The Boy Who Would Make the Sky Fall 1/3

The Lighthouse contains countless stories that play across time and space, but at the center of all these events is not the Lighthouse as you may think.

The center of every event that ever happened and ever will began with love on an island in a crystal sea. The love traveled to a great continent and as it spread a dynasty built on the love from that island, which sent shock waves through earth, sea, flame and sky.

This love had its ups and its downs; weathering the elements as all things must. This is the story when that love was a thunderstorm.

Trouble started small, as it often does. Trouble was the boy named Starling, born the son of a famous prince and an infamous pirate from the opposite sides of a war that had been raging for many years before coming to an end at the union of these two legendary figures.

People said Starling would have power that would make the sky fall. 

What they did not realize when they said this was Starling’s power, that would make the sky fall, was not wanted. Not now that the kingdoms were at mostly at peace. No one needed the commander who led legions and could call down thunderstorms or the scrappy airship pirate who could talk her way out of anything. Now they asked for the prince and they kept the criminal on a leash.

Nor did anyone want a little boy whose tears broke vases, loneliness cracked windows and anger curled rugs, making people trip and fall. 

One night, Starling woke up to the sound of his parents arguing. This was normal. As usual, they were not loud, insofar as they kept their voices to a whisper, but to Starling, his parents might well have been shouting. Each word dropped into his belly and swirled around his head. This was also normal. 

“He’s too young!” That was his father. 

“Well he’s strong enough to manage. I was strong enough,” his mother countered. 

“That was war and strength doesn’t matter, he needs us. He needs his family.” 

“What if next time, he causes more than a broken arm? He needs help that we cannot give. ” 

“That you won’t give!” 

“Legally, I’m still a war criminal, to use magic would –” 

“You’re my wife and his mother!” 

The argument went on, but Starling retreated under his bed covers. Pulling his pillow over his head and curling as small as he could go. With one hand he clutched the miniature replica of his mother’s airship, a sleek gunner fit for a small crew. He imagined flying far, far away from here. So far that there would never be any more problems. 

You should go away, said the voice in his head. They don’t want you anymore. Hurting Lila was the last straw. You’re done. They’re done. No one wants you for a son. 

“I didn’t mean to! I was scared. I was trying to help her not fall!” Starling cried into his pillow. 

Yet, you broke the branch she was on. You made her fall, said the voice, replaying the afternoon in Starlings mind. Lila and him were squared off near the edge of a ravine where a huge adasonia tree grew. She held two sticks as she crouched in the ready position beneath the tree. Starling ran at her, his stick jabbing forward and Lila stumbled back, losing her two sticks to the ravine.

Not to be outdone, Lila mimed shooting at him, “snap you later!” She said, using a phrase that they often heard around the docks from airship pilots. Then she nodded to the tree, “help me up with your magic stuff.”

“Lila, it doesn’t just work,” Starling said.

“I say it will, so it will. Help me up.”

Starling sighed and sat on the ground, closing his eyes and tuned in to the flow of the elements. “Are you climbing?” He said. “Lila?”

“Lila!” He shouted, after he got no answer. He felt the earth rumble and the air ripple as he jumped to his feet and saw her, all the way to the top of the tree where the branches grew. She was holding one that was bending. “Lila!” He shouted, and he pushed all his energy and focus toward the tree itself, willing it to not snap.

The branch snapped and Lila fell, tumbling down the incline of the ravine with a shriek that faded with the scene as the voice pulled the images out of Starlings mind and the current time filtered back in. The stillness of night, punctuated with his parents still arguing in tense whispers about him.  

This was the fifth time in three nights. Starling did not want to be sent away, to whatever secret place Druadin went to. He didn’t even want to be sent away to the pilot’s academy. He wanted to stay home and be son, not another problem for his parents to solve.

So come to me, said the voice. I can help you. I will love you, little vulture.

“Will you?” Starling whispered into the darkness of his bedroom. “Where are you?” 

Follow my voice, said the voice. I will always be with you.

So as Starling’s parents continued to argue in tight whispers, he slipped out of bed and found the travel-pack his uncle had bought him for his last birthday.

For all the times he’d go flying to faraway worlds with his parents, his uncle had said. That had been two years ago. Starling hadn’t flown with his father or mother yet. His father always flew away on the king’s business and the king’s business was not for kids. His mother was kept confined to Castalia, her years on the wrong side of the last war, not having outweighed the help she’d given when she’d changed sides. 

In the travel-pack went boy’s stuffed griffon, a few shirts and snacks that his nanny would give him but he never ate. He added his favourite book after a moment of debate and then remembered underwear. His mother often berated his father about taking clean underwear when he went travelling. 

He took his coat too, even though it was summer and the nights were warm, Starling wasn’t sure where he was going. For now, he tied the coat’s sleeves around his neck, wearing it like his father’s fancy capes and he crept to his window. 

His bedroom was on the ground floor and looked out over an herb garden. With care he lifted his window up and paused, listening to his parents. They were still arguing. He wondered if he should leave a note.  

Quickly now, don’t wait. Come find me my boy. I’ll welcome you, said the voice.

That made up Starling’s mind and he slipped out of the window and tiptoed around the garden. Beyond the plots of herbs lay the wide hedge which separated their villa from one of the main roads.

This main road ran through the city, all the way up to the palace in one direction and all the way down to the docks in the other. 

Once Starling had elbowed his way through the prickles of the hedge, he went downhill. He’d go to the docks. He’d stowaway in the hull of one of the airships. So long as it took him away from here, everything would be better then. 

It was late and the quarter moon was high, but the streets were almost as alive as they were in the day. Starling kept his head down and ran from one building corner to another, stopping in between to watch and avoid the drunks carousing down the street, louder than any adults he had seen at the many parties his parents held for politicians and nobles.

There were hands and whispers grasping out from some of these dark corners that made Starling afraid. He felt his magic rise up when one hand got too close and the owner of the hand began to shriek and scream as his shirt sleeve lit on fire. 

When this happened, Starling ran with all his strength, right down the middle of the cobbled street. Not caring that suddenly, behind him, was a wall of shouts. Moments later, those shouts were followed by feet.

Starling didn’t look back to see if it were the friends of the person he’d burned by accident, or the cogs with their truncheons and handcuffs. He was close to the docks now. He could see the sails and balloons of the airships poking up over rooftops and stacks of shipping crates. 

“There he is!” A man’s voice shouted. Starling swerved off the street into a crevasse made between two long stacks of crates. He clutched the shoulder strap of his travel-pack, holding it close as he scurried through the space. 

His eyes were fixed on a ship just beyond the crates. It was a traders hull, a NoughtWing freighter, with a long and thin blimp rising over a steel body and small round windows along the port and starboard. 

Starling leaned out from around the crates. He saw no one on the ship’s deck and there were no lights lit on-board the ship. He took a deep breath and then darted as fast as he could across the open space of the dock until he was up against the steel hull of the ship. 

He squinted in the dark for the emergency hatch he knew these models had in the hull. A moment later he spied it and pressed a hand to the locked latch. Closing his eyes he imagined the latch unlocking and willing the astral to work with him the one time he wanted it too.

A moment later, the latch clicked and when Starling pulled, the hatch opened with a loud groan. Starling flinched at the sound and froze, his ears primed for shouts, but none came. Letting out a breath, he jumped and lifted himself through the hatch. Once inside, he shut it, slower this time but it still groaned and made him flinch. 

“Thank you,” Starling whispered to no one in particular when no other sounds followed. 

Good, good. You are almost free. Come find me boy, come find me, the voice said.

Starling shivered, not having meant his thank you for the voice in his head and wondered, not for the first time, if whoever spoke to him, could hear all of his thoughts.

Like always, he got no answer as he wondered this. He shook off his nerves by taking a deep breath, just like his uncle had told him a good soldier and a good pilot always did before diving into the action of war. 

It didn’t help as much as his uncle had made it sound it would, but then, Starling thought, he wasn’t in battle. He was running away. 

He played with his airship pendant as he peered into the darkness of the hull. He couldn’t see a thing, so once more he closed his eyes and this time he imagined light. A gold glow flooded his eyelids a moment later and he opened his eyes to see a ball of light floating near the iron-steel slats of the ceiling. 

The hull was full of crates of all shapes, sizes and materials. There was a hatch with a ladder folded up against it near the side opposite to the way Starling had entered. The spot looked dark and small so Starling crawled over the crates, without anymore thought. The quicker he hid, he safer he’d feel.

By the time someone did find him, at least he’d be away from Castalia, whether they kicked him off or called the local cogs. Getting away was all that mattered.

A stray worry about someone recognizing him ran through his head, but he’d not appeared in public with his parents in recent years. His uncle, who he saw every few months, always commented on how he grew like a tree. Hopefully traders were too busy to watch kodaks of political events. 

Settling between a round wood barrel and an bronze crate, Starling pulled off his travel-bag and set it behind his back, to give himself a pillow against the hard and cool metal of the hull. As he sat and his breathing slowed and adrenaline tapered off, Starling realized he’d not thought much though.

He looked up at the ball of light and willed it to break. It scattered and the hull fell into darkness. That was start. At least without light there was less of a chance of being found. He’d not been too careful getting down to the docks. He sighed, wishing he could always have such good control over his magic. Then his parents wouldn’t have argued as much.

Don’t worry my boy. I’ll teach you true control, just as your parents want, the voice said. Reflexively, Starling nodded and then pulled his knees up to his chest. He sat with his thoughts and the voice, waiting for morning, when he hoped the ship would take off.

***

The combination of a roaring engine, the jostling of crates and the sensation of his stomach dropping woke Starling so suddenly he smacked his head backward against the wall of the hull. 

“Oww,” Starling said as pain radiated through the back of his skull. He slapped a hand over his mouth a second later as he heard muffled voices filter down from above. The ship had just taken off. He hoped if any of the crew heard him, they assumed it was just crates banging about. 

In minutes that Starling counted with tense and baited breath, afraid of being found while they were still close to the Castalian port, the ship settled at last. The engine was a low buzz and the stomp of feet back and forth across the deck had quieted. They were stable and on course to wherever this trader was headed. 

A little light filtered down through the ceiling from the deck, mostly between the hatch which led up and another panel on the farthest side from where Starling hid. He spent a few minutes distracting his nerves by guessing what it was for.

He’d always loved ships. When he was very little his uncle had taken him onto his mother’s gunner that had seen decades of war and was now little more than grounded scrap. But Starling had loved sitting in the famous cockpit of the Odyssey imagining himself at the head of a fleet, zipping through sky with only the stars to light his way. 

He played with the miniature model he wore around his neck as he thought of those bright afternoons before the voice came and before his magic starting hurting others.

Starling had wanted to be exactly like his father, a great commander who would join the royal air force. His father loved it far more than he loved being a prince. Starling often heard him boast to his mother, when he was home, about stealing a ship and escaping his guards for a few hours. Sometimes he dreamed about stealing a ship himself, something his mother had done so many times she always gave Starling a different number.

But neither of his parents ever had time to teach Starling, both of them too busy with the work which the Castalian government kept them tangled with. His father always said he’d take Starling when he was older, but his father been Starling’s age when he’d been exiled and on the run, until he met his mother and they’d sailed with her crew on the Odyssey.

Every time his father said he’d take Starling into the sky, there would be trouble with this or that kingdom or corn law. His father would apologize and then call his adopted brother to come spend time with his son instead.

Then after an incident where Starling’s magic interfered with the navigation systems of his uncle’s ship and nearly caused them to crash, Starling didn’t do anymore flying. (At least not where any adults caught him).

Starling felt homesick thinking of Lila and his family, but then he remembered what he’d done to her and he squeezed his knees closer to his chest. He’d made the right decision to leave. 

****

Time passed, Starling was not sure how much, though light still shone through the cracks in the airship’s deck. 

“Hey General, I’m getting ships on our heels!” The deep voice reverberated down to where Starling hid.   

“Don’t engage. Wait until they hail us. Keep steady. We’ve got nothing to hide,” this voice had a commanding tone to bolster the name of “General.” Starling tensed, the air felt charged, and he wondered if perhaps this was not just a simple freighter completing a trade route. 

“We don’t?” The other man’s voice sounded confused now. 

“You heard me,” the General said. The other man’s answer came in the sound of footsteps moving quicker, that was then joined by another set of footsteps, moving across the deck. 

Starling closed his eyes and hoped they could get away fast from whoever may be following. In his mind’s eye he saw the outside of the freighter he was on, and clouds speckled over green, gold and brown patches of land.

“Whoa, whoa! Hang up Trutch, hang it! Blasting our sails off at this speed won’t help.” The General’s voice was raised and tense as the ship jerked starboard, straining forward at a quicker pace.  

“This isn’t me!” The first voice, Trutch, yelled. Starling flinched, first wondering if his worry had done something to the ships speed.

There was more shouting. Starling closed his eyes, imagining the ship moving smoothly, quickly and far away from any trouble. If he was accidently making the ship speed up, he may as well do something intentionally.

As he imagined this, he counted in his head. Whenever he had nightmares and woke up screaming and afraid, one of his nannies had shown him how counting could help calm fear. 

He’d reached three digit numbers when he noticed two things. First, the panic had died down and the ship was sailing smoothly through the air. Second, was the sound of feet stomping close that jerked him out of his head. A light flashed into his face and he flinched at the same time as the man holding the lantern spoke, it was Trutch.

“What do we have here? Huh. Come on you, up to see the General,” Trutch reached down and roughly grabbed Starling by his arm. Starling flinched, but let the man do so. He didn’t want to make the General any more likely to toss him off in the middle of the sky than they might already. 

He’d heard enough stories from his uncle about how stowaways were treated, though his uncle had usually been referring to airship pirates rather than legal traders or military like Starling guessed this ship was a combination of.

Starling blinked as he was roughly pushed up the ladder, out the hatch and into the open air of the deck. It was a clear day and high noon. Trutch grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a cabin door. Inside the cabin was a large wood desk covered in maps. Behind it stood a man with the same military stiffness of his father. 

He had a neatly trimmed grey goatee, but his jacket was unbuttoned, dusty and decidedly not military. This was Starling’s first clue that he’d made some incorrect guesses. The jacket had yellow stripes on the shoulders and Starling remembered his uncle telling him about their meaning once.

He racked his memory, trying to grasp what it had been, though he knew in his gut, it wasn’t anything good. This was no legal freighter ship. He’d picked one that was most definitely embroiled in dangerous activities. Starling bit his lip, trying to keep his fears off his face as Trutch pulled a hard wood chair out from the desk and nudged Starling to sit in it, facing the General. 

“Leave us,” the General said to Trutch although his eyes were fixed on Starling, making him look down, feeling small and scared. He fiddled with his airship pendant. 

“I’ve been flying for many decades boy and in those decades I have met countless stowaways. They all wanted the same thing but you know what, they didn’t get it, because on my ship, I don’t tolerate fear, laziness or dereliction of duty. You stowaways are all three.” 

“What are…” Starling started to ask, hoping to beg his way out of getting dropped into the sky. This General, though he had the bearing of one, did not look like he was still with the military which meant, in this day and age, only one thing. He’d been on the losing side of the war and was now the sort of mercenary that his father would chase for fun, in between court politics.  

“If you are going to breath air from the planks of my ship you are going to work. Understood? Until we dock in Mellis, three days from now, you are a member of my crew and you will obey my every order. Crystal?” 

“Yes…sir,” Starling managed to speak around terror that had risen as his throat felt tight. The maps of the table began to flutter and then scattered about the room in a flurry of parchment. Wincing, as the General did not even flinch at the display of chaos, Starling tried counting and breathing. He got up to five when the General spoke again,

“Look at me boy. Look up at me.” 

Starling looked up and held the iron-gaze of the General for a moment before he found his eyes flitting sideways, looking to the maps still on the floor. 

“I know you,” the General crossed his arms and took two steps closer to Starling. Then, he walked a full circle around the chair Starling was still seated in. Standing in front of him, only a step away, the General looked like a giant as Starling looked up, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of him.

“You’re Swan’s kid, aren’t you? Ha, what luck. Here I thought I’d dusted my hands of your line. Your father’s a duck, even with your mother’s influence. Did you skip his genes?” 

Oh, dangerous game you’re in my boy. Will you run back to the daddy who is never around, the mommy who is too busy hiding her power…or will you come to me? The voice rang loudly in Starling’s mind. 

“I’m not going back. I’m not. I’ll jump off if I have too,” Starling said to the General. 

“Got his guts to go with the looks too, ha! Kid, I don’t care why you’ve ditched your old man and our mad captain. I value my body parts too much, but you’re on my ship. You play by my rules, not yours, while you are here.” 

“Were the ships from earlier chasing me?” Starling asked, starting to feel less like he was on the edge of a cliff and now more like he was simply stuck in a cave with a bear. He’d hoped no one would notice his absence until tomorrow.

The General raised an impressed brow, “quick head, kid. Castalian royal guard. Probably you yes, but we’re less than friendly with them ourselves. Now, stowaway, go get feet on the deck and report to my man Trutch. Do exactly as he says. Nothing more and nothing less until we dock.” 

Starling nodded. 

“What did I say about laziness? Go!” The General waved a hand and the door, startling Starling into stumbling from the chair, to the door, nearly tripping over a map lying between the two. 

“And contain that wizarding! We are mostly honest folk who can get out of trouble perfectly well without your abracadabra on us or my girl.”    

Starling managed to toss a mumbled “yes, sir,” as he lurched out of the cabin. 

Trutch stood at the centre of the deck, leaning against one of the wide spars. He stood up straight, gesturing widely as Starling approached him.

“Welcome aboard the Eponymous. She’s almost the quickest ship on the Continent. You been on a freighter?” 

“Just a gunner,” Starling said. “My uncle taught me to fly. What’s the faster ship?”  

“The Odyssey of course, oh I could tell you some tales. Now, come on,” he gestured for Starling to follow him as he showed him about the top deck. “I won’t tolerate slugging along any more than the General. Learn quick or your off the side.” Trutch grinned as he said this, underscoring the frightening words with humour. 

“Yes, sir,” Starling said, feeling a bubble of nerves. A pile of ropes began to move, banging against the deck planks. Trutch’s head snapped to the ropes, then back to Starling. “Didn’t the General give you the lay down?” 

Starling grimaced, “yes, sir. I’m sorry sir. I can control it sometimes…it’s the…” 

“I don’t care. Your first lesson on flying a freighter. No excuses. There is a fine line between the mostly well-done job and the perfect job. That line is how much you want to be guts on a field or breathing long enough to reach port.” 

“Yes, sir,” Starling nodded. He took in a deep breath and counted to ten as Trutch ran him through the tasks he was assigned. 

You have enough power to take this ship. You could blow them all overboard.

You’re the son of his Imperial Highness, General Lucien Swan and the Magician-Pirate, Captain Fox. You come from the bloodline of the Druadin Marlo Swan; the world-walker, who single-handedly ended the Giants War, fifty years ago.

You don’t need to listen to these uncouth pirates. Listen to me. I can guide you to me. You don’t need anyone else.

The voice continued on this vein until the sky was streaked with gold and orange and a bell rang from the bow of the ship. That was the dinner bell.

Starling tidied up and hurried to the hatch at the bow which led down into a small gallery. Another man who Starling hadn’t met yet was at his heels as he climbed down the ladder to see the General already seated. 

“Trutch tells me you learn quick. You do your name more credit than it has had, I’ll give you that,” the General nodded at Starling who blushed, mumbled “thank you, sir,” and hurried to a side table where a woman was dishing up a plate. Starling copied her but hesitated to sit at the table. 

“Sit kid, they won’t bite,” said the man who had climbed down behind him. “I’m Pin, that’s Midge and you know Trutch. He doubles as our cook. He’ll be out.” 

Starling sat opposite the General, between Midge and where Pin settled a moment later with his own plate. 

“So you’re Swan’s spawn?” Midge said, “you’re more of a stork than I imagined.” 

“Swan’s a tall sort, so’s Fox,” Pin countered, waving a fork with potato speared on the end. 

“Isn’t there a saying about legends being shorter in real life. This kid’s a tree.” 

“I’m not a legend,” Starling said with a shrug, “just me.” The banter settled him. It reminded him of his uncle and father when they would pull out Erskine rum, play rounds of talftar, telling ridiculous tales of their adventures during the rebellion days. 

Pin laughed, “he’s funny too!” 

“Swan was funny,” Midge pointed out. 

“The funny that was punchable,” the General who had been silently listening and eating, spoke up, pointing his fork at Midge as he did so. 

“Very punchable. He must still be if his own kid is running out on him. Whatever did Fox see in him?” 

“She’s as mad as a crow, that one. I’ve never known what’s in her head, but she was a droggan pirate,” Pin swore for emphasis as he shrugged and speared another potato. 

 “She forgets about me a lot,” Starling said. “Dad’s always busy too.” 

“Well they sent out ships looking for you. Which we avoided rather neatly…” Midge narrowed her eyes at Starling and then looked to the General. “Can we keep him? It’d be nice to have our own Druadin on board.” 

“No,” the General grunted, taking a long drink of what looked to Starling like some sort of ale. Midge shrugged and went back to eating. 

There was silence for a minute, until Trutch joined the crew meal and then the mood picked up. Starling settled into his seat, letting the banter wash over him.

Letting him forget for a moment, about the voice in his head, what his parents did or didn’t think of him, what others thought of him and most of all, what’d he do next.

You are coming to me my boy. In two days you will dock at Mellis. You know where to find me. Do not delay any more, the voice filtered into Starling’s head around the cloud of laughter and camaraderie, that made Starling wish this was what family was like.

What his family could have been like, had he not a voice in his head, unpredictable magic and parents who were still busy saving the rest of the world. 

Continued in Part 2