* * *
Hanging from a towering maple, Brick reminded himself never to board a balloon again. Though he remained safely in the basket, he was high off the ground and the basket wasn't going anywhere. His impetuous nature had gotten him into deep trouble again. The thought made his head hurt even worse. The people who did this to him were after Riette and Emmet, which kept him motivated, though he tried not to think of what would happen if they were captured by the Zjhon.
He'd seen them himself; one had elbowed him in the face. No one could deny now the claims that the enemy had been snooping around Sparrowport, looking for people to kidnap—people like Emmet. Those thoughts and the knowledge that he would otherwise starve were all that convinced Brick to climb out of the basket and down a rope that danced in the breeze.
There had been others in the basket with him, but each of them had paid to get on or were part of the crew. All of those people had been wearing parachutes. Having forced his way onto the balloon, Brick was left to go down with her.
Rope climbing was not among his favorite things to do, but strong hands and a muscular upper body made it less difficult. If the rope had been long enough to reach the forest floor, it might have been an easy climb. Instead, Brick found himself swinging with all his might, trying to reach the nearest tree trunk, which was arrow straight and had but one or two branches between him and the ground.
Using all his strength, Brick swung toward the tree trunk. Though he did not get close enough to grab on to it, he did get close enough to push off of it with his legs. This sent him hurtling through the air, and just before he reached the towering maple, the balloon shifted. Leaning sharply to one side, the basket looked as if it might break free from the branches above and tumble to the forest floor below.
When he did hit the tree, he was moving as quickly downward as he was laterally, which made it even more difficult to grip the tree. He needed to slow his downward slide quickly and squeezed the bark to his chest, no matter the pain. This was a life-or-death moment, and he refused to die, refused to let his family down, and refused to let Riette and Emmet down. An image of them flashed across his consciousness along with the pain. The world had fallen into chaos, but he somehow held on.
Using his legs to hug the tree, he let go with one arm. Pain returned when he slid down farther. Crying out, he quickly grabbed the length of rope from his belt and slung it around the tree. He'd cut and knotted the rope for this very purpose. After changing his grip, the rope allowed him to hold his weight with his arms, which let him shuffle his feet downward. At the bottom of his reach, he shifted his weight to his legs and slid the rope farther down the trunk. Getting past the branches proved tricky, but otherwise gravity assisted him and made the descent go quickly.
When he finally reached the forest floor, he collapsed into the leaves, breathing heavily. The next time he saw Riette, they were going to have a long talk about the meaning of the words "wait right here."
The balloon had been over the ocean for much of their trip, and only Brick's experimentation with the weights had allowed him to coax the wounded balloon back over land. At least he hadn't been forced to swim.
It was going to be a long hike back to Sparrowport. Hiking wasn't something he enjoyed doing, and he moved at what might have been considered a reckless pace. Only when a fist of birds flew overhead did Brick stop and look up. Such formations were generally used only for messages of the utmost importance. A moment later, a series of pops sounded just ahead of where he stood. All five birds dropped from the sky; whatever messages they carried would not be delivered.
When someone pushed him aside, Brick almost shouted from fright. A man pulling a log behind him never looked up.
"Grab that other log, will ya?" he said. "We'll have pigeon tonight, so hurry up about it or they'll eat it all while we're out gathering wood."
Over the man's shoulder, Brick spotted a long metal barrel and copper tanks. All the signs were around him, and he'd been blind to them. He'd assumed these woods were unoccupied but had walked right into an enemy encampment. There weren't supposed to be any enemies in this area, but this was war and he'd been careless.
Saying nothing, Brick turned back the way he'd come, dashing through the woods as quickly and silently as possible. He didn't know if the man ever looked back or if anyone gave pursuit. All he could do was run as fast as his body and the terrain would allow and hope he had enough of a head start to keep them behind him.
Foliage flashed by in a blur, some of which demanded a price for passage. Brick did not slow. Even when his sides cramped and his feet throbbed, he ran.
Trees suddenly parted, revealing a large open area. Brick stumbled into the clearing, breathing like a mad bull. It took everything he had to stop before impaling himself on the pitchfork leveled at him. He felt no less careless than when he'd encountered the Zjhon.
"Don't move," the man pointing the pitchfork at him said, constantly shifting his weight and causing the sharp implement to dance in front of him. Brick noticed then that the man was missing a leg from the knee down. Others worked the long grass into piles throughout the field, but Brick could still get away. The more he looked around, though, the less he wanted to run. This was Forest's Edge. He'd found the rear line.
A lanky man arrived moments later. "Who are you?"
Brick was grateful for having had the time to catch his breath. "My name is Brick. I'm from Sparrowport."
"And what has you running through the woods like a night spirit?" the tall man asked, looking down on Brick from what seemed an impossible height.
"The Zjhon attacked Sparrowport."
No one said anything in response.
"They were trying to kidnap my friend, who flew away on a dragon, and I ended up on a balloon that crashed in the woods."
"And why aren't you at the front?" the tall man asked. "You're certainly of fighting age."
"I'm apprenticed to my father, the smith," Brick said, feeling guilty and not for the first time. "I was considered essential for the war effort."
"So those parts that used to come in from Sparrowport were in part your handiwork?"
Brick nodded.
Another man approached. "Let me see your hands," he said.
Brick held out his calloused, gnarled fingers that never quite came clean no matter how he scrubbed.
"He's a smith all right, and he's from Sparrowport. I can see it in his hands and hear it in his accent. I think he's telling the truth, and that means the Zjhon are trying to keep us isolated, which certainly explains why none of our messages have been answered."
"You said your friend escaped on a dragon," the tall, thin man said, a haunted look in his eyes. "Tell me about that."
"The Zjhon were looking for my friend and her little brother, who has always been singled out for being different." This statement brought nods of understanding. This was something they had heard before, given the response. "I tried to stop them . . . but I failed. Before the Zjhon caught up to them, Riette and Emmet climbed into a carriage strapped to the back of a dragon and flew off."
"So it's a girl," the man who'd inspected his hands said. "That explains it. You look a sight, my boy. When I was your age, I felt a lot like you look."
"What else happened?" the tall man asked, his scowl never fading.
"The Zjhon commandeered a passenger plane, and then one of their planes arrived. I boarded the balloon, hoping to run interference for the dragon, which didn't look very healthy to start with. I hit one plane with a . . . projectile, but things went downhill from there. I think I saw one of our planes as well, but it's all kind of a blur from that point on."
Finally the tall man seemed satisfied and extended his hand. The other man retracted the pitchfork.
"I'm sorry for the unfriendly welcome," the tall man said. "These are dangerous times. My name is Tellymore. People call me Telly."
Though the man was no longer unfriendly, a pall of sadness and regret seemed to hang over his every br
eath.
"Have you seen any dragons?" Brick asked. "Have you heard anything about Riette or Emmet Pickette?" The first question seemed to pain Telly, but he had to press on.
"No," Telly said. "There have been no dragons here in some time. If there had been, I would most certainly know."
"Did you lose your dragon in the war?" Brick asked. Reading people was not normally among his strengths, but this man's every inflection reeked of grief. He nodded in response. "I'm sorry. I have always wanted to do my part to fight the war. I feel guilty that I get to stay behind in the relative safety of Sparrowport while others risk their lives, as surely you have done. I am humbled."
"Don't be sorry or feel guilty," Telly said. "Without the tools and parts you and your father have provided, we would not have lasted this long. Those within the Heights are good at providing big hunks of cast metal, but nobody forges gears of higher quality than Sparrowport.
Brick wiped away a tear.
"Is there another smithy in Sparrowport of which I am unaware?"
"No, sir," Brick said. "Those gears are made by my father and me. Mostly my father, though."
"Then you and your father are to be commended," Telly said. "We've few advantages over the Zjhon; the reliability of our drive trains is among them. Thank you."
Brick nodded, not knowing what else to say.
"If they have aircraft in Sparrowport, then they must have increased fuel capacity, efficiency, or both," Telly said.
"Either that or they found a place to refuel," the man who'd been holding the pitchfork on Brick said.
"They're sure not landing in the jungle," Telly said. "And we'd know if they captured an airport."
"Would we?"
Silence hung for a while. If Forest's Edge were completely cut off from communication, it was possible Dragonport had already fallen to the Zjhon. It would explain their sudden ability to hit Sparrowport from the air.
"Come," Telly said. "You look hungry."
"And thirsty," Brick added.
Telly laughed. "I bet you are."
Among the wounded, Brick was a novelty, a diversion from their mundane existence. He laughed and told tales in between devouring the stew placed in front of him. It felt good to lighten the hearts of those who had sacrificed so much, though Brick couldn't help but feel guilty for any pleasure he took while Riette and Emmet were not safe. And knowing what he knew now, he questioned the safety of everyone he loved. Sparrowport was no longer separate from the war. It was a terrifying thought.
"Most of the troops normally stationed here are out on maneuvers," Telly said. "I'm glad you didn't encounter them on your way here. I don't know if they will seek out these infiltrated areas since these soldiers are supposed to ship out to the front immediately upon completion of their training. We'll likely have to get word to the front in order to see troops deployed. I don't know. It's not my call. I'm just an old man with no dragon."
"And Dragonport?" Brick asked.
"Might have some aircraft left if they're still not under Zjhon control. I'm starting to have my doubts. I think they were counting on this installation providing them with defensive support, and now look at us."
"How difficult is the journey to Dragonport?" Brick asked.
Telly scoffed. "On foot? It's terrible. By plane it's not much better. We used to use pack mules twenty years ago, but the mules have all gone to the front, and the trails haven't been maintained for years. No telling what condition the bridges are in."
Brick weighed his options, all of which were terrifying. To the east lay the swamp, to the west Zjhon outposts of unknown number stood between him and Sparrowport, to the north was a treacherous road to Dragonport, and to the south was nothing but forest and swamp.
"Do you have any reason to believe Dragonport has fallen besides a lack of communication?"
"No," Telly said. "And I pray that I'm wrong."
For most of his life, Brick had rebelled against his father's controlling influence. Now he wished for even the briefest consultation with the man whose opinion he valued more than anyone else's. How could he trust his own judgment in such life-and-death decisions?
Weariness overcame him when the excitement wore off and his belly was full. A bath and a clean bed were provided to him, and he hoped he wouldn't snore. His father always complained about his snoring. With larger issues consuming his thoughts, he drifted off, knowing he would have a difficult choice to make in the morning.
In the distance, he might have heard someone snore.