The Last Heretic

SAFE TRAVELS

The airship's wooden railing was cold, much like the salty ocean air that wafted through the open deck of its gondola. Aaron lit the cigarette with a smooth inhale off the delicate flame of a match as the radio at the open-air bar behind him played smooth jazz. It was a cool, calm melody of piano and saxophone paired with one another in search of that dreamy ambience they did so well. They weren't the same without one another - two instruments locked in a loving embrace as they weaved their tune across the airwaves; a duo that chased one another over a warm and comforting refrain.

He exhaled the smoke. It was an otherwise quiet night. All the other passengers were in their quarters within the airship's envelope, save for an elderly couple enjoying dinner at one of the few tables on the deck. They seemed to be on a carefree vacation - probably having dreamt of a vacation like this since before they retired. A figure stood up from behind the bar with a nearly spotless rag in hand. It was an elderly gentleman wearing a tight, plaid vest over a collared shirt and plain, black pants. His dense, gray mustache curled up at both ends. The hardwood floor creaked as the old craftsman of inebriation walked down the length of the bar and wiped down its smooth wooden surface with the clean rag. It couldn't get any more spotless, but it gave him something to do on nights like this. It gave the man purpose.

Aaron gazed back into the photograph in his hand and drew another drag from his cigarette in the other. The picture was old: crinkled and missing a corner. The image was faded with age and worn from wear. It was a memory he held dear. It was the only photograph he had. He dropped the thin slip of laminated paper back into his pocket and leaned over the edge of the railing, peering into the darkness below.

Nothing.

He should be over the ocean and nearing the mainland by now, but he couldn't tell through the fog under the airship. They could be flying over a bottomless pit for all he knew. Stars fluttered on the horizon like the distant flickering lights of the city he called home, now thousands of miles behind him. His gaze drifted upwards in thought, seeing nothing but the massive, bulbous envelope of lighter-than-air gasses keeping the delicate airship in the sky. The gondola hung from massive metal cables leading deep into the ship's envelope where the interior cabins held the other passengers as they slept. The hanging trail of lights dangling from wires strung about the exterior lounge flickered ever so softly as their dull hum accented the radio's occasional, undulating breaths of static. They were nearing Eulan. Pretty soon, the radio would be a dead and useless relic of home - the land of electricity and technology. Eulan did not have such a privilege.

He exhaled the smoke, "The land of magic and enchantment." He mumbled to himself.

The little black ball of fuzz on the railing next to him turned around. It was the size of a golf ball and covered in dense, black fur. Four, thin white tentacles stemmed from beneath the fur of its body and wrapped around the wooden rail like boneless, prehensile limbs. Its head was a slightly smaller white oval with eight beady black eyes that shimmered with dozens of the yellow bulbs' reflections. It cocked its head at him in a curious stance.

"What?" It asked.

He gestured at the infinite darkness of the horizon, the cigarette's tip glowing in the gentle breeze as he held it between his fingers, "Just thinking out loud. I read about this place in school - never thought I'd end up visiting. Never saw the point."

The little furball turned to the horizon and stared at the dim stars. They truly were a beautiful sight. The rainbow of various colorful, dazzling lights danced in place among the heavens like a slow ballet. It gazed into the moonless night, "She did."

He checked his watch as it ticked away, oblivious of the world they were headed towards. Oblivious to its fate.

"You know her. She always loved to run away." The smoke trailed off his cigarette as he sighed into the night. The smoke curled into a thin wisp of white as the cold, humid breeze carried it away in its gentle arms.