Page 21 of The Garnet Daughter (The Viridian Priestess #3)
Chapter
Sixteen
T he cockpit is larger than I expected. The pilot’s station is on a platform in the front and behind it sit rows and rows of chairs, enough for at least a dozen Viathans to strap in during takeoff.
By the time I choose a seat, both of my travel companions are walking in, calmly going over flight logs and preparing to depart.
“Are you familiar with the buckles?” Commander Wesley says, noticing I have paused.
“I’ll manage.” I climb down into my chosen spot and watch the pilot flick a few switches that light up with a touch of his gloved fingertips.
“It’s a short flight to the birthlands.” Commander Wesley fastens his seat straps a few rows ahead of me, closer to the pilot’s command station. “But it will be bumpy, sandstorms.”
“Sandstorms?” I didn’t know such things existed. How does a storm rain down sand?
“Nothing to worry about. Commander Vermeil will weave us around it, right, Commander?”
The pilot pauses his flight protocols and looks over his shoulder at me briefly and begins again. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he finally says, his voice monotone and stilted.
He doesn’t sound thrilled to be going toward whatever danger we are flying into, but at least Commander Wesley doesn’t seem worried.
The large windows in front of the pilot’s station are dark and hued in purple as we lift out of the city.
Commander Vermeil smoothly turns us, maneuvering the vessel with confidence.
The only things on the horizon are more somber shades of the conjunction and, beyond that, somewhere in the darkness, the birthlands.
The thrilling feeling of ascending higher into the sky makes my stomach flutter with excitement.
From the first time I flew on August’s ship, I loved it, taking off into the space between, suspended by technology I can’t fathom, no matter how many times August has tried to explain.
I did not suffer travel sickness like most do during their first time in the space between worlds.
My mother traveled to Frith while I was still in her womb, perhaps acclimating me to the sensation even then.
When we land at our first location, I wait in my room for Commander Wesley to come back from speaking with the dock workers.
This is a Viathan post, but the town it resides in is governed by an official who can deny clearance to pass through it.
Commander Wesley seems to know him and promises to return shortly.
I place my few items of clothing into the metal locker in my room.
The light within comes to life as soon as the door opens.
The space is compact, but there are two beds stacked on each other with a lavatory connected.
I can’t picture two commanders in here at once, with their armor getting in the way.
The top bed creates a cozy cave-like ceiling for the one below. I lie on my back and unwrap my arm layer by layer until the last one that holds a piece of gauze is revealed. I slow my movements to prevent any discomfort like previous times.
The wound has improved significantly. Fresh skin spreads across where it once oozed with infection.
It’s still tender, but the Viathan medicine has sped up the healing process in a way that Ruth’s herbs never could.
I have one more injection for tonight, and then soon after that, I will remove this itchy wrap and get used to the scar it leaves behind.
“Calliape,” Commander Wesley calls through a command panel by my door. “Report to the bridge.”
I hastily rewrap my arm, trying to identify which part of this ship is referred to as the bridge and if it differs from the cockpit.
My door whooshes open in suspicious tandem with the one directly across from it. Commander Vermeil stands in the threshold, appearing to have been summoned as well.
I find it odd that of all the rooms on this ship, he has chosen the one across from me, or maybe I have chosen across from him without knowing. Do Viathan fleet ships not have a pilot suite like August’s and they sleep amongst the rest of the crew?
I step out, hesitant for no reason. “Which way is the bridge?”
He points as a response.
“Thanks.” I slowly head in that direction and can hear him trailing behind. He speaks less than 99, which I imagined being impossible.
“Left,” he instructs from a ways behind me when I come to a cross section and look in both directions.
I pause in the corridor and turn toward him as he approaches. “Why don’t you just show me the way?” I much prefer this moment of awkward interaction over the promise of him lurking in my shadow the whole time.
He nods and passes. Something is strange about him, but I can’t pinpoint what.
Commander Wesley has a floating map of the terrain illuminated on the table as we enter. He hovers over it, fingers drumming on the tabletop in contemplation.
“I’ve arranged a meeting with the town’s mayor. He will meet us here at the port.”
“Can he tell us where the temple is?”
“He can answer questions you have and is trusted by the Viathan government to keep the port treaty,” he replies as if that means anything to me at all.
I am not prepared for the harsh wind that rips through the sand-stained buildings, gaining speed and anger as it coils around them. I pull my outer layer over my head and hold my sleeve to my mouth to prevent any grit from entering.
“Just up here,” Commander Wesley says.
It’s a short walk, but the friction pushing against us slows me down until Commander Vermeil positions himself in front of me. At first, I find it rude, but then realize he is taking the bulk of the wind now, intentional or not.
We approach a tarnished metal building, windowless and tall as the safe house hangar.
The outlines of other structures are shadowed by the dim light and sandy wind blurring the scenery.
A door is opened for us by two men who hold cloth to their mouths as we enter, bringing in the grainy breeze with us.
Our escorts lead us down a long hall and then up a flight of open-air stairs in silence. With a Viathan at my front and one at my back, blocking most of my view, I try to keep my eyes on my feet, hoping not to stumble on the dilapidated stairs.
One of our guides knocks on a partitioned-off section of the building, and when I look out at the rest of the hangar- like structure, there are three or more Viathan ships and other commanders working below.
A lanky, roughed-faced man opens the door, looking each of us over as if he could deny our entry if he deemed us unwelcome.
“The party to see Mayor Everson,” our escort announces.
He steps aside, allowing us into a modest room with chipping paint and a small sitting area that looks like whoever has used it has left the dust from outside on its cushions.
A harsh-looking, older man sits at a partially rusted desk, watching us with patient but curious eyes. He stands and shakes Commander Wesley’s forearm.
“Welcome, welcome. Please sit.” He points to the two metal chairs in front of his desk. Commander Wesley takes one and I take the other.
“Are you one of the mountain folk they said was coming here?”
Commander Vermeil takes a step behind me somewhere, casting an obnoxious shadow over my lap. It’s so distracting, I take a moment to realize the strange question is directed at me. “I am Frithian, yes.”
“No trees here, not as far as the eye can see.” His smile is smug.
“Fortunately, we are not looking for trees.” Commander Wesley’s voice is friendly, but he’s clearly trying to stay on task. “We need to know the location of the temple of—” He looks to me.
“The temple of Omnesis.”
Mayor Everson considers, scratching his chin. “An old god. We are not the faithful type in this town, unlike the people farther in the birthlands, if that is what you are after.”
“No, just its location,” Commander Wesley states.
“There is a woman the town over, a healer?—”
“A death doula,” the mayor’s guard standing behind him chimes in, cursing the mention of the woman with a spit on the floor.
“She’s called Maestra, but I will warn you she worships all the gods. Both sides. Might not take kindly to—” Mayor Everson gestures to Commander Wesley’s armor.
“That far out in the birthlands, you get quite a mix. Makes for an interesting time figuring out who’s who,” his guard muses, his hand resting on the gun at his hip.
“I can’t offer any help, but we have a small population of folk who will often take mercenary work if the pay is favorable,” the mayor offers.
There’s tension that I cannot place, yet Commander Wesley stated these were trusted allies.
“We do not require it, but I thank you for the offer,” Commander Wesley responds.
Mayor Everson relaxes further back in his chair, nodding with his mouth pulled down at the sides. “Alright then. I will send you the coordinates to the next town.”
“Thank you,” I say.
His attention flicks at me and lingers. “I have had so many odd requests during this conjunction, a Frithian in search of a temple in the middle of the desert doesn’t even make the top five . . . and you are welcome. But as for clearance, I sadly cannot grant it.”
“We have orders from the 99th Commander of Viathan.” Commander Wesley sits straighter in his chair, adding to the undercurrent of tension in the room.
“I’m sure you do. However, there is a ship-swallowing sandstorm headed this way. Each tremor sends another. This one would ground a ship your size, and I cannot spare a rescue crew to dig you out.”
“Then I would ask for a spot in your hangar.”
Mayor Everson hums and crinkles his nose.
“Not possible, she’s full. We’ve been waiting for this one since yesterday, tracking it.
Its heart will cut right across us. I suggest parking your ship on the eclipse side of the hangar, break some of the larger debris.
” He stands, adjusting his too tight belt.
Commander Wesley rises as well, shaking the man’s forearm. “Thank you for your time. We will await a comm granting us clearance.”