A Wing and a Prayer
Vandis hit his forehead. He’d been having the most
wonderful dream, all open air and soaring and Her. She’d kissed him, right on the—well,
not right on the mouth, but right at the corner, and he touched the spot, for
one moment back in that tingly space. Here he was, though, in the shitty
apartment he shared with Evan and Santo, with a pain in his head and his feet
two yards above the floor and—and—
“Holy fuck,” he said, looking down.
“Too early,” Santo groaned from across the room,
pulling a pillow over his shock of black hair.
“Uh…”
“It’s too early, I said.”
Vandis used his fingertips to pull himself along
the ceiling. Is this Your doing? he
asked Her.
What do you think?
I think I’m
stuck up here until I can wake Santo. He crawled across until he hovered
over Santo’s bed, legs swinging beneath him. “Hey, help me out.”
“Fuck off.
Tryn’a sleep.”
“Goddammit, Santo!” The force of Vandis’s yell
pushed him back a few inches. How about a
little advice?
Just think yourself down, My own.
Think
myself— Vandis let out an audible growl. Fine. Down, I want to go down.
He fell, bouncing his legs off Santo’s footboard,
and landed yelping on his ass in a tangle of white flannel nightshirt. “What
the fuck!” Santo shouted. “Didn’t I tell ya—what’re you doin’?”
“Just scratching my nuts,” Vandis said, pained. He
gave up and flopped onto his back to stare at the ceiling. It really was high.
“Well, I’m up now.” Santo swung his legs out of
bed and scrubbed at his face. “Thanks a lot.”
Vandis didn’t want to, but he scraped himself off
the floor and limped, aching, over to the clothes press. He was pulling out a
pair of breeches when his feet started to rise again.
Come on, Vandis! Don’t you want to play,
then? I thought you’d be a wee bit excited about this, She said, the
hurt in Her tone unmistakable.
I’ve got
class, he said, but he wasn’t protesting too hard. He clutched at a drawer
pull as his legs went higher and higher. The nightshirt slipped down his
thighs, and when he let go of the drawer to tug it into place, he floated back
up to the ceiling.
Class! What fun is that? You can fly, and
you’re going to waste your morning at a lecture?
I like
lectures.
She huffed. You do not.
I can’t get
a Bachelor of Arts in Flying. Until then…
As if your attendance record couldn’t stand
a single absence!
Vandis’s hair brushed the ceiling as he hunched
over. He didn’t want to hit his head again. His back bounced gently, then came
to rest against the plaster, but he felt himself being drawn upward, a pull
beneath his diaphragm. “Almost perfect”
doesn’t count as perfect. If I miss—
“Vandis,” Santo whispered from below. “Vandis,
you—”
“Yeah, I know.” He couldn’t keep himself from
grinning. Every bit of color seemed to have drained from Santo’s pleasant,
dark-olive face, leaving him greenish and pasty, with wagon wheels for eyes. “I
tried to tell you, but oh, no, it’s too early you said.”
“I—” Santo sagged, defeated, and Vandis chuckled.
“What’s the matter, never seen a flying man
before?”
“Don’t talk stupid.”
“You sure you—” Vandis grunted when his back
slammed the ceiling. A little bit of plaster fell at Santo’s feet. All right! All right!
It’s not everybody’s goddess tries to
convince him to skive off, She said. You might be thankful at least.
I am. It’s
just— Vandis couldn’t put his finger on it. This was bound to be trouble,
somehow, some way. “Mind opening the window?” he asked Santo.
“Okay,” Santo croaked, and crossed to the tall
casement on the wall next to Vandis’s bed. The glass had long since been broken
out of it. He opened the shutters and morning washed into the flat.
“Beautiful day,” he said. In spite of the early
chill, it was blue-glass clear outside, with only a few high clouds marking the
sky, far out to sea. The spring dawn shone on the floor of the attic flat,
gleamed off what roofs he could see, and cast the east side of Old Town into
shadow under the City Redwood.
“Yeah.”
“Well, see you later, I guess.” Vandis shuffled
himself over to the open window and grasped the head to pull himself down. His
legs floated up the moment he put them outside, and when he looked down—well,
his knuckles went white on the window head. Please
don’t let me fall.
Why would I do a nasty thing like that? Let
go, My own.
He shuddered, took a deep breath of the clear air,
and opened his hand. He didn’t shoot up like he’d feared he would; instead he
drifted gently higher.
“Vandis!” Santo called, leaning out. “You forgot
your pants!”
“Aw, shit!” Now that Santo mentioned it, he felt a
breeze on his nethers. He pulled the nightshirt down. “Toss ’em to me quick!”
“Which ones?”
“They’re hanging out of the drawer! Hurry up
before I get too far.”
“Okay, okay…” Santo disappeared inside and
reappeared a moment later with Vandis’s breeches wadded up in a fist. “Ready?”
Vandis held out his hands. Santo wound up and
flung the breeches. They unfurled in the air. As Vandis stretched forward, his
nightshirt went up around his waist. He yelped, and the breeches started to fall,
ten feet short of his grasp. His mouth dropped open, and he forgot about his
nightshirt for a moment, trying to swim in midair to catch the pants, but it
was air—there was nothing to pull against.
His breeches flopped onto the cobbles, three
stories down. He swore so foully even Santo’s shrinking face looked shocked.
“Want I should try again?”
“What’s the point?” He’d drifted even farther into
the sky, and he’d just be out his other pair. Wind tossed his hair and flapped
at the flannel. “Pick ’em up for me, would you?” he called. He couldn’t quite
hear Santo’s answer. Higher and higher he floated, shivering a little and
wishing he’d caught his pants. And then—
Well, he forgot all about it. The city spread
itself beneath him, bay to Pit. The people, horses, and carriages shrank away,
into dolls, into dots, and then into nothing at all. He laughed, wondering if
anyone had ever been so high in the history of the world.
Yes. She laughed in his mind. But
not in your lifetime.
He might have said more, but the sight of the city
stilled him. It was like the scale model in the square up at the Palace, but
bigger, breathing, through a furry smoke haze. He couldn’t pick out the
apartment building anymore; then he couldn’t find Knights HQ, or the Cathedral
of the Winds, or even the Palace Complex, high on the cliff in New Town. He
couldn’t even see Last Resort all alone on the promontory.
When he drew in air, it didn’t satisfy—and his
hands, he realized, were numb with cold. His feet, too, and his arms and legs
prickled. He struggled for breath. I need
to get down. I need—
Vandis plummeted. He left his stomach behind and
dragged a girlish scream like a streamer through the frosty sky. The skin of
his face flapped; his nightshirt snapped and cracked in his windy wake,
plastered to his body, and Dreamport rushed up to meet him, swelling and
exploding before his watery eyes, faster and faster. Help! was the only word he could push through his panic.
Just tell yourself to stop, She lilted.
He spluttered, or would have, if his lips worked.
As it was, they didn’t even close enough to hold his spittle in, and wasn’t that
about the dumbest thought that could come into a man’s head at a time like
this?
Best hurry, My own…
He howled, “Stop!” as well as he could manage. His
stomach jarred back into its proper place. His heart slammed; his head spun; he
opened his eyes. His nose was six inches from the slates of a rooftop. He
gasped for air, sighed out relief—at least until he felt himself rising once more,
and saw the slates dropping away. “No! Nonononono! Stop, wait, I don’t want to go
up again!”
He stopped. His heart pounded away in his rib cage,
and his gasps sawed in and out, but he hovered stationary and relatively safe.
After some minutes, though, he started to wonder how he was meant to go
anywhere or do anything. Swimming with his arms and legs wouldn’t get him far.
It was always so easy in his flying dreams, when She took his hand in Hers. Can I go forward? he asked.
Why not try it?
He didn’t like that innocent tone of Hers a bit,
but he didn’t see what choice he had. Okay.
I want to go forward. And he shot smoothly away, bounced off a chimney, and
tumbled into the narrow space between two houses. This time, he managed to
catch himself before he got within arm’s reach of the ground. Need to learn to maneuver. I can do that,
right?
Of course. Try looking where you want to go,
and moving your body a bit to match. Like—like sledding, or swimming.
I want to go
slow, he told himself, or maybe Her, willing himself to drift along,
skimming the rooftops of Dreamport’s New Town. When he reached the edge of the
crater, he floated over that, too, and thought himself carefully into descent
under the branches of the City Redwood. He spread his arms, getting the hang of
it now, and tilted himself into long swoops around the trunk. His fingertips
brushed the thick cracked lines of the bark, around and around, nearly to the
ground, before he pressed for height again.
Up above the city, near the top of the great tree,
he marked HQ, just there to the east on Temple Row. The great cathedrals
pressed close to one another, but there was space around Knights Headquarters,
grass, the chapel at the front, a little rectangle at this distance. Vandis
thought himself out over Crater Bay.
The sea air filled his lungs. Below him, water
sparkled with the dawn. Bliss.
You could go a bit faster, My own,
She suggested.
I’m still
getting used to it, he said defensively.
Oh, go on, stretch your legs. So to speak. I
won’t let you hurt yourself.
He snorted, pushing an image at Her, the roof
slates from six inches away.
You can’t begrudge Me a laugh every now and
again.
It’s not
funny enough I’m up here in my fucking nightshirt?
Just a bit faster. You’ll like it. I promise. And She gave him a little
nudge. He zipped forward again and found himself in the middle of the bay,
heart pounding, with white sails and blue water below.
How fast can
I go?
Faster than I can explain to you.
Vandis thought about it without the form that
words give, without the solidity of image. He wanted it. It wasn’t safe, but
what about this morning was safe? He wanted it, and while he wanted, the waves
began to slip away beneath him, faster and faster, and he was bolting north like
lightning. The air dragged at him, but it couldn’t stop him. He blew right
past, quicker than the wind. He could outrun the wind.
Vandis’s delighted whoop trailed away behind. He
was freezing his eggs off, hundreds of feet high, terror pushing at the
boundaries of his mind. He’d never felt so good in his life. The sky rushed
around his body, through his hair, clear and blue and beautiful. He spread his
arms, exulting, exalted. My Lady…!
She laughed, as delighted as he was. Turn
southwest.
Can’t I go a
little—holy shit, is this Rodansk? It had to be. A small harbor exploded
and receded, so far down, and he flew over black basalt cliffs, greening
mountains.
Yes. Turn back. If you’re not careful,
you’ll get too cold.
He swung himself south again, into a broad loop.
The curvature of Rothganar’s surface greeted him, blue sky touching deeper blue
water. In the distance he saw Dreamport, a dark smudge in the blues. Could I fly around the world?
Not without heavy clothing. At top speed, in
a few hours.
This isn’t
top speed?
Heavens, no!
Maybe it was fast enough for today. Already
Dreamport grew in front of him, buildings sharpening and swelling, the Redwood
stretching tall. What a morning! He’d already been to Rodansk.
Slow down. You’ll overshoot.
It wasn’t until he did slow that he felt how fast
he’d really been going. He had to hold the nightshirt down. As he pulled back
over the harbor, a delightful thought occurred to him. Dawn service should just
be finishing up. Why shouldn’t he grind it in the faces of everyone who disliked
him?
Oh, he hoped Reed Westinghouse was at service this
morning. He hoped it with fire in his heart. She snorted into his head as he
cruised over Temple Row, between two spires of the Cathedral of the Winds.
Vandis descended gracefully on the chapel, getting
his feet under him. He was sure he looked magnificent. Then his nightshirt flapped
up. He gave an unmanly squawk, lunged for the hem, and planted his face in the
dirt between two stone pews. Occupied pews. With his bare ass in the air like a
white, hairy banner. “Fuck,” he said, indistinctly, and sat up on his heels.
His cheek hurt, and when he touched it with a cold hand, his fingers came away
red. That’s what I get for showing off.
His Lady giggled.
Hilarious.
Now everybody’s seen my ass.
“Vandis?” Pearl said, a tiny whisper, and he
turned wide eyes up to her. Right in front of Pearl. All he could think of was
the night she’d tried to kiss him, and his face flamed.
“Uh—” Pearl
just saw my pasty ass, he thought, and scrambled to his feet. He barged
through, up the aisle, past Hieronymus laying sandalwood on the incense burner,
and inside.
“Pardon me,” he heard Hieronymus say as the door
swung shut.
The Head had followed him in.
Fuck.
*
Less than five minutes later, Vandis sat in a
chair in Hieronymus’s office with bare knees sticking out of his nightshirt and
bare toes propped on the floor, gripping the seat with both hands. His stomach
growled more fiercely than it had when he was still growing.
“How have you done this, Vandis?” Hieronymus
asked, rather gently, given the circumstances. His black eyes didn’t gleam with
their usual humor, or with anything at all. If he wore an expression, it was
fear. For a moment Vandis was tempted to worry. What would happen to him now?
But this was a gift. She was on his side. She had given this to him, and he had
to trust it would be all right in the end.
“I didn’t do it,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.
It was Her. Lady Akeere.”
Black eyes met his. Hieronymus dipped his
white-bearded chin in a slow, careful nod. “All right.”
“She told me—”
“Stop.” The Head raised a palm. “You don’t need to
convince me.”
“You believe me?”
“Of course I do.”
Vandis sat back. It couldn’t be that easy. An
unbelievable thing had happened, and Hieronymus believed it.
“I’m old. I’ve met a man like you before. In the
old days, we wouldn’t have questioned. Menyoral,
we would have said. A rare thing, even then, vanishingly rare. Acacius Xavier
was the first one in centuries, and he died when I was very small.” Hieronymus
came out from behind the desk and leaned his long body against the front, thin,
bent with age. “He was the peace at the eye of the storm. You could feel it.
Maybe it was because he was old. No peace in you, Vandis Vail.”
Hieronymus was wrong about that. Maybe there
wasn’t much of it, but sometimes. Sometimes things were just so right. And She
was there, and everything felt… perfect. He couldn’t have described it.
“We’ve had a lot of peace since it happened,”
Hieronymus said. “Not sure that’s a good thing. If it isn’t, I’m to blame. Maybe
we need the storm.”
Vandis grimaced. “Can we not talk about that?”
“You don’t think someday you’ll be behind my
desk?”
He thought for a moment, hands on his bare knees.
“Whether I’m before or behind, I hope I have pants on.”
“Oh,” Hieronymus said, looking down. “Why don’t
you?”
“Didn’t get the chance.”
“Go and get some, then. Come right back.”
“I don’t know if I’m getting through the outer
office,” Vandis said. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the thick oak
door. It muffled some of the sound from without, but not all by a long shot,
and he could hear voices, shuffling bodies. Full house out there. At
Hieronymus’s confused glance, he said, “Lots of people out there.”
“Hairy ears. Can’t hear through ’em,” Hieronymus
said. “Well, they’ll have questions. Go on. Don’t swear.”
“Look who you’re talking to.”
“I’m looking.” The Head shrugged. “Like I said,
maybe we need the storm. Keep the cursing to a minimum. That’s all I ask. Holy
men aren’t supposed to say ‘fuck’ every other word.”
Vandis rose from the chair. “Good thing I’m not
one. And I haven’t said ‘fuck’ in ten minutes. I’m starting to get itchy.”
“Vandis.”
He paused with his hand on the latch, looking back
over his shoulder.
“You are,” Hieronymus declared. “The minute you
got in my face about Pearl, I knew. How old were you? Sixteen?”
“Uh—”
“I knew I’d be talking to you like this someday.
There’s something about you that’s… apart. Different. If you weren’t so
down-to-earth, we’d have a real problem. But I suspect She keeps you grounded.
Even while you fly.” Hieronymus stopped, and Vandis was on the point of lifting
the latch when he added suddenly, very quietly, “You’ve seen Her. Haven’t you?”
Vandis dropped his hand. “I have.”
“I did, once. Afar off. A little figure in the
distance. It was—I knew it was Her.” Hieronymus shook his head. “Willing to bet
She gets pretty close to you.”
“Yes,” he said, nothing more. He didn’t see the
need to tell Hieronymus how close.
How She touched him so deep in the soul it bled into his flesh and left him
thrumming on his bed some nights, sweat-slick, breathless, the secret thing She
gave him, too intense to be called pleasure, too sweet to be called pain.
Ecstasy. And the unthinkable thing he had cradled in his heart for Her since he
was a boy, which he was certain She knew better than he did, and of which they
never spoke. He would die for Her. Not only in Her service, though if he
thought She required it he’d throw his life down singing. But for Her. Maybe
that was why She called him “My own.” Doctrine aside, he’d never really felt he
belonged to himself.
That was all right. He’d rather belong to Her.
“Be careful with Her. She’s beyond what we can
know.”
“I can’t. From my secret heart to the hairs on my
head, there’s no part of me I can hold back from Her. I’m Hers.”
Hieronymus drew breath to speak, but Vandis turned
and swiftly lifted the latch. The moment he opened the door, questions slapped
him in the face: how’d you do it, what was it like, why aren’t you dressed,
what’s your name? It was too much, too many, all this attention, and he reached
for Her like he always did when he was afraid. My Lady…
She answered. He drew Her love around him like a
cloak and stood as tall as a man five-foot-nothing ever had. What was there to
fear? She was with him. “I’m Vandis fucking Vail,” he said. “Get the hell out
of my way.”
And they did. He met Santo at the outer door,
Santo and Evan both, and his friend held out an armful of rumpled clothes.
“Thought you’d want these,” Santo said. “Sorry I dropped your pants. Didn’t get
much on ’em though, figure they’re clean enough to get along with.”
“Thanks.” Vandis dropped the rest and put his
breeches on, right there. The questioners from the office surged toward the
door.
Evan slammed it shut and leaned against it,
casual-like. For a long moment there was silence, at least among them. Then
Santo said, “You’re the worst flyer I ever saw.”
“You’ll need loads of practice, so you will,” Evan
said.
Vandis couldn’t have asked for better friends.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“Did you expect we’d be surprised?” The door bowed
against Evan’s small weight. “You’ve always been a bit uncanny.”
“Weird,” Santo agreed. “C’mon, let’s go get a beer.
You’re buyin’.”
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