53. High Sky
‘Make sure everything is securely strapped down, including yourselves!’ Captain Gart Ironshank instructed jovially as we boarded the Wind Zephyr.
It was only a little phraxlighter, traditionally used as a short-haul ferry in the low skies over Great Glade, but now it was as laden as a sky tavern. Every inch of the Wind Zephyr’s decks had been utilized by her captain. Ice-hooks and grappling irons were stowed in the gunwales, oiled leather sacks containing dried tildermeat and gladewheatmeal were strapped to the small aft deck, and firefloats were clustered like sapgrapes on either side of the phraxchamber. A thin plume of steam rose from the Wind Zephyr’s funnel as Kultuft and I clambered aboard and strapped ourselves into the low bucket-seats behind the helm.
Gart was obviously eager to be off. The little community of Farrow Lake was slumbering, the settlements on the east shore with their windows dark, while on the north shore, the cookfires of the webfoot huts had still to be lit. No one would notice our departure. It was just as the captain had planned.
‘This expedition will prove perilous enough without bringing undue attention on ourselves,’ he’d muttered as he’d pored over his sky charts the evening before.
Now, in the cold grey light of early dawn, he pulled back on the flight levers and opened up the phraxvalves, setting the chamber to a steady, vibrating hum. The funnel belched steam as the Wind Zephyr took to the sky and rose steadily higher above the misty tree line.
Soon Farrow Lake and the beautiful Five Falls were distant glimmers of light in the dark, brooding expanse of the mighty Deepwoods. We rose higher, and the great ironwood stands around us dropped away. We passed through misty wisps of cloud and rose higher still. It wasn’t long before the Wind Zephyr was among the billowing mountains of white cumulus, a magnificent ever-shifting landscape of mist peaks and cloud canyons. And still we kept on rising, the air becoming ever colder and the Wind Zephyr taking on a coating of glistening ice.
Gart turned to me, his side-whiskers white and icicle-festooned. ‘Brea out the ice-hooks, Forden, and keep the phraxchamber clear while I light the firefloats.’
I nodded and set to work. At this altitude, the danger of the phraxchamber freezing over was very real, and if it did then the stormphrax it contained would become dangerously unstable. As I chipped away at the barnacles of ice coating the phraxchamber’s surface, Gart lit the firefloats -Â sumpwood oil burners contained in delicate latticework cages of spun copperwood. They fanned out around the rattling phraxchamber on thin chains, warming the air around it and keeping it stable.
‘Why are we flying this high?’ I asked through chattering teeth as Kultuft whimpered and shivered by my side.
‘It’s an old trick the skycrafters used in the old days,’ Gart explained, ‘taking their vessels up into the high sky and catching the powerful wind currents up there… It’s not without its risks,’ he admitted. ‘But if we’re lucky, we can hitch a ride on the Edge stream to the south and cut weeks off our voyage.’
Just as he uttered these words, the Wind Zephyr bucked and kicked like a gnat-plagued hammelhorn and, but for the straps that held us secure, we’d have been thrown from the phraxlighter to our deaths. Instead, we clung to the gunwales as the little craft was buffeted and pummelled by the fierce forces of the high sky, while around us, the equipment and provisions rattled and creaked and fought to break free.
Just as I began to suspect that my last hour had come and that this brave little craft could take no more, the Wind Zephyr seemed to break free and rise above the terrible turbulence. Now, the wind was rushing past us at tremendous speed, propelling the phraxlighter forward seemingly effortlessly on a cushion of air.
At the helm, Gart slumped back, exhausted but delighted. ‘We made it!’ he beamed. ‘All those hours with dusty old sky charts were worth it.’
‘What now?’ I asked as the Wind Zephyr sped across the great blue vault of the high sky, the air current around it, warm and balmy, in contrast to the freezing turbulence below.
‘We sit back and enjoy the ride,’ Gart laughed, tousling Kultuft’s hair.
Just then, the phraxchamber gave an ominous, clanking shudder that set the firefloats stuttering and smoking and straining at their tether chains.
‘By Earth and Sky,’ Gart muttered, no longer smiling. ‘It seems I spoke a little too soon…’
