Authors: Aiyana Jackson
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Steampunk
Encante (13 page)
Her eyes were alight with that stunning heliotrope glow they took on when she spoke of her people. She looked so distinct, so clearly of their descent.
“You truly believe they would help us?” I watched the King bend down as he conversed with Vee, minute beside him.
“I believe they would help
you
. They have seen into your mind, far more clearly than I ever have, they know where you come from, and they know what you seek, what you need. If they can help, they will.”
“But . . . why?” I squinted towards the horizon, the just-visible mountains of rock looming in the distance, tawny, ochre, and as scarlet as the sand. The reason they could not be found—the reason the Kabbalah denied this place existed. “They have everything they need here, and they are safe. Now they know of the enslavement of their people, they have their own war to wage. Why should they help me in mine?”
“It is the same war, do you not see? They are safe here, yes, but another word for that safety is entrapment. For hundreds of years they have feared to leave this place, for they knew of those who had never returned. Now they know why. There is a whole world up there, Simeon, one above, one below, and now both wish to share what one currently possesses. It will mean civil war for Idele. A war of a kind this world has never considered, for half the population do not even know my people exist. Who do you think they will turn to when the King emerges with his warriors and attempts to free our people?”
“Gods!” I clutched her closer. “I’m a fool. The moment they leave this place, the Kabbalah will be called. They will come here, Drusilla. They won’t use portals, they will come in ships, great ships! I must warn him—”
“He knows.”
“Drusilla! It is not enough that he knows, he must understand! They will send the Harlequin, do you know what that means?”
“I do know, my love.” She reached up and swept a flop of hair from my brow. “I know all too well, for I have seen in your eyes the ruin they made of The Eldars.”
“Then you must know you cannot let him do it!”
“It is not within my power to either allow or prevent him doing anything; he is the King, and I am all but a stranger to them. A stranger they welcomed with warmth and love, it is true, but new to him nonetheless. Even so, he is no fool. King Aeres is hundreds of years old, he has not ruled for so long by being hasty. No, he shall bide his time.
“The tides are turning, Simeon. Soon the Kabbalah will not be the unstoppable force they are now. Aeres knows this—he has foreseen it. Even the Harlequin is soon to encounter something that will give him pause, a dent in that impenetrable armour.”
“Then we must act!” I grasped my compass tighter. “Drusilla, if this is true, it is the time we have been waiting for!”
“Time?” She smiled. “No, it is not yet
time
, nor shall it be so long as the Kabbalah keeps the gods imprisoned as they are.”
“Then we shall free them!”
“You are capable of many things, Simeon Escher, but freeing the gods is not one of them. No,”—her smile turned wry—“that task shall fall to another, I fear. To each their own time, and to each their own place; you were here, as you were meant to be. I lived because of you. That means more than you know, in the greater play.”
“It is not a game, Drusilla.”
She fingered my compass, taking in my more than dishevelled appearance. “If it were, would we be winning, do you think?”
“I have you. None of your people died today. The same cannot be said about your family, however; can it still count as a win when your stepmother and uncle float somewhere, dead or dying, beneath those waves?”
She sobered. “That woman was no mother to me.”
“Still—”
“I doubt that even Axel would let her sully this victory.”
“She was his mother, Drusilla.”
“And she spurned him. He tried to save her. Even Father was willing to save her in the end.”
“So he was.”
She took a deep breath and straightened, her delicate fingers pressing the compass more firmly into my hands.
“You’re avoiding the inevitable,” she said. “At some point we must try and see if Aeres’ tinkering has enabled this to work here, where Kabbalah portals cannot reach.”
“He seemed to think he had been successful, and I suppose he should know, great seer and all. The compass does not employ the same technology as a portal. Between that and his efforts, it may just be enough. Still . . .” I stared at it for some moments longer, wondering what it would feel like if I truly could not return home.
Drusilla allowed it to go on for a time longer, then rolled her eyes and did it for me; evidently I’d been thinking about it so much, she’d learned the way of it for herself.
Clever girl.
In the end, I needn’t have worried. The compass worked as well as it ever had before I set foot aboard the Narwhal. Better, in fact, for it deposited us in the main street of Hollowvale, right where I had jokingly hoped to appear. To this day I have not lived down the fact I was forced to walk home in naught but my shirt, accompanied by an exotic woman clad only in seashells and sand. When the cog I received on my return was added to the tattoo on my neck, it was all the sweeter for the fact it came with Drusilla as an even greater reward.
They inked her tattoo the same day—only one cog to begin with, although I’d no doubt she’d add more as she learned our ways. Her first was identical to my own, and I loved it, sitting so tidily on her tiny ankle. By far the best part, however, was the look on her face when they gave her a compass of her own, a sight surpassed only by the looks on the faces of my friends when I first introduced her to them.
The world was clearer upon my return than it ever had been before. I looked at Cecelie and wondered how I had ever thought to love her. She never forgave me, although more out of spite than genuine hurt, I believe.
Either way, I found it difficult to care.
Contents
About the author
About the author text
Acknowledgements
First and foremost I would like to thank the indelible works of Jules Verne, which have, quite evidently, influenced this piece.
My thanks also to Sammy HK Smith, for inviting me to participate in the anthology for which this was originally written. Her support and friendship mean the world to me, as do her opinions on my writing and the stories I send her way. The story rather got away from me and proved far too long to be included, however I am grateful to all those who enabled it to be published elsewhere, and who continue to support me in my future writing endeavours.
I would also like to thank Zoë Harris, for her exceptional editorial and proofreading assistance.
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