I unsnap my harness, sliding down in my chair so I can kick at the access panel by my feet, jamming the flat of my foot against it once, twice, three times, until it begins to buckle. The glider’s powered by her engines, and the circuits that power them might be a smoking ruin, but that’s not the only way to steer her.
My wildly kicking feet shove aside the wreckage of the hatch cover and push through, and I flail around for the thick bunch of cords that control my wing flaps. As I press hard against them with my boots, I feel theSkysingerstart to tilt just a little, and I throw my weight sideways to help with the course correction. I can’t see what I’m doing, and I’m steering by feel, but ever so slightly, I think her nose is coming up as she loses height.
Maybe,maybe, enough to land.
The alarms are still screaming all around me as I struggle backward, one foot jamming in the hatch as I fight to free it, hands scrabbling against the sides of the cockpit as I try to lever myself back into my chair.
I snap my harness back into place, and the next instant we’re at the water, and the world’s whirling by impossibly fast, and my head’s spinning from the impact, and my glider’s skimming the surface and sending up huge sheets of spray, tumbling, rolling completely over once, and then slowing, dragging, until everything’s still.
It’s a long moment before my vision clears and I can tell which way’s up and which is down.
All the alarms are silent.
And to my complete surprise, it turns out I’m alive.
TheSkysinger’s nose is crumpled in around my legs from the impact, pinning me in place. Every bone in my body hurts, and, and …there are flames coming out of the altimeter and the tilt indicator and the whole back of my glider is scorched.
“Skyfall,” I mutter. For an instant, the sudden truth of the curse—that I justdidfall from the sky—hits me, and semi-hysterical laughter tries to well up in my throat.
I frantically hammer at the exit hatch release button, then reach up with my other hand to push at the roof of my cockpit, trying to force it up and open. But the sides of the glider are buckled, and it’s jammed in place, trapping me inside with an instrument panel that’s on fire.
I force my body forward, ignoring the new bolts of pain this awakens, yanking my arms this way and that in the confined space as I wrestle my jacket off, distantly hearing my own shout as I pull the sleeve down over a gash in my right arm. Then I’m pressing the jacket over the dashboard, holding it in place to smother the flames, folding it in on itself as one spot burns through.
The cockpit fills with smoke, and I choke and cough as I slap at the release button again, the glider’s buckled dome screeching a protest that puts the council back in Alciel to shame. I use my good hand to bash once more at the dome itself, this time shoving it up and away, the warm night breeze hitting my face as the smoke dissipates.
I suck in a lungful of air, tilting my head back, the stars blurring into a faint tracery of white lines through the tears in my smoke-filled eyes.
I’m on the ground.
I’m Below.
I’m … dead.
I should have died in the fall, but soon it won’t matter. There’s no way up, no way home. TheSkysinger’s engine allowed it to gain altitude, yes, but there’s not nearly enough power to launch from the surface—assuming it was even intact. Assuming it hadn’t burst into flames a few minutes into my flight.
How did this happen?
The thought does laps around my head as I find the seat release and push it back, slowly and carefully easing my legs out from underneath the crushed hood so I can check that they still work. After strapping my chrono back onto my wrist, I brace my left hand against the edge of the cockpit, grit my teeth, and grab at the other side with my injured right hand. I push myself up as I wriggle my hips, and I can’t muffle the noise that escapes me. White-hot pain takes my vision.
When it clears, my breath’s coming quick and jagged, but I’m crouching on my seat, surveying the ruins of my glider.
There’s just no way theSkysingerfailed. I check her over constantly. Tinkering around with her is my favorite thing to do, after flying her.
I lower myself down over the side and land with a splash in ankle-deep water. I grab the remnants of my jacket and wrap them around one hand as I wade up to the front of the glider. And yes, I’m aware I’m focusing on solving a tiny problem to avoid the fact that I can’t solve a much, much bigger one.
We rely on thermals and momentum to glide from island to island in the sky—we have no way to flyup. That was the whole point of the engine I promised the council. But I haven’t built the damn thing yet, and without it, there’s no way for me to get home.
There are stories about those lost beneath the islands—about those who fell, never to be heard of again. The kind of stories you tell in the dark, late at night, to scare your friends. It’s only really happened once that I know of, back before I was born—a man from one of the smaller islands, who fell, and—
It takes a few bashes with my wrapped-up hand, but I manage to push the panel away to reveal the engine.
It radiates heat that forces me to look away, but I see the problem the instant I turn back, shielding my face with my hand.
Something—someone—has sliced through my supply lines. It’s a clean cut across the lot of them. A tool did this, not the crash. This was deliberate.
This was sabotage.
I know without a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t Miri or Saelis, but there are always others down in the engines. I dodge them every time I head to the hangar. Engineers, other trespassers like me. Did one of them follow me to the hangar? If they did, why do this?
