Lauren DeStefano - Burning Kingdoms

She climbs onto her knees and watches through the back window as the garden gets smaller.

“That place gives me the heebie-jeebies too, kid,” Nimble says.

“What is it?” I say.

He raises his eyebrows at me in the mirror. “Where do you put your dead on Internment?”

Amy’s voice is small and fading when she says, “We burn them. Until they’re nothing and nowhere.”

I try to explain the tributary to Nimble, how we burn the bodies of our dead so that all the bad in them can fall away, while all the good becomes a mass of colors in the sky that can’t be seen by the living. I’ve believed it all my life, but now that I’m on the ground, it doesn’t make as much sense as it once did.

Down here, they bury their dead. Mark the spot with a stone, with dates and names. Leave flowers to remember.

It must be nice to have so much space to squander.

“Have you ever buried anyone?” Amy asks.

“Can’t say as I have,” Nimble says.

That must be nice, too.

“Here we are,” Nimble announces, stopping the car. The bird is several paces away, surrounded by men in coats who appear to be convening.

“Morning, boys,” Nimble says, and opens the door for Amy and me. “We all figured you wouldn’t have much luck talking him out, so I’ve brought someone to help. This here’s the old man’s granddaughter.”

After a brief discussion, Jack, who seems to be heading this unsuccessful operation, agrees to let Amy inside. “Go with her,” he tells Nimble.

“No,” Amy says. “It won’t do any good unless I go alone. He’s quite stubborn.”

The men all exchange glances. Jack hesitates. Amy nods to the red metal funnel that’s in his hands. “May I?” she says.

He’s so perplexed by her straightforwardness that he hands it to her. She holds the funnel near her mouth. “Grandpa, it’s me. Amy.” Her voice is magnified. “I’ve come to talk to you.”

She hands the funnel to Jack. “Thank you,” she says.

Nothing happens for a few seconds, and then there’s the unlatching of locks. Amy breezes past us and opens the door, disappearing into the darkness and then closing it behind her.

The men are all astonished. With a few words she’s managed to do what they’ve been trying to do all morning.

Nimble folds his arms. “She’s a real firecracker, isn’t she?”

I don’t know what that means, but it sounds apt. “She’s hard to stop …” My voice trails as I step back and look at the bird. Just as the ground looked like a patchwork quilt of land, the bird is a patchwork of metal in varying hues. It’s at least three stories high, it tilts to one side, and it stands on legs that are made of blades for burrowing through the soil. The wings are folded now, like a beetle that has fallen dead.

It doesn’t look like it would fly so much as hurtle through the sky and then destroy the ground it hit. But I am still astounded by the sight of it. Astounded that such a thing could be designed, assembled, welded, and created in secret, quite under the king’s nose. It was a refuge for us. It’s the embodiment of our rebellion, our liberation. It’s the thing my parents and Amy’s sister and countless others died for. It was nearly a lifetime in the making.

I understand why the professor won’t leave it.

In my observing, I’ve wandered away from the others, but Nimble has followed me. “I’m impressed that it flew,” he says.

“Me too,” I say. “I might not have boarded it if I’d had much of a choice.”

I shut my mouth immediately. I’ve said too much. What will Jack Piper and his family do if they realize we’re all fugitives? All of us but the princess, anyway, and Thomas, who was dragged along as her hostage.

Then again, what would it matter to anyone down here how the people carry about on that tiny floating rock so very high above them?

“Sounds as though there was some trouble in paradise,” Nimble says.

“Paradise?”

“Your perfect little island,” he says, nodding upward. I follow his gaze, hoping for a glimpse of Internment. But there’s only a sky heavy with clouds. These clouds are not like the ones I know—light airy things that soared around and over me every day. These clouds are burdened and gray, and I sense that they are grieving.

“There are no perfect places,” I say. The clouds move away from the sun just enough for the light to blind me, and I shield my eyes.

“You know that and I know that,” he says. “Try telling our king, and you’ll be run out of the kingdom. He thinks that if we plan an aerial attack over the right places, once the ashes clear, we’ll be in our own utopia.”

I don’t know the capabilities of a bomb, but surely it wouldn’t take much to destroy a small city like Internment.

“Firecrackers, bombs,” I say. “You people sure do like things that burn.”

“I imagine there aren’t many fires on Internment?” he says.

“Even a small one is cause to panic,” I say. I suppose something like the fire at the flower shop would be nothing to the people down here, but it was enough to throw all of Internment into upheaval.

I can feel his gaze on me as I look for a trace of Internment in the sky. I know what he’s thinking. That we were foolish to come here. We left our safe little island and descended straight into a kingdom at war. But while they fight with explosives down here, different battles are being waged in the sky. Silent revolutions. Equally silent murders.

“You don’t know anything,” I whisper. I’m not sure if the words are for him, or for me.

The door of the metal bird creaks open and Amy descends the ladder alone. She’s talking to Jack and his men, and by their disappointed expressions it becomes clear that her attempt to lure the professor out wasn’t a successful one.

“All right, all right. It looks like there will be another storm coming. Let’s reconvene once I’ve spoken to His Majesty. Nim, please see our guests home.”

“Can do, Father.”

Once we’re back in the car, Amy says, “My grandfather will come out in time. He’s just got an awful lot of love for that metal bird. He’s afraid they’ll destroy it if he leaves.”

“What makes you so sure he’ll come out, then?” Nimble asks.

“He’ll run out of food soon. He asked me to bring him some more just now, and I told him that if he wants to eat, he’ll have to come out.” She dusts the snow from the shoulders of her plaid coat.

“But if he’s so stubborn, what makes you sure he won’t starve to death rather than come out?” Nimble says.

“He won’t. He’s far too curious about this place. He’ll be taking a magnifying glass to the insects and collecting soil samples soon enough. You’ll see.”

The car starts to move. Overhead, the sky has begun to darken. The sun is behind the clouds like light trying to hatch from an egg. I feel as though I’m being smothered.

Amy seems better now, though. Her eyes are their usual blue and her mouth hangs open as she watches the city in the distance.

“What did you call that place where you bury your dead?” she asks.

“A graveyard,” Nimble says.

“Can anyone visit?”

“You want to visit the graveyard?” he says.

“If I can.”

“I guess it can’t hurt,” Nimble says. “It’s not much to see, though. People go to visit their loved ones, and kids go at night to spook each other, and that’s all the action these places get.”

“Do you always bury your dead?” I say, trying to hide how appalling I think the whole thing is.

“Not always,” Nimble says, his tone cheery to the point of sarcasm. “Sometimes we cremate. I’m guessing that’s what your kind does up there, with so little land.”