The Missing Traveller

Sleep wasn’t an easy achievement for Alister’s aching body, but waking to the hammering of his door was harder still. He struggled from his reddened sheets into a seated position, and held his bruised chest. After a deep breath, Alister lifted his shirt to inspect his skin, and stifled a swear at the variety of colours his chest sported.

The door pounded again. “Ali, you awake? I got some fruit here for breakfast, and then we should head over to the Flight.”

The Flight. Alister forced himself to stand, taking heavy breaths as he did so. “I’m awake,” he told Ethan, and rubbed his jaw. It had crunched when he opened it to speak.

“Then let’s get goin’! You dressed yet?”

“Yeah.” Alister regretted responding when the door handle turned. Ethan walked in, and wide-eyed horror replaced his excited grin.

“Bane of the blight—what happened to you?” He swore. “You’re a real mess.”

Alister ignored the shooting pain in his legs and hid his limp on the way to the water room. The mirror showed someone, but it couldn’t be Alister.

This man’s eyes were purple and swollen, and his lip cut. He took off his shirt, still damp and bloodied from the night before, to reveal a collection of purple and blue. The bruises and mud across his shoulders almost hid his curved tattoos.

Ethan swore again and examined his chest. “That better not be a broken rib! What, did you throw yourself off the Mount?”

“It was one of the other fliers.” He walked away from his unfamiliar reflection to put some dry shoes on. “Last night when I was on the way home. He threatened to do worse if I won today.”

Ethan called Boyce a name so profane, it made Alister stare at his friend for a moment. “What? He is! What kind of man cares so much for winnin’ he’ll beat and threaten you? It’s only a burned kite race. I’d like to find that man a cure for breathin’.” He watched Alister, his mouth pressed in a thin line. “This is bad. So what will you do?”

Alister stood again, stifled a groan, and narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, what will I do? I’m going to win that race.”

Ethan’s shoulders relaxed, but worry didn’t leave his face. “But if you do—”

“If I do, I probably have a better chance of avoiding one man than the band of assassins you described The Smith to have.” He sighed as he buttoned up a clean shirt. “Besides, Boyce doesn’t care about you or Mirielle.”

Ethan frowned. “Thanks. I’m sure between the two of us we can keep you hidden for a few days. I doubt he’ll follow you to Deemstun. But can you fly like this?”

Alister forced himself to stretch like Eugene taught him, and gritted his teeth when his body resisted. “It’s not the most comfortable feeling I’ve experienced.” He grimaced. “But I’ll manage.”

Ethan’s eyebrows pulled down. “This is bad.”

“You said that already.”

“It seemed worth repeatin’.” Ethan shook his head and managed a chuckle. “You’re insane, Ali.” He tossed him a strange yellow fruit, and the two of them headed to the race, using the Perigo’s kite as a barrier to the rain. Their boots soaked through in seconds, regardless.

When Alister mentioned Lachram Harlow bet on him, Ethan whooped.

“Are you messin’ with me? Lachram Harlow, winner of the Tournament of the Skies, bet on the Flight of Siben?”

“That’s what Mirielle said.”

Ethan whistled in appreciation. “That woman must have a way with words. And you got tips from him? Brilliant.”

The wind pushed and pulled at them when they reached the cliff; nobody would choose to ride a kite on a day like this. Nothing about the end of the street in Al’Rogier had changed, aside from a single orange ribbon, which spiralled erratically from a pole. Mirielle leaned against the pole, an odd rain-shielding implement resting across her shoulder. Her elaborate blue dress whipped out from beneath a layered, hooded cape.

Her wide, horrified eyes became visible through the rain, and she lifted a gloved hand.

“What under the Divine happened to your face?” She demanded, her gentle hand on his cheek contrasting with her stern voice.

“That Deon Boyce flier you told me about. Don’t think on it. Let’s go to the cavern.”

He strode past her; the limp was less incapacitating than before.

Mirielle followed, her low heels slamming against the wet ground with every step. “Don’t think on it? Alister, how will you compete with this? You look dreadful!”

“I don’t need to look pretty; I just need to fly fast.”

Mirielle laughed without humour. “Do you think I can’t see your limp?”

“There’s no other way.” Irritation slipped into his voice. “I have to do this, or we’re all as good as dead.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “And if you do, then you’re as good as dead.” Mirielle looked to Alister for explanation, her eyebrows high.

Alister glared at Ethan. “Boyce did threaten me, but—”

Mirielle threw up her arms. “Then we have to think of another way. We could steal the coin, or—”

“No!” He yelled, and she stopped in surprise. Ethan was taken aback too, but after yesterday, Alister wasn’t in the mood to argue. “There’s no other way, alright? Who would we steal from, and how? We’ve been over this. I’m doing the Flight and I have to win.”

When neither of them responded, he kept walking.

They followed without a word—Mirielle’s spinning bracelet irritated Alister’s ears—and he led them down the flights of stairs to the cavern, where he flew the days before. The streets of lower Bastium were constructed from the rooves of the houses below, and mills carefully controlled the waterfalls which interrupted the path every so often. With the heavy rain, trickles became gushing rivers. Orange ribbons lined the streets on the way down to the cavern.

His limp must have worsened, because Mirielle made an exasperated noise.

“Will you at least—”

“Don’t try and talk me out of it, Mirielle. You know this is the only way.” He gritted his teeth.

Mirielle and Ethan exchanged worried glances, but Alister ignored them. Apologies, however necessary, could wait.

When Alister’s leg seemed about to give way, they reached the entrance to the cavern. Rain darkened the inside more than usual. While examining the houses built into the cave and the huge, natural pillars, he wondered idly if it were more expensive to live in the cavern than on the edge.

The cavern didn’t tunnel under the whole city of Bastium, but it probably spanned the size of one district. More people walked around than most days, and the orange ribbons led them deeper into the crowds, until they came to where the Flight begun.

“This is where we part. That building is where you’ll need to confirm your registration.” Mirielle pointed to a house which jutted out from one of the thick pillars of rock. Alister’s heart hammered. “I just put it under Alister Kinross. I hope that’s okay.”

“Better than using the name The Smith gave for me.” Alister was less irritated by his friends than nervous about the Flight. He checked his timepiece. It was less than an hour away. He wiped his palms on his breeches, but they were soaked from the rain.

He examined the caverns to take his mind off the Flight, and his eyes caught on a strange symbol painted on a nearby wall. “What does that mean?” He pointed to it. “The cross with an ‘s’ through it?”

Ethan followed his eyes and smirked. “It’s the symbol for the Circle of Thieves. Elite snobs of the underground, they are.”

Mirielle tilted her head. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Ethan snorted a laugh. “’Course you haven’t. It’s meant to be a secret society, but every thief in Rogier wanted to be asked to join the Circle. I’m a little insulted they never asked me, to be honest.”

Ethan squinted around at the crowds, who surrounded a large wooden stage where the other fliers stood. “They never should’ve banned this race. All it did was make it easier to get away with sabotage. To think what Boyce did is considered normal…” He looked at Alister hesitantly. “Be safe, yeah?”

Alister managed a smile through the pain; he had to be confident. “I’ll see you after I win.”

Mirielle took his hand, and Alister almost pulled away at how cold hers was. “I know you’ll do great.” Her eyes were a pool of calm. After a moment, she smiled and squeezed his hand, and the calm faded. “Just focus on flying fast, steer clear of the other fliers, and keep those corners tight…”

Alister laughed restlessly. “I know, I know. You’ve told me countless times. It’ll be fine.” Perhaps it was because the Flight was soon, or because things weren’t as tense between the three of them, but Alister felt better than he had all morning. “I should probably go and confirm that registration.”

“We’ll be waiting at the finish line.”

Ethan gave him a pat on the shoulder and a grin. Alister just nodded and made his way over to the registration building.

The next half hour rushed by in a blur; he waited in line for a brief moment, confirmed his registration, was instructed on the way to go…

Deon Boyce pulled him aside, with a vice grip on his forearm. Alister winced, but drew himself up to stare level with Boyce. Crowds pressed around them.

“You think you’re real clever, don’t you?” Boyce growled. “I’ve got more’n one kite, genius.”

Alister pinched Boyce’s hand to remove it from his own. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Boyce narrowed his eyes. “You thought you’d repay me by destroyin’ my kite last night.”

Alister kept his voice cool. “I didn’t do anything to your kite.” He leaned forward, just to show Boyce how little he feared him now. “But I’m not surprised you’ve earned other enemies.”

Alister turned and strode away from him, up to the wooden stage to join the other fliers with his kite. His heart hammered.

He stood to the edge of the stage and studied his competitors. A wide range of people stood, scattered around the stage, their kites anywhere between a cheap one like his, and the kind Lark used to ride. He raised his eyebrows at a bright orange kite, and when he saw its owner had jet black, spiky hair, he remembered the four fliers Mirielle had described to him during practice. She was Catrin Gant, Conjurer, and used her sura to singe holes in other fliers’ kites. Catrin caught his eye, arched a dark eyebrow, and sent a fierce grin at him.

He looked away and scoured the fliers for the others Mirielle mentioned. His eyes fell on a young, brooding man with red hair, whose kite held many sheaths and sharpened edges. Blade.

While he was looking for Mirage, the candra user with white hair, his eyes met with a dark man who sneered back. Deon Boyce no longer donned his hood, but the way he stared at Alister made him shift uncomfortably.

Eager to break eye contact with Boyce, Alister stared out into the split crowds. Hundreds of people filled the cavern; more would line the streets. They left a wide gap in the path out of the cavern for the fliers. It was a wonder the authorities didn’t catch up with the Flight of Siben; it wasn’t exactly well-hidden.

Alister rubbed the back of his neck and tried to smooth his frantic expression. There he was, a boy from Rindor who never owned a kite, surrounded by veteran fliers, all with years of experience behind them. This plan is insanity. He pushed his hands into his pockets to stop them shaking. What hope did he have of winning?

Alister caught Mirielle’s eye amongst the crowd, and she flashed him a confident smile. She had either possessed those betters to hand over their coin, or for some reason, they all believed he could win. Including Lachram Harlow.

A voice boomed out from the front of the stage. It was Catrin Gant. “Welcome everyone to the Flight of Siben!” The crowd roared and cheered until she held up her hand. “As the winner of last year’s race…” she turned around and swept her eyes across the other fliers with a proud smirk. “I’m excited to get this show in the skies for you all. We all know the rules…first to the finish wins.” She held up a hand to her left. “Fenn here will blast his trumpet, and we begin.” An excited young boy sat in a chair, a flint clutched in his fist. “I won’t bore you with any other details, but I hope anyone expecting to make some money today bet on yours truly!”

She took a step back and Alister copied the other fliers as they readied themselves to run. The crowd’s roar settled as the wiry trumpeter stepped forward.

Alister pushed his goggles up to cover his eyes, looped his arms through the handles, and looked across the stage. The competitors formed one line with their kites. His eyes followed the others’ to Fenn as the boy wet his lips and rose the trumpet up with shaking hands.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, like his mother taught him what seemed like an age ago. Everything he, Mirielle, and Ethan had worked for since he’d been in Bastium, all hung on what happened in the next half hour. In the unbearable silence, Alister could swear he could hear his own heart beating. Every fibre in his being was on high alert, coiled up like a spring as he listened for the trumpet’s blare.

Focus, he told himself, like Eugene used to. Nothing but you and your breath.

His eyes darted across the line of fliers, and he thought he caught a glimpse of long, white hair, underneath an icy blue kite. That must be… He shook his head and took another breath.

The trumpet shattered the stillness and thundered through the cavern. Alister sprinted. His tension and eagerness all but eliminated the bruises and aches as he ran. He hit the myrres and the wings pulled up. The blast and crowd’s cheers echoed in the cavern, and merged into a roar which spurred him to run faster down the steady slope.

The fliers on either side ran unnervingly close, but Alister pushed off and took flight to separate himself from them. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he repeated the well-practiced motions of putting his feet on the steps and strapping himself onto the kite. He winced at the pain of the straps pulling at his aching muscles, but pushed it aside. Despite the myrres urging him to unfurl the wings, he kept them close to his body in the cavern.

He swung his head to the other fliers and darted around the huge rocky pillars. They approached the mouth to the cavern. Alister squinted and let a wind push him upwards. The wings unfurled completely, and he made it into the pouring rain. A flier below him dropped in a tailspin, before they crashed into one of the streets. Focus!

Alister scoured the streets for the orange ribbons. He sped down the street lined with them. Rain slashed across his cheeks. Fliers surrounding him spread out from the cavern, but Alister kept a wary eye out for any who would fly too close.

Ahead lay a sharp corner, followed by what looked like a drop off, just like every other tight corner he practiced in the days before. Other fliers slowed for the corner, but Alister pressed on. A grin crept onto his face.

It wiped away when his vision blurred, moments before the corner. Only muscle memory got him around the curve in one piece. Everything was a blur. He spun his head around. An icy blue shape disappeared into the distance and his vision cleared. Mirage. She fell behind at the corner, and Alister was in the lead.

He brought the wings close to dive straight down the edge of Bastium with a whoop. A weight lifted off his shoulders when he took first place, even though a quick glance around told him he wasn’t far in front. Wind pushed his face hard as he let the wings spring out to soar down. Edges of houses rushed past. Orange ribbons zipped by.

The base lower Bastium loomed closer. The other fliers would slow down much earlier, but Alister pulled up at the last possible moment and used his speed to begin the convoluted streets at the base.

Cheering people lined the streets, their voices distorted as he sped by. Their faces were a blur. Alister wondered briefly if the children he’d raced were watching.

He flew between the houses, over the heads of the crowd. Each new obstacle rushed towards him, and he reacted to it by a tilt of the kite before he could even think.

A warmth spread across his right hand, which had been almost numb the entire race from his grasp on the handle, and the biting rain. Out of the corner of his eye flew Catrin Gant. She pointed a finger at his kite.

She uses sura to singe holes in other flier’s kites, but her range is limited, so don’t let her get close.

He swerved away from the side of the cliff into the dense fog. It didn’t take much distance before her hand gripped her own handle once again. Alister glanced over his shoulder. A blackened spot remained on the Perigo’s kite’s wing.

Alister gritted his teeth and weaved upwards through the street. While he evaded Catrin Gant, she and three other fliers had overtaken him. They were halfway through.

Alister pulled upwards. He pushed his arm through to strike the myrres with the bar. Wind trailed behind him as he flew straight up along the other side of lower Bastium. Alister’s fast corner edged him ahead of two of the fliers. Catrin Gant flew ahead of him, and burning fabric filled his nostrils.

A scream broke through the air. Another flier tumbled across the cliff at a high speed, her kite’s wings smoking. Alister forced himself to keep his eyes ahead.

He yelled in frustration when his vision clouded once again. Mirage. He scoured the blurred shapes behind him for the icy blue of her kite. Glances forward kept his line of flight straight. He darted around a protruding rock, and when he looked behind again, a looming black shape rushed towards his left side and collided with him and ripped open his leg.

Alister yelled. His vision cleared—had he managed to escape Mirage’s range? —and the black shape crossed to his right side. Blade’s kite. The red headed man flashed a grin his way. I have to keep going. I have to win!

Alister gripped the handles to stop his hands from shaking with agony. He was sure if his leg had been sawed in half, there wouldn’t have been a difference in the pain. He clenched his jaw tight and forced his eyes ahead. His left leg pushed down on the hook, immobilised from the anguish. At least it’s going straight. Alister narrowed his eyes at the last tight corner. The race was nearly over. Blade and Catrin Gant flew just in front of him. Mirage was nowhere to be seen.

He braced himself for the hairpin turn, and took his right leg out of the straps to move his immobilised leg off the hook, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream in pain. The tail wing tilted. Wind caught his wings. He turned faster and sharper than Blade or Catrin. He threaded his leg back through the straps and sped ahead, into the lead, his breaths heavy in an attempt to master the pain.

How easy it would be to crash onto the street and hold his leg in agony. But he had to win, and the last length of the track lay ahead.

The mouth of the cavern emerged from the fog. Orange ribbons curled down around and into it. If he could only push out the pain for another few moments…

A blade swished past Alister’s ear and tore a gaping hole right through the middle of his kite’s left wing. A swear escaped his mouth as he lost control of the kite. Air dragged the kite down.

“No!” The mouth of the cavern was so close.

He fought against the pull for a moment longer, and then, in a last desperate attempt, steered into the drag and spun into the mouth of the cave.

His eyes failed to adjust to the darkness of the cavern. He lost control of the kite as it spiralled—still at top speed—deep into the cave. By instinct alone, Alister released the straps as the ground rushed beneath him. But he couldn’t remove his hands and legs from their straps. Speed from the fall flung him across the ground with the kite, and he rolled at least five times before he came to rest with a groan. The Perigo’s broken kite surrounded him, a mess of snapped beams and torn fabric. He lay there like a cripple bird, wrapped up in its own fractured wings.

His body felt as if a house fell on him, but despite the blood gushing from his searing leg, and the bruises which he was convinced now covered his entire body, he forced his eyes open. The roar of the crowd registered in his ears.

“What a finish! What a nail-biter!” A voice boomed. “The rookie, neck and neck with some old champs, and he manages to take first place while in a tailspin!”

First place?

Other voices surrounded him.

“Is he alive?”

“Somebody get a healer!”

“I won?” Alister mumbled.

“What did he say?”

“Look at his leg!”

“Did Blade get him?”

“Alister!”