Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology (49 page)

“You don't even have any cream puffs!” she shouted back, sliding her soft boots across the hard bioplastic of the hull to wipe another section clean.
 

“Yeah, but I bet they have some at the harbor. What better way to greet newcomers to Waterway?”
 

“Are you two cleaning or starting an appreciation club?” Sumara, one of the captain's daughters, swung towards Oriole on her harness, ignoring the way the hemp ropes creaked as she danced across the surface of the ship. Everything about her, from the shine of the sun on her driftwood-dark smile, to the upturned collar of her patchwork trench coat, sang of how much Sumara belonged up here in the sky. “You'd better have your sections clean before dawn's hour is out, or Papa's not going to give you breakfast.”

It was a much friendlier warning than they would have gotten from the captain, so Oriole went back to scrubbing the wind-scarred bit of plastic under her cloth rather than answering.
 

She and Alek were in the second month of their Wandering, and if Oriole was being honest with herself it was going better than she'd expected, given the company. They'd started out as a party of ten, but her year mates had gone their separate ways over the course of the first few weeks. She and Alek were the only two going east, at least as far as Waterway, so they'd ended up together.
 

And by 'ended up together' she meant they'd been planning their Wandering route since they'd been taught to read a map. They would cross the Lapis Sea, spend a few days in Waterway, then head towards the world-port at Perihelion City.
 

Oriole worked her way down the side of the hull, polishing the plastic and tapping at it just to see the fractal patterns the algae made at the sound of her fingers. She made it to the edge of the deck just as the bell rang for the end of the day's first hour, grinning at Sumara, who just shook her head and passed over a bowl of oatmeal. “You going to miss us when we're gone, Lieutenant?” Oriole asked with a grin.
 

Sumara ran a hand through her long twists of hair, her grin toeing the line between incredulous and amused. “Yeah right. Miss a couple of Wanderers who don't have a clue what they're doing? I don't think so.” She poked at her bowl for a moment, frowned at the contents, and impulsively scooped several bits into Oriole's. “I
hate
dried apricots,” the captain's daughter informed her, and swept off before Oriole could find so much as a 'thank you.'
 

“Did she give you her fruit again?” Alek pretended to complain, sauntering up beside the open-mouthed Oriole. “Really, Birdy, you should tell me if you plan on wooing
all
the pretty ladies.”
 

“There's no wooing,” Oriole protested, blushing. “None at all.” Her denial was undermined by the way her voice kept getting higher, so she shut up. Alek laughed and stole one of her apricots.

* * *

They didn't dock until midafternoon—a contrary wind had picked up out of the northwest and seemed desperate to drive them back over the reefs. Oriole had never been more aware of the awkward nature of an airship, little more than a giant bubble with a very tiny motor underneath. She and Alek had packed up their things straight after breakfast, but then they got pulled for duty on the supplementary engines … the ones that ran on kinetic energy. So instead of watching their approach to the city from the rail of the deck, they were stuck in the hold pedaling like racers, too breathless to banter.
 

“All right, knock it off, you two! Captain's got us into dock.” The first mate Argo called down just as Oriole felt the lurch and sudden steadiness of being tethered to something very, very solid.
 

“Thank Svarog.” Alek made a show of collapsing against the curved wall of the hold, and Oriole threw a rag at him.

“Stop being so dramatic,” she said, ignoring the way her own heart was racing. “Let's go see what Waterway looks like!”
 

“You speak the way to my heart, Oriole.” Ever the actor, he clutched the rag to his chest and looked off into the distance while she cackled and beat him to the ladder.

Waterway was … tall. It was the first impression Oriole got. Not the whiteness of the towers against the red cliffs, or the stunning view of the fracture that led to the inner city, or even the pale robin's egg blue of the shallow sea. No, it was the way every single building was at least three stories high. The larger towers reached for the bright spring sky with the rounded teeth of onion-dome roofs, striped and golden in the sun. All the buildings at home in Chillhorn had steep roofs, to keep snow from building up. And none of them used marble as if it was common brick; she couldn't find a single tower made with anything of lesser quality.

“It's very shiny,” Alek said at last, pulling his bag onto both shoulders.
 

“How d'you think they built those ones out there?” Oriole asked, pointing to the small bunch of towers that shot up from a spur of rock isolated from the rest of the cliffs by ten meters of seawater. A single graceful arch bridged the gap, unsupported by anything but the stone it was made from.
 

“I've got
no
idea.”
 

“They say the entire city was built in less than a year, starting out here at the cliffs and moving back.” Sumara joined them, pointing towards the canyon that hid the rest of the city from sight.
 

Oriole shook her head. “I can't even imagine all the people this took. And who decided living with your feet dangling in the sea was a good plan?”

“Apparently, the people who live here. Come on, Birdy, I owe you some crèmes.” Alek tugged on her short sleeve, anxious to be out exploring. Oriole sighed and extricated herself from the grip.
 

“Just a minute,” she told her friend. “You go ahead into the harbor. I'll catch up.” She started planning a speech on how Wandering was about the journey, not the destination, but Alek was already gone and she gave it up as useless.
 

“He's not the patient type, is he?” Sumara remarked, a small smile on her full lips.
 

“He hasn't learned to be yet.” Oriole rolled her eyes. “But I wanted to say a proper thank you for taking us this far.”
 

“You're Wandering. And you earned your way across, even if you're both as clumsy a pair of land-lubbers as I've ever seen.” Sumara turned to face her, her smile growing. She leaned one elbow on the rail of the ship, and not for the first time Oriole was struck with how very much the black girl
belonged
up here in the air, in her brilliant patchwork trenchcoat. “Still … if you ever head back this way, once you've finished your trip …”
 

Oriole felt her face heat up, and she looked away at the same moment Sumara mustered the courage to look at her.
 

“You should look for the
Maiden
. We'd be happy to take you back to … to wherever you'll be going.”
 

“Thanks,” Oriole managed, afraid her voice wouldn't come out if she spoke any louder than a mutter. And because it was up to her, because it was quite possible she'd never see Sumara again, Oriole leaned forward to plant a kiss on her cheek before running off after Alek.
 

When she looked back, Sumara was waving furiously, her grin wider than ever.

* * *

The airship harbor was built back into the cliffs; the towers on this section of the city were nothing more than facades for the red stone tunnels behind them. Although 'tunnel' seemed too crude a word for the tall, curved corridors that ran through the crags.

The facade was full of traffic; airships docking outside had their cargo brought in here, and those loading up to leave Waterway were pulling crates of all shapes and sizes to spots throughout the tower. Oriole battled her way to the edge of her tower level, where a curved railing shepherded visitors towards wide, sweeping staircases at the cliff-facing side of the tower. The center was hollow, all the way down to the white and blue mosaic of a winged ouroboros on the floor. And the
people
… Oriole could hardly breathe for the number of them. Her hometown's population was floating around twenty thousand—it felt like there could be that many people just in this tower.
 

A low roar came from a thousand conversations, all mixed into a sound like the ocean outside. And under that was the ringing of music, somewhere in the levels above her. Oriole craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the buskers, but all she could make out was the irregular beat of a steel drum.
 

“Oriole!”
 

Alek had to grab her shoulder before she realized he'd been calling her.

“What? You can't want to leave already.”
 

“No way, not when there's so much to look at.” He grinned and handed over a small paper bag.
 

“You
didn't.
” Oriole narrowed her eyes, but sure enough there were five balls of chocolate-covered dough inside. She knew he had to have bought them; they would eat at the local hostel for free, but pastries cost a baker hours of their of time, and she
knew
Alek didn't have a lot of money with him.

“I did.” He stole one from under her nose and ate it in one bite, grinning when she glared at him. “Relax, Birdy. It's a new city, let's go exploring.” The sight of Alek talking with his mouth full was enough to stop her from eating the rest of the crèmes, at least for now, and she tugged her friend towards the stairs instead.

“Can you hear the drum?” she asked, tucking the paper bag into the top of her pack where it wouldn't get squashed. “Let's find out who's playing.”

* * *

They spent more than an hour in the harbor tower, and Oriole gave up on saving her chocolates and ate them as they walked. Eventually, having wandered from the top of the tower to the bottom and back, they stopped a man in a knee-length blue skirt to ask for directions.

His directions took them deep into the side of the cliff, away from the huge windows in the harbor tower. For the first few hundred feet the corridors were lit with mirrors and prisms; farther in the lighting changed to the distinct bluish gleam of solar-powered bulbs. Oriole and Alek had no trouble following the directions, for each tunnel had been carved with distinctive patterns on the stone and dragons danced across the walls. Some were set with mosaic scales, while others were carved of nothing but red stone, so life-like Oriole thought she caught movement from them out of the corners of her eyes. But no one she knew had ever seen a dragon in real life, not even in flight.

Three hundred and fifty-two years ago, the Accord of the Sun had been signed by human and dragon dignitaries. By mutual agreement, the two agreed that absolutely zero interaction would be tolerated between them; any who broke the Accord would forfeit their lives without question. As far as Oriole knew, no one had ever been caught defying the law. So she had only dreamed of dragons, like all children did, and watched the videos of their flights over and over again.

“You want to see the hostel first, or head up to the ground-level markets?” Alek asked when they reached the open air again. The towers were all around them now, and wide bridges spanned lengths of empty air more often than roads. Oriole could barely make out the original outline of the canyon underneath the white marble. Leaning back to look at the rim of the rift, she could see the city sprawling out above.
 

“Let's go all the way up first. I want to see the caravans; and besides, the hostel will be on an upper level anyway.” She grinned at him. “Wanna bet how many stairs there are from here to the top?”

“No way,” he snorted.
 

The sun had a long way to rise before it reached into the canyon part of the city, but Oriole watched it gild the tops of the domes as she and Alek hiked up one level after another. The bridge-towers were little more than elaborate cones where smooth ramps curled up the outside and tighter staircases spiraled up the insides.

By the time they reached the ground level of the city, neither of them were in any shape to go looking for a market. Oriole collapsed at the top of the ramp, leaning her bag against the stone of the tower and blowing a clump of hair out of her face.
 

“Makes you miss hanging off the side of the
Maiden
, doesn't it?” Alek said, sliding down the wall to sit next to her. He stretched both legs out with a groan, kneading one thigh. “All that floating …”

“And hey, it might not have
looked
like we were going fast, but I bet Leandro is still stuck on that boat.” Oriole grinned without opening her eyes. “I hope he doesn't get seasick.”

Alek nodded in agreement and let the conversation lapse back into silence. A lady in a black dress and a hijab covered with embroidered gold stars stopped to ask if they were all right, so they smiled and nodded and told her to go back to her day. They were fine, just tired from the stairs.
 

She laughed, started to say something about getting used to it, but then there was a scream.

It wasn't
human
, all of them knew it the second it happened. One moment Oriole was relaxed, her breathing almost back to normal; the next, every muscle was wound tighter than a bowstring. The scream was too deep, holding the wavering notes of a bassoon in so much rage that everyone in the street shuddered. Layered within the musicality of it was a sibilance Oriole couldn't place, something she felt she
ought
to know but didn't.
 

“What was that?” Alek was the first to recover his breath, pushing himself from the base of the tower and searching for the source of the scream.
 

“Too loud to be a bird,” Oriole said, trying to stop her heart from skipping all over the place.

“No Waterway siren sounds like that,” the woman next to them muttered.

Everyone on the street turned towards the drum-beat sound of wings, swallowing their shrieks as a black shape arrowed towards them. The dragon appeared as if summoned from thin air and disappeared just as quickly, moving too fast to see more than a wash of sinuous black scales smoother than snakeskin. Oriole could only stare after it, careless of the wind that threw her hair across her face.