The Fifth Magic (Book 1) (6 page)

"Sorry I'm having so much trouble," Martik said, breathing hard.

"To be honest," Bradley said, "it's kind of nice to see you have trouble with something. I know you've been having a bad run of luck, but you have a way of making a man think less of himself because of all the things you do."

Martik didn't know what to say and concentrated on making the climb. When he reached the top, the water's rush was nearly overwhelming. He could see why the crew had such difficulty keeping their footing. Bradley put an arm around him, and they moved one step at a time to where the crew worked on erecting the ladders. None of them was having an easy time of it. Martik's pride would normally have prevented him from accepting Bradley's help, but this was life or death. If someone fell and was swept away by the current, there wasn't much hope for survival.

Grateful instead for the support, he felt a little better when Bradley slipped. He shouldn't have smiled at that, but he did anyway. The entire scene was surreal, and the dim amber light danced across the water, making the stone move like a living thing, writhing beneath their feet. Those holding the makeshift structure looked less than confident, but Martik committed himself to climbing spindly ladders atop a giant rock wheel to pull a stone plug and turn off the waterfall. It was the kind of thing no one outside the hold would ever believe.

Though reaching high enough for Martik to grasp the stone shaft, the ladders flexed and moved in alarming ways.

"Let me do it?" Bradley begged, but Martik was determined.

The higher he climbed, the more it flexed and swayed. He decided to move more quickly, which worsened the problem. Finally, though, he was able to steady his weight using the shaft itself.

The force of his weight overwhelmed the vacuum. The shaft moved downward gradually at first but then fell without resistance. Martik did his best to hold on to it and had to grasp it with both hands, his legs trembling from the exertion of staying upright on an unstable structure. The lives of those below him were at stake, and he gave his all to hold on to the heavy shaft.

Though he secured it, his weight was on his heels, and he started to fall backward. Trying to shift his weight to his toes and failing, he had to reach out with one hand and grab the ladders. The shaft nearly slipped from his grasp, but the water flow had already begun to abate.

Once steadied, he shifted to a comfortable position, and Bradley met him halfway. It was an awkward exchange, but the stone was handed down, and Martik was able to use both hands to climb back to relative safety. The water was receding, which was good except for glistening silt now covering the entire surface in a thin layer. It moved and shifted under their boots and sent Martik to his knees.

He hoped it would be manageable when it dried and was pleased to see the source of this material had been the cement like sediment holding the debris together. What remained were big chunks of stone, which should be relatively easy to relocate.

After a slippery climb down, Martik was somewhat vindicated. He was now several steps closer to solving the mystery, and he could hardly wait.

Chapter 6

Passion razes kingdoms.

--King Venes

* * *

Martik sat with his legs crossed, watching the ancient wheel turn. It made no sense. After clearing the debris, the giant stone wheel began to move, the water filling the pool around it giving it buoyancy. It didn't spin; it bobbed. Bradley and Martik inserted the remaining shafts, which were sucked into place, and the mighty wheel shifted. A loud grinding noise followed by a thump made Martik's teeth hurt.

Nothing at all changed at first, but then it was clear the wheel was turning, albeit slowly. Little by little, the speed increased, and Martik wondered how fast it could go and to what purpose it moved. The wheel's movement had no perceptible effect. He had to be missing something. Bradley stood nearby and Martik knew the young man was worried about him, but he just needed to think it through. This was a complex machine, and there was no shame in not understanding it. The ancients surely knew things he did not. They had left him a puzzle, especially since he could find no way to gain access to the mechanism. The only possibility he could envision was to move the great slope behind him and fill the entire city with water, which stretched the imagination.

"There has to be another key," Bradley said.

Though he'd considered that before, Bradley's words made him stop and look at things from another perspective. "Bradley," he said, "when we decided to pile all the debris over there, why did we do that?"

The younger man thought for a second, and his eyes went wide. "Because there was already debris piled there!"

Martik didn't have to say anything more. Bradley organized his team and began the process of moving all the debris they had carelessly tossed down from above. Martik worried anything under all the shattered rock had also been destroyed. Part of him wanted to get in there and move the rock with the crew, but that was no longer his role. He had to trust his crew and Bradley to do what he asked of them. His role was to figure out this machine, and he was just guessing. If there was nothing under the debris, he'd be back in familiar territory.

Trinda had come twice to see his progress. She hadn't said a word to him since his attempted escape. He didn't care. He wasn't doing it for her; he was doing it for himself. Trinda's guards watched everything he did, and there was no need for him to report to her. His only job was to figure out this mechanism, and it was the one thing he was incapable of doing.

Even as those thoughts crossed his mind, Bradley shouted, "We found something!"

Martik didn't even remember standing up, but his legs were under him and he was moving at a reckless pace. Workers converged on the place where Bradley stood, and things went more quickly now that they were clearing a much smaller area.

"Bring water, rags, and an empty bucket," Bradley said, and he had water and rags by the time Martik arrived. Some debris remained, and he had to climb over jagged stone to see what Bradley had found.

There waited a new puzzle. Istra's likeness was set into the floor, only with holes carved into the stone where her eyes, ears, and mouth would be. Bradley wiped the area down and cleared what he could. Small bits disappeared into the holes, making not a sound; even when they used a stone on a string to check the depth of the mouth hole, which was the largest, they could find no bottom.

"And it gets even stranger," Martik said.

The crew continued to work at moving the debris while Bradley and Martik stared. The area was soon clean and swept. He walked the entire carving, looking for any other clues or hints as to its true purpose, or at the very least how to unlock it.

All the while, the giant cylindrical wheel turned just a little faster.

* * *

Strom walked with his shoulders hunched, and Osbourne followed, feeling about the same. Leaving Martik behind went against their values, but they really had little choice. If Trinda did not want them back in the hold, then there was little chance of getting back in. Instead, they were forced to carry on without him . . . and their supplies. It was bad enough that Trinda had intercepted Martik, but she could at least have left their supplies. Now they were being forced to forage in the same woods they'd had to forage all those years ago. It was reminiscent and altogether humiliating and demoralizing. "Maybe we'll find some black walnuts," Osbourne said, aiming low.

The truth was that these woods were no longer what they had once been. Now they supported the mouths of Dragonhold, and they had been picked nearly bare. Once there had been black walnuts by the hundreds arranged in circles beneath the trees, but now one or two might remain high among the branches, the grounds clear.

"The farther away we get the better and worse it will get," Strom said, and he knew the truth of those words. The lands were less forgiving to the east, but they shouldn't have been picked clean. The snakes alone were usually enough to keep people away. "Try not to step on any rotting logs."

"That's not even a little funny," Osbourne said, but both had a brief laugh. "While we're talking of memories, I seem to remember a hill with a big tree and some apple trees not far away. You think we could find that place again?"

"We can do that," Strom said, and Osbourne noticed he stood a little taller as he walked. An achievable goal had perhaps given them both a little hope. Perhaps the land was more welcoming now, or maybe they had learned with age to be more careful where they put their feet, but the journey across the swamps was not as unpleasant as it could have been. Rolling hills waited beyond, and the smell of apples was on the wind.

"I think we're getting closer," Osbourne said. He sighed. "I miss them all."

"I know," Strom said. "I'm glad you're here. A pretty lady would be better, but we can't have everything."

"I'd trade you for a sack full of sausages, cheese, and springwine. Or any one of the three in a pinch."

Over the next hill stood a place they both recognized; the mighty tree still presided over the sloping hills, and not far away, another tree cradled a stone as if gripping a mystical orb. The memories were overwhelming. Some made Osbourne want to laugh; others made him want to cry.

"Gather wood," Strom said. "I'm going fishing." In his hand the smith held fishing wire and a hook. They were the only tools they had, and Osbourne was grateful Strom had managed to sneak them out of Dragonhold. He hoped they would not have to live off the land for long, but he knew they could if they were forced to. Strom had sent a message through the Vestrana, seeking a ship, but there was no way to know if that message had ever gotten through to anyone willing or able to pick them up.

The realization they had no home was inescapable. All Osbourne could do was hope.

* * *

Even his memories of the Arghast Desert could not prepare Osbourne for the oppressive heat and searing sunlight. The sand reflected the heat, gradually cooking them. Strom had taken off his shirt, and his skin tanned like leather. Osbourne remained trapped within his long shirt, knowing the sun would boil the skin from his body; his fair skin would never tan like Strom's, and he envied the man.

Much as Wendel and Benjin had done all those years ago, Strom and Osbourne walked the coastline. Bordered on one side by nothing but blue salt water and the Arghast Desert on the other, they suffered from thirst. Here the heat from the sands burned off any moisture in the air, and everything was parched. The sea water was salty and would make a person sick, and they had nothing to help them distill it into potable water.

"We shouldn't go too much further," Osbourne said. "If we don't find water soon, we're going to need to go back to that last stream we found, and it was a long way back."

"Just a ways further," Strom said, just as he had three times before.

Osbourne knew they would eventually go too far and turning back would do no good. The only source of hope was the gathering darkness along the horizon. Rain would give them what they needed so badly. Lightning illuminated the growing clouds, and Osbourne decided he should take care in what he wished for. There was no cover along the shoreline, and he and Strom were the tallest things for some distance.

"What do you think we should do?" Osbourne asked.

"About what?" Strom replied, sounding irritable.

"About that," Osbourne said, pointing to the storm, knowing his friend had been in deep thought. Neither was at their best.

"We should look along the water for shells or anything we can use to hold rainwater," Strom suggested.

"What about shelter from the storm?" Osbourne asked.

Strom just shrugged. "Not much we can do about that."

Together they scoured the beach, searching for shells, but most were small, broken, and not much use. Strom had just found a conical shell the size of his fist when Osbourne saw something he would never have expected. Some kind of cross between a balloon and a ship emerged from the storm clouds, rocking and bucking like a prize bull, and the thing managed to lurch its way toward where Strom and Osbourne stood. The shell slid from Strom's hand as he stood agape.

"Is that who I think it is?" Strom asked.

"Who else could it be?" Osbourne asked in return.

Only Kenward Trell could be responsible for something as audacious as the airship. As she drew closer, they began to see the rough likeness of Kyrien. It was rough but not without charm.

For a moment, Osbourne felt lucky, albeit nervous. The nervous part grew as the ship approached, and Kenward's orders continued to rise in pitch. The winds driving the ship forward whipped across the beach and drove sand before it, stinging skin and eyes. Osbourne did his best to keep his eyes on the approaching ship.

"Be ready to jump aboard," Kenward shouted as the ship descended until she skimmed across the water without ever touching the waves.

When lightning flashed behind the ship, Osbourne could see it through the slats making up the vessel, and he swallowed hard, uncertain he wanted to board this madman's airship. This feeling grew stronger when the ship crashed into the sands behind him and Strom. It was a violent impact, but the ship held together. The wind socks rested on the sand for an instant before the wind filled them. They stretched the ropes tight and dragged the ship sideways across the sand, rapidly approaching where Strom and Osbourne now ran, trying to escape.

"Be ready!" Kenward shouted. "We'll pull you aboard! Just don't get run over by the
Serpent.
That wouldn't end well for you."

Osbourne looked over his shoulder, wondering if he could outrun the ship, but it was clear he could not. Strom had come to the same conclusion, and both turned at the same time. The ship rushed toward them, and Kenward's crew reached out while holding on for dear life.

"Now! Jump!" Kenward called.

It was too soon, Osbourne thought, but he was glad he jumped when he did. Clipping the rail, he spun in the air and landed firmly atop Kenward, which was only fair. Strom made it aboard much more gracefully, but they were far from safe. Sand built up before the ship, and she was threatening to dig in. Given their speed, it could tear the ship apart. "Get us back in the air," Kenward ordered.

Crewmen moved and shouted, but not much otherwise changed except for the gouts of black smoke filling the air and a whirring sound that grew louder and higher in pitch. The wind bags quite suddenly righted themselves and inflated, and the ship left the sand. It rejoined the sand several times before finally leaving the ground behind.

Kenward ordered a structural check and offered Strom and Osbourne a winning smile. "Welcome aboard the
Serpent
! If you see any giant dragons chasing us, be sure to let me know."

* * *

Flying aboard the
Serpent
was an experience Strom would never forget. As a craftsman, almost everything about the ship offended his sensibilities, but it was the only thing between life and death. It was not a good feeling. There were things about the ship he had to admire as well, which helped a little. Though the lashings appeared sloppy, for example, they also flexed, making the ship supple. Given the wood's brittle nature, this design made more and more sense. He still didn't like the deck shifting under his feet or the way the ship flexed and moved, but she flew. He had to give Kenward that point. Without using Istra's power, the
Serpent
flew.

When he probed deeper into how the ship managed flight, Kenward was guarded. "It's an ancient technology," he admitted. "I'm sworn to secrecy on its exact nature and source, I'm afraid."

"Coal fired," Strom said, sniffing the air. "Steam power and hot air as a by-product. How do you regulate the pressure?"

"Show off," Kenward said, grinning. "Come on. I'll show you."

Strom followed against his better judgment, although to the delight of his curiosity. The deckhouse was as flimsy and haphazard as the rest of the ship. Within waited unbearable heat, a coal pile on one side, and a huge boiler on the other. Men tended the fires, and Strom kept looking for the valves, the pressure releases. He found only one, and there was no gauge or any other way to measure the pressure. It was a nearly sealed system. They were flying on a giant bomb. If it didn't explode, it would likely burst into flames. The mounts holding the boiler in place were surrounded by smoking black wood. An impeller drove a shaft with a leather belt running between it and another. If the belt broke, as belts were wont to do, it could take out the less-than-sturdy boiler mounts.