Falling Skyward

Chapter Forty-One: Poweefisel

Lana didn't protest. The day had been so nerve-wracking, anxiety-ridden, and unexpected, she didn't have the energy to argue. Once again in darkness, Drayer took Lana through another series of tunnels while Lana did her best to orient herself and make a mental map of her way back to Taren, safety, and sunlight.

When Drayer took off the blindfold again, Lana was in a dim room lit by soft lamplight. A cot, dresser, and small bookshelf with a few dozen books were the only furniture lining the walls hewn into the uneven rock. Lana shivered.

"Here," Drayer said, pulling out a man's patched jacket from one of the drawers and draping it over Lana. The worn fabric enveloped her, smelling of warm spices and sunlight.

"No one will bother you in here. Feel free to make yourself at home. I'll bring Taren to you as soon as I can." Before Lana could protest, Drayer closed the door. A dull click of a key turning in a lock told Lana she was trapped a mile below ground.

Lana shivered again. She paced the room, attempting to distract and warm herself. She determined to stay on her feet, to be ready to greet whoever came through the door, but after an indeterminate, excruciatingly long time, she went to the bookshelf. Most of the books seemed to be histories or mythologies written in Altymian. But one book, bound with embossed leather, had a language Lana did not understand scrawled across its yellowing pages. And yet, the curling, tendrilled writing looked familiar. Lana felt as though she could make out a handful of the words—but that was probably only because diagrams and hand-inked illustrations filled every page, with text wrapping around and inside the images.

Ce'al, properties of healing, time, and nature were a few of the words Lana could distinguish. Lana's eyes and arms felt heavy. She carted the leather-bound book to the cot, pulling the shabby blanket over her body while she flipped through the pages carefully, studying the images as though she could unlock their mysteries if she stared long enough. Beautiful images of flowers and herbs, mountains and caves, constellations and moons, trees and beasts filled Lana's mind as she looked over the book. But most of the pictures she saw were indiscernible, fantastical, and unknowable.

Before long, Lana felt her eyes opening groggily. The book had fallen on her chest. Lana shook the sleep from her mind, scrambling to remember where she was. On the dresser near the cot, next to a picture of a woman with richly dark skin, Lana saw a plate of food, still steaming.

Lana bolted to the food, her stomach growling. She stopped short once she saw and smelt the grey, overcooked mush in the bowl. Bits of vegetables floated with hunks of what Lana hoped was meat, though she couldn't be sure. She tried to hold out, suspicious of the food, but soon hunger forced her to gulp down the bowl's contents, Lana trying to taste as little as possible.

Shortly after she finished eating, Lana heard the loud echo of the lock clicking. Lana sprung to her feet, tense, guarded. She relaxed immediately when she saw her visitor.

"Good, I see you got your food." Drayer jumped right into a conversation with a smile.

"If you can call that food," Lana responded, patting her stomach as it rumbled angrily.

"Yeah, Squish's cooking takes some getting used to. I was going to wake you up to eat with you, but the soup tastes as terrible cold as it does hot, so I didn't bother." Lana let out a breathy laugh.

"Any news yet from Taren?"

"Nah, they're still talking things over, so I came to keep you company. And lucky you. I'm much better company than Taren anyway—and more handsome, too." Lana didn't know what to say in response, so she laughed instead.

"What do you think is taking so long?"

"Soren loves to hear himself talk, and Taren's too deliberate for his own good. They'll be lucky if they can come to a decision sometime this century."

Lana sighed, the endless waiting draining her more than days of continuous traveling.

"Did you find enough to keep yourself entertained while I was gone?"

"If you mean trying to decipher a book in a language I can't read for hours on end, then yes." Lana motioned to the bedside dresser where the book was lying open.

"Oh, I see. We have another scholar of the mystical arts." Drayer went to the table, snatching up the book. As he did, he caught the corner of the picture on the table, toppling it over. With lightning reflexes, Drayer's hand snatched the frame out of the air, catching it before it shattered against the ground. He brushed it off tenderly, returning it to its corner.

"She's beautiful," Lana said. "Who is she?"

"My wife." Drayer's tone told Lana that the conversation had officially ended. After a long look at the picture, Drayer turned abruptly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "How about I teach you how to play Poweefisel?"

The game was an intricate mix of strategy, luck, and physical endurance. Each player had four cards, three pins, and one ball. The players took turns collecting cards until they managed to get a match, at which time they had a chance to throw their ball at their opponent's pin. The goal was to knock down all three of your opponents' pins, but there was one catch. Your opponent could still win if they could get to your pins and topple all that were still standing within 15 seconds.

Drayer's ball ricocheted off the wall with a loud smack. "You have horrible aim," Lana teased with a smile.

"Not nearly as bad as your manners."

"Touché."

Lana picked another card from the deck, securing a match. "Get ready to meet your doom." She threw her ball, knocking down Drayer's last pin. "I win," she squealed, clapping her hands.

"Not so fast." Drayer ran for Lana's three standing pins, ready to dive into them. Lana leaped in his way, and the two toppled to the ground. Drayer was attempting to wrestle Lana flat and climb over her when Taren walked in.

Drayer turned with a smile, lingering and taking his time getting to his feet while Lana attempted, without success, to control her laughter.

"I was just teaching Lana a little Poweefisel," he said, giving Taren a jaunty smile and a wink.

"Oh really." Taren's tone was flat and unamused.

"Yes." Lana tried to catch her breath between bursts of laughter to form a complete sentence. "What did you and Soren talk about?" She managed to stumble her way through most of the words passably.

It had been months since Lana had laughed so fully and so freely, and the sensation swept over her in a hysteria she couldn't control, as though it was some neglected survival instinct her body craved.

"We leave tomorrow," Taren said with unconcealed terseness. Lana's laughter died immediately.

"Where are we going?"

"Back to your village."

"To Gailen?" Taren nodded his head, stoic.

"The three of us will leave before sunup."

"The three of us?"

"Yes, Soren will be accompanying us. That's non-negotiable."

Lana's stomach twisted at the thought of traveling to her home village with Soren.

"Can Drayer come with us?" Lana asked.

Taren's nostrils flared, but he nodded. "If Drayer is willing, there may be enough star ether for the four of us. I suggest we rest. It will be a long day tomorrow." Lana shook her head in agreeance.

"I can show you to your room for the night." Taren turned stiffly.

As Lana left the room, Drayer caught her hand, smiling unabashedly. "Hey, Sis. Good game, but beginner's luck. I call a rematch when we get back."

Lana flashed him a smile, then left.