Sable Ashwick's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

Sable shoved the charts deep into her vest and ran for the glider. The three kites dropped through the cloud above the ridge. Sylvara Greenweave landed on the falcon's shoulder and gripped its feathers. The red bird lifted off the broken deck in a burst of ember light. Sable threw herself into the seat and kicked the launch bar. The glider dove off the ridge. Wind caught the wings. She banked east, away from the wreck, and pushed the nose down for speed. The kites came after her in a loose line. She counted them over her shoulder. Three. Their sails were smaller than hers and cut the air cleaner. They closed the gap with every gust. "They're faster than I thought," Sable said. Her voice fought the wind. "I can hold a lead for a minute. Maybe two." Sylvara flew up beside the cockpit. Her white wings beat hard against the current. "They will catch us before the next ridge." "Then we lose them another way. I need cloud. I need cover." "There is no cloud low enough." A hook-line hissed past the port wing. It missed the strut by a hand's width and fell away into the drop. The next one would not miss. Sylvara flew close to Sable's ear. "I can move us. Once. Not far." Sable turned her head. "Move us how?" "Fairy trick. I do not use it in front of others. It takes what I have." "Do it." "Pick a place you can see. I cannot send us blind." Sable scanned the eastern sky. A dark shelf of rock stood out past the storm belt, half-hidden under a shredded cloud. She pointed. "There. That shelf." Sylvara nodded once. She climbed onto the glider's frame and pressed both palms flat against the wood. Green light ran out from her hands. Small sparks lifted from her braid and spread over the wings, the falcon, Sable's arms. The air went thick. The wind cut out. The ridge behind them vanished. The shelf slammed up under the skids. The glider hit hard and skidded across wet stone. The falcon shrieked and flared its wings to brake. Sable braced against the crossbar until the glider stopped an arm's length from the drop. She looked back. The kites were gone. The storm belt sat between her and the scavengers now, a wall of black cloud she had crossed in a single breath. Sylvara lay on the frame. Her wings had lost their shine. Her eyes were half open. She did not move when Sable touched her shoulder. "Sylvara." "Still here," the fairy said. Her voice was thin. "Cannot do that again. Not for days." Sable eased her into her vest pocket, where the charts pressed warm against the cloth. The falcon settled on the strut. East of the shelf, the second hull waited. Between them and it, Sable now had no fairy to read the wind.