Song of Ramona (Book #1 in Pirates of the Cloudsea Trilogy) (Teaser)

VI. The Witch

An odd sort of buzzing screeched in the distance, a noise that was high in pitch like an insect's wings. The bird was unlike any sky ship I'd ever seen: a copper-plated sphere crowned in red fins, with glass doors on its sides, and a façade shaped like a beak. Heavy winds blew down from a single high-speed propeller fixed to its top.

"On your guard, men," said Dirk.

Mr. Bentley asked, "Should we engage?"

"No. I know this vessel. It belongs to a powerful witch. We'll invite her to board, but keep the men on high alert."

Merely the use of the word "witch" would usually send a chill across my back and shoulders. The prospect of one boarding our vessel brought on a cold sweat. I had never seen a witch before, just heard of them in passing, and hoped never to meet one. A witch was a rare commodity, scarcer than a crimson diamond, for they only emerged in society every ten years or so. Generally, they served the elite class: kings, queens, and emperors. The Wastrel slowed as we drew near. The other ship hovered, its propeller scattering a powerful wind across our deck. It landed far back on the forecastle deck, which had ample room behind our long balloon.

We climbed up and surrounded the vessel as its propeller slowed and gradually came to a halt. A figure could be seen in the fuselage, a pale woman dressed all in black. An aircraft operated by a woman was unheard of in the sky. Women were bad luck, started fires, caused fights.

With a hiss of pressure, a side door slid up on two mechanized arms.

Every man drew pistol, sword, or dagger at once. When I noticed their weapons were trembling in their feeble grips, my own sword began to feel like it weighed ten pounds more than it did.

The witch stepped out onto our deck. Her fingers brushed her collarbone as she emitted a girlish snicker. Strings of black pearls twined around her neck in many rows. For all the black and gray around her deep-set eyes, her face looked much like a skull. Two streaks of purplish rouge accentuated the gauntness of her cheeks. Black feathers trimmed her neckline, licking at her jaw. She could not have been younger than thirty, but she was beautiful.

"Well, well, well, Lexi," she said in a voice that smoldered like ashes. "What a reception."

"Don't make any sudden movements. I want your hands folded in front of you now," said the captain.

The witch complied, lacing her delicate fingers over her heart. I had heard it said that a witch's hands were her conduits of power. Bind them, and she would be rendered harmless. Break them, and she might never cast again. Of course, nobody ever got close enough to harm a witch before she unleashed unspeakable havoc, wind tunnels, raging conflagrations, and acid rain.

"Why are you here, witch?" asked Captain Dirk.

Her manicured brows furrowed. "Really, Lexi? Will you not call me by my name?"

"I seem to have forgotten it," he said, grinning sheepishly to the men on his left. His jest broke the tension across the deck as several in the crew chuckled.

"So this is your beloved Weasel I've heard so much about," said the witch.

"Wastrel," Dirk corrected. "She's a fine bird, finer than that pigeon of yours there."

"That pigeon, as you call it, is a globe copter. Its mechanized weaponry could decimate this rickety hulk in a matter of seconds."

"You wouldn't. You'd miss me too much."

She looked down her nose at him. "I would do worse, Lexi. Much worse. I have come to punish you for your crimes."

"Oh? And how will you punish me? Will it involve candlewax?"

Again, some of the crew laughed, but their mirth held a nervous cadence. The witch did not flinch or miss a beat. "I have learned you seek the emperor. And I know what you are bringing him. You truly have no conscience, no dignity, and no honor. Perhaps you lost those things in the bottom of your flask."

Her voice changed, and she pulled her hands apart. No sooner did she flick her wrists than both my hands ached under the pressure of a cramp. My cutlass clattered against the deck. I watched as every man dropped his weapon simultaneously.

When the witch spoke again, the air seemed to turn stagnant and make no sound at all. The clouds darkened, gathering in purple masses overhead. "May your most valuable prize be as worthless as your promises. May your ship fall to the earth in a rain of fire and ash. I curse you, sky captain. I curse you and the Wastrel and all these men you call your brothers."

Dirk only laughed at her, but the rest of us did not join in. We were eyeing the darkening clouds. Curses did not bode well for men who lived on airships.

"With luck, this curse might teach you some compassion," she said coolly. "Enough to see beyond your own selfishness, though I doubt it."

Dirk stepped toward her. "Maive—" He used a voice I did not recognize. It was softer than I had ever heard him speak. And that name—Maive—that was the name of the emperor's witch, the very same sorceress who served King Lucius before the revolution.

"I have no more words for you," Maive sneered.

She held her arms outstretched above her head and shouted a foreign word that was harsh and guttural in sound. A piercing hum split my ears, and a sunset-tinted aura glowed about her. Time shrank, and in a flash of blurred movement, she had returned to her ship and was soaring off into the horizon.

Maive had dominion over time itself. What havoc could such a woman wreak on simple creatures like ourselves? The back of my neck tingled. I looked around to see the many haunted expressions of my brothers.

Captain Dirk dropped his chin and glared off into the clouds. "Chasing her is pointless," he said. "Our prize is safe, gentlemen, and stands to make rich men of us all. We'll not let a woman frighten us off our course."

Generally, I trusted the captain. For all his faults, he had proved successful again and again in his undertakings. He wasn't young—the skies had aged him fast—but he had a fiery spirit that made him seem invincible. A captain like that could make any man feel intrepid.

A witch's curse was different however, for any man who underestimated the perils of real magic was a fool with an express ticket to the World After. I whispered a prayer to Ithicus for protection, but my heart was palpitating. The witch had left her mark upon us.