The Missing Traveller

“So how’s your father doing?”

Alister had been reluctant to ask the question, but Ethan was solemn over breakfast.

Ethan didn’t answer right away as he pushed the beans around his plate. “Bad. He ain’t gotten out of bed all week.” His mouth turned downwards. “Remember I said he needed medication before it got harder to swallow?” He waited for Alister’s nod before going on. “Aye. This mornin’ it took him half an hour to finish his breakfast, and he choked a few times when he tried to eat faster. It’s really frustratin’ him, and I just…” He swore under his breath. “He needs that medication. But it costs more’n we make in a month, not countin’ the other workers’ pay. We hardly break even as is.”

When Alister didn’t say anything, Ethan went on, the words coming out of his mouth in a rush. “The healers said once swallowin’ is hard and he can’t walk most days, it’s only a matter of time before he can’t move at all…or breathe. He’ll be frozen in his own body.” His words shook.

“How long?”

Ethan ran his hands through his hair. “Three months, without medication.” His voice lowered to a mutter. “What am I meant to do then? I can’t run this place on my own.” He looked up at Alister. “I’m sorry for goin’ on.”

“Ethan, it’s fine. Anytime you want to talk about this, I can listen.”

Ethan managed a small smile. “Thanks.” He paused. “You know, I ain’t never had time for friends since I left the academy. I was busy with the inn and my pa, and they had their own things to do.” He sighed. “I suppose what I’m sayin’ is…whatever made you leave Rindor, I’m glad you did.”

Alister drew in a sharp breath. He doesn’t know, he reminded himself. He’s not saying he’s glad I’m responsible for a young girl’s death.

He hesitated. “I didn’t leave to see the Union. I left because I accidentally destroyed someone’s house.” Ethan’s eyebrows raised. “And there was a girl in it.”

Ethan eyes widened with realisation. “And she…?”

“This wasn’t built on a flat like Bastium.” Alister grimaced. “I thought no-one was home.”

Ethan swore again. “Do you think you’ll ever go back? After all of this Lark business is over, I mean.”

Alister frowned. “I haven’t thought about it. Maybe.” He could see all of his friends again, and his parents…but what would they think of him? Surely they pieced the events together since the day they searched for him in the forests. “I doubt it.”

“Fair enough. That’s rough.” He patted Alister on the shoulder.

Alister glanced at his timepiece. “I should probably get going. Mirielle will be waiting.”

“Aye, you’re right. I need to get back to work, anyway.” He stood and took both of their plates. “I’ll take care of these. See you later. And hey…” He hesitated at the door, plates in hand. He shook his head. “Never mind. Have fun flyin’, alright?”

Alister thanked him with mild curiosity, said goodbye, and took the Perigo’s kite from his room and onto the street. His muscles ached from the day before when he ran, but he ignored them and pushed up from the ground when the myrres kicked up the wings. Fewer fliers covered the sky than last time, and Alister reached the edge of Al’Rogier in minutes.

Mirielle met him there in an exquisite, layered silk dress and powdered cheeks. She hadn’t looked so well-off since her parents severed ties. She explained she’d come and go with people to convince them to place their bets on him. She’d handle the whole business, and if he won, they’d get a portion of the profits. All he had to do was fly. “So fly well,” she said with a smile, before she turned and walked away.

Alister went through the same manoeuvres as the day before, and sure enough, within the hour he saw Mirielle come and go with different people as he went through the course. Precise movements of the kite had become reflex; when he had to bank, he didn’t go through the individual motions in his head that were necessary to do so. He just turned. When he had to speed up, his arms brought the wings in.

He couldn’t see the observers’ expressions from as far out as he flew. Were they impressed? If it were a choice between him and the other fliers, would they bet on him? How fast were the other fliers? He pushed the thoughts from his mind.

When he stopped for lunch, Mirielle answered his questions with a big grin.

“Out of the four people I brought, three of them are placing their bets on you.” His tension melted. “They were sceptical at first, because of our peaceful strategy.” She laughed. “But I convinced them. I tell you, if you heard the way I was boasting about you, your head would be too big for your neck to hold up.”

Alister couldn’t help but smile. It seemed so long since he’d been proud of something he’d done. “How much did they bet?”

“Between the three of them, nearly ten marks.”

Alister’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s more than The Smith’s payment!”

Mirielle’s chin lifted. “I know. They were old acquaintances from Silvian who didn’t know my parents cut me off. I didn’t think they would let it become common knowledge. That’s why I’m wearing this dress. Anyway, they’ve plenty of coin to throw around. There’s five more coming after lunch.” She checked her timepiece.

“But we don’t even need five more.”

Mirielle raised an eyebrow. “Not all of their profits go to us. For starters, the coin they gave me today will be bet against the other fliers. When you win, they’ll pay up far more than what we put in, because you’re a new, inexperienced flier with no weapons.” Alister raised his eyebrows. “If you were favoured to win, we’d have a much harder time collecting so much coin. Anyway, let’s assume someone bet one mark. We’d get maybe three and a half back when you win. The better gets their three marks, and we get the half. So from our friends this morning, we’d get nearly five marks.

“I also learned about the other fliers. There’re four main fliers who are favoured to win. Catrin Gant won last year, and she’s a Conjurer. She uses sura to singe holes in other flier’s kites, but her range is limited, so don’t let her get close. Her kite is bright orange, and she has black hair.” At Alister’s taken aback expression, she chuckled. “She’s not even the worst one. One flier calls himself Blade, carries throwing knives, and attached blades on the edges of his kite. He won three years ago, but every year he manages to hurt someone.”

Alister skin prickled. Perhaps it was the wind. “Who won after him?”

“Another self-given name. Mirage. She uses sura to cloud other fliers’ visions.” Mirielle frowned in thought and raised a hand. “I’d imagine it’s something like this.”

As Mirielle and the world became a blur, Alister yelled. He could still make out general shapes and colours, but flying a kite in such a state would be disastrous. “Alright, I get it!” His vision returned.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.” Alister waved a hand, and she went on. “So, again, just steer clear of her. Apparently her hair is almost white, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble recognising her.”

Alister’s heart hammered. For all he’d practiced, not once did he consider the other fliers would be such a problem. How would he avoid all of them? “Any others I should watch out for?”

“The other favourite to win is Deon Boyce. He’s somewhat of an old-timer, and he doesn’t interact much with other fliers during the race.” She hesitated, seeming unsure of whether to continue. “Last year he sabotaged Mirage’s kite, though. I think it could’ve been personal, because he’d never done anything like that before, apparently.”

Alister gave a hollow laugh. “So he’s not going to cut me, or set me on fire, or blind me, but he might just sabotage the Perigos’ kite?”

Mirielle frowned at him like he was a misbehaving child. “Like I said, it was probably personal. Don’t you think on it.” Before Alister could answer, her eyes focused behind him. “Ah! The next better is here. Only a couple more hours in the sky and I’ll have our coin.”

Alister brushed the crumbs off his lap and prepared the kite to take off once more. A man in a pristine tan suit who didn’t fit in to the broken cobblestone streets walked towards them. If this was the kind of person Mirielle found to bet on him, it was no wonder she’d already collected so much coin. At Mirielle’s raised eyebrows, Alister jogged away before he could meet the Silvian man.

E avery minute in the air was as exhilarating as ever. Did Lark ever get tired of flying so often? The permanent grin on his face made him doubt it.

He went through his well-practiced route from the cavern Mirielle told him about, through the convoluted streets of Al’Rogier’s edge, and back to the cavern. He made sure he included sharp corners, drops, and rises. To him, it felt like he slowed down far too much for the hairpin turns, but Mirielle assured him afterwards he took them faster than the average flier.

It was the quick twists and turns necessary for the cluttered streets he had a problem with. Mirielle and her small crowd were too high up to witness him lose his balance and buckle his knees to kick off the ground over and over again. His only observers were a couple of curious children who sat on the front step of their home.

“I’ll get it eventually,” he told them with a grin as he walked back along the street. The two of them—a boy and a girl—giggled and cheered him on from their step.

It took the better part of half an hour, but he managed to weave through the street three times in a row without a near crash. By then, the children raced him along the street, laughing as they ran. He once only just took his feet out in time to fall and roll along the dirt as the kite sailed away from him, and the children reached the end of the street before he could. Even in the midst of his frustration, he couldn’t help but chuckle at them dancing and yelling “We won! We won!” at the top of their lungs.

After waving goodbye to the delighted children, who were then shuffled back inside by an older woman, Alister followed his route back to the edge of Bastium, where Mirielle waited alone.

He sped towards her and pulled up in time for the wind to catch the wings and slow him down to a run.

“No more observers?” Alister removed the straps from his chest. He grimaced and wiped the blood off his scraped arms with the inside of his coat.

“We won’t need any more.” Mirielle wore a satisfied smile. “Three of the afternoon group placed their bets.”

Alister’s heart hammered. “And it was enough?”

“More than. One of them is Lachram Harlow!” Her bright eyes were expectant.

“Who?”

Mirielle eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know—oh, of course. It always slips my mind you’re from Rindor. Lachram Harlow won the Tournament of the Skies last year, and he’s a favourite to win the Grand Tournament on Flight Day. I’m a little surprised he bets on the Flight of Siben, but I suppose he liked what he saw.”

“And he bet on me?” Alister’s eyebrows flew up.

Mirielle nodded, her eyes bright. “Nine marks and a half just from him. One other better, Vera Calloway, gave three marks and two fifths, and the last, Mister Sinclair, bet four marks. You won’t believe how much we’ll win.”

Alister’s grin widened. “How much?”

“Thirteen marks. And three tenths.”

He’d never even seen so much coin, except for in Mirielle’s jewelled bag she’d brought to Marino’s. Even one mark was a rare sight and worth more than any of his belongings. Alister blinked in surprise.

“Alister, you look exhausted. You should go back to the inn and rest.”

As his heart rate slowed and the elation of flying wore off, his muscles groaned with tiredness. He suppressed a yawn. “Maybe you’re right.”

Mirielle’s eyebrows lowered for a moment. “Perhaps you ought to sleep in tomorrow. There’re no more betters, so just rest and only practice for as long as you think is necessary.” She drew a steady breath. “After all, tomorrow’s our last day of practice before Siben.”

Alister nodded, and kept a tight hold on his hopeful attitude while his palms sweated. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

Mirielle shook her head. “I’ll be confirming the bets and I’m not sure how long it will take. And, ah—Emmett and Elisea have invited me to have lunch with them. That should be interesting.”

If by interesting, you mean uncomfortable, Alister thought to himself. “Alright then, I’ll meet you here on the day of the race?”

She agreed and the two of them went their separate ways.

When he arrived at The Kite’s Way, Ethan refused his help with the inn upkeep and insisted Alister rest when his eyes fell on Alister’s weary shuffle.

“It burns me to admit it, but Mirielle’s right.”

Alister’s limbs ached so much he didn’t protest, but went up to his room and collapsed on the bed. Ronan flew from his perch to the table beside the bed.

So many people had bet their coin on him, but more concerning was that Mirielle and Ethan had bet their lives on him. And I’m betting my life too, of course. So what happens if I don’t…?

Alister groaned, shut his eyes, and hummed the Roots tune that Eugene played on his vessel flute weeks ago. He may not have been happy for most of his travels with the old man, but things were far simpler than they were now. Even if he did win the Flight of Siben, he and Mirielle would be on their way to Deemstun in four days’ time. And then what?

Alister shivered and pushed his doubts out of his mind. The month of Siben and winter was only two days away and his breath came out as a mist, but the cold wasn’t what bothered him. He and Mirielle would find a way to get to Lark. They had to.

The next morning, Alister was about to leave the inn when Maurice, who slowed for a moment between delivering plates for the guests at breakfast, waved him down.

“Sarila’s prepared Fillion’s breakfast, and I ain’t got time even to take it down there.” Maurice gathered the empty plates. “Will you take it down? Ethan’s there already.”

Alister nodded and followed him into the kitchen, where Sarila glanced up briefly from over her steaming pots and pans.

She raised her voice to carry over the crackling of food on pans. “Fillion’s meal’s just on the corner, there.”

Maurice swept by Alister and collected four more meals in his arms, out of the room in the next moment. Alister took Fillion’s bowl of porridge, thanked Sarila, and went around to the back corridor of The Kite’s Way, where he and Ethan had dragged Fillion over a week ago.

Alister walked down the stairs and, upon finding the door half open, peeked his head around tentatively.

Ethan was helping Fillion into a shirt. His father’s thin body showed little signs of muscle, and his head was slumped to the side even though his bulging eyes made it clear he was awake.

Alister cleared his throat, and Ethan’s head shot up. “Sarila gave me his breakfast to give to you.”

Ethan scowled at him, and helped his father to a sitting position in the bed. Ethan covered him in sheets, and stalked towards the door.

He took the porridge. “I thought I told you not to come down here.”

Alister let Ethan’s cold tone brush over him; he’d learnt not to take it to heart when Fillion was involved. “I’m sorry. But they’re busy up there, and Maurice asked me to take it down.”

Ethan’s eyebrows furrowed, and he sighed. “Thanks. Sorry. I just…” He drew a shaky breath. “…didn’t want you to see him like this.” He cast his gaze over to his father, his face contorted with pain. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but bit his lip instead and glanced back to Alister, meeting his eyes. “Hey, any chance—”

“Ethan,” a weak voice rasped from the bed. Ethan turned at once and hurried to his father’s side, and Alister took his leave.

As he flew through the air later, he couldn’t help but feel as if the sense of freedom attached to riding the Perigo’s kite was ironic. The weight of what he had to do the next day grew heavier with every hour. Each passing second was one second closer to the Flight. Persistent rain didn’t help, and being chilled by the wind while soaked to the bone was distracting. If so much didn’t depend on him, he’d almost consider flying into the fog, away from Mount Era, where he’d be surrounded by grey and nothing else. How long could he fly without food or water, or more myrres? Or would he find another mountain out there?

When he took a break mid-morning beneath the cover of a closed restaurant’s roof, a cloaked figure with a bundle under his arm approached him. In the rain, Alister couldn’t make him out right away, and his heart beat faster. Ethan’s warning about kite fliers who would sabotage the others rang through his mind.

The man withdrew his hood when he walked under the roof. He wore an easy-going smile, despite the water which dripped from his thick, chestnut hair.

“You’re Ali, right?” The man leaned against a vine-twirled pole.

Alister frowned. “Yes.”

“I’m Lachram Harlow.” The man grinned. “I spoke to Mirielle yesterday about bettin’ on you for the Flight of Siben. She mentioned you’d be practisin’ again today, so I figured I’d come and make sure my coin was well spent.”

Alister’s eyes found the bundle under the stranger’s arm, and recognised the wooden beams and fabric. It was a kite. He let a breath out in relief, and his words came out in a rush. “It’s great to meet you, Mister Harlow. Thank you for betting on me.”

Lachram waved a careless hand. “Please, call me Lachram. And I’ve got to say, you’re doin’ mighty well out there for such foul weather.”

Alister grinned at the praise. “Thanks.”

“Do you mind if I offer you a few tips?”

Alister’s eyes lit up. “Of course!”

Lachram unfolded his own kite to show Alister his movements as he described them. He showed him how to take the rain and windy days into account, and how to regain control of the kite if it were damaged. Alister listened with wide eyes, nodding along at everything the professional kite flier said. Lachram could’ve gone on for days before Alister stopped listening. He mirrored Lachram’s movements on the ground, and resolved to practice them in the air in the afternoon.

When Lachram finished half an hour later, he leaned against the pole again.

“Say, Ali, how long did you say you've been flyin’?”

Alister hesitated, then shrugged. “On and off for about four years. I never had a kite of my own, so I had to practice with a…friend’s.”

Lachram frowned. “That’s a shame.” He glanced at the timepiece on his wrist, and his eyes widened. “Fire of the flame, I’d best be goin’. I’m to meet some friends for lunch now, and it’s across town.”

He unfurled his kite again and grabbed hold of the straps. “Fantastic meetin’ you, Ali. I’ll see you tomorrow at the Flight!”

Alister nodded, and watched with fascination at the fluidity of Lachram’s motions as he ran, tightened the straps, struck the myrres, and took off. He disappeared into the fog in the next moment.

Alister shook his head in amazement as he took back to the rainy skies. He never expected to meet Lachram Harlow, champion of the Grand Tournament, but even if he had, he never would’ve expected him to be so helpful and approachable.

He spent the next few hours putting Lachram’s advice to practice. The new manoeuvres allowed him to navigate through the unruly weather as a bird would.

A cloaked figure caught his eye a couple of hours after noon. He stood where Mirielle had the day before. He remained for three of Alister’s loops, and as far as he could tell, the man hadn’t moved a muscle. He wasn’t certain he could trust his eyes at first; the rain thickened the mist to a murky fog, and droplets battered against his goggles. Mirielle must have had someone else come to observe me. The woman was used to an abundance of coin, after all. Perhaps she wanted more than four marks left after The Smith’s payment. Or Lachram might have come back after lunch with his friends.

Something about the cloaked figure set Alister’s hairs on end, but he shrugged it off. With such a situation, he was bound to be paranoid. Mirielle had been overly cautious with the coin she carried, and Ethan had been making arrangements for himself and his father should their plan fall through.

On Alister’s final loop, the man remained. He was thankful he didn’t have to touch down there as he had when Mirielle was watching, and set his course straight back to The Kite’s Way. He hadn’t practiced for long, but his mind and body were weary and cold. Next time he’d be in the air would be amongst dozens of other fliers like Catrin Gant, and Blade. If he managed to avoid them and shoot ahead the way he practised, the other fliers surely wouldn’t be too much of a problem.

Alister missed the street of The Kite’s Way, but looped around and pulled up one street away. He landed hard at a run and took off the straps as he made his way to the end of the street.

He yelled out for half a second when a hand pulled him towards the alley. Another hand forced his mouth closed and stifled the noise. His kite clattered to the ground. A cloaked figure slammed him against the brick walls. The same cloaked figure who watched him fly. His heart hammered in his ears as hard as the rain pelted down, and he felt as if his blood were on fire, despite the chill of the air.

Alister bit down on his hand and flung out his legs to kick the man wherever he could. The man grunted and pulled his hand away. Before Alister could fathom any sort of retaliation, the man’s fist came down on the side of his face and knocked him hard against the wall. Fire pumped through his body and masked the white flash of pain. He looked up at his attacker just in time to see their knee collide with his abdomen.

Alister gasped. His legs threatened to give way beneath him. He forced them to try and take him away from this man. He didn’t make it two steps before the cloaked man jerked his arm back and flung him onto the ground of the alley. Unknown limbs immobilised his arms and legs in an instant. A fist slammed into his face again and blackened the world, but all of Alister’s other senses sharped.

Hot breath by his ear. Metal on his tongue. Cold, damp ground against his cheek. Stench of blood reached his nostrils and masked the scent of the rain, but he couldn’t recognise which part of his face bled.

The breath chuckled. “I can break all of your bones without once tearin’ your skin, and you’ll bleed out from the inside. Do you understand?”

Shapes returned to Alister’s world, but dizzying spots of light danced in front of his eyes and blocked them. After over half a month practising Elin-tor, not one strike or kick came to his mind in the imminent danger.

His chest crushed further into the sharp cobblestone—by a knee? —and Alister groaned.

“I asked you if you understood, Alister. I’d be happy to start with your ribs until you answer me.”

“I under…stand!” Alister gasped. How does he know my name? Who is he? Everything in his being yearned to get away from the whispering man.

The pressure lessened. “So you’re listenin’. Wonderful. I need you to do one more thing for me, Alister. And if you don’t, then…well, we can use a more painful method of persuasion.”

Alister’s breath was shaky as the man paused.

“The Flight of Siben is tomorrow, as I’m sure you know. I just wanted to let you know, flier to flier…if you take away my victory, I’ll destroy you in the slowest possible way. I’m sure you would prefer to keep your bones unbroken, so can I be sure you won’t win the race tomorrow?”

Alister tightened his jaw. Deon Boyce. It had to be. He needed to refuse. A small part of his brain screamed at him to lie and agree, but he couldn’t do that, for some reason which he couldn’t quite determine at the time.

“Did you hear me?” The pressure returned to his back, and Alister stifled a moan.

“I…heard,” he managed to rasp.

“Then answer me. You’ll not win tomorrow, am I right?”

Alister screwed up his eyes in determination.

The weight disappeared from his back and provided a moment of relief, before a hard boot collided with his side. He was struck again, in the arm, and then in the chest…The strikes merged together before he was pulled up to his feet and slammed against the wall.

“Boyce,” Alister mumbled, and his attacker’s stillness confirmed his suspicion. Deon Boyce’s cold and unforgiving eyes burned into his. Boyce’s calculating smile twitched.

“If you’re looking for a beatin’, then who am I to deprive you? I’ll let you sleep on it.” He took the weight of Alister off the wall as easily as he would a child and threw him onto the floor.

Alister forced his expression and mouth to hide the ache which flooded his body as he watched Boyce’s boots walk down the alley. As soon as he rounded the corner, he moaned and curled his body up. Every moment seemed to be an hour of blinding pain, and with every moment, the fire in his blood subsided to reveal a deeper agony. Once steady drops of rain hammered nails into his skin, and washed the blood off his face and onto the cobblestone.

It may’ve been after minutes or hours, but Alister pulled himself up. Every movement shot a fresh wave of pain up his limbs. He managed to drag the kite to the inn’s back entrance. He froze when he detected movement from the alley in the corner of his eye, but after he stared at the alley for a minute, resolved it was only the rain.

Ethan didn’t have to know about Boyce’s threat. Although it took him at least four times as long as normal to climb the stairs to his room, Alister sunk into his bed before anyone saw him. His mouth still tasted of blood, but he’d no desire to see what he looked like.

What am I going to do?

If he didn’t win the Flight of Siben, The Smith would organise his, Mirielle’s, Ethan’s, and perhaps even Ethan’s father’s death. If he did win the Flight, Deon Boyce would kill Alister in a slow, gruesome manner. Both men were sadistic.

But the second option only involved Alister. Mirielle could still go to Deemstun and find Lark, or they could leave before Boyce managed to find him. He didn’t have a choice; he had to compete and win the Flight of Siben, no matter what the consequences were.

He turned his head with a wince to look at Ronan. The bird roosted on his perch, the chain still around his neck. He was free of whatever had bound him, and yet was forced to stay in Alister’s room for the most part of the day. Alister closed his swollen eyes.