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When Rush came to, his head swam. He struggled to recall where he was or how he had arrived there. As his vision cleared, memories fell into place.
He was in the heads. Of course. Hadn’t he just snuck on board the night before? Rush couldn’t remember how long ago that was, but it felt like weeks. Apparently, no one had discovered him for their entire voyage. Why did his jaw ache?
Oh.
The last two weeks crashed over him. He winced, replaying his last moments of consciousness again. So he hadn’t escaped after all. That fact gradually sunk in and he shot to his feet.
He hadn’t escaped.
Then where was he?
Rush shoved the stall door, but it remained shut. Again and again he threw his weight against it. The door, and whatever blocked it, shook from the collisions. Agitated voices came from outside—he had probably woken whoever slept in the crew’s quarters. Maybe one of them would let him out. Something scraped along the ground, like crates being moved. He reared back for a last charge and flung himself forward.
The door swung open.
Rush stumbled straight into a man as solid as a stone wall. Two huge hands clamped on his shoulder and locked him in place.
Thaddeus glared at him. Vance, stepping from the ladder, did the same. He cringed under the weight of their gazes. They would not be nearly as understanding with him this time.
Vance spoke first. “You situation has changed, as you may have gathered.” Rush shuddered under his cold eyes. “We postponed our meeting to discuss how to handle you. As I am already returning to New Atlantis, you will accompany me and stand trial for your actions.”
Rush’s eyes widened and his mouth went dry.
“Surprised, are you? In the real world, there are consequences for your actions. Perhaps you will learn that soon. Quartermaster, please return this deserter to his temporary—”
“Captain!”
A wild-eyed crewman stood at the ladder.
Vance straightened and frowned. “Speak, man! What is it?”
“Captain, we’re under attack.”
“By whom?”
“Dragons—it’s those accursed dragons again! They’re back for revenge.”
Rush froze in place. They?
Vance crossed his arms. “They?”
“Three of ‘em circling! They look hungry.”
Vance’s face grew grim, and he accompanied the man to the upper deck. Rush watched them leave. If one dragon had caused so much trouble, what could three do? Crewmen sprang into action around him; he lingered and clutched his head, indecision rooting his feet in place. He couldn’t let the crew fight alone, but if the Embark survived the encounter, Rush would still be bound for Hast.
But if she didn’t survive…
A dark idea crept in. At first, he flung it aside. What kind of villain would do that? But it burrowed in his brain, and Rush realized it was his only real answer. He couldn’t afford not to do it, not if he wished to ever find Ward.
He knew immediately that he would live to regret his next actions. At that moment, he didn’t care. Only one obsession pulsed through him. It’s justice, he told himself. And so he repeated as he descended to the storage room, took a spare cutlass, and strapped it on his side. This is for Lewis, he recited while hoisting himself above deck.
Rush’s internal argument crumbled at the sight of the battle.
A dozen men scrambled about, fear in their eyes but the unruffled quartermaster directing their actions. His battle cry rang above the din like a candle in an ink-black night. Vance joined them, loading his own pistol.
Rush tore his eyes from the scene and rounded the mast, coming to the ladder that led into the balloon’s interior. He patted the cutlass before commencing the climb. The great wooden post blocked his view of the battle, though the dragons came into sight as they circled the ship. Higher and higher he went, the wind roaring in his ears and whipping his hair and clothes around like a flag. The ascent seemed to stretch on for hours, each rung only bringing him inches closer. What if they killed the monsters before he finished his task? The thought spurred his limbs to work faster.
When the canvas exterior came within reach, Rush sensed a form in the air to his right. He glanced over his shoulder to see a dragon gliding straight toward him.
The beast’s talons were mere seconds away.
He scrambled to enter the safety of the balloon. In haste, his foot slipped.
Rush’s stomach dropped. His body stayed put. A single hand clung to a rung. His feet kicked to regain their anchor.
A gust blasted over him, followed by the deafening flapping of wings. He pulled his head down and hunched—an instant later, claws ripped across the mast inches above him. The dragon gripped the ladder for a moment before releasing, turning, and flying back. It would return soon for another strike. Heart racing, he clambered up the last space and pulled himself inside the balloon.
A thin passage ran through the length of the interior, disappearing into blackness only a few feet ahead. Huge canvas bags formed its walls—the lifting gas, ether, wafted around in there. Compared to the tumult outside, the dark walkway seemed a peaceful forest glade. He could almost forget the battle, nearly set aside his mission.
Almost.
Rush’s hand settled on the hilt of the sword. He withdrew it, metal scraping metal, but paused when it came halfway out. Did he really want to do this? Once the deed was done, there was no turning back.
No. He didn’t want to. The blade slipped into its abode.
But he had to.
The cutlass flew from the sheath and plunged into the nearest bag.
Ether brushed his face, and he wrinkled his nose; the stuff smelled like the refuse pit outside Hast. He held his breath and tore a gash through the canvas. Gas poured out, and its stench dominated the cramped space. Rush cut another one open, and another one, progressing down the passage.
After destroying six bags, he halted. Several more were ahead, but causing the ship to fall like an acorn from a tree would only hurt his purpose. He hoped for a more graceful, leaf-like landing. He might destroy the king’s property, but he wasn’t about to hurt the king’s men. That would cause another whole world of difficulty.
A revelation slapped Rush to reality. Staggering, he crouched and gasped.
With the airship down, the dragons would have free reign. Everyone on board would be at their mercy.
He had just condemned the entire crew to death.
His chest constricted. He glanced at his handiwork. The bags he could make out through the blackness sagged, all but empty. Rush tossed his sword away, darkness swallowing it far down the walkway.
Is this what revenge does?
The fire had consumed him. Vance’s words haunted him and he saw their truth.
He had to get off the ship immediately. His mission still hung before him, and after coming this far, he wasn’t about to give it up. But how could he abandon them? What kind of person would he be if he left them all to die?
I’d be me.
The thought came to him unbidden. He hated it, cringed before its truth. He had become the very person he swore to kill. Maybe even worse.
Lewis would be disappointed in me now.
But he shoved that accusation aside. Whatever the cost, he still needed to leave. It no longer mattered if he destroyed himself. He was already broken. What could one more crack do?
Rush sprinted past the empty bags to the ladder, making the long descent. It passed much faster that time.
Below deck, he went as the battle raged around. Only two dragons now terrorized the crew. He hurried to the deserted bunks, snatched his bag, and ran to the galley. There he piled as much food as he could carry atop the Bible and extra clothes. A flint and striker—that would be useful too. He dropped it in.
On his way up the ladder, he passed frantic voices. “Three hundred feet and dropping! Prepare for impact!” Shame knifed through him, but he couldn’t stop now. He only pleaded with God that no one be hurt.
Topside again, Rush locked eyes with Vance. The captain, pistol pointed at a diving dragon, faltered. His face turned from confusion to realization. The expression said everything. What have you done?
The boy squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. One day, he would make it all up. Somehow. He raced to the railing where a wrapped rope ladder sat. Pushing it over the edge, he watched it unroll and lifted his leg over the barrier. It settled onto the rope; the second leg came over.
And down he climbed.
The Embark still hung at least a hundred feet from the earth, but it drifted steadily downward. A dragon soared past the ladder, sending it twisting in its wake. Rush clung to the ropes as it swung.
Clenching his jaw, he looked down. Fifty feet. He tensed to jump.
Seconds before impact, he let go.
The fall lasted for an eternity.
Finally, his feet hit the ground, and he rolled into the impact. Glass shattered and wood cracked. Debris sprayed his back.
All sound from the ship ceased, except for the flapping and screeching of dragons. He fled across the plain, throwing the last of his energy into the flight.
Risking a last glance at the ship, he saw Vance.
“Rush!” The captain glared after him, and Rush didn’t need to discern his face to detect his fury. “Run now and you count your life as nothing. Hear this: Every citizen of Arcia will know your name and how to treat you. You will not hide long.”
He slowed. Life would be so much easier if he stopped and returned now. But he had to go. He couldn’t stay here, not anymore. Not after what he had done. Not after what was about to happen.
Turning, he sprinted for a forest in the distance. He pushed until his legs shook and his breaths wheezed, and still he ran without a look behind him. He couldn’t shoulder what surely happened on the ship at that very moment. And it was all his fault. Vance was right all along—this quest would destroy him long before it destroyed Ward.
It already had.
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