“All of which means that you can overlook the fact that you wrecked your Sprint and gave me heart failure, I suppose,” his brother snapped.
Railing glanced at the remains of his flying ship and shook his head. They would have to rebuild it entirely. Or maybe he would. Redden might make him do it alone since he was responsible for wrecking it.
“No, it was my fault,” he said. “I caused it, so I have to fix it.”
Redden put his arm around Railing’s shoulders. “Not likely. Not while I’m your brother. You couldn’t do it without me anyway. Come on, let’s take out the crystals and fly my Sprint back to the shed.”
They removed the diapson crystals from the parse tubes of the wrecked Sprint and stuffed them in the back of the second Sprint’s cockpit. They could not afford to leave the crystals. Anyone finding the remains of the Sprint would steal them at once and sell them on the black market. Everything else could be replaced from their stores. With a final glance back at the wreckage, the brothers climbed aboard the remaining Sprint, sitting up in the cockpit now, Railing in back, his brother in front. Redden engaged the thruster levers, and the Sprint lifted out of the Shredder, turned east, and headed for home.
“We’ll have to try that again,” Redden said over his shoulder. “Using the wishsong, I mean. But next time I get to be in the lead.”
Railing nodded vaguely, recalling momentarily the terror he had experienced during the crash and then just as quickly dismissing it. Still, he wondered that neither one of them could seem to learn to leave well enough alone.
They flew back along the shoreline until they neared Patch Run, and then angled inland to where the storage shed was situated deep in the woods. It took them only a little while to settle the Sprint back in place on its trailer and then to release the radian draws, take down the mast, remove the diapson crystals to be stored in the hidden compartment under the floor beneath their workbench, and cover the cockpit with a piece of fitted canvas. Then they wheeled the trailer into the shed, secured the wheels with wood chocks, and closed and locked the broad entry doors. They did it all quickly and efficiently and without saying much of anything.
When they were finished, they looked at each other and broke out laughing.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Redden repeated.
Railing threw up his hands and howled. “I can’t believe I might actually do it again!”
They set out for their home, trading jokes and wry comments, the Sprint crash already a thing of the past. The momentary shock had faded, and neither was thinking about what might have happened but only about what had. Railing was alive and well, no harm suffered, no damage done. And hadn’t it been fun!
The house was some distance off, down closer to the shoreline and well away from the shed and its experiments. They lived on twenty acres, but the house and docks occupied only a fraction of that space, and while their mother knew about the airships—though not how they were experimenting with them—she had not as yet come down for a look at the shed or showed more than the normal amount of motherly concern for what they might be doing. To her credit, she seemed to understand she couldn’t do anything to change how they were, and while she might not like it the better choice was to accept it for what it was.
They made their way along the lake until the docks used by past generations of Ohmsfords for paid expeditions came into view. Then they caught their first glimpse of the armed transport. It was anchored at the far side of the storage buildings, occupying one of the larger slips, its light sheaths down, radian draws detached. Big and weathered, its paint job was a mottled black and brown and green, colors designed to make it blend into the landscape when viewed from above. Its hull was broad and pregnant with the space allotted for its contents, and its decks and railings were fitted with empty cradles clearly meant for heavy weaponry. The main and forward masts were raked slightly, denoting a ship that had been built for both speed and power.
All of which indicated she was a ship expecting to be attacked and prepared for when it happened.
The brothers exchanged a quick glance. They knew the ship. The Quickening. Only one family flew it and only one member of that family would have brought her here.
Mirai Leah.
10
“She’s up here!” their mother shouted, catching them both off guard. “Where have you two been? You were supposed to be back by midday!”
Sarys Ohmsford stood squarely in the open door of their home, staring down at them with a look on her face that reflected both suspicion and irritation. She was tall and slim, her Elven features all sharp planes and angles, her red hair worn long and loose about her shoulders. At times she had the look of a cat caught out in a windstorm. Today was one of those times. She looked wild and frazzled and out of patience.
Redden was quick to recognize the cause. “Sorry, Mother. We lost track of time. We were helping an old man down by the lake bring in his nets. It took longer than we thought.”
His mother gave him a look that clearly indicated she had doubts about his story. “Which old man would this be?”
They were walking toward the house now, Redden in the lead and Railing content to let him be so. “We don’t know his name. Never saw him before. He said he lived over by Shady Vale. He even knew our family name, from the old days. He came east in a lake skiff.”
Sarys shook her head. “I’m sure he did. Come say hello to your visitor. She’s beginning to wonder if you still live here.” She turned away as if dismissing them. “She’s in the kitchen eating lunch, but I wouldn’t test her patience any further if I were you.”
They hurried the rest of the way up the path, edging around spools of wire, barrels of nails, bundles of staves tied up with cord, and stacks of lumber under canvas. Building materials new and reclaimed were scattered everywhere, the source of what livelihood the family managed to produce. It was a bare-bones existence, but with their father gone it had been up to the boys from the time they were small to help their mother keep food on the table. Trade and barter with neighbors and the small towns that dotted the shoreline supplemented their efforts at self-sufficiency. It was a combination that provided a way of life for most of those who lived along the lake.
They passed the pens with the animals, the small forge and the cold storage, and were coming up on the house when they smelled the fresh-baked pies and suddenly found Mirai Leah standing in the door beside their mother.
“Your mother is right,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming back at all.”
“No, no, we were coming, we just …”
“Just found things a little confusing …”
“More than we … what, Red?”
“Confusing, ’cause of the nets …”
Mirai Leah wasn’t just pretty; she was beautiful. Not in the way of delicate things like flowers or rainbows, but in the way of stone carved into bold, suggestive images. When you first saw her face with its wide smile and fine, chiseled features, you might have thought her delicate. Her long blond hair and startling green eyes might have attracted you initially; you might have taken note of her perfect skin. But after you looked more closely, shifting your eyes from her face to other regions, you would have noticed the broad shoulders and strong hands. You would have seen the confident way she held herself, the cat-like, fluid way she moved, and the strength evident in her arms and legs. If you came much closer, you would have noticed the penetrating gaze and the glimmer of humor that was almost, but not quite, hidden behind it.
Redden and Railing noticed all this every time they saw her, and every time they saw her all the strength went out of their legs. Their otherwise abundant confidence evaporated, and they suddenly felt flushed and more than a little out of their depth.