Seconds later she sees her sister in the pilot box, standing at the controls. There are others aboard the airship, too. She cannot see who they are, but she knows instinctively they are Elves. They scurry along the decks and climb the rigging of the masts and work the radian draws and trim the light sheaths. They do sailors’ work, and nothing interrupts or distracts them from their efforts, even her calls of encouragement.
Suddenly the airship lurches and drops before steadying again. Arling seizes the railing against which she has been leaning, catching herself so that she does not fall. She feels her heart in her throat, and she is suddenly afraid. The airship jolts and drops a second time, and now she looks to the pilot box for Aphen. But her sister has vanished, disappeared into the ether. Nor are the other Elves still aboard. All are gone, as if they never were.
She is alone.
Terrified, she struggles across the deck as the airship begins to spiral downward, dropping swiftly earthward. She is intent on reaching the controls so that she can slow the vessel’s descent. But even though she fights her way across the heaving deck, she can never seem to get any closer to the pilot box. She is moving steadily, but the deck stretches out and grows longer. The airship drops through layers of clouds, sinking into them one moment and then abruptly falling back out again. Because she is no longer standing at the railing, she cannot tell how far she has fallen or how close the ground is beneath her. She senses that the time left before impact is very short, but she cannot find a way to measure it.
Then the airship catches fire. She screams for Aphenglow, but her sister does not respond. She is truly gone, and Arling cannot depend on her for help. She must save herself. She continues to crawl toward the pilot box, but the flames are everywhere and the heat is too intense. She begins to slide backward toward the railing and then the railing disappears and she falls over the side and …
She is in her mother’s arms. Her mother holds her, cradles her, protects her, and she is safe again. The airship has disappeared and the falling has ended. She lies on soft grasses amid flowers and green plants. Trees canopy overhead, their leafy boughs swaying in a wash of gentle breezes. She stretches out with her head on her mother’s breast and her shoulders in her mother’s lap. She feels comforted and loved, and all of the fear she felt only moments ago has dissipated, replaced with a sense of well-being.
“Child,” her mother whispers in her ear and rocks her gently.
“Mother,” she replies, realizing suddenly that something very good has happened and her mother is herself again, no longer the harsh, embittered woman she became when Aphen went away.
“I have you now,” her mother says. “I have you and will hold you forever. You are mine, and I will never let you go.”
Arlingfant loves hearing these words; she revels in their sweetness. She lies there and does not move, does not think, does not seek more than to be in the moment in which she finds herself.
“Dark skies,” her mother whispers. “Stormy weather. Hold tight.”
The air above them is blackening, the light dying, everything turning gloomy and unfriendly. The trees and grasses and plants disappear. The colors fade. Arling knows they should rise and go inside where it is safe, but she cannot make herself move, cannot make her body respond to her commands, and when she looks up at her mother, her mother is no longer there.
Again, she has been abandoned.
“Mother,” she whispers.
But there is only the darkness and the feel of the earth pressing up against her body, as she lies helpless and alone.
The dream faded, replaced by darkness and silence. She smelled woods and damp, but she could not make her eyes open or her muscles respond. She was wrapped in what felt like yards of cotton wadding and heavy blankets of softest down. A deep, abiding lethargy infused her. She listened and was surprised to hear very close to where she lay …
Voices.
“She cannot be more than a young girl.”
“She wears knives strapped to her waist; she’s no stranger to combat. Look, there is blood on her clothing.”
“But she only sleeps. She’s not dead, is she?”
Hands probe. Fingers explore.
“She is injured. Perhaps she dies.”