Marie Brennan - Within the Sanctuary of Wings

My lips formed soundless prayers. Though ordinarily I devote little attention to religion, in that moment I begged for the mercy of any deity that might care to listen, from the Lord of my childhood Assembly-House visits to the sun the Draconeans worshipped.

The caeliger almost scraped the snow of the col; I think a downdraft must have pushed it unexpectedly to earth. But then it shot forward at a slant, as if it were skiing down the western slope, and attained the free air of the Sanctuary.

A pole lay on the ground at my side. I seized it and, with all the strength in my arms, began to wave its banner back and forth: a piece of yak wool, the brightest blue the limited dye palette of Draconean fabrics could offer. Surely they would have scouts looking below; they must see this movement, a spot of unusual colour against the expected hues of spring, and shapes too regular for nature. I had not intended to speak, knowing my voice would be lost before it reached so high, but holding back proved impossible; I shouted at the top of my lungs, begging them to see me.

And the caeliger flew on. It soared past me and my increasingly desperate cries, dropping altitude as it went, until it was nearly on a level with me. Then it began to turn, and I realized it was simply preparing its approach. I ran for the edge of the meadow, flagpole in hand, to get out of their way.

I did not choose my direction at random. The surrounding terrain afforded little in the way of concealment for Draconeans; even with their spring-grey scales helping them to blend in, the odds of them being spotted from above were too great. But there was a little hollow where one could crouch, and Ruzt was there. If matters here went badly, she would break cover and relay a warning to the rest of her people. I laid my flagpole down near her, exerting all my will not to look at the hollow, and waited.

The landing of the caeliger was a lengthy enough process that I had time to thank any deity who might be listening that we had developed synthetic dragonbone. Had my people landed in something obviously assembled from pieces of dead dragons… it did not bear thinking about. Someday we would explain that entire matter to the Draconeans, but not that day.

Shouts were coming from the caeliger, but at this close proximity the noise of the engine was too loud for me to make out any words. Men swarmed in the gondola—more men than our vessels had carried from Vidwatha to Tser-nga—carrying out the work necessary to bring it firmly to earth. I knew enough of such operations to be sure they were not quite done when one of the crew flung himself over the edge of the gondola, staggered on the thin spring grass, and set off toward me at a run. “Isabella!”

It was my brother Andrew, whom I had left behind in Vidwatha nearly a year before. We collided in the middle of the meadow, Andrew enveloping me in a hug so tremendous, I thought he might re-injure the ribs I had cracked crossing the Cheja Glacier. He was laughing hysterically, as well he might: it was clear that Tom and Lieutenant Chendley had made it back to the lowlands and the army there, and so Andrew had believed me dead.

Our collision swung me around so that I could not see what was going on at the caeliger. As soon as I could, I wriggled free of my brother’s embrace so I could turn to look. Under ordinary circumstances I would have been delighted to stay where I was, for each reunion did more to strengthen me than any medicine… but I could not forget the burden of expectation that lay upon me.

Behind me, the caeliger was being staked to the ground. The number of men aboard made me certain their point of most recent departure was a good deal closer than Vidwatha. Hlamtse Rong, perhaps, or some locale even more remote, where the Tser-zhag were unlikely to notice them. Close enough that all they need do was get the caeliger up and over the col, whereupon they could seek a landing on the far side.

A man in winter uniform was standing not far away, looking as though he knew he ought to order Andrew to release me at once and behave as befitted a soldier, but was reluctant to disrupt our moment of happiness. When he lifted his goggles, I recognized him as Colonel Dorson, the fellow who commanded the caeliger base in Vidwatha. “Dear God, Lady Trent,” he said when I faced him. “How can you possibly be alive?”

“Did the locals rescue you?” Andrew said. He still held my arm—as if, were he to release me, I might vanish in a puff of smoke.

I gave him a sharp glance. “What do you know about them?”

“The locals? Nothing, really.”

Dorson intervened, clearly trying to regain some kind of command over the situation. “The original scouting flight saw houses. They aren’t Tser-zhag, are they? All our reports say this is beyond the edge of the territory controlled by Tser-nga.”

“It is well beyond their control,” I said firmly. “In fact, the people here have been cut off from outside contact for a very long time. They—”

Andrew crowed in delight, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “You found a hidden mountain kingdom! Is it like the ones in the legends? Is there a palace of gold around here somewhere?”

He turned as if to look for a palace of gold, which made me very worried that he might see Ruzt instead. Fortunately for me, Dorson snapped out a sharp reprimand: “Captain Hendemore!”

My brother whipped back to face his commanding officer, startled almost to the point of saluting. “Sorry, sir. It’s just—my God. She’s alive!”

“I can see that,” Dorson said.

A sudden thought came to me, strong enough that it diverted me from my own course. I clutched at Andrew’s hand. “Tom. Where is he?”

Andrew looked about as if expecting Tom to materialize at his elbow. “That’s odd. Why hasn’t he—”

Dorson coughed. “I’m afraid Sir Thomas is still asleep.”

“ Asleep? ” I echoed, staring. Then I remembered our own flight from Vidwatha. “Dear God. The laudanum.”

“We had to dose him pretty strongly,” Andrew said, looking embarrassed. “But he insisted. Said your husband and that Yelangese fellow were out here looking for your body, and that on his own he’d have a better chance of scaling the pass from this side. He was awake for the flight yesterday, but two days in a row seems to have done him in.”

Sure enough, Tom was curled up beneath several blankets in one end of the gondola. He was not, as Dorson had claimed, asleep; he was merely thoroughly fuddled. “Tom,” I said, crouching in front of him. “Tom, wake up.”

Andrew leaned over the edge of the gondola. “Look who we found, Wilker! No need to search for her body; she’s been kind enough to bring it to you, alive and well.”

I knew my brother’s lighthearted tone was a mask for his feelings. Tom’s response was to shake his head. His words more than a little slurred, he said, “I may need opium to ride in this infernal thing, but I refuse to become the sort of opium-eater who converses with his delusions.”

“I am not a delusion,” I said. It did not come out quite as tartly as I wished, for the rejoinder stuck a little in my throat. I could see a gleam at the corner of Tom’s eye, threatening to fall. “A delusion would not tell you that she has solved the puzzle of that plaster cast—you know the one I mean. And if you get up, you will soon have a chance to see the solution with your own eyes.”

This roused Tom enough for him to lift his head. “Actually, she might say that. But—” His mouth wavered. “But she would not look like ragged hell when she said it. Isabella—”

“It is me,” I assured him. Then he came surging up out of his blankets to throw his arms around me; and I did not care how many soldiers were looking on, or whether this might renew any rumours about the two of us. I was coming to realize that after a winter isolated among Draconeans, it would take a very long time before I was tired of being embraced by those I loved.