Chapter One: Abigail—
The young woman sat on her tiny porch, cradling a cup of warm tea, and looking out across the city to the west. It had been an enjoyable day, and she realized—with little thought—that it had been one of the most satisfying days of her life. And, it was—she knew—a day that she would never have imagined just a few months ago.
She was now a D’lurian, or what most people called a Cloud Dancer, one of the very few persons within the city who had the ability to fly the tiny sky ships in the skies of her home of Pentara. And, as such, she was someone to be respected, admired by almost the entire population, and perhaps—just perhaps—might even become a famous person.
This thought caused her to give a great sigh of satisfaction, and she allowed herself a small smile. She had applied to become one of the Cloud Dancers at the first hint of spring. She had, despite the fact she was a woman, been accepted, and then she had to train. This had been difficult at first, but her skills quickly improved once she had mastered the basics. She had proved to be a natural at flying, and she completed her solo landing in mid-June, which was something of a record. She had thus earned her wings, and now—after another six weeks—was a fully-fledged, experienced D’lurian. It was an accomplishment to be cherished, and one to be proud of. Immensely proud of.
Not that it had been easy. In fact, of the six people who had accepted for training in the spring, she was the only person who had qualified, and now she was one of the only nineteen D’lurian within the city.
Her name was Abigail, and she was seventeen years old. She had dark brown hair, at the moment braided into ponytail that hung down her back, brown eyes, a kind face, and was—like all the D’lurian—thin and weighed no more than fifty kilograms. The porch on which she now sat faced west, and out across the steep slope of the city with its many white buildings, the harbor with blue of the deep water, and the many greens of the narrow coastal plain. Beyond, perhaps three miles to the west, was the lighter blue of the ocean, today storm tossed, where she could see two ships struggling to sail north. To her right, southwest, was a wider land of greens and blues, where two rivers wound around a score or more islands, both large and small, and in many places formed a great, flooded swamp of large hardwood trees of ancient origin. These two rivers joined where the harbor had been constructed, resulting in wide estuary that led in a large arc northwest and to the ocean.
There was a steep ridge of a hard metamorphic rock to the east of the low-lying coastal plain, and it was on this that the town and castle had been built. The town led upward from the harbor in a series of steep steps, each with its own street and houses, and above it all sat the immense bulk of the Pentara castle, with its tall, white outer wall, and—behind that—the equally white buildings of the citadel itself. It was a beautiful place, where many colorful banners waved in the evening breeze, that today was under a cloudless azure sky.
The tiny house where Abigail lived was at the extreme southern end of the city, and on the highest street. The back wall of the house, in fact, butted up against the castle wall, and if was not for the wide ramparts with few crenels, anything thrown from those walls would have fallen on the roof of her house.
Abagail continued to reflect upon her day. The evening was warm, and the sky, as the sun moved toward the far horizon, was beginning to turn a deep red. The cobblestone street below her was empty of any people, and a row of houses, with their white walls of old masonry and their bright blue roofs, blocked her view of what was directly below her on the steep hillside.
It had been a good spring and summer, and was even better now that she was becoming a seasoned D’lurian. Their headquarters, if the immense ramshackle building could be called that, was located on the uphill side of the street four levels below. It was old house, with a cavernous basement where they stored their many fliers. Above that was a first floor that was comprised of several huge, open rooms, including the kitchen and dining room, with a central area where the ceiling that lofted up a full three stories to a series of glass skylights. This was surrounded by a wide staircase, off of which the many bedrooms, bathrooms, and storage areas.
These were occupied by the other members of the corps, as well as a few instructors, mechanics, and some other people who tended to chores and other duties. There had been a woman and her daughter, who had tended to the cooking and cleaning, but they had recently left as the mother had married the harbor master. The result was that the house, with its many furnishings and wooden floors, was—shall we say—starting to require a thorough cleaning.
All the residents of the house were men or boys, and the quality of the cooking was also now suffering. Abagail was the solitary female in the group, and she choose to live higher on the hillside in a rented apartment. Her home had once been a single house, but was now divided in two, and she shared the building with Miss Julia, an unmarried woman in her early fifties, who was something of a busy body and who had—at one time—trained to become a D’lurian. Abagail was sub-letting her apartment from Miss Julia, and paid her rent monthly. Miss Julia in turn paid an intermediary, who gave the money to the house’s owner, who—unbeknownst to Miss Julia—was actually Abagail. This was a fact that Abagail in no way wanted made public.
The D’lurian had only a few responsibilities. They worked for and were paid by the Kingdom of Pentara. They carried messages up and down the coast, as well as inland, they delivered small packages, they performed scouting duties, and they provided other small services that might be required. Their fliers were small, and only the two trainers could carry more than a single person. Each plane was about twenty or so feet wide, and was comprised of a curved, pointed, falcon-like set of wings constructed of a light-weight wood painted white. The centerline of each craft was a tight-fitting saddle, where the pilot lay on his or her belly, and which was flanked on each side by a short vertical stabilizer.
The bottom belly of each craft was a smooth skid, above which—and under the pilot—was a streamlined rocket engine. This was powered by a combination of two compounds, packed together as alternating bands of pellets, and then sprayed with a combustible liquid and ignited. The little engine produced a powerful jet that lasted upwards of four minutes, after which the craft became a glider that the pilot steered to its destination. The engine had to be prepared just right, with its contents packed tight, otherwise the little rocket would sputter in a stop-and-go fashion, and she had already seen one Cloud Dancer fall into the ocean during take-off. It had fortunately been a short fall, and the pilot had not been hurt.
The tiny craft was controlled by two sticks, one that operated the horizontal flap on the starboard side and one that worked the flap on the port side. The sticks and flaps were each actually a set of two. They could be operated as one or they could be used individually, in which case each flap separated and became two, where one flap tilted upward and the other downward. Each flap was perforated with alternating holes. These, when the flaps were operated together, did not allow air to pass through the flap. However, when the flaps were separated and used individually, the holes were exposed, and allowed the pilot to brake the small craft while it landed by sliding to a stop on its belly.
That had caused Abagail problems the first time she had landed one of the little sky ships on her own. She had been nervous, and worked the sticks as one instead of two, and the end result was that her craft, once on the ground, had not slowed, and instead bounced a long distance over the grassy field she had come down on. She had also not strapped herself tight enough onto her saddle, and had popped out of it. Her ship had then stopped, but Abagail had not, and she ended up tumbling across the grass on first her chest and then her face. She had ended up, her hair a mess, the wrong end in the air, and arms and legs splayed everywhere.
The small group of spectators had all raced to her side, and pulled her to her feet and inspected both her and her ship. Neither had been hurt, and only one person had laughed.
That, of course, had been Mateo, a young man who was a year or two older than Abigail. The memory caused Abigail to become irritated, and then she became irritated with herself for becoming irritated at Mateo.
There was nothing really wrong with Mateo. He always greeted her with a big smile, and was the most confident and competent flier within the group, but there was something about him that just always irritated her. Their world was one where men always opened doors for the women, and where they always poured the woman’s drink first. While the other Cloud Dancers and their company always did these things in Abagail’s presence, Mateo did not. He had also pulled on her ponytail the first time they had met, a mistake he had not made twice, considering Abigail’s angry reaction, and he often gave her advice.
It was not that his advice given in an arrogant manner, or to show off his knowledge, but were rather important things that a veteran rider might give a novice. It had been Mateo who had, after her accident, showed her how to correctly tighten her saddle. He had also shown her how to split the two sticks into their individual sections, and to properly ignite the fuel with its kick starter, and he had loaned—or given her—his extra heavy flying gloves and made sure she sure was properly dressed, from the top of her head and her leather helmet and goggles, to her feet with the thick wool socks, light-weight boots, and knee-high leggings. It was all things that she needed to learn, but it just irritated Abigail that it was Mateo who was providing this assistance.
Still, Abagail knew that she needed to pay attention to Mateo, as his advice and instruction were important. While women D’lurian were rare, they were far from unknown, and the most famous of these had been a woman named Uno, who had lived about fifty years ago.
Uno was known for her great beauty, so the stories said, her wild tangle of her black hair, her utter confidence, and her daring, edgy flying. But she also took chances and believed nothing bad would ever befall her in the air. She had taken off one morning in front of a large group of spectators, and had flown exceedingly fast toward the ocean, gaining a great deal of attitude at the same time. There was turbulence where the water met the land, and Uno, who had a habit of not always tightening the belt that held her to her saddle, had simply bounced out her flier and fell a hundred feet and into the ocean.
According to what was told of the accident, the many of the crowd of spectators had rushed into the surf to save her. There was crying, and prayer, but it was all for naught, for Uno’s body, once she was brought ashore, was clearly limp and without life.
It was a lesson that was repeated to all the new fliers over and over, and which each D’lurian had to learn. Abagail was no exception. But, still—nevertheless—it irritated her that it was Mateo was the person who had personally reiterated the warning.
And, of course, when she was assigned to a veteran flier who would accompany her after her training was complete, it had been Mateo who been given the responsibility. That too irritated Abigail.
But she had to admit that flying with Mateo was far from a bad thing. She knew, from listening to the other D’lurian, that some were frightened of flying to high, too fast, or out across the ocean. Mateo, while often cautious, had few of these fears, and he seemed to understand that Abigail wanted to push these limits. And thus the two of them had flown higher, Abigail knew, than any of the other D’lurian, and well up into cold, thin air of the higher altitudes. They had also flown incredibly fast, and following Mateo had allowed her to become a precise acrobatic flier who understood the air currents both far up into the sky and near the ground. The two of them had completed barrel rolls and loops, something few of the fliers were brave enough to attempt, and they had also flown far out across the ocean, once going so far that they could see the first of the Islands of Koyota. Mateo, Abagail knew, did not like the fastest easiest routes between their destinations. He liked the routes that were the “most fun.”
Today had been no exception. They had been given the task of taking new orders from the Pentara King, King Ovee’or the Third, to the small Pentara army, which was campaigning far to the north, while both training and attempting to rid that area of the small bands of outlaws that so prevailed there.
Abigail and Mateo had left in the mid-afternoon, and had used their ships’ engines to climb quickly over the long line of mountains that led north just inland of the ocean. It had been an incredibly beautiful flight, and they had flown high, weaving among the many bright sunbeams that have pierced the clouds above and circumventing the towering white cumulus clouds that that hung in great columns. They could only rarely see the ground, because of the clouds below, and then it was only a glimpse of a green meadow or a small river to the east, a white beach or the ocean to the west, and—seen least of all—the towering spires, cirques, and glaciers of the Ronda Mountains, which were directly below them. They also passed a few flocks of swans, geese, and flamingos, all flying north and well below them.
Abagail and Mateo knew that the birds were following the ridge of mountains north, although they could seldom see it and they had to use compasses and time pieces to navigate—with Abigail usually in the lead. They had descended after almost two hours, and had fortuitously come out of the clouds only a few miles south of the great, green valley were the army was camped. They had then continued to descend in great wandering circles, and had ultimately landed in front of the tents with the largest number of pendants and flags. This was, of course, the commander of the tiny army, Malaki, a large man who always seemed to be on the verge of laughing, and who greeted the two Cloud Dancers with a large smile.
The two D’lurian had removed their heavy coats and other gear, and Malaki listened with great enthusiasm about their journey north, then he and his command staff served Abagail and Mateo a large lunch, and discussed the recent gossip of the going-ons in Pentara. Commander Malaki had opened his new orders in private, but now he revealed them to everyone present, saying that the army in its entirety had been ordered back to Pentara so that it could participate in the Day of Founding festivities, which would take place later in the month. He also said that their orders indicated that some new ceremony would take place during the holiday that would involve the army, but that his orders did not say what this ceremony would be.
It then became time to return to Pentara. Each flyer carried an additional fuel canister stored at the base of each wing root, and Abigail and Mateo each used one to refuel their ship. They then, after many energetic goodbyes, took off, and used their engines to climb southeast and out of the grassy meadow where the army was camped.
Abigail had no idea what route Mateo planned to take on the way home, but she had a deep trust in his abilities, and he now led her up and over the mountains to the east and south along the ocean shore. This was a leisurely flight compared to their journey north, and Mateo soon found a long beach of sand backed by tall cliffs of broken rock and soil. They circled and landed, and shucked their heavy clothes, boots, leggings, and socks.
They then had explored up and down the beach. It was low tide, and nearby were shelves of bedrock with pools of water and many trapped sea creatures that they examined and enjoyed. They climbed several of the smaller cliffs, they waded in the water, dashed in and out of surf, and left two sets of tracks up and down the lonely, sandy beach. And they also snacked on the food—and wine—that Malaki had provided.
There was no way to use just part of their fuel canisters that they carried, and now with two containers empty, they used utilized their last to again launch themselves into the sky. They again followed the coastline south, now flying over the few roads they encountered, and they had passed the Pantara castle, town, and harbor. Mateo was now in the lead, and he led Abagail south and over the two great swamp-like rivers to the south. They had then turned and returned north, and flew over the castle itself, where many people shouted and waved, and they finally landed in the small meadow below the large house where most of the D’lurian lived. It had been, Abigail was quick to admit, the happiest and most enjoyable day of her life.
She lingered on that thought for a long time, still holding her now-empty tea cup. She wanted to hold memory forever, in the special place that had become this summer, and she placed the thoughts of her future in the far, far back of mind where they would never emerge.
These were dark, dark thoughts, which she dared not fully contemplate, because she wanted to avoid the pain. She knew, probably this fall, that her presence was going to required full time in the castle, with no reprieves, and that she would be forced into an arranged marriage with a man she could not stand, who would not respect her, and who only wanted her as an obedient, uncomplaining wife who voiced no opinion and who would provide him with male heirs.
It was far better, she knew, to linger on the memories of this wonderful summer.
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