Try as she might, Diya struggled to find the right words to comfort Tamsin in the three days after her brother’s death. A trauma built over a lifetime—and especially one where closure was never allowed—wasn’t something that could simply be mended with some reassuring words, no matter how well-intentioned. Diya recognized the lifeless, detached stare Tamsin wore; for it was the same one she herself had perfected after her father was hanged.

  A different type of mask to the one Tamsin usually wore, but this one wasn’t so easy to remove.

  Wanting nothing more than to help her friend, but finding no avenue to do so, had taken a heavy toll on Diya. First, she tried telling her everything would be alright. Next, she tried communicating how brave Tamsin had been in her attempt to forgive her brother. She even tried pleading with her to be strong for the dejected, displaced coven. None of it seemed to make a difference; each time, she merely nodded and retreated into her psychological shell.

  The cramped quarters and overwhelming aroma of apathy aboard the airships surely weren’t helping matters. None of the antiquated vessels were built for comfort in the first place, but with the members of the coven crammed like sardines, that fact was now on display for all to see. To make matters worse, the winter had finally choked the last bits of life from fall. The cold that followed was an evil thing.

  If there was one small joy for Diya, it was Shikra appearing from the clouds the night they left New Avignon. Literally flying towards her date with destiny, all the while, everything seemed to be unraveling around her. With so much feeling out of her control, soaring through the skies atop her oldest friend was like a hot cup of tea on a chilly night.

  Diya stroked the feathered nape of Shikra’s neck lovingly, peering out at the sun rising through the clouds on the horizon. Woefully, it was difficult to see the beauty in the swirls of bruised purple and glistening gold, instead it served as a worrisome reminder that she only had six days left until the winter eclipse. In six days, Zoralia would sacrifice the sacred beast Ghanesha, destroying her home forever.

  They were so close, yet still so far.

  Beneath feathered wings, she watched the ponderous fleet of airships, engines thrumming, smoke belching from soot-stained pipes. Tamsin stood still as stone at the helm of The Mourner. The other airships trailed it like a pack of cubs following their mother. Shikra’s head cocked, clearly perceiving something with her sharp hearing. A second later, Diya heard it too.

  The familiar rumbling of a sacred creature!

  Instinctively, her heels clicked against her companions’ feathered sides. With a whoosh of air, the pair shot headlong through the dense clouds like a cannonball. Finding her home had been more difficult than anticipated; it turned out that a roaming creature the size of a mountain could cover a lot of distance in nearly a full year.

  On the horizon loomed a lumbering behemoth, but Diya’s heart sank when she realized it wasn’t her lumbering behemoth. She squinted her eyes to make out the distant form. While Ghanesha was an enormous elephant, this ancient beast was instead a behemoth of a boar.

  Making a sullen sound of contemplation, she looked back towards the approaching fleet, then out at the distant city built on the boar’s back, and an idea came to her. It wasn’t her best idea, but it just might stop her home from being destroyed.

  ***

  Tamsin’s heat seeped back into her through layers of leather and wool, even as the winter wind knifed at her cheeks. The contrast coaxed a soft, helpless smile from Diya. Powerful wings hammered the air, carrying the trio straight for the settlement on the boar’s back.

  Diya cocked a brow when they got close enough that she could see the city clearly. “Incredible. It’s so well formed. Makes Ghanesha look like a shanty town by comparison.”

  The city blossomed across the boar’s back like a marvel dreamed by some heavenly melting pot of inventors and poets. Graceful tiers of copper-roofed buildings climbed the curve of its spine, their windows glowing amber in the frosty winter light.

  Delicate iron bridges arced from terrace to terrace, strung with lanterns that bobbed with each of the beast’s slow, patient steps. Clockwork lifts glided up and down its sides, their cables humming as they ferried people and goods between levels. At its heart rose a great observatory spire, all glass domes and turning rings.

  Diya forgot the cold.

  For a moment, she forgot everything else that wasn’t her desire to explore the wondrous place. Visions of all the potentially marvelous things she could learn swam through her head. Would they be willing to share their secrets? Would they be kind to desperate outsiders?

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The color drained, and the swimming visions began to turn monochromatic and sink. What if, despite the township’s incredible architecture, it was home to terrible, warlike people? What if they would rather make the skies rain blood than share their knowledge? What if her impulsive, na?ve idea led to the destruction of her home?

  Diya didn’t have time for the worry to truly sink in. An airship flew out from the city to meet them. Brass pipes traced elegant patterns along its hull, carrying smoke that sighed up into the sky. Cerulean sails waved in the wind. A long-tusked golden boar inside an ivory diamond was embroidered into the vinyl sailcloth.

  It halted abruptly when it got within a hundred yards and hovered for a long minute. Diya’s palms felt clammy and slick as she waited to see what the mysterious vessel would do next. She readied herself to perform evasive maneuvers if they opened fire.

  Fortunately, the hail of artillery never came. Instead, they were hailed by a trio of trumpets and the waving of flags—a universal symbol for opening communication channels.

  Tamsin and Diya shared an apprehensive glance, but they both knew they had little choice. Their people were running out of food, and they desperately needed information on the location of Township Ghanesha. With a deep breath, Diya kicked her heels, and Shikra glided forth towards the strangers’ ornate airship.

  When they landed on the meticulously well-maintained iron deck, they found themselves immediately surrounded by soldiers wearing long coats as deep blue as the sea. The looks on their faces made it clear they weren’t entirely comfortable having the giant bird in such close proximity.

  Meanwhile, Diya’s face made it clear that she wasn’t entirely comfortable having a ring of thirty-odd flintlock rifles aimed at her and her friends. The affixed bayonets seemed to point accusingly as if the sharp steel could somehow recognize they were outsiders. Shikra tensed, chest puffing out, talons scraping against the deck, and feathers ruffling. Diya knew one wrong move could spell disaster—not just for them, but for all the coven and Ghanesha—and so did her best to calm the hulking bird of prey.

  An aperture in the shell of weapons appeared without warning. Through it stepped a leather-faced man wearing a tricorn hat with many medals fastened to it. His eyes seemed to narrow until they became thin black lines melting away into the deep shadows cast by his tricorn.

  “Well, isn’t it our lucky day, boys? Meeting with a witch, a moor, and a roc all before afternoon tea.”

  Laughter rolled through the ring of visibly anxious soldiers. It was either the sort of laughter you force for someone who signs your paycheck—or maybe humor simply worked differently among these strangers. The dynamic of the crew mattered little to Diya, but she didn’t love the derogatory tone of the remark. There was a certain sting to being laughed at that made her want to lash out, but given their current predicament thought better of it.

  “It’s not our intention to stir up any trouble. Our people find themselves in trying times. We saw your township on the horizon, and came forth to potentially trade with you, and to inquire whether you might have seen any other sacred beasts lately.”

  The officer’s head tilted ever so slightly, tongue clicking with offense. “What you intended is of no concern to me and mine. You two look like you’ve been dragged through the mud, then left out in a storm.” He swept his hand out, gesturing back towards the magnificent city atop the boar. “Perhaps we have seen other sacred beasts recently. Or maybe we haven’t. I can be so forgetful, truly, it’s a curse. What could you possibly have to offer us in trade?”

  Diya chewed her lip, thinking as quickly as her tired mind would allow. What do we have to barter? There’s got to be something!

  The officer shrugged uncaringly as he spun and began strolling away. The long gold piped tail of his coat fluttered in the breeze. “So be it. Leave us with haste, and we won’t fill you with bullet holes. Pierre, put the tea on.”

  “Wait!” Diya called out. “What if we could instruct you in the ways of blood magic in trade!”

  Coat tail coming to a rest, the man in the tricorn hat froze mid-stride.

  Tamsin’s eyes bulged from her head, and she glared daggers through Diya, outraged at the pure audacity of suggesting they trade her people’s ancient ways for mere information and rations.

  Sucking air through her teeth, Diya gave a small, helpless roll of her shoulders as if to say, what option do we have?

  “Well, now you’ve piqued my interest.” He said, turning back towards them, as a wind of unease blew through the soldiers.

  Diya traced invisible glyphs in the air like she was conducting an orchestra. “Imagine you could decipher the portents whispered by the very stars, and scry secrets buried beyond sight.”

  “I’ve heard fairytales of witches who could do such things.” And he leaned closer, mouth agape. “Could it truly be taught?”

  Tamsin’s hands closed into fists, nails biting deep, her silence sharp and deliberate.

  “They could.” Diya’s attention hung on the magnificent glowing city in the distance. “Not every soul is able to attune, but there’s no doubt in my mind that there must be some among you capable of it.”

  The man doffed his tricorn and dragged his fingers through his long, greasy hair. “Our Prince would be delighted to behold such a thing, I’m sure of it. So, it comes down to what your people seek in trade. The knowledge can be arranged—but what provisions do you require?”

  “We were driven out by the Skarlith. We’re on a quest to free my township, Ghanesha, from a tyrant and—” Diya hesitated, thinking better of naming Zoralia or her infernal designs. “—and to secure a new home for our coven. We need food for our people, warm clothes for the winter, coal to keep our ships running, and temporary asylum in your city for some of us while we see this through.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Five cruiser-class airships. Approximately four hundred people, some just children. Those strong enough to fight will come with us on our quest. The rest will need to stay with you until we can return for them. We can leave a master of the scrying arts to begin training your people.”

  The officer hummed contemplatively, allowing a moment of tense silence to grip all gathered as he thought it through. “You have yourself a deal. Scouts spotted your Township Ghanesha five days back heading southeast.”