Ken Liu - The Wall of Storms

“There’s nothing we can do now,” said Dafiro. “But if we survive today, we can still raise up an army in the mountains of Dara and continue to raid the Lyucu.”

“The chances of victory for such a strategy are slim,” said Gin. “The war might go on for years, and many more people will die. No, we must make our stand here, today.”

She struggled to stand up, and as the ship burned around her, smoke cracking her voice and heated air distorting her vision, she called out to her crew.

“Soldiers of Dara, we are close enough to the surface now that if we abandon ship, many of us will survive. But Dara will be lost if the Lyucu king survives, and so I intend to crash the ship into the pékyu’s flagship. You’ve followed me far enough. None of you need to come with me.”

Nobody moved to dive off the ship; they stayed by their posts.

Gin Mazoti smiled. “I never had any doubt. Our lives are but brief respites between stormy veils cast over the eternal unknown, and we must be guided in our deeds by the inner compass of our will, not what others may think of us. Yet now that death has come to us, we shall make this a day that will live on in song and story.”

The crew moved to the oars, including Gin and Dafiro. Putting their backs into the work, they started to sing as they propelled their sinking, flaming airship toward Pékyu Tenryo’s flagship, Pride of Ukyu .

Following the example of the marshal, each of the other sinking airships picked a city-ship, and the crew struggled to steer toward their targets.

The fire singed the hair of the crew, and blisters and boils appeared on their skin as the bamboo-and-steel frame popped and broke apart around them.

Their chants grew more somber and louder.

As the flaming Silkmotic Arrow crashed toward the pékyu’s flagship, the heat from the airship washed over the deck like a tsunami wave.

Many of the Lyucu warriors dove over the sides, certain that staying meant death. But Pékyu Tenryo, wearing a helmet made from the skull of a yearling garinafin, stood steadfast on the deck, Langiaboto lifted high overhead with both hands. It was as though he was going to face down this fiery falling star all by himself.

Silkmotic Arrow crashed into Pride of Ukyu . The frame of the airship buckled, bent, and broke apart. Fire spread to the other clusters of gasbags, and more explosions followed, immolating most of the crew of Silkmotic Arrow and rocking the deck of the city-ship like an earthquake. Flaming bits of wreckage rained down around Pékyu Tenryo, and even the few Lyucu warriors still remaining by the side of their lord now dove off the sides.

Gin Mazoti and a few other crew members were fortunate to be in a section of the ship that survived the crash long enough for them to tumble from their rowing benches onto the burning deck. They rolled around on the deck to put out the fire on their bodies. As they struggled to stand up, the chief of the Lyucu attacked.

Pékyu Tenryo tore through them like a wolf through a flock of sheep. He wielded the massive war axe without any concern for his own safety. While the ship burned around him, he seemed to not feel the rising heat or the thickening smoke. With each swing of Langiaboto, he managed to crush a head or break through a rib cage.

Gin Mazoti ran back to the burning wreckage of Silkmotic Arrow and pulled Na-aroénna out, careless of the pain as the hot handle sizzled against her hands. Dafiro Miro took off his war club, Biter, and the sword he had inherited from his brother, Simplicity. Casting a grim look at each other, they rushed at Pékyu Tenryo.

With a few more swings of his club, Pékyu Tenryo dispatched the last of the Dara soldiers, and he turned around to face Gin Mazoti and Dafiro Miro. Fire burned around the three like a funeral pyre.

Pékyu Tenryo held Langiaboto aloft and smashed it down against the deck. The entire ship seemed to tremble.

Gin Mazoti and Dafiro Miro looked at each other and smiled.

“It is an honor to fight with you, Marshal of Dara,” said Dafiro.

“The honor is entirely mine.”

And they fell against each other like three crubens contesting for power in a sea of flames.

Zomi Kidosu swam hard and kicked her way to the surface. Around her, the sea was filled with burning wreckage from the airships and sinking city-ships. The Lyucu warriors, some of them badly burnt, howled with pain as they grabbed onto floating spars.

Just before Moji’s Vengeance crashed into one of the city-ships, Zomi had ordered her crew to leap off the ship. As Moji’s Vengeance had been heading for a cluster of ships, Zomi decided that there was no need to keep the crew aboard to steer until the very last minute. She didn’t believe in dying unnecessarily to become a part of history.

The Dara airship crew now bobbed in the sea, seeking their own places of refuge. The confusion among the Dara fleet meant that no one could be sure who was friend or foe, but everyone, Lyucu and Dara alike, was trying to avoid Pride of Ukyu , which was now very low in the water and could sink at any moment.

Zomi glanced on deck and saw through the fire and smoke three figures leaping and fighting. Seen through the distorting effects of the heated air, the sight seemed a scene from the tales of wandering bards come to life:

With Dafiro Miro blocking and taking most of Pékyu Tenryo’s forceful strikes and the marshal leaping about and swinging her heavy sword through every opening, the two sides were, for the moment, evenly matched. But it was clear that the pékyu’s strength was the greater, and Na-aroénna was far too heavy for the marshal to wield effectively. Dafiro Miro stumbled a few times under the heavy blows as sparks flew from Simplicity and Biter. How much longer could the marshal and the captain last?

Zomi Kidosu gritted her teeth and swam toward Pride of Ukyu .

Dafiro’s movements became sluggish and slow. Each strike from Langiaboto felt heavier, harder to deflect. The marshal was in even worse shape, and she seemed barely able to even lift the Doubt-Ender. In contrast, Pékyu Tenryo’s movements seemed to grow only stronger and more fluid with each swing, as though he was absorbing strength from the burning air around him.

“Do you remember how we overcame Kindo Marana?” asked Gin Mazoti. She struggled to catch her breath.

Dafiro recalled the surprise attack on Rui at the beginning of the Chrysanthemum-Dandelion War, when the marshal had assigned him a most dangerous mission.