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Rush skidded across loose gravel. His pursuers came closer by the second. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they caught him. But he wouldn’t be caught. It was his duty, his mission, to escape.
His chest heaved with every panting breath, and his legs ached. He had to find a place to disappear. He couldn’t outrun them and would tire long after them.
A sheer cliff wall rose before him, but a crevice more narrow than his shoulders sliced through it. Rush squeezed between them and shuffled sideways as rocks clawed at him. A stony bulge bashed his head. Rush winced, rubbed the hurting spot, and continued. His head throbbed with every step.
The wall on his right side sloped—still nearly vertical, but scalable. He scrambled up the side, his feet churning to gain purchase, before he heaved himself on top of the cliff. He peeked over the edge into the fissure.
Two men, crammed between the walls, trudged after the escapee. They grumbled about the captain letting such an impetuous boy stay on their ship. Rush didn’t know what impetuous meant, though it seemed a fitting description of him.
Rush lay on his back and stared at the darkening sky, watching the mountaintops rip through meandering clouds. The voices passed his hiding spot, continuing down the crevice. He exhaled, relieved, but another feeling rippled through him. I’m free! He grinned, but the grin disappeared when he remembered his aim. And he still had no idea how he would fight Ward.
After lingering for several minutes, ensuring the soldiers had passed by, Rush sat up and slid down the slope. Dirt and rocks tumbled down and scattered across the ground. He hurried back in the direction he had come. As he neared the exit, voices rung from behind. He threw caution to the mountain wind and dashed through the passage.
Bursting from between the cliffs, he spotted two soldiers.
He backpedaled, but the other voices came closer and closer. Rush swallowed. He had been outplayed. He had no chance of taking off and hiding again. So he did the only thing he could do.
He leapt toward the soldiers.
One man received a shoulder jammed in his stomach, doubling over. But the other readied himself—when Rush pounced at him, he held his musket lengthwise and slammed it against Rush’s chest. His breath flew from his mouth. Collapsing, he rolled onto his back. Within seconds, all four soldiers overshadowed him; Lieutenant Bridger was among them.
A frown replaced Bridger’s usual smile. “Let’s see how you explain this one to the capt’n.”
Two men hoisted him under the arms, dragging him all the way to the ship. They forced him to climb the rope ladder and carried him straight to where Vance spoke with a crewman on deck. Their conversation paused when the disheveled party appeared.
Vance raised his eyebrows. “So this is where poor William received his welt.”
The two men thrust Rush forward and backed off. “The boy tried to make a run for it.”
Vance cocked his head. “He did?” He looked at Rush. “You did?”
Rush inspected the floor, shifting his weight.
The captain watched him curiously. “We shall discuss this more later. Lieutenant, please see that our deckhand makes himself useful. And makes up for the trouble he’s caused us.”
“Yes, sir.” Bridger took Rush by the arm and led him to the mast. “I do believe the heads need cleaning.”
Rush groaned.
Upon hearing the scouts’ report, Vance instructed they follow orders and fulfill the two weeks of the voyage. Thaddeus and several others disagreed, wishing to leave immediately, but the captain ultimately won out. The last three days crawled by for everyone. Especially Rush.
He worked unceasingly, both as punishment and to bury his dark thoughts. Often memories of Lewis or Olive flashed across his vision; his brother’s death tainted them. Hatred boiled inside him as he saw Ward, the blond killer, leaning over the airship’s edge. That had been Lewis’ last sight in the land of mortals. The barrel of a musket.
On the eve of the last day, the Embark departed the Pinnacles. Rush, having finished his tasks, sat cross-legged in the watch deck and stared after the receding mountain range. He leaned his head against the glass as his one chance at justice faded into the gloom.
Somehow, some way, he had to go back. He vowed to himself he would no matter the cost.
He listened for a few seconds and, hearing only the engine’s steady chug, sprawled on his back across the metal walkway. Rush rested his head on the floor and stared out the window. As the ship drifted over the hills of Arcia, he surrendered to sleep.
“Rush. Rush!”
The boy stirred. Was someone calling him?
“Wake up. We’re here.”
Rush sat upright and rubbed his aching head. Vance stood with one foot on the last rung of the ladder, a lantern in hand. The flame cast dancing shadows across the floor. Pitch-dark wrapped around the watch deck windows. “Where’s here?”
“The Prince Nathaniel.”
Rush rose as his heart sank. As he had learned during the voyage, the Prince Nathaniel was a massive flying headquarters for the Royal Scouting Corps. Here, he was to board the first available ship to return him home.
His gaze drooped as he trudged to the captain; he halted before reaching the ladder. “Why can’t we just attack the rebels now? We know where they are. We know what they’re doing. You should just go after them.”
Vance sighed and shook his head. “It would be contrary to regulations. We now have grounds for a major assault of their headquarters, but it will take time for a declaration of war to be made. Until then, I and my entire crew could be discharged for making a move without authorization, even if the king commands the same action a week later.”
Rush’s shoulders slumped. “That sounds like a bad system.”
“Perhaps it is cumbersome, but it has prevented many a poor decision. Now come, the others have already left. I must report on our voyage, and I am not inclined you leave you alone on my ship.” He ascended the ladder, Rush close behind. They emerged on the upper deck into silver moonlight.
Thick ropes fastened the Embark to a floating pier that led to the larger airship’s outer catwalk. At this time of night, only scattered sentries patrolled the perimeter. Lantern light flickered from windows in the long dome that formed the ship’s bulk. Farther down the walkway, three other ships had docked at identical piers.
Vance strolled across deck to the railing and examined the Prince Nathaniel. Rush accompanied him. After several seconds of silence, Rush fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Hadn’t the captain said they needed to go?
“Rush, something has been bothering me.”
“Is it me?”
He smiled, still staring into the dark. “Yes, but not in the way you mean. Why would a boy like you go to all the trouble of sneaking on board only to flee upon our reaching the Pinnacles? You, apparently, do not seek mere adventure. Nor do you desire easy transportation to some more desirable location. What is in the Pinnacles that draws you?”
Rush looked away. He slouched and hung his arms over the railing.
Vance turned to him. “I believe I can guess some of your situation. You likely lost someone when the rebels came to your town. A relative, perhaps, or a friend. Now you want revenge.”
Rush stared at the dark landscape far below. “My brother.”
For once, the captain’s perfect posture broke. He hunched and rubbed a hand across his face. “I am truly sorry to hear that. This undeclared war has ravaged far too many lives, ever since the previous king drove those malcontents into the mountains. If only they would realize they have become the very tyranny they think to fight.”
“I have to make it right.” He straightened and returned Vance’s gaze. “Take me back. Or if you can’t do that, let me go. Say I escaped. Please. I need to do this.”
Pain flashed in Vance’s eyes. “I am loath to increase your pain, but I cannot. Even if it were not disallowed, it would be wrong.”
Rush squared his shoulders. “What do you know about loss?” The words bore an edge sharper than a sword, but he didn’t care anymore. “You probably grew up in a perfect little family in New Atlantis and had everything you wanted handed to you. I bet your rich dad bribed the admirals into making you captain so young. So don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
Vance’s lips parted. He watched Rush incredulously before narrowing his eyes. His usual precise pronunciation gave way to less refined speech. “Some have lost even more than you, boy. Have you ever considered that? At least your home still stands. Your town yet remains on maps. You even have a family to return to. How would you feel if everything you knew were razed to the ground, all your family and friends killed? Might someone who experienced that have some idea of loss?”
Rush’s eyes flitted down. He swallowed a growing lump in his throat.
Vance paused and inhaled deeply. “I have seen too much hatred in my lifetime to condone your actions. You see how bitterness has poisoned Thaddeus. He has not let go of his wife’s murder for twenty years. To harbor something like that…” He rubbed his forehead. “You may as well light a fire within yourself and hope it burns your enemy before it burns you.
“Until all things are made new, pain will be a part of this world. You may let it strengthen you or let it define you. The choice is in your hands.”
The chilly midnight air brushed against Rush’s face. Words fled him. The captain’s speech churned in his mind, and he leaned against the railing. “But…” He swallowed. “How can I just let go?”
“You follow Christ, do you not?”
Rush nodded.
“Ask Him. It is a daily battle, and an arduous one. With the help of Divine Providence, however, it is possible.”
A hush fell over the deck. For several minutes, Rush stood beside Vance as both explored their thoughts. He recalled his guilt after unleashing fury into the dragon. The fire had already burned him, twisting its hot talons around his heart, provoking him to actions he would never have considered two months ago. For the first time, he wondered—what would Lewis think of this?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Eventually, Vance straightened, rolled his shoulders, and cleared his throat. “Let us be going. The captain’s report won’t convene until tomorrow at noon, but the mess is open all night. The rest of the crew is already there.”
The night passed in a blur. Neither he nor Vance were inclined to talk much after that, and upon boarding the Prince Nathaniel, they shared a silent meal in the boisterous mess hall. Rush accompanied the captain as he reported to a yawning clerk, then both returned to the Embark to sleep. They parted ways without a word. Vance disappeared into his quarters and Rush sunk into a firm bed below deck.
He tossed and turned in bed for some time, mind agitated, unable to relax. He asked himself questions he feared to answer. Would Lewis want him to take revenge on Ward? Would God? Rush had nearly forgotten his faith after his brother died.
Olive’s Bible pushed its way into his thoughts. It still sat in the bag stuffed under his bed, never opened once since he packed it. Something convinced him that his restlessness would depart if he would read it. He sat upright in bed and dangled his legs over the side. Sliding the bag out, he dug through the few supplies he had brought to find the hardcover volume inside. The pages flipped in his hands before his eyes landed on Matthew. Somehow, this seemed the right thing to read. As he dug into the opening statements, his anxiety eased. Before long, Rush’s head sagged. He dropped back onto the pillow and knew no more until late the next morning.
Under a reborn sun, the night’s anxiety melted away. He shoved the doubts Vance had raised into a deep part of his mind. Now he only knew he must escape and reach Ward.
Bridger escorted him on board the Prince Nathaniel. “Capt’n’s busy,” he had said. “He told me to keep an eye on you.” But the amiable lieutenant spent more time giving Rush a grand tour than keeping either of his eyes on him. They strolled along the catwalk to the far end of the dome, where a pair of hefty oaken doors blocked their way. Bridger shoved them open, revealing an ornate passage. A chandelier illuminated murals along the paneled walls. They depicted notable events in Arcia’s past; as Rush progressed down the hall, his country’s history flashed before his eyes.
A fleet of seaships split the waves, seeking a new and better land. Waves scattered the same ships in pieces across a rocky shore. From there, the explorers pushed through the Pinnacles, fighting back monsters they had thought extinct. A painting showed a group of men battling a dragon much the same as Rush had killed. And beyond the mountains, the wide, green expanse of Arcia, and proud settlers erecting the first towns. A last picture featured the first airship, smiling inventor at the helm. At the end of the passage, another set of double doors wore a brightly colored, stylized map of the nation.
Lieutenant Bridger chattered away about the story of the pictures, but Rush tuned him out and admired the artistry. He had already heard these accounts many times in school.
Past those doors, many rooms branched from a large, long hall. Overhead, warm rays filtered in from a skylight. Men bustled here and there around them like a living river. Rush took this all in with wide eyes. The entire population of Hast could probably fit in the ship’s main hall.
Bridger showed him the engine room, filled by an amalgamation of mechanical odds and ends that technicians tinkered with. Next, they entered a small library where a handful of shelves held books on military strategy and history. Rush flipped through the pages of one hard-bound tome, thinking of how Olive would give anything to spend a week in that room.
At noon, Bridger accompanied him to the mess. They entered a deserted main passage; Rush searched for all the people who had been there only minutes before. “Where did everyone go?”
The young man smiled. “It’s mealtime. Oh, and all the important folk are having some sort of meeting over there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the end of the hall, where two guards stood before a large door.
They found seats in the crowded chamber across from two men Bridger seemed to know well. From the snippets of conversation Rush caught, it seemed they grew up in a village somewhere and all joined the Royal Academy together.
Rush slouched and chewed his food while staring at the table. The buzz of conversation around him waned as he sunk into his thoughts.
Fleeing the Prince Nathaniel was his only option. If another ship carried him home, he would never again have the opportunity to find Ward. His parents would doubtless watch him closely upon his return.
He sat up as an idea took shape.
A few more minutes of deliberation secured his decision. Rush tapped Bridger on the shoulder. He glanced at Rush, lips pursed. “Yes?”
“I’m done eating. Can I go?”
Bridger shrugged. “I guess.” He turned back to the conversation.
Rush blinked. That was even easier than he had expected. He stood, easing from the room.
Sounds spilled from the mess into the main hall as he opened the door. Except for the two guards at the end, there was no one in sight. The door they protected remained closed. Vance had told him the meeting would take a while—endless pageantry and formality proceeded by another long while of oral reports, then at least another hour of written reports. A grand waste of time, Rush considered it, but it gave him an opening.
He sauntered toward the main doors. When he passed through the first pair of doors, the paintings passed in reverse, as if he were reading the history book backward. He pushed the next set open and inhaled fresh air. Hundreds of feet below, the ship’s shadow darkened a grassy plain. Bowing pasture, rolling hills, and stretching trees reached to the horizon. He never knew how much he missed the signs of life until he spent two weeks in an alpine wasteland.
Rush continued along the catwalk, rounding the dome, until the piers lining the side came into view. Four deserted airships drifted there, the Embark among them. A couple of sentries, spaced far from each other, idled on the catwalk. They stared at the sky for threats—they would hardly be on the lookout for deserters from within the ship.
With his freedom in view, he hesitated. Guilt broiled in his stomach. He would become Vance and the crew’s number one target. The volantry would search for him for months. Did he really want to risk getting caught and likely jailed?
Rush recalled his words to Olive. “I’d rather be dead than alive and alone.” He meant them. He still meant them. What did he have to live for anymore?
He set his jaw and approached the Embark.
The ship was docked between two floating piers, tied down with ropes thicker than his arm. She shifted in the breeze and bumped against the pier. It would be no small task for Rush to remove the ropes. He only hoped the sentries would keep their attention on the sky.
Rush crossed the wide gangplank and hauled it onto the deck. That should slow down any potential pursuit. He knelt, fingers pushing and pulling to untie the bulky knots. They wrapped around metal rings set into the deck.
How would he anchor the ship without ropes? The question rose unbidden, and with it, more holes in his plan emerged. Could he get the engine running fast enough and for long enough to get out of range? How was he supposed to stop? He peeked at the balloon overhead.
He might have to resort to desperate measures.
By the time he finished the second one, his patience wore thin, as did the skin on his fingertips. He flexed his fingers and winced, eying the final two ropes on the other side of the ship. His shoulders slumped and his face fell as a realization came to him.
Why hadn’t he just used a knife?
A quick trip to the galley gave him the tool he sought, and a hasty check revealed no attention to his activities. Rush dropped to his knees and hacked at the third rope for several seconds until it was a jumble of fraying chords, finally snapping. It dangled from the pier over empty air. He shuddered and backed away. Falling would be the worst thing he could do right now.
“Rush?”
Rush’s head shot up.
Vance stood, arms crossed, on the catwalk in front of his ship. “I was coming to check on you, but I suppose I should have excused myself earlier. Just what do you intend to do?”
Rush set the cleaver behind him. “Just…getting…something. From my bag.” He pointed below deck. “Down there. I’ll be going now.”
Vance watched him. “Wait.”
Rush froze.
Vance held his gaze. “Come with me now, and I never saw this. Your actions could be easily mistaken for desertion, but I am confident you would not once again attempt that. Please return the gangplank. We will sort everything out.”
Rush’s emotions tore him in two. He trusted Vance, and he hated to betray him in this way. But to give up now would mean the pain never left. The anger would always burn inside him with no respite. Lewis’ blood would forever cry out from the ground.
He stepped forward.
Vance sighed with relief. “You chose well. Now, let’s—what are you doing?”
Rush snatched the cleaver and lunged toward the final rope.
Vance cursed and ran off, shouting for guards. Rush’s heart pounded in his ears. Regret plagued him. I had to do it, he told himself as the rope shredded with each chop. Lewis would want this. But would he really? Rush winced and shoved the voiced away. The final rope fell.
Vance led several soldiers to the Embark; some carried ropes. Rush’s eyes widened.
They were going to pull him back in.
He flew down the ladder and sprinted through the storage room to the boiler. Frenzy threw him forward, shoveling kindling and coal from a box into the boiler’s lower compartment. He snagged a shard of flint and a J-shaped striker from a shelf and knocked them together. Sparks showered and lit the dry kindling. Blowing gently, he eased the glow into a small flame.
The ship lurched. Their ropes must have found purchase.
He slammed the boiler door shut, working the billows on the side until the fire roared inside.
Footsteps. Voices.
They had boarded.
He shot into the storage room, hunting for a way to defend himself. Rush grabbed a cutlass and planted himself in the doorway.
The mast blocked his view as the sounds of someone descending echoed through the ship. Finally, Vance stepped around, followed by three soldiers brandishing their own cutlasses.
When the captain’s eyes fell on Rush, his brow knitted with anger. He strode through the length of the storeroom.
Rush retreated a few steps and raised the sword. “Don’t come any closer!”
Vance only tightened his fists. He came within striking range of Rush, but the boy couldn’t bring himself to make the move. Vance ripped the sword from his hands and tossed it to the ground.
“You have made yourself a lot of enemies, boy,” he said.
Then he punched Rush in the jaw, and everything went black.
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