell kicked Lothor’s body off his blade and Talcott leapt backwards with a gasp.

“Get your friend,” the big man rasped. His eyes met Ansel’s over the blood-coated blade. Waiting, Ansel realised to know whether he was friend or foe. How many of them were there?

“Go,” Ansel shouted and she rushed forward. An airman kicked at her, trying to stop her gaining the platform and she fell back with a cry. Kjell rushed to block him and was kicked away with a cry, stumbling to the ground. Ansel hurled his sword, sending it spinning through the air with unnatural force. It impaled itself in the man’s chest. “Go!” he screamed at Talcott. Already, it might be too late.

“I’m coming,” she sobbed, as Kip started screaming, thrashing on his pole. “I’m coming.”

Ansel fended off another airman and then leapt up after her. Kjell followed. This close to the pyre the heat was intense, the bottom already hot enough to consume both wood and human flesh. Mammon’s face leered up at him from the embers. Her body was mostly gone, just the shell of her blackened ribs remaining. Her head was melting into the embers, the lips shrivelling and twisting in a last, hideous mockery of life. Ansel tore his eyes away, and dodged as Reuben rushed at him, his sword flashing.

“So much illness,” the captain muttered, panting hard. “Such madness.”

Ansel ducked, avoiding the blow.

“Help Kip,” he shouted to Kjell. “I’ll handle this.”

“Will you now?” said Reuben. Ansel backed away as Reuben circled him. His own weapon was now buried in a corpse on the other side of the platform. He had only his dagger and his hands, if he dared to use them.

“Always rushing in without thought,” said Reuben. “They say magic corrupts the weak minded first.”

“Maybe I am weak then,” said Ansel, and a torrent of flame burst from his palms. It bloomed around Reuben, searing his flesh, enveloping him like a torch. The captain rolled on the ground, screaming, trying to beat the flames from his hair and clothing but they would not go out. He scrambled up and ran for the water, trailing flame like a comet.

Two men who Ansel knew from the Lazy Magpie lowered their weapons and backed away. Their eyes were wide and staring as they looked at him.

“We don’t want to fight you,” said one of them. Ansel couldn’t remember his name.

“Then don’t,” he said. “I don’t want to kill anyone, but I will. If you get in my way.”

Fire stuttered at his fingertips and they broke and ran.

Ansel stood panting, trying to catch his breath, both horrified and exhilarated. Whatever happened now, it was done. He had chosen his side in broad daylight for all to see. The lines were drawn in the sand. There would be no going back from this day.

A glance showed him Kjell was working to save Kip, but the flames were climbing higher, and he was struggling to reach. The big man kicked aside burning logs while Talcott sobbed, clutching at the shrieking boy.

Ansel moved to help them and came face to face with Ezra.

For a moment the world slowed down, the smoke and crackle of the fire receding into the distance. The young inquisitor stood, his red robe flapping around his ankles. His hair, long and unkept, whipped around his face in wild tangles.

Ezra’s eyes were wide and confused - a child unable to understand his best friend’s betrayal.

“Why?” he said, and his voice was raw with pain.

“I haven’t changed,” said Ansel. “You just didn’t know.”

Something pricked his belly. He looked down. They were both holding daggers, the points touching each other’s stomachs. Ansel’s grip tightened on the hilt.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

Ezra’s eyes flashed.

“So will I.”

Ansel breathed out, eyes locked on Ezra and the world moved around them.

Ezra’s eye twitched and Ansel rolled sideways, avoiding Ezra’s blade and managing to drag his own across Ezra’s chest, slicing through the robes to leave a matching red line on his flesh. Ezra feinted right and followed up with a vicious punch to Ansel’s gut. Ansel folded over with a grunt as pain coursed through him.

“You filthy maggot,” hissed Ezra. “You cowardly demon spawned son of a-”

Ansel growled and rushed at Ezra, grappling him to the ground, pummeling his face with his fists. Ansel was heavier but Ezra fought like a maniac. They rolled over, and over, biting and kicking. He felt Ezra’s nose break beneath his fist and was just about to add a second blackeye when he was knocked sideways by a blast.

Cursing Ansel tumbled off the platform, trying to protect his face as sparks and burning wood rained down on him. Looking around wildly he tried to figure out what had happened. Kjell was standing over the remains of the pyre, the burning logs now scattered all over. Talcott was untying Kip, who sagged in his bonds, collapsing as he was cut loose. Talcott sagged under his weight. Two airmen and an inquisitor were advancing on her.

Ansel spared one last look at Ezra who lay on the ground, dazed. The inquisitor staggered up scrabbling for his rifle as Ansel sprinted past him.

“Ansel!” he heard him scream as he vaulted onto the platform.

Ansel barrelled into the nearest man, knocking him aside. There was a sharp bang and a bullet whistled past his shoulder to thud into the stake. They needed to get down, they were sitting ducks on the platform. They needed to leave before more of the airmen gathered their wits and their rifles.

Kjell ran a man through, and the last man ran away.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ansel shouted. Sweat was beading his forehead and his breath was coming in short, sharp heaves. “Kip, can you run?” Talcott was struggling to support him. She shook her head, tight lipped.

“His feet are burnt.”

Kjell and Ansel exchanged glances.

“I’ll carry him,” said Kjell, gruffly, he heaved the slight lad onto his back. “You get us out of here.”

“Thank you,” said Talcott, swinging towards Ansel with a smile. “I knew you would help. I knew you would keep us to safe-”

There was a sharp bang.

Crimson bloomed on Talcott’s forehead.

Her smile froze, her lips opening in an expression of surprise as she toppled backwards. She crumpled to the ground, dead.

“Talcott!” screamed Kip, “Talcott!” He clung to Kjell, tears pouring down his soot ravaged face.

“One down,” Ezra called, his voice soft, and low. The words carried on the breeze like poison. Ansel looked at the girl lying on the ground and back up at Ezra’s gently smoking rifle.

“Talcott!” wailed Kip.

“How nice of it to take the bullet meant for you.”

Ezra held out his hand and someone handed him another loaded arquebus. “How kind. We’ll burn you all afterwards,” he continued, conversationally. “As is proper. There’s really no point trying to run.” He opened the flashpan cover and pulled the trigger.

Ansel twisted his hand like he had seen the savages do, pushing the magic out, and praying, praying it would work. He leapt sideways but he was too close for Ezra to miss.

It worked. Sort of. A hard wall of air hit the bullet, not stopping it, not like the savage woman had done but deflecting it. The bullet thudded into the wood and Ezra cursed.

Kjell ran. Ansel grabbed a sword from a nearby corpse and threw it at Ezra with all his might. It spun, whistling through the air. Ezra crashed to the ground as it sliced with brutal efficiency through the man standing behind him. The remaining men standing with Ezra broke and ran.

Ansel sprinted after Kjell, soon overtaking him. A few people tried to stop them but then thought better of it as Ansel met their eyes. It was as if they no longer saw the man but a monster - a gore covered fiend made flesh. Whatever it was, it suited his purposes, for now. Even if it was strange to have men he had travelled and lived with for months fear him. Ansel bared his teeth and the crowd parted before him.

“Shoot them!” screamed Ezra, “Shoot them, you idiots!”

The spell broke and they ran, ducking and sliding. A bullet whistled after them but they made it into the warren of the camp unharmed.

“Talcott,” muttered Kip, burying his face into Kjell’s neck. Ansel’s eyes pricked as he ran. Where could they go? To the moongate? To throw themselves on the mercy of the natives? It was too far, and through the barricade, they would never make it. He could hear footsteps behind them now. Where could they go?

A figure loomed out of a passage and Ansel skidded to a halt, Kjell slamming into his back. The figure brandished a tin pot in one hand and a rifle in the other.

“Take me with you!”

It was Jethro the cook, his face tight with strain. Another bullet shot clanged off a roof, making them all jump.

“Sure,” said Ansel, somewhat hysterically. Where did Jethro think they were going? Why did everyone think he had answers? He tried not to think of Talcott, of her trusting smile as the bullet gouged a hole out of her forehead. He blinked the vision away.

His eye’s alighted on the Sky Lion, at rest in her berth. Could he steal the ship? He could fire the runes, but he doubted three men were enough to keep her aloft. It needed a skeleton crew of at least ten to fly her at the bare minimum. Perhaps they could turn the cannons on those trying to burn them? That had potential but it would turn into a siege. No, no good. He couldn’t kill everyone. He didn’t want to kill everyone. And the other ships had cannons too. They would be trapped and blown to pieces. Bad idea.

Ansel kept running, his chest straining as Kjell and Jethro kept pace, following him blindly. The wound between the buildings. He couldn’t allow himself to panic. His feet were carrying him by instinct to his shed. His safe haven. They would find no respite there, he was running like a child. The moongate was their only shot. He swerved to change direction but then suddenly changed tack. He was an idiot. His body had been correct all along.

Ansel thundered into his shed, the others hot on his heels and slammed the doors shut behind him.

“Quickly!” He shoved Kjell and Jethro to one side. “Help me!”

Ansel shoved aside the barrels and litter he had strewn over his tiny airship. Their eyes widened as they realised his plan and eagerly helped him get the bow clear.

“Get in!” he cried. Kjell jumped up, gingerly and Jethro handed Kip up to him. Ansel heaved himself in, and pulled Jethro up after him. There was barely room for them all with all the stored jars of cavorite and Ansel’s projects. He chucked a couple overboard to make more space

Footsteps sounded outside.

A moment. He only needed a moment.

“Where did they go?”

“In here!” The door burst open.

Ansel pressed a flaming finger to the starting runes and gasped as the tiny vessel rippled into rune-light.

“Stay down!” he yelled, and covered his head with his arms, as the ship rose vertically, smashing upwards. Air and splinters rushed past. Through the ceiling they crashed with a bang, bursting through the timbers and into the blue, blue sky like a rocket.

“Fire!”

“Keep your heads down!” Ansel snarled, as Jethro and Kip peeked up. He prayed to his mother as the ship careered madly to one side, buffeted by the strong wind coming off the sea. Bullets whistled through the air as Ansel fought with the sail. A scatter of lead buried itself in the keel with a succession of thuds. The mainsail ripped free, catching the wind. Ansel gasped as they were driven forward with a burst of speed, air snatched from his lungs. He lit another rune, awkwardly trying to keep his head out or down and then they soared higher. The high runes took them far over the rooftops and Ansel breathed out, giddy with relief.

Kip was emptying the contents of his stomach over the side. He hoped it landed on Ezra’s head.

“We should be out of range of the guns,” he said, risking a peek. The camp was shrinking rapidly behind him, they were already over the boundary. Behind him he could see tiny figures racing to the airships.

“Quickly,” he said and thrust a rope into Jethro’s sweaty palm. “Tie that there.” He pointed and released a pulley. Jethro did as he was told and wings shot out on either side. Ansel pulled another rope, adjusting the fins. More sails billowed out, spilling open with a flourish.

Ansel turned the wheel and they were away, shooting through the sky with the wind at their back.