Maledictus Aether (32 page)

“You look like Hell,” he
comments breathlessly, wincing in pain shortly thereafter, and I
laugh in turn, warm blood and oil running down my skin.

“I get all my looks from you,
father,” I remind him, at which he swears at me without much hatred
in the words. The pirate lays waste to the final soldier, the room
around us a mess of broken glass and slashed furniture, not to
mention five dead bodies, a lot of blood, a mechanical arm and a
bound-up woman.

The pirate walks on over to us, one eye closed to keep the
blood from entering it and limping slightly, but otherwise not
having much injury to show for. He puts a hand on both our
shoulders, squeezing lightly before we look to the
entrance.

The sound of cannon fire is
distant, and the fighting on board seems to have stopped. My father
looks to my mother still lying on the ground, blood having gotten
onto her as well, before looking back at me.

“What do we do now, son?” he
questions, and I let out a sigh before I sit down on the ground,
grateful for the respite. My clothes are sticking to my person
uncomfortably, fresh and dry blood staining my skin and the
garments I wear. Leaning my head back against the wall behind me, I
look up to the two men.

“We get you to a doctor, fast,”
I state, and I see a few pirates come into the room to see if they
can offer any assistance. I’m helped to my feet by one of them, and
I move my head in the direction of my mother. “The woman is not to
be harmed; bring her to a holding cell aboard Tier, and send for
the ship at once. We are done here.”

I shrug off the offered help,
limping towards the deck until I stand amidst a sea of gore and
bloodshed, dead bodies belonging to both my men and theirs. My eyes
look at each face in turn, etching their features into my mind, and
I close my eyes and pray for their souls in the midmorning light
shining through the smoke of the fires burning and the clouds
dotting the sky.

The moment I step onto Tier, the fighting over and London
laid waste to – the Academy burned to the ground, shelters set up
for the survivors dotted throughout the wreckage and pirates going
through the rubble to find any innocents still alive – and the
fires extinguished, I’m swept into an embrace by Lucian himself and
turned around in a circle. I cling onto him desperately with my one
arm, the blood on my person staining his clothes yet he seems to
care very little about that fact. My father is being escorted to
the infirmary and my mother to the cell block, offered a blanket to
hide her indecency.

Then my companion kisses me full on the mouth, that string
of words along the lines of
you maniac how are you still alive
cutting off as he grabs my face and refuses to let go.
I’m hyperaware of everyone around us, but no one seems to bat an
eyelash – in fact, they seem to be ignoring the display
altogether.

Once I’m catered to in the ward
and my father is given a cot to lay on in an attempt to recover
from his wounds, I sit by his side and watch the blood darken the
bandages around his stomach.

There is nothing to be done. He
will bleed out, and there is nothing to be done.

He lies on the bed, breathing
shallowly and looking even paler than before. His hair clings to
his skin with sweat and dried blood and when his amber eyes open
they are faraway before they focus on me.

“You have made me proud, son,”
he tells me with a tired smile, and I press my lips together
tightly, nodding. I press my hand to my wound on my thigh to keep
it from shaking, and I refuse to look at him. “Take care of
yourself, and don’t ever let your skills get as rusty as I let mine
get.”

“Yes, father,” I choke.

I had to lose my father once,
and suffered for it; once, apparently, was not enough. I have to
suffer the pain a second time, and this time there is no miracle to
bring him back. Nothing.

Orin, sitting on my shoulder, senses my discomfort and
presses his head against my neck. Thain sits by my father’s side,
his head down and his eyes closed. If birds could cry, then I know
for a fact that this one would.

“Do you want me to say
anything… to my mother?” I question, and here he closes his eyes
and sighs deeply, the gesture forcing a series of coughs from him
and making the blood darken the white bandages even further. Blood
also runs down the side of his mouth.

“Tell her that I apologise for causing her pain,” he says
quietly, and when his eyes open they do not see the ceiling above
him. “Also, please tell her that I will never forgive her, or
myself, for what she has done to you. Punish her as you see fit, my
son.”

I nod again, lowering my head the same way Thain’s
head
is; only the tears
actually do escape my control.

It isn’t bloody fair.

“You are my son, and no blood, no test, can ever prove
otherwise; you bear my name, and have made my legacy into your
legend,” he continues, and at the sound of this I raise my head, my
vision blurred by my tears as I look to the man I have only gotten
to know for a few months and have missed with all my heart
beforehand. “You make a fine Sky Pirate, lad, and I am proud to
call you my son. I love you, and I am truly sorry that I have not
been a good father to you; I know I am leaving you in good
hands.”

I press my hand to his
shoulder, as if my touch can keep his soul from rising to join the
gods.

“I have lived to see the end of
war,” he muses, his eyes slipping shut once more. Tears roll down
his cheeks, and he smiles through the blood pouring over his lips.
“Truly, I have lived a life worth living.”

His chest stills, and he is no
more.

In the following days, the bodies are burned in a room
within Tier that was especially made for this ritual, individually
– over three hundred bodies burned and their ashes put into
separate boxes. The burning took over a fortnight, but once it was
complete we stood solemnly as the
Alitis
flew through
the sky, her thrusters at minimal power so that Aeon would not be
reached quickly, and opened the boxes to let the ashes fly into the
sky.

All the while, those that can
sing are singing them a song I do not know, a song of departure. It
is a comforting one, and not one I would have expected.

I will see you again
.

As I open the box holding my
father’s ashes and let his remains sail the skies one last time, I
catch on to the refrain and sing along to the song as best I can.
Every man and woman is dressed in dark clothes, and once every last
ash has been scattered we all press our hands to our chests, and
over two thousand voices join the song.

It is as if the very song is being embodied with all the
emptiness and the sorrow everyone feels, as we’ve all lost people
we cared about during this battle. Yet, it also feels like more
than that – as if we’re also mourning the loss of all the innocent
lives lost during this war and that we are also giving them their
funerary rites. Every
Sky
Pirate that has lost their life to the Fleet, the bystanders that
have died as well… every last soul.

While my chest feels hollow and
I shamelessly mourn my father, my face not the only tear-stained
one, and as I sing the song I can feel it in my heart how true
these words are, and how fitting it is that it is the customary
funerary song for our kind.

Then, the following day,
Lucian, Cain, Elizabeth and I walk down the holding cells to stand
in front of my mother’s cell. About three pirates have been left in
charge of watching it, although I do not fear her escaping.

For a while I stand in front of
her inside her cell, and even though she looks horrid I feel no
pride or sense of justice in what I do. Just grim detachment, and
we watch each other for that amount of time. Her with hatred, and I
with no emotion to betray what I feel inside.

“My father wanted me to inform
you that he apologises for the pain you have suffered,” I begin,
the words dripping with acid and the only indication of the anger I
am keeping in check. “He would also like to tell you that he will
never forgive you for what you have done, and has given me the
permission to punish you justly for your actions.”

“Don’t you lord over me,” she
spits, and as I look to the woman I see only the sight of someone
who has been dragged from her pedestal to the dirt. I see the
shadow of a woman, broken and vile. “You hold no right; I am your
mother.”

“You are a whore,” I shoot
back, my eyes narrowing, “and a prostitute has more honour than you
have. You have tarnished my father’s name with the way you
conducted yourself during his absence. You have been seeing a man
despite being married, and you do not see me as your son despite
the fact that I saved you from ruin by working without wage for the
Forces. Don’t you bloody well tell me what I can and cannot
do.”

My hands are fisted at my back
– I recreated a limb for myself during the burning of the bodies –
to keep from striking her. We glare at one-another, the silence
thick with tension.

“You are not my mother,” I continue, and her own eyes
narrow at me. “You may have birthed me but I deny my relation to
you; the sky is my mistress, the gods my creators, my fathers and
mothers. The Sky Pirates my brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles,
and I cast away all my familial connections with you. My blood
relatives are those who have sailed the skies before me, my family
all those in the skies, and my partner my equal aboard my
ship.”

The acknowledgement of Lucian’s
status in my eyes surprises him, clearly enough, and her as well as
she looks at him with first surprise, then disgust.

“You will burn in hell,” she
threatens, and I grin at her.

“I will gladly see you there,”
I inform her, before taking a breath and turning my back to her. As
I walk past the men keeping guard, I impart my orders. “Do with her
what you may, then kill her.”

“Captain, by
what you
may
, what do you mean?” One
of them, an Italian named Ricardo, asks. I pause halfway to the
door, looking back over my shoulder at him.

“Exactly that, my friend,” I
respond, gesturing with my head to the prisoner. “Beat her, have
your way with her; play with her as long as you like, and once you
are satisfied I ask that you give her the most torturous death you
can offer her.”

Aboard the
Atlas
, we sail for a
familiar Skyland.

Lucian sits in front of me on
the ground while I run my fingers through his hair, trying to
untangle the snarls within after a day’s work of running around
constantly. Orin is somewhere in the ship, and Thain’s feather sits
as it should on my dresser, the only remaining thing of the bird;
it died of grief shortly after my father’s death, and we cremated
it as well. Sitting on the edge of my bed, my legs are on either
side of the man as I carefully tend to the locks of hair in front
of me, smoothing out each snarl.

Given the fact that there is no Fleet anymore, a band of
brigands has arisen to try and control the skies; as such,
we
Sky Pirates have formed an
alliance system in which we keep them in check, and there are still
other countries with smaller Fleets trying to keep us in check so
we usually keep our hands busy with boarding ships. Nothing has
changed much, other than the fact that the war is over and
the
Alitis
is rightfully ours again.

Speaking of, it now has a set course throughout the skies
from the Atlantic to Asia, and Sky Pirates use this as a stop en
route to other destinations. It has become a trading hotspot, the
way it once way, and some even live on board.

The crew of the
Atlas
is usually one
of those, but for one last time we sail for my father’s Skyland,
traversing these familiar skies in search of it once more. None of
the men and women serving me offered a complaint, as glad as I am
to be sailing on our own for a while. I plan to make these ventures
from the
Alitis
a common thing.

“Bloody hell Lucian, how on
earth did you manage to tangle it like this?” I question, peering
around his head to catch his bright blue gaze. He barks a laugh,
turning his head to look at me.

“That is possibly the most
British thing you have ever said.”

I pull on his hair, frowning,
but he does not take it back. With a huff I return to untangling
the mess, using the comb by my thigh to salvage the dark tresses as
best as possible.

“Did Orin nest in here or
something?” I press, and he sighs lightly this time, shaking his
head. I imagine there was an eye roll in there, too.

For a while we are both quiet,
and when I manage to untangle the mess and run my fingers smoothly
through his hair the thought that has been on my mind for a while
resurfaces, my hands hesitating as they slip along the dark tresses
that glide smoothly through my fingers. A sigh escapes me, and the
wound on my thigh throbs idly in pain, but I can ignore it.

“I can hear you thinking,” he states idly, and I laugh
lightly. A hand reaches for my face and he tilts his head back –
the crown of his head hitting my midriff – so that our eyes can
meet, my hands still twisted lightly in his hair. In the light, his
eyes are even paler than usual and his gaze makes my breath falter.
“What’s on your mind?”

Sighing, I let my head fall
until our foreheads touch, and this requires I position myself a
little strangely so my back protests a moment. Ignoring my
discomfort, I let my voice speak my concern.