Maledictus Aether (30 page)

However, it is the memory of
his words that allows me to pull my gaze away and tear my
confidence back towards me.

We are defined by the very
scars that decorate us – be they physical or not – and these make
us strong. With them, we can do anything.

“However, we are three thousand strong
, and we have the power to achieve anything. We
will triumph on this day, and tonight the sun will set over a world
where we need not fear about the lives of our family, friends,
loved ones and children. We will seize this day!”

For a heart-stopping moment,
once I finish, there is complete silence. Then, the most surprising
thing happens.

Someone in the crowd raises
their fist to the heavens, and etched on their right wrist is a
sight I had not expected.

A sword with wings.

More men and women hold their fists to the sky as well,
each showcasing that very same symbol on their wrist. My thoughts
are scattered, completely dissipated, as one by one each pirate
attending throws their fist into the air – even Lucian and my
father. My mouth goes dry with the shock, but after a moment I
compose myself and do the same, at which point a gradual cheer has
been building up, and crescendos at its apex.

Then, a woman runs to where I
stand, shouting over the cheer.

“Captain, we’re nearing
London!” she states, and here Lucian steps beside me to see what’s
going on. “Angelo wants me to inform you that we will be there
within ten minutes, and have hit five feet.”

“Thank you,” I nod, at which
the Japanese woman bows, her clothes similar to a pirate’s attire
but with a touch of her culture’s fashion as well, with her hands
in front of her thighs. She then runs off, and I turn my attention
to my father. “I want you to go on standby and wait for my signal
for the landing party to rope down; and get these ships in the
skies!”

Saluting me, my father leaves to do as I ask, and I’m
already turning towards my companion, shouting over the excitement
of the crowd as it disperses, either heading to their own stations
aboard the
Alitis
or helping with the ships on the
loading deck.

“Time to show the world what the
Alitis
is made
of,” I tell my friend, at which he grins almost maliciously as he
nods. We turn around, tearing through the crowd at a near-sprint.
“They will rue the day they saved my life!”

The first thing that can be seen, even from the
helm of the
Alitis,
is the
clock tower soaring above the buildings surrounding it that
dominates the space. From there, the rows of homes and commercial
buildings unfolds, the mass of London in the distance getting
ever-nearer as we sail the skies at a frightening three thousand
feet.

The ship slows down after a quick command from Angelo, at
the helm expertly weaving her through the skies, and the other men
and women in the control tower pressing switches to regulate the
path. The ships behind us follow suit, following the lead and
looking now, more than ever, as if this is one whole system. With
the slight twitch to the left of the
Alitis
, the others
adjust their course at once to follow suit.

One would think that this
massive procession is one giant machine.

I stand by the viewing bay with
Lucian at my side, hands behind my back as I watch the skyline of
London getting ever-nearer. I can imagine how this procession has
stirred up a massive uproar back landside, and what the generals
will be thinking as we approach.

I hope they fear for their
lives.

The bow has crossed onto the
English channel, the birds already flying in the sky scattering
away from the ship and breaking the pattern that is known for their
kind; as we begin making the final cross onto British soil, I turn
on my heel and go to the hatch that leads to Tier, my companion
following behind me without a moment’s breath.

The hatch gives way to a ladder I slip down to the metal
floor beneath, the space illuminated with brass lamps hanging from
the hooks set into the wall. The circular floor surrounds the outer
perimeter of the tower, and in the centre lies another ladder
leading to the next level of the weapon.

In all, there are seven levels
to Tier. Each level corresponds to a particular set of weapons
aboard the ship, much too advanced for its time – both then and
now.

The walls, as have been
discerned by the crew a while back, is a one-way panel that allows
for a view beyond the shell of the ship, yet people outside cannot
see into the confines – and this panel can be slipped away.

I stand at the bow’s windows,
watching the skyline come ever-closer, looming menacingly in the
distance. We hover at a steady two-thousand five hundred feet, and
shall not drop until it is time for us to send the landing party.
For now, I take up the controls – Lucian standing to my left – and
I settle myself in the stool placed just before the control panel
at the bow’s windows.

The controls are bulky and
imposing at first, but after a bit of practise in Terra Australis
both Lucian and I have familiarised ourselves with them with great
ease, and have taught six other men and women how the controls
work; they sit on the lower levels, and Lucian is going to take my
place once I vacate it.

Someone opens the hatch up
above, shouting at us the words we were all waiting to hear on
bated breath.

“London’s shores are two thousand miles away,” Cain shouts
at us, offering me a salute when I look up, “and at a 45° angle
from here. Angelo states to fire when ready.”

Lucian thanks him as I turn
around in my chair, hands flying over the controls and flicking the
switches on. The machinery in the wall hums away, the lights of the
controls turning on and blinking in succession, readying for
deployment. The sound is almost deafening at first, quieting enough
for me to hear my own thoughts.

“Portside ready for deployment,” I state, at which point
Lucian shouts the order to standby, relaying my message further
down to the other levels; they, in turn, have their helpers keep
the message going to the last level. “Five to seven powering up at
sixty, rising steadily. Bow and starboard loaded,
standby.”

The gauges to my left rise up,
reaching first the green and then the yellow; before it hits the
red I press a few more switches, and the power levels stabilise all
across the board.

“Pressure stabilised –
redirecting power from engine six.”

Now the power levels rise,
going from the greens to the yellows and rising onwards. When it
reaches the red I flip the switch, levelling the pressure to
seventy-five. If need be, it will rise.

“One thousand feet,” Cain calls
from the hatch, and I press the final switch that turns all the
weapons we own to the target, both the ones all along the ship’s
bow and the ones concealed in Tier, making the panels draw back in
front of us. I pull on my goggles as I keep my hand steady on the
stick, my thumb hovering over the button at its top.

There’s one more particularity that I must mention about
the windows that stood in front of us. While they
have
slipped into the wall, in their place remains a thin sheet
of glass that pinpoints the targeted area, a red circle the
indicator as I move the stick around and stabilise it. Down below
me, the same has occurred.

“Standby,” I order, and Lucian
relays the message one final time. “On my fire.”

The bow has almost touched
British soil. As the English Channel disappears beneath us, I press
my thumb more firmly on the button and press all five fingers of my
right hand on the switches along my right side.

“Open fire!”

The sound is deafening; hundreds of bolt cannons firing
upon the shores of Britain at once, the lightning bolts searing the
land upon which it touches. The ground visibly shakes, and I keep a
watchful eye on the gauges to my left, unable to hear a word of
what may be said.

I adjust the angle as we sail
closer, the ships that have followed us thus far breaking formation
to surround the land. The Academy is further inland, out of our
current reach, but it is not our target as of yet.

The first step is drawing them
out into the open.

Once I’m satisfied with the readings and
trust them to keep the barrage
steady, I relinquish the controls to Lucian and let him take my
place, where he claps me on the shoulder with a
good luck
shot my way. He sits down, and for a moment I look at him,
pushing away the urge to walk over to him and embrace him; instead,
I step onto the ladder and slip down to the lowermost level of
Tier, the seventh one, and take the hatch at the bottom to the
first deck of the
Alitis
.

I will see him again.

Keeping that thought at the forefront of my mind, I go up
through the levels of the ship while the world around me shakes and
hisses uncontrollably, the bolt cannons deafening beyond belief as
the fifty-three weapons that can attack London from the angle we
are at attack relentlessly.

The orders are to continue the attack for two full minutes,
and then the landing party will be sent in.

This gives me ample enough time to reach the top deck.
Despite the vast size of the ship, the thousands of feet can only
be felt when one stands at the seventh deck, where the landing part
awaits the signal to lay waste to London.

The landing party is already in position, goggles on their
eyes
and as I stand here the
ship begins to descend further and the cannons begin reducing in
number, until the ship levels out and every last cannon is silent,
making it deafening after the relentless noise. The landing party,
consisting of perhaps over a hundred pirates, stands at the ready
to swing out of the ship and onto London’s streets.

A
t five hundred feet
from the ground they swing out from the ship and lower themselves
down to the earth, quickly unclipping their belts and arming
themselves with their weapons. The parties splinter, two heading
into the city on either side and the third heading right for the
Academy.

There is the crackling of flames all around, the air acrid
with smoke and ozone as they trek through the charred land. Cries
and screams can be heard as well, and through the rubble of fallen
buildings and bricks bodies can be seen wearing once-pristine
garments. Remains of buildings still stand, brick walls standing a
man’s height but no more, splintered and torn to pieces. Buildings
have caved in and are smouldering flames, carriages have tipped
over and horses lie in a pool of their own blood, the smell of
burning skin and coppery blood thick in the air.

A wailing siren can be heard in the distance, getting
ever-nearer
as the
Alitis
sails through the skies towards the Academy; I grip a
steel cable tethered from Tier to the ship and lean forward, almost
into the abyss of the open skies, narrowing my eyes from behind my
goggles and watching the area I know they will come
from.

Looking back over my shoulder, I notice the man on his way
over to inform me that the ship is ready to sail; so I tear myself
from the precarious ledge I stood on and we both quickly make our
way to the airship being held to the
Alitis
by sheer force
of men, giving us time to climb up onto the deck of the airship
before they let go of the steel cables and let the ship fly into
the sky.

Once I shout the command they need, I make my way to the
bow of the ship and step onto the bowsprit, using the lines tied
along the wood’s circumference to hold steady. The crew is busy
running around and securing the lines of the
Scylla
,
keeping the keel connected tightly to the vast balloon of hydrogen
above our heads, and I crouch on the bowsprit with one hand held to
the lines securing the wooden pole to the hull of the airship,
using the best vantage point on the ship for a good
view.

I
know
that bastard will do it, so why is
it taking so long?

We are halfway to the Academy
when I see an airship take to the skies from the Academy, others
from around London coming up to intercept us. The Sailing Master
skilfully avoids one heading right for us, a different airship
coming to intercept that one before it can swing around and make
chase after us. So we chase after the other ship attempting to flee
– or at the very least get around the armada surrounding London –
and just as I’m about to inch forward for a better look, a shipmate
shouts at me to go see the Quarter Master at the helm; I step off
the bowsprit and weave my way around the sea of men and women
tending to the ship, climbing up the shrouds and securing the
ship’s lines, and take the steps two at a time until I reach the
poop deck, where the Quarter Master, Phillip, stands with a
spyglass held to his eye.

Once he notices me, he hands me
the spyglass and points to the ship we’re tailing.

“That her, Captain?” he questions, and in response I hold
the glass up to my eye once I pull off my goggles, peering through
and closing my left eye to see more accurately.

The ship that appears in my sights, the
Charybdis
,
is just as I remember her. Her cannons, from the looks of things,
are already locked and ready for deployment, and I can somewhat
discern the man standing by the Sailing Master’s side.