Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 20: to Find, or Just to Seek?

"Could they be descending to fight on foot?" wondered Cedric.

"Maybe they see we aren't from Martia?" asked Matilda.

Shouts from the holding said that the proper folk of Martia had noted the descending ladder.

"Right," ordered Val. "Everyone ready to climb."

Bodkin leaped, grabbing a rung soon as it came in reach, clambering up easy as squirrel on oak. Jewel followed, less quick, more cautious. The ladder twisted with each step. Next came Cedric, slowly, bearing his pack and Barnaby's.

Matilda hesitated.

"'Tis a damnable difficult thing when a girl's got sensible Silenian feet."

"But it's pretty how you paint them. Climb quick, else your hooves get used for sensible door handles."

"That's quite awful," said Matilda. Hurrying to climb.

Val remained alone on the ground, watching as different groups rushed through smoke and mist. Some were servants in rebellion; others were soldiers stamping out fire and rebellion alike. But several crept steadily closer, sheltering from the directable's flame weaponry. Val waved to let them know this was a routine maneuver, not an escape. Then she turned, began hurrying up the ladder herself.

Below and behind, her former countrymen shouted, demanding she return. She watched an arrow appear by her head, quick as thought, disappear again into the fog. With clearer air it'd have hit the target, that being her head.

I'm not going to make it, she thought. Pity. I wanted more time with Mr. Miller. Will we meet again in the Fields? Bah. Too sensible an end. They say the Lower House is near as mad as the Middle House, which is near as mad as the Upper House. But will I see the cup? Hear it sing again?

The ladder jerked, nearly throwing her off. Then it pulled upwards, making her stomach sink. The ground fell away. Well, the directable was moving. She watched a few more arrows fly. Wasted shots; she now made a very difficult target.

Granted, it was difficult to climb. Infernum, it was difficult to just hold on.

Of a sudden, the directable emerged from smoke and fog, leaving Val dangling in clear air. Dangling as a pendant from the Upper House of Saints itself. Beneath, the distant ground offered an illuminated map of the border twixt Martia and Hephestia. The Lethe shone like a roadway paved in onyx; the smoke of Edgestead wafting for a distant hearth fire.

"What exactly did I want from the cup?" she asked the fog, the smoke, the fire, the wind. A passing crow. "And did the cup want anything from me? Did it want me to find it, or just to seek it?"

The crow circled round, considering the airship, the dangling bard and her question. Val felt obligated to explain further.

"All I know is I felt that the cup knew me. And that it, it loved me, and wanted me to be happy. Isn't that enough to want to find it?"

Whatever the crow knew of wanting, of seeking and finding, it did not share. It gave a yawp, flew on and away. No doubt deep into its own amazing quest. Val looked back to the smoke of burning Edgestead, the rocky red land of Martia.

When Mother hears I escaped, she's going to howl till her eyes bleed. The thought made Val smile. She prepared to climb again, gazing upwards... and there within the door of the airship she spied a pale freckled face staring down. The shock near made her drop.

Val started laughing, shaking, knowing she approached a dangerous state of overmuch battle and blood, fear and hope. If she swooned, she'd awaken in the Fields.