“I don’t understand,” Damir said, stalling. He pushed some blond strands of hair from his face and moved over to examine a collection of jars.
“Perhaps that, then, is the problem, hmm?”
It flustered Damir. He felt frustration fist around his heart. He clenched his teeth together and looked at the medicus, waited for Israel to explain more. He never did, though. Israel moved over to a desk sitting in front of a slightly large porthole.
“What is the problem?” Damir asked when Israel did not continue.
Israel looked back at Damir and raised his shoulders in a soft shrug. “Exactly as I said, but I am not one to talk to. I have never held your ambitions.”
“And what ambitions are those?”
“Revenge, or perhaps it’s salvation that you seek?” Israel raised a brow.
“If you know not of what I went through, then who are you to speak to me about it?” Damir demanded.
“I never said I did not know what you were going through; I said I have never held your ambitions. Loss is a much older friend of mine than it is of yours, I can assure you.” Israel selected a pen. He took a seat in his chair and pulled out a stack of papers. “Now, I have to organize my supplies. In the storage room, you’ll find some of the new supplies that we picked up while in Traum. It’s just down the hall, second door on your right.”
Damir studied the back of Israel’s head for a few seconds, mulling over his words. Israel never pressed him to hurry along. He instead busied himself with the work before him. Damir could not piece together the man’s words by simply staring at his head. They didn’t appear magically within the fine threads of his black hair or along the collar of his shirt. They didn’t float around him like animated thought bubbles. Damir gave up searching and headed for the storage room.
Chapter Sixteen
A Final Farewell
When Damir finally had a chance to step out onto the deck of
Bahamut
, the sun had fallen behind the horizon. He was looking at the night with new eyes. Glorious, rapturous. The stars were radiant against the indigo sky, the flesh of nefl dewed with the fires of life. Damir was sure he could reach out and scoop up handfuls of stars and eat them as if they were ripe plums.
In his hands he held Elina’s ashes. He cradled the jar close and walked toward the edge of the deck. Bitter winds whipped around him and tousled his hair. His skin glowed faintly beneath the layers of clothes he wore.
Carefully, Damir set Elina’s ashes down and leaned against the railing. He closed his eyes and felt the wind as it carded his hair and kissed his cheeks. He could taste freedom on his tongue.
“You would love this,” Damir said as he opened his eyes. “You always said you wanted to see the world. Here it is, at my fingertips. I have above me all that we had dreamed of. There is a sky-bound sea of stars, so beautiful, not a hundred poets could ever find the right words to describe it.”
Laughter tickled Damir’s lips. “A sky pirate’s ship, Elina, can you believe it?”
He paused. There was no response.
Damir tightened his grip on the rail and continued to ramble as if there weren’t only ashes to hear him. “It’s as if time is just flying by. There’s a man on the ship named Israel, and it’s like every time he looks at me, he’s going to unravel all my control and pull apart my secrets.”
He felt like they were riding an ocean of black mist. Dark clouds glided along the hull of the ship. Behind them Damir could make out the corona of light emitting from the aether ring. The ship was a fusion of magic and science. He could feel life vibrating through the boards of the deck and down the railing.
“I wish you were here, Elina. I wish you could see this,” Damir murmured. A chill ran down his spine. The coldness of the night seeped into his bones. He wanted a pair of strong arms to hold him, to drive the warmth back in. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know why I’m here.
“How did this even happen? I feel so alone. I want to trust Balin, but I just keep reliving it all. I can’t break past it.” Damir stared toward the blue moon in the distance, fatter than he’d ever seen it. Hadn’t it been only days ago that he had said he couldn’t live without Balin?
Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it had been infatuation.
His heart ached at the thought. The idea left a sour taste in his mouth, planted an insidious seed of doubt in his mind.
“It’s freezing,” Balin said behind him.
Damir spun around. His heart sputtered at the sight of Balin, the moonlight gleaming off his raven hair, his handsome face carved by shadows. Damir still craved him, still wanted him. Damir yearned to run his hands through Balin’s short locks, to gaze into his amber eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.”
The drone of the ship filled the silence. Damir sucked in a sharp breath and pressed his back against the railing. Balin crossed the deck but stopped midway.
“What do you want?” Damir asked with more bite than he meant.
Balin appeared unfazed. He glanced down to the ashes at Damir’s feet.
“Were you going to scatter her?”
The thought hadn’t even occurred to Damir. He had brought the ashes up with no real purpose in mind. How long could he tote them around, though? Elina needed rest.
“I…I don’t know,” Damir said and turned away from Balin. Was he ready to scatter her ashes, to say the final good-bye?
Balin stepped up behind him and settled his hands on Damir’s shoulder. Damir tensed; his senses spiked. He could smell Balin around him. His normal musky spice was underlined with grease.
“How many times can I apologize, Damir?”
“I don’t want your apologies,” Damir whispered.
Balin laid his forehead against the back of Damir’s head. “What can I do, then?”
Damir didn’t answer. Balin slid his hands down Damir’s arms and trailed them over his sides. An electric current followed the path Balin’s fingers created. Balin wrapped his arms around Damir’s waist and molded his chest against Damir’s back.
“We were talking about it,” Damir said. His heart raced at the proximity of their bodies.
“Talking about what?” Balin asked. His hot breath warmed Damir’s ear.
“Elina and I, we were talking about you and your secrets. I knew you had them, that there was something you weren’t telling us. She said we were all entitled to our own secrets. We are. But I never imagined it was this, never imagined it could have led to this.”
For a moment, Damir couldn’t breathe. He concentrated on taking in small breaths. The wind rushed through his hair. It sounded like ocean waves crashing around him. With a heavy heart, he looked out at the black sea of the night sky.
“I know you aren’t to blame, that you didn’t kill her. I was the one who refused to follow General Gaius.”
Balin tightened his grip around Damir’s waist. “No, you aren’t,” he growled. “You did nothing wrong. What happened was terrible, but it wasn’t your fault.”
Damir squeezed his eyes shut. He had been so sure the reservoir of tears he had inside him had been run dry, but he kept tapping into it. He let out a shuddering breath. “She’s dead. She’s dead and she’s never coming back and I don’t know who to blame for it.”
Slowly Damir turned to face Balin. He could remember the first time he’d looked into Balin’s eyes, glimpsed their citrine hue. It had been like watching the moon and the sun collide.
He smothered the urge to crush his body into Balin’s. Balin kept his arms wrapped loosely around Damir’s waist, his thumbs stroking up and down Damir’s back. Damir reached up and brushed aside some whispering strands of Balin’s hair from his eyes. Damir’s touch lingered on Balin’s cheekbone.
“I BECAME WHAT I am because of my sister,” Balin finally said. The words were like grains of salt on his tongue. He felt sick with each syllable. Damir tilted his head to the side and watched him with curious eyes. Balin drank in their color, their boundless possibilities and hope.
Balin hugged Damir closer, inhaled his fresh, clean scent. There was a mix of lavender oil and spice that wafted from Damir’s skin.
“Your sister?” Damir asked when Balin didn’t say anything further.
“I was eight, just about to turn nine. She was eighteen. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. My parents had always been too busy for me, but Rhianna was always there to take care of me. She watched over me and my younger siblings when no one else would. I loved her, more than anything or anyone in this world.”
Balin glanced past Damir’s shoulder to the stars that spun by. His hand grew still as he drifted off into his memories. He could see the images play in his mind, recapturing every childhood tragedy and triumph.
“What happened to her?” Damir’s voice drew Balin’s attention back to him.
“She was killed. Murdered. They never caught the killer, a trained assassin. I swore, as I watched her body fall to the ground, that I would save her. I didn’t understand then that there was no saving her.” Balin clenched his jaw, braced his heart against the flashbacks. “I swore I would get revenge on the man who killed her, and the only way to do that was to kill him myself. So I cast aside my family and my life and became what I am today.”
“Did you ever find her killer?”
Balin lowered his head and gave it a slight shake. It felt like the weight of his past was too great to bear, and it had suddenly come crashing down on him. “No, and for two decades, I have lived a life of darkness and solitude. That is not a life for you, a life fueled by revenge and hatred. Let her rest, Damir. Let Elina and yourself be at peace. The longer you hold on to the bitterness, the more it will consume you. Soon nothing but a husk will be left.”
“So you will not help me?” Damir hissed and began to draw away.
Balin moved his hands to cup Damir’s face. “I will do what you wish. If this is truly what you want, then I will guide you. But heed my warning: this will only bring you more despair.”
Damir closed his eyes.
“You told me once that there is light in the darkness. Find that light now. Was that talk of the Child-God, of a world better than this, all lies?” Balin asked. He was desperate to open Damir’s eyes.
“No,” Damir’s voice had gone raspy.
“Is that not where Elina is, in a world better than here, free of pain and fear?”
Damir groaned. His light flickered and wavered, like a star on its final glimmer. Balin held him close, combed his fingers through Damir’s golden hair, and pressed a kiss to his eyelids.
Soul stretched across galaxies to find soul. Balin extended his hands and guided Damir back into the safety of his arms. They couldn’t erase the past, but Balin tried to pave a new path for their future, one kiss at a time.
Damir pulled away. “I can’t, I just…”
Balin didn’t push. He wanted to; Lar, did he want to. He wanted to shake Damir, throw him on the ground, and ravish him, but he didn’t. He caressed the side of his face. “Okay, okay.”
Damir glanced down at Elina’s ashes.
“There isn’t a more perfect place. She would have loved to travel the world, and from up here, the winds will carry her all across Zoria,” Balin whispered.
Damir remained still, watching the jar of ashes as if he expected Elina to rise up from it. Elina was no phoenix, though. Damir slid from Balin’s grip and retrieved Elina’s ashes. He turned to the railing and cupped his hand over the lid. Balin remained behind him, watching.
“Good-bye, Elina,” Damir whispered. He uncapped the jar and with a graceful arch, threw his sister’s ashes into the air. They caught on the wind and spiraled high into the sky. Damir’s light grew steadily brighter as he watched his sister’s ashes vanish into the night.
* * * *
Damir stood at the railing of the deck and waited for them to arrive at the capital of Terrasolis. He still wore Elina’s jade pendant, and he slowly twisted it between his fingers as he watched the city of Eyrie crest over the horizon like a beautiful mirage. His stomach clenched with both anticipation and confusion. He was no longer sure of his path. Balin’s warning picked at his mind, devoured his conviction. He knew he couldn’t return to the farm, to where General Gaius lay in wait for him, but did he want to drive his life forward into a world of revenge and anger? Did he want to base his life choices henceforth on the hot rage that stormed through him?
He wished Elina could shed a few words of wisdom upon him, ease the ache in his heart.
From where he stood, he could make out the entire desert that stretched around Eyrie. The rolling dunes of the Sun Fields were beneath the ship, the sand drifting with the tropical breeze. In the distance, Damir could make out the flatlands, where the earth cracked and only snarled bushes and prickly cactus thrived. A great limestone wall surrounded the city. The slums were easy to make out along the perimeter where blocky buildings were packed close together. Farther into the city, the buildings grew higher, spread wider out, and were touched elegantly with artistic mosaic design and structure. On top of a hill at the dead center of the city was the palace, Eyrie’s great ivory heart.
The palace was rich with domes and cupolas, made of ivory and gold, embellished with the land’s precious stones: opals, lapis lazuli, and rubies the size of Damir’s head. Towers jutted high at the four corners of the palace, capped with golden domes.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Balin said as he stepped up behind Damir.
Damir nodded and let his fingers fall away from the jade pendant. The cerulean sky seemed as if it were the deepest blue against the desert. He grabbed the railing and squeezed tight as he leaned over the side. Cool wind rushed through his hair.
Balin put his hands on Damir’s hips. In the privacy of the top deck, Damir had removed his scarf and cloak and cherished the feel of the southern winds.
“We’ll be docking soon,” Balin said over the howl of the wind. The giant air stadium was just west of the palace.
“Where did you live, Balin?” Damir asked as he looked down at the steadily approaching city.
“My home is no longer there,” Balin said as he drew Damir away. Damir no longer fought him. “Come. Let’s head back down to the cockpit.”
Damir nodded, pulled on his scarf and cloak, and reluctantly slipped into the elevator. They rode down to the first lower level and entered the cockpit. Zephyr stood beside Cessna, who still helmed
Bahamut
. Shortly after Damir and Balin entered, the doors slid open for Ramiro and Israel, who spoke in hushed tones. They fell silent as they stepped into the cockpit and looked around.