He thought about refusing at first, the headstrong young man wanting to remain above decks, here and now, at the end of what he once knew. He thought, but he didn't act. Anton could hear the worry in Vanessa's voice even without his magic; worry, and something else, something that even he could not, or perhaps would not, understand. It proved enough, either way, and he began to make his way below, where it was as safe as any could promise it to be.
"As you say, Captain," Anton said in a measured voice, turning at the last to give a final command. "Take us home, Dame Quill."
Home.
What was once the home of every living being aboard the Every Waking Moment burnt beneath them. The luckiest of those still trapped inside the city had found shelter or salvation, similar to that which the Hobbled Gobbler had offered. The second luckiest had only a swift death to their credits. But both were envied without end by all others - the great mass of the dead, and those who so fervently wished they were.
Zaichaer may have been home once, but could be no longer. Not so long as that gaping wound in reality hung menacingly in the sky, vomiting forth a constant stream of horrid wind. One day, perhaps, if the gods were kind or man's cunning was great, it may be home again. But not today. And not tomorrow.
Inexperienced deckhands who had worked at most on river boats swarmed over the airship's rigging as it made to answer Anton's order, Vanessa's firm hand keeping the chaotic process under control. Soon enough the Every Waking Moment was away and free, sailing south. To whatever it was that counted as home now.
Behind them, Zaichaer burned, the desolation commanding the attention of every waking moment.
"As you say, Captain," Anton said in a measured voice, turning at the last to give a final command. "Take us home, Dame Quill."
Home.
What was once the home of every living being aboard the Every Waking Moment burnt beneath them. The luckiest of those still trapped inside the city had found shelter or salvation, similar to that which the Hobbled Gobbler had offered. The second luckiest had only a swift death to their credits. But both were envied without end by all others - the great mass of the dead, and those who so fervently wished they were.
Zaichaer may have been home once, but could be no longer. Not so long as that gaping wound in reality hung menacingly in the sky, vomiting forth a constant stream of horrid wind. One day, perhaps, if the gods were kind or man's cunning was great, it may be home again. But not today. And not tomorrow.
Inexperienced deckhands who had worked at most on river boats swarmed over the airship's rigging as it made to answer Anton's order, Vanessa's firm hand keeping the chaotic process under control. Soon enough the Every Waking Moment was away and free, sailing south. To whatever it was that counted as home now.
Behind them, Zaichaer burned, the desolation commanding the attention of every waking moment.