Chapter 17

Seventeen

Shading her eyes, Pip paused in the open door of the hangar and watched as a flyer rattled down the runway after landing, coming to a halt in a cloud of dust. Four other flyers circled in the sky above, following the aeroplane piloted by Capt. Arfeld. Occasionally, Pip caught a glimpse of the orange flag, which Capt. Arfeld used to signal to the other flyers up there with him.

Fieran halted next to her, rocking back and forth from toes to heel in that way he did when he couldn't stand still.

Flicking a glance at him, she smiled. "Wishing you were up there?"

"Yes." Fieran heaved a sigh. "At least I'll be in the next group going up. I'd hate to have to wait all the way until last."

"I still can't understand the appeal of flinging yourself into the sky in a flying contraption." Pip dropped a hand to her tool belt. "I'd rather fix the aeroplanes than fly them."

"I'd rather fly them." Fieran chuckled. But as he tipped his head to the sky again, the chuckle died in his chest. He stiffened. "He needs to pull up."

Pip refocused on the aeroplanes in the sky. The latest one was attempting to land, but he was coming in too fast and too steep when he should have been leveling out for a gentle landing.

Her stomach clenched, her breath catching. Pull up. Pull up.

"Pull up." Fieran whispered an echo of her mental chant.

The aeroplane attempted to pull up, but it was too late. The flyer tipped to the side, its wing striking the ground. The whole aeroplane flipped and tumbled, even as the wings shredded on impact. The wreckage settled in a cloud of dust, the figure of the pilot limp inside the cockpit.

"No." Fieran raced forward, his magic twining over his fingertips.

Pip wasn't sure what he planned to do, but she sprinted after him, calling up her own magic.

The ground crew dashed after her, quickly passing her with their longer legs.

Fieran reached the flyer first, clambering over the wreckage to reach the pilot.

Pip was still a few yards away when Fieran's head hung, his shoulders slumping, telling her all she needed to know. She slowed to a walk, her feet leaden as she crossed the remaining space to the downed aeroplane.

The ground crew shoved Fieran out of the way, swarming around the dead flyboy. One of them glanced over his shoulder, then pointed at the front of the flyer. "Pippak, secure the magical power cell. The last thing we need is that exploding."

She nodded. At least the order gave her something to do. She headed for the crumpled nose of the aeroplane, keeping her head down to avoid seeing the pilot's body. At the nose, the hatch was so mangled that she had to use her magic to pry it apart.

Once she had the hatch open, she inspected the engine. The magical power cell still glowed faintly blue, and it didn't appear to be cracked.

There was no reason to waste time with a wrench, especially since they wouldn't reuse these parts without a thorough overhaul first. She pressed her hand to the plate and bolts that held the magical power cell in place and poured her magic into the steel. The steel melted into her hand, flowing as if it were water instead of metal. With her other hand, she twisted the magical power cell to loosen it before pulling it free.

Fieran joined her, his jaw hard, all traces of humor vanished from his eyes.

She inspected the magical power cell before she held it out to him. "I don't think this is damaged, but do you see anything concerning?"

Fieran took the magical power cell and turned it over in his hands several times. The magic inside leapt at his touch. Was that his magic inside the power cell? After a moment, he handed it back to her. "It isn't damaged."

His gaze trailed back to where the ground crew was working. Left unsaid was the fact that the aeroplane's pilot hadn't been so lucky.

Pip rested a hand on his arm. "Did you know him well?"

"He's Stevens." Fieran shook his head, his gaze falling back to her. "He has—had—the top bunk across the way. Next to Stickyfingers. He…" His voice trailed off, rough and strained.

Pip remained next to him, not sure what else to say. Perhaps there were no words for something like this.

Fieran lifted the black,wide end of the telephone and held it to his ear, the cord trailing to the large wooden box where the telephone's receiver was mounted.

The operator's cool, professional tone rang in his ear. "Operator. Where are you calling?"

"Treehaven House, Greenton, Escarland." Fieran wasn't sure if Dacha had returned to Escarland or if the family was currently in Estyra to celebrate Dacha's birthday a few days ago. But Escarland was the easiest place to start.

It took several minutes for the operators at all the connecting hubs to plug in the correct wires and the telephone to finally ring through to Treehaven.

"Hello, Treehaven House." Mama's voice rang tinny through the line due to the distance, the crackle nearly obscuring her cheerful tone.

"Hello, Mama." Fieran leaned more heavily against the wall next to the telephone. He quickly added, "Don't call for the others. Just Dacha."

"Fieran? Is everything all right?" Mama's tone changed, though it was hard to absorb the comfort of her voice through the crackling telephone line.

"I'm fine. Merrik is fine." That was all he was allowed to tell her.

Over the past two days, three pilots had crashed. Two had died while one had been injured and currently lay in the base hospital in the care of the elven healer. Acceptable losses, according to the army. In fact, only three crashes so far was considered fewer than expected.

Yet two men in his unit had died, and he couldn't even tell his parents that.

"Sason?" Dacha's voice joined his mama's on the line. Mama hadn't called him over out loud, so either she'd motioned for him or she'd called him through their heart bond.

Fieran would have given anything for his mama's hug or his dacha's shoulder grip right about then. He switched to elvish, and there was something comforting about the graceful language flowing from his tongue. "I am all right, Dacha. It has just been…a long few days."

There was a pause, and he didn't know how much his parents could guess from his tone or how much of his burdened weariness came through the lines.

"I am sorry, sason." Dacha's voice held far too much understanding. Perhaps he could guess some of what must have happened.

"We're here for you, Fieran. Always." Mama's words were as warm as a hug.

"Linshi." Fieran sucked in a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly, before he forced a cheery note into his voice. "Happy 175th birthday, Dacha. I was sad to miss it, but I hope Adry did a good job picking out the gift."

Fieran had no idea what it was. He'd simply wired her his portion of the money for whatever gift all the siblings decided to buy together. With how long mail took to reach him and the limited number of phone calls he was allowed, taking part in the gift arranging had been impossible.

"She did." Dacha's tone warmed, a sign that whatever the gift had been, he had appreciated it greatly.

Mama launched into a description of the birthday celebrations. They'd stayed at Treehaven this year instead of celebrating in Estyra as usual, and it remained unspoken that the tensions between Escarland and Mongavaria had something to do with it.

Despite the way the stories added to the lump in his throat as he heard about everything he'd missed, Fieran soaked up the comfort of the words and stories until the nearby sergeant indicated his time was done and he had to hang up.

Fieran leaned heavilyon the wood countertop in the tavern in Bridgetown. He didn't often drink alcohol, but after this past week, something stronger than soda seemed appropriate. The entire unit—including Murray, who had recovered enough to leave the infirmary—along with Pip and the other mechanics and many members of the ground crew had gathered in the tavern on the leave Capt. Arfeld had given them, filling the room nearly to capacity.

All along the wooden bar, each of the men held a glass filled with beer. But at the center of the bar, two filled glasses of beer remained untouched, a glass for each of their fallen comrades.

Fieran hadn't known those who'd died very well, but that didn't matter. They had been in his unit.

Stickyfingers lifted his glass, his voice rough. "To Baker and Stevens."

"To Baker and Stevens," Fieran echoed as he held up his glass. They didn't clink glasses this time. Simply drank their beer and remembered.

Fieran managed to swallow a few sips of his beer, the bitter taste coating his tongue. He set the mug on the bar, just staring at it for a long moment while those in the unit who'd known Baker and Stevens better shared stories about them.

After several minutes, Merrik nudged Fieran, then pointed down at Fieran's hands.

Fieran glanced down and grimaced. His magic had broken loose with the force of his emotions, twining around his fingers and threatening to start scorching the wooden bar in a moment.

Merrik tipped his head to the door, then pushed to his feet. Fieran followed, clenching his fists and pressing those fists against his body to attempt to suppress his magic.

Stickyfingers, Lije, and Pretty Face didn't even look up as Fieran and Merrik made their way through the crowded tavern. Tiny spotted them, nodded, and ordered another beer for himself.

Pip pushed out of her seat from where she had been wedged against the far wall. She joined Merrik and Fieran just as they stepped outside into the crisp air and twilight gray of the spring evening.

The bustle of Bridgetown closed around them, gratingly loud and far too cheery compared to the moments of mourning Fieran had left behind him.

Up and down the street, a few decorations formed from the various flags and colors of the Alliance Kingdoms were already going up in preparation for the Alliance Day festivities in a few weeks. The parade in Bridgetown was always nearly as flamboyant as the one in Aldon, though if his unit was given leave to attend, Fieran would be inundated with teasing at the celebrations for a national holiday to commemorate the first treaty signing—and his parents' anniversary.

Next to him, Pip rubbed at her fingers, grimacing. "I'm such a lightweight that my fingers are already tingling after just those few sips."

"Aren't dwarves supposed to be able to consume prodigious amounts of alcohol?" Fieran had to work to put a light note into his voice, but the humor helped soothe the roil inside him.

"Maybe. But I'm only half dwarf, and apparently my elf side is a family of lightweights." Pip gave a slight shrug before her gaze dropped to Fieran's hands. "Are you all right? Your magic is crackling loose again."

"I was just taking him somewhere quiet before he combusts." Merrik waved at the busy street. "Perhaps we should make our way across the bridge to Calafaren? We'll have enough time to get there and back before the truck leaves to return to Fort Linder."

Fieran nodded. While he normally didn't need the peace and quiet of a forest the way Dacha or Merrik did, something deep in his soul craved trees surrounding him after this past week.

They hopped on the trolley at the nearest stop, finding seats on the hard, wooden benches. They didn't speak as the trolley wound its way through various stops around Bridgetown. Finally, it clanged as it set out across the Alliance Bridge. The bridge's arches glowed with a soft blue light, both from the elven lights strung along it and Dacha's magic embedded in the stone. A cool breeze smelling of wet river mud wafted up from the water rippling below them.

On the far side, the trolley pulled into a circle drive at the edge of a field, where various automobiles had been parked, since no automobiles were allowed into Calafaren itself.

At the other side of the field, racks upon racks held bicycles for rent. At this time of early evening, passengers were in the process of returning bicycles or waiting to take the trolley back to Bridgetown.

Beyond the bicycles, the main grassy path of Calafaren led between tall, stately trees that rose into the sky, the first spring leaves still vibrantly green and new. Buildings formed of living wood had been grown both into the base of the trees and into the large, spreading limbs with swinging bridges connecting them.

The various shops and cafés were all unabashedly touristy, from the wares that were declared to be elven this and elven that to the traditional silken garb of tunics and trousers of the elf proprietors.

But Calafaren was the compromise to give Escarlish tourists a way to sate their desire to see and participate in elven culture without flooding all of Tarenhiel with humans. While trips to Estyra were limited and expensive, anyone in Escarland could take a cheap trip across the Alliance Bridge to experience Calafaren.

Fieran, Merrik, and Pip climbed down from the trolley. Instead of heading into Calafaren, Fieran turned and set off into the dark forest. As the trees closed around them, Fieran released a long breath, the peace of the evening settling into his heart.

Tree frogs blasted their evening song, almost deafening with the numbers gathered along the banks of the river. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, long and low.

Merrik halted, resting a hand on the trunk of an especially large tree. "I will stay here if you want to go on a little farther."

"Don't want me disturbing the peace?" Like Merrik, Fieran kept his voice low, almost reverent, in the softness of the night.

"You will anyway, but I would appreciate some peace and quiet." Merrik huffed as he sat with his back to the tree. He pressed his hands to one of the roots, and his green magic flooded from his fingers into the tree and the grass around him.

Perhaps Merrik, too, needed a moment to release his stifled magic.

Fieran set out into the forest once again, following the river. Something in his chest eased still further when Pip fell into step with him rather than staying with Merrik.

He walked for another minute or two, long enough that the glow of green had faded, before he halted at a spot where the high bank overlooked the Hydalla River. A bend in the river hid Bridgetown from view, leaving the night dark, the stars winking far overhead.

Fieran unleashed his magic, letting it burst into bolts around his hands, spilling from him onto the ground around him. The tightness in his chest eased.

He turned to Pip, bracing himself for her reaction.

Pip gapedas Fieran's magic crackled around him, the power of it thrumming deep inside her chest even as her hair prickled. The blue of his magic lit his face and sparked deep in his eyes as he turned toward her.

She'd known the magic of the ancient kings was powerful. After all, she dealt with the magical power cells every day.

But to see Fieran wield it was something else entirely. He embodied the legends she'd grown up hearing.

"Your magic is…awe-inspiring." She couldn't think of anything else to call it.

He shifted, his magic surging around him in blue, crackling bolts. "My dacha is more powerful than I am."

"By, what, one point on the Marion Scale? No one else is even close." Pip shivered, at the cool breeze tickling her neck or the sight of a warrior wielding the magic of the ancient kings, she wasn't sure.

Fieran gave a slight shrug, before he dropped into a fighting crouch. "You said you could make shields with your magic? You might want one."

Oh, right. This was likely going to get deadly here in a few seconds.

Drawing upon her magic, she let it burst out of her in a hard, iron-like magic shield in a bubble around her. It shimmered a faint blue-silver in the light of his magic.

Fieran's eyebrows rose. "You must rate rather high on the Marion Scale yourself."

She smirked at him in return, waggling her eyebrows right back. "Don't you know you never ask a lady her age, her weight, or her rating on the Marion Scale?"

Fieran laughed, more of his magic pouring from him. "Apparently my parents neglected that part of my education. My mother rather relishes telling people in Escarland that she's ninety years old, just to see the looks on their faces, and my sisters aren't shy about announcing their Marion Scale rating."

It felt good to laugh after so much mourning that week. They would honor those who had been lost, but life had to go on too.

"I can see that." Pip flexed her fingers, then sat down on the grass, holding the shield underneath her as well so that the damp from the ground wouldn't seep into her clothes. "My magic is a 13.4 on the Marion Scale, so that's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Not at all." Fieran tipped his head to her, a nod of respect.

As she settled in more comfortably, Fieran held out his hands, as if he were holding a pair of swords. He spun on his toes, swiping his hands as if slicing with a pair of swords. His magic scythed the air instead, a crackling, consuming arc of power. As he spun and flipped, the amount of power grew around him, flooding the nearby forest. A few of the smaller plants shriveled and turned to ash, but the larger trees remained unharmed.

A stray bolt of his magic lashed out, and Pip poured more of her magic into her shield, bracing herself. As strong as she was, she wasn't anywhere near as powerful as he was. Her shield would likely disintegrate under the force of his magic.

His magic struck her shield. Instead of clashing with her magic, the bolt skittered over her shield like lightning running over an iron rod.

Fieran's eyes widened, and he yanked his magic back, stuffing it back under control in a blink. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. That didn't hurt." Pip reached out a hand, pressing it to her shield. It didn't seem weakened at all. Instead, it felt stronger, as if his magic was threading through hers. "It seems that since your magic is similar to electricity and mine is similar to iron—as similar as raw magic can be to either of those things—my magic conducts yours rather than being consumed by it."

"I've never seen anything like this." Fieran held out a hand toward her, though his magic remained a mere simmer around his fingers. "May I test it again?"

"Go ahead." Pip pressed both hands to her magical shield and steeled herself.

Fieran released a larger blast of his magic toward her shield. Once again, his magic curled and sparked over hers, threading her shield with crackling bolts of his power.

One of the threads sparked against her fingers, and she yelped, yanking her hands back.

"Pip?" Fieran took a step forward, his magic winking out once again.

"I'm fine." Pip shook her fingers. "I just shouldn't touch my shield while it's supercharged with your magic."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault." Pip removed the shield beneath her so she was sitting on the ground and no longer touching any part of the shield. A wet rear end was worth it to further test the way their magic interacted. "This is fascinating. Here, I'd like to try something else."

She took a moment to craft what she wanted in her mind before she unleashed another layer of her magic, creating a second shield, this one arching over both her and Fieran. Safe beneath her shield, that left Fieran pinned beneath two shields. "I don't know how much of your magic I'll be able to keep contained, but you'll be able to unleash more without having to worry about it this way."

Fieran grinned, holding out his hands in a sword stance once again. Magic burst from him, choking the forest between her two shields until she could barely make out Fieran through the crackling storm of magic contained beneath her shield.

She gritted her teeth, her magic feeling almost hot and slippery. It didn't hurt, exactly. His magic skittered over hers rather than fighting. But the more magic he unleashed, the more she had to struggle to hold on to her grip on her magic.

Yet she was doing it. She was containing the magic of the ancient kings. She'd never heard of anyone doing something like this before.

Then again, she'd never heard of an elf with iron magic like hers. Even the dwarves with iron magic couldn't create this shield of raw magic like she could because they wielded their magic differently.

Finally, Fieran halted, and his magic burst into sparks all around him, the sparks drifting down around him like embers on a breeze. He turned to face her, breathing hard, his hands down at his sides as if still holding imaginary swords.

In that moment, bathed in starlight and magic as he was, he had the look of an ancient elven warrior, despite his lack of long hair and swords. Perhaps it was something in his eyes, that wild warrior light sparking in those brilliant blue depths. Maybe it was the graceful, dangerous way he moved, different than the easy, almost careless stride he normally had.

Whatever mild attraction she'd had to him that first moment she'd met him had only deepened over the past months, and this certainly wasn't helping.

But Fieran treated her as just a friend, and she wasn't going to make things awkward in the group by crossing any lines.

Besides, as soon as they both finished their training, they would be at the mercy of the army. Who knew where they'd be sent, and the odds were low that they'd be stationed at the same base again. In only a few weeks, they'd go their separate ways.

Fieran dropped his hands, some of the warrior look to him fading. "We probably should head back."

Pip swallowed and dropped her shields. She pushed shakily to her feet. "Yes."

Time to collect her thoughts, collect Merrik, and return to Fort Linder and the coming war.