119

The Tempest Rose

Ezra left Audric to his experiments and walked through the midnight camp. For once, things were peaceful, which he didn’t trust for one minute. He kept one eye on the sky, on the darkly silhouetted mountain. The night was cold, and a chill wind blew down the slopes as he glared at it, shivering. It was an eyesore, an eyesore wreathed in clouds, a slumbering giant of crags and bush, and a savage reminder of everything that was wrong with the blasted place. Ezra turned his back on it, and gulped in the sharp sea-salt air as he stalked briskly through the sleeping buildings.

It was inconceivable to think he might soon be home, in civilisation. His heart ached for the stones of the city, for the peaks and spires of Stonehaven. For industry, for the smell of freshly baked bread lingering on the cobblestones, for the smoke pouring from a thousand chimneys on a winter’s morning. If the All-Mother was willing, he would see it soon.

Ezra arrived at the shipyard and stared up at the Tempest Rose proudly. The airshop was a beast. He had never seen anything like her, no one had. She looked nothing like a warship, nothing like the flagship Trillium they had lost to the kraken, but she was comparable in size. Ezra swallowed and put the thought of the kraken out his mind. On the return journey there would be no kraken. They would sail serenely over the monsters, far out of reach. It was ironic. Perhaps if Ansel had been a little smarter, he would have destroyed the plans to the shop, but then he begrudgingly conceded, the ship had been well underway when Ansel had…left. Ezra’s eyes scanned the distant mountains, crouched low and black on the horizon. Where was he?

Ezra turned back to the ship with a snarl. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need Ansel. He would probably get himself killed without Ezra to watch his back, and if not, well, Ezra would be waiting with a lead bullet for when he staggered out of the wilderness begging for help. Ansel didn’t matter. What mattered was the Tempest Rose and her maiden voyage. The voyage that would change the fate of the Empire.

Ezra grinned up at the airship in satisfaction. Soon. She would be ready soon, they just needed to conduct test flights, and finish gathering all the supplies. Ezra had already decided to take as few men as possible. Normally a ship her size would ship a crew at least a hundred. He aimed to take less than half that number. They would need two rune-masters, but without constant fear of attack they should not need a full contingent of fighting men. Not that men had made a difference anyway, he thought grimly.

Despite this, he had ordered twelve cannons made, and the land crew had been hard at work, first making the moulds out of clay then casting the cannons in bronze. Just in case. He had visions of traversing the great southern ocean and then falling prey to human pirates off the coasts of Aron. He shook his head, angrily, drumming his fingers against a barrel. No, they would have cannons, even if they had to rip them from the other ships. Two from each airship should leave them all functional. It would be worth it. It had to be. The entire camp had bent their focus to finishing the vessel. She was their hope, and ultimately their salvation. They all had nightmares of dying here, far from home, lost and ultimately forgotten.

Perhaps future explorers would find the remains of their camp. Perhaps they would find their charred bones and wonder what happened to them. The great fleet that had set out from Stonehaven so bright and hopeful, relegated to a curious footnote in a dusty history book. No. It would not do.

Ezra walked around the deserted ship, checking her from every angle. Actually, he was mistaken, he was not alone. A solitary airman was seated on the empty deck sewing a sail by the light of a guttering torch. They nodded to each other cordially, as Ezra passed. It was ironic that the sails had been the most difficult part of the ship to make. Metals and minerals abounded in plenty. They had wood, they had water, they had food and salt, but no crops. Or rather none that the Lochlanach were familiar with, and none that could be woven into sail cloth. No cotton, no flax.

Some of the cooks had started a kitchen garden but they had very few seeds from Lochlannach, and half of the plants had died, not liking the climate, or finding the soil corrupted and unnourishing. The flora in the new world was completely alien, and in many cases dangerous. Some plants had been discovered that were good to eat, sure, but there was nothing that could be woven, at least not yet. However, the men of the fleet were nothing if not resourceful. Amos had discovered that the shaggy wild beasts that roamed the isthmus had hair suitable for making wool. They were easy enough to hunt with airship and arquebus, despite their size. Dual-layered with a coarse outer coat and a high lanolin concentration, the wool was perfect for waterproofing. It had taken some work to figure out how to make woollen sails but they had figured it out. Once the viability was established, it was a simple matter to hunt enough aurochs.

Day after day they had taken the ships out and now, they had meat and wool to last for days. Hours and hours had been spent carding and weaving until they had enough sail for the enormous ship. It was a towering achievement, Ezra thought, looking up at the many protruding masts, the new sails neatly furled for the night. The excess meat was a boon too. Fortunately, they had plenty of salt, so processing it into jerky was easy enough.

Soon, thought Ezra. Soon the Tempest Rose would set out, and then the world would change.

Ezra slept, dreaming of the slate roofs of home, and then the next day they flew the Rose, letting her new crew get a feel for her in the air. The enormous airship was a little strange to manoeuvre, but she was remarkably steady, even in high winds. After a few tense moments she sailed fair and sound, the rune-smith’s calling to each other as the balance was maintained.

They flew her around the isthmus and then out across the bay, watching with satisfaction as sea creatures leapt and played in the cold waters beneath them. Ezra’s heart soared as he stood at the prow. Now they were waiting only for Audric and the moongate.

Feverish activity followed their return, and Audric spent every moment on his reconstructed moongate. Barrels of food and water were loaded into the Tempest Rose’s hold, cannons were fitted, and hammocks made. A few days later, just as Ezra was beginning to think they should leave whether the moongate was ready or not, Audric had his breakthrough.

They stood in the workshop, looking down at the model-sized gate. Only a shoulderwidth wide, it was not big enough for a man to pass through. The round stones gleamed with magic in Ezra’s eyes, the runes sparkling and shimmering in the light.

“You are sure it will work?” Ezra said, a little dubiously.

“Yes,” said Audric. The scribe’s hair was unkempt and a rather wild expression in his eyes. “Do you mind?” he held out his hand to Ezra.

Looking down, he saw Audric’s right palm was a mess of cuts, all in various states of healing. His left hand was bound with a rag. Ezra offered his own a little nervously. Audric sliced the tip of his finger, a little more vigorously than Ezra thought strictly necessary. Blood welled up from the cut. “Take the earth,” said Audric, shoving a container of sandy soil in Ezra’s face.

“I know,” said Ezra, testily. He grabbed a small handful, letting a drop of his blood fall into the soil. Some of the watching men gasped as he threw it into the gate. The moongate flared into life, magical fire rippling around the edges. They all stared through it. The small gate was like a window looking out into another place, in this instance the ruin just above them.

“Imagine if you could look through and see Stonehaven!” said Audric, happily. “Or Hallow or Welchin, or Berry!”

“We have to get there first…” said Ezra, grinning. “Now what? That thing is too small for me to crawl through. It looks good but we have to be sure.”

Audric held out a carved wooden tankard filled with water. “Put this through,” he said. Ezra did as he asked. It was uncanny. He shoved his hand through the gate, dropped the tankard and snatched it back.

“Feel anything?” asked one of the anxiously watching men. Ezra shook his head. The moongate dimmed, and the window disappeared.

“Alright,” said Audric, sitting back on his heels. “It should be at the other moongate under the mountain.” They all looked up at the craggy slopes, and then broke into a run.

Sure enough, as he arrived at the ruins, a little winded and out of breath, the tankard was waiting for him, lying on its sides, the water pooling in front of the moongate.

“Excellent,” he said.

“We just need to make one big enough for a person, obviously,” said Audric, scratching his head. “It should be easy enough now, I know where everything goes.”

“Good,” said Ezra, “you have till the day after tomorrow.”

“It will be done.”

The day before the Tempest Rose was due to set out, Ezra rode out with the ships one last time. He couldn’t focus back at camp. Things were well under control and he was not doing Audric any favours hovering over him as he put the final touches on the moongate parts he was building for the trip. If he was being honest to himself, he would have admitted he wanted to look for Ansel. Leaving his former friend alive felt too much like unfinished business, although he knew the chance of spotting him was small in the vast mountainous interior.

While Ezra was away, Joris, the captain of the Storm Lotus would be left in command, and it was on the Storm Lotus that he flew now. Now that the Tempest Rose was loaded with supplies they were back to exploring and mapping, looking for fresh mineral deposits and things that could be harvested wild. Besides, Ezra wanted to talk to Joris, and the deck of the ship was as good as any.

Joris was arguing that they should send an expedition through the moongate at the ruin, now that they knew how they worked. Ezra had put down his foot, firmly.

“Have patience,” he said. “Once we start using the gates the savages will know. We don’t want to give away the element of surprise. Six months and we should have our own functional one leading to the heart of the empire.”

Joris grumbled, but kept his eyes on the horizon. The land slid by beneath them. There was nothing of note to see. Just more godsforesaken mountains, some rivers, some trees. No roads, no civilisation, no people. They could spend a lifetime exploring and still not discover all their secrets. Although the scribes were making good progress on the map. One day the land would belong to the Empress, and the savages would know their place. The wild mountains would be tilled and planted. The valleys would be full of houses and cattle…not this feral, savage nothing. Ezra spat over the railing. Soon he would be home.

“And make sure you keep a guard on the gate at all times,” Ezra said. “Two even. The savages can use the gates just as easily as we can and we know they have.” Joris scowled. “Patience!”

Ezra was feeling particularly irritable, but he knew he would feel better once the voyage started. He pulled his cloak around him and shivered. It was a particularly miserable day, with more rain, and possibly snow on the horizon. He was beginning to regret coming. He could have stayed at camp warming his feet by the fire.

Joris launched into a detailed description of all the things he hoped to accomplish while the Rose was on her voyage and Ezra stifled a yawn. They were passing down a narrow valley, with steep cliffs rising on either side, heading south towards the isthmus. Something caught his eye.

“Joris!” he yelled, interrupting the droning. “Joris!”

“What is it?”

“Light the high runes!”

The crew did it immediately. Gratifyingly, they did not wait for Joris to give the command. But then, every man who had sailed south with the fleet had nightmares about monsters. Ezra hung over the side, as the ship lurched high into the sky, rising above the mountain peaks to be enveloped in the thick clouds.

“What is it?” Joris demanded.

“Quiet, everyone!” called Ezra, as low as he dared, pressing a finger to his lips. The crew hushed, wide-eyed and wary, scanning the ground, scanning the sky. But there was no monster, no, Ezra had seen something else. Joris gave the helm to his second and strode over to Ezra, peering in the pea-soup of the mist.

“What do you see?” muttered Joris, leaning in close. The man smelt like stale meat and old sweat. Ezra tried to breathe through his nose.

“You know I am a Chime-Child,” he said, softly. Joris’ eyes went so wide the whites were visible all the way around.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“You know that means I can perceive things that you can’t? I see magic that is hidden to normal men. Witchcraft. Demons?”

“Yes,” whispered the captain, his eyes darting to the valley below, briefly visible through dancing patches of cloud.

“Well then you will believe me when I tell you,” said Ezra, “that right now we are sailing over the largest enchantment I have ever seen. An illusion, spelled to look like dirt and grass.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are passing over the top of a large castle.” Ezra looked down at the towering walls. Craggy turrets almost as tall as the mountain. He could see groups of savages training below. “I can tell you that it is the most fortified savage settlement that I have seen since coming to these shores. I suggest,” he nodded to the wide eyed scribe, “that we make sure the location is marked on the map.”