The Skyhound Master: Andul Guardians, #2

By Shauna E. Black

Her options are to enslave more people, or die in a prison camp. But Avilene has other ideas.

 

Rescuing the Phantom Nightingale from the clutches of the empire seems an impossible task, especially when Avilene is kidnapped by a dreaded skyhound, leaving the Carpathia in a crash dive for the Earth's surface. Brayde must seek the help of a gruff insurgent leader to repair the ship and locate Avilene.

 

Trapped in the confines of an Andul work camp, Avilene is cut off from her magic abilities, unable to escape the inhuman treatment of the camp's guards that land her in a perverse hospital with only one way out: the morgue.

 

To find each other again, Brayde and Avilene must overcome the conniving designs of a Skyhound Master before he destroys Xanthe and twists Avilene into a tool of repression for the empire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aelurus Publishing
• Release date: Oct 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781912775163

Book preview

1

The Coming Storm

The wind filled the sail with a life of its own until it bucked and jerked like an angry python in Avilene’s hands.

She never should have volunteered for this.

Gritting her teeth, she wrestled to free the sail from the mainmast before the worst of the storm slammed into the Carpathia. It didn’t help that not only was she blind, eyes turned a shiny white from the slipping power of her Andul race, but with the storm howling around her, she was half-deaf now, too.

The wind beat against her ears, tore chill fingers through the leather coat she wore, and knotted her hair. It muffled noises around her like the static interference of a wireless radio and marred the imagery sounds normally painted for her in a kind of echolocation. The outlines of the young men beside her were fuzzy and indistinct, even when they spoke.

How long until the storm hits? Jence yelled over the wind.

His twin brother, Leon, replied, What? This isn’t storm enough for you?

It will get worse. Brayde’s deep bass was easier to distinguish, with its rumbling undertones. The rain hasn’t even started yet. As always, his voice calmed the raw edges of Avilene’s nerves, like wrapping her fingers around a warm cup of soup.

Let’s just get this sail down already, Webber complained, so we can hole up for the rest of the storm. The annoyance in the young engineer’s voice was clear and a far cry from his usual even keel.

The wind gusted in a substantial swell, and Avilene was completely blinded for a moment as it overwhelmed her hearing. Panic stabbed her, and Avilene fought to contain it. The images her echolocation had painted for her of the boys, the sail, the ropes, and even the deck of the ship she stood on with its gently curving prow and gunwale, disappeared into a blank nothing.

The blindness only lasted a moment. When it returned, the sound of tinkling glass announced a broken Geissler tube. Another voice, like a ghost, joined the cursing of the boys and the flapping of the sail.

This new voice was smooth and mellow, not spoken but sung in a lilting melody, bringing an ache to her chest. Xanthe. He had left his voice behind, encased with hydrogen in the thin glass tubes lining the sail. His song was snatched from the broken tube by the wind and flung far from the Carpathia, just as its owner had been, three long months ago.

In Xanthe’s absence, Brayde had assumed command of the ship, but Avilene knew he was uncomfortable in that role. The only time the tension in Brayde seemed to relax was when he wrapped his arms around Avilene and held her close. Avilene wished she could say the same for herself. The entire crew keenly felt the loss of the Carpathia’s captain, but for Avilene, who had only just gotten to know him, Xanthe’s absence seemed especially sharp, because it was her fault.

Webber cursed. I said be careful!

I was being careful, Leon snapped back.

Webber wasn’t cowed. Xanthe isn’t here to replace those tubes. We already broke a section in the last storm.

What am I supposed to do, with this cursed wind beating at me all the time?

Avilene caught snatches of Brayde working on a stubborn rope knot. Leave them alone, Webber, he said. Avilene can replace the tubes.

He handed the rope to Avilene as it came free. Brayde’s words twisted her stomach tighter than the knot had been. The tails of her coat flapped in the gale, as though anxious to escape.

The coat had belonged to Xanthe. Sometimes, she felt as though she’d stolen it from him, although he’d given it to her one cold night to ward off the chill. She never got the chance to return it. Avilene’s body felt small inside its voluminous folds.

I haven’t worked out how to recharge tubes yet, she shouted.

Her voice came out smooth and musical. It was still strange. She was used to a scratchy roughness filling her voice like gravel in a tumbler. As a child, her voice had been maimed, ruined by her father’s experiments with the moldavite that hampered the Andul’s ability to slip.

Brayde placed an arm over her shoulders and squeezed. You’ll get it. With time.

Time was something they were running out of. The winter storms already gave way to the tranquility of spring, coming less often and battering the Pembrook peninsula with a weaker will. Soon, flight would again be possible. Then the Tyrians would arrive in force, drawn by the complaints of Pembrook’s new governor. Avilene pushed that thought aside. It was a worry for another day.

They managed to unhook the remainder of the sail from the mainmast without breaking more tubes. Webber directed them in folding it carefully on the deck into a long roll spanning half the length of the ship.

With the wind interfering, Avilene couldn’t discern the rocky shoreline just under a kilometer from where the Carpathia rested against the north side of a hill, but she could still hear snatches of the ocean surf pounding against the craggy boulders and feel the spray that spat higher than the tallest mast to fall on them like salty rain.

We’ll store it in the stairwell, Webber yelled, as he bent to pick up one end of the rolled sail.

Avilene took up a position in the middle. The deck began to vibrate under her boots. Earthquake!

Thanks to the melting of the planet’s ice caps more than a hundred years ago, it wasn’t unusual for earthquakes to jar the Yuropene continent, but they were more frequent during a storm.

Not again, Leon whined.

The vibrations escalated. Brayde spun to catch Avilene and pressed her face-first against the mainmast. She wrapped her arms around the wood as far as she could.

Hang onto something, Brayde called to the rest of the crew.

The Carpathia rattled and tilted, stuffing Avilene’s ears with more sound to block out everything else. Closing her blind eyes, she shrank inside Brayde’s powerful embrace. His arms had been the rock she clung to when grief threatened to overwhelm her, the love dragging her back from a mournful abyss. She’d come to rely on those arms. Although they’d only met a few short months ago, Avilene couldn’t imagine life without him.

The earthquake subsided. In a moment of calm, Avilene’s hearing gained a short respite from the wind. Behind her, beyond the gunwale of the ship, she heard a snatch of something long and thin, whipping like an erratic serpent through the air.

Avilene sighed. Brayde, one of the mooring lines is loose.

With Brayde’s face close to her ear, she clearly heard him curse. The earthquake must’ve worked it out. He let go of her, staggering against the diminishing movement of the ship. Tassadar, fetch me the sledgehammer. Quinn, Eryk, come with me. Let’s get that anchor back into the ground before the Carpathia keels over.

The four young men careened to the gangplank, as though drunk, until the wind swept their wavering images from Avilene’s sonic sight.

Let’s get this sail below, Webber called.

Avilene moved back to her position in front of Webber and grasped the heavy canvas.

Webber prompted, One, two, three!

They all grunted and groaned as they hefted the sail. Avilene’s arms didn’t quite fit around the cylinder, but she refused to let the boys show her up.

At the forefront, Leon stumbled into motion. I wish we were still safe and snug in the docks on the other side of the hill. It would be worth the risk.

Webber’s growl made it apparent he was still in a mood. I don’t trust docks built into a hillside, not with these earthquakes going on.

Leon’s twin, Jence, chimed in, If we’d stayed, that new Pembrook governor would have clapped us all in irons by now. How safe and snug would you be in a jail cell?

But this side of the hill gets all the brunt of the storms, Leon whined. We wouldn’t have to worry about the sail if we hadn’t hoisted it to get out of the docks.

Avilene moved blindly forward, pulled by the tug of the sail. Stop griping. The hill protects us from the governor’s patrols. They don’t want to venture to this side of the hill, either.

Exactly, Leon trumpeted.

Avilene’s snort turned into a grunt as the sail shifted, and she nearly dropped it. You’ll be safe and snug in your bed soon enough.

Leon didn’t seem ready to give up complaining just yet. "I was safe and snug in my bed until Brayde rousted me. It’s too early in the morning for this."

Only because you stayed up all night playing cards with Galina and Eryk, Avilene retorted.

A merry voice accompanied the sketched auditory shape of a girl brushing by them with an armload of single-flyer wings. Save your breath, Sicarah chirped, as her fingers brushed Avilene’s shoulder. Even with only half her hearing, Avilene could make out the complicated leather straps crisscrossing the body of the Carpathia’s pilot. Boys are all babies, anyway.

I resent that, Jence protested.

Sicarah skipped forward and tapped a hand against Jence’s chest. Especially you. She giggled.

As Sicarah disappeared into the looming mass of the quarterdeck in front of them, Avilene cocked her head. I’m surprised you’re not hoarse this morning, Jence, as late as you and Sicarah were up talking.

The sail shifted, and she imagined the hunch to his shoulders she’d seen before when he was teased.

Look who’s talking, Avilene, Webber said. Explain to us just how you know so much about what everybody was up to late last night.

Now, it was Avilene’s turn to hunch with embarrassment. As her cheeks heated up, the cool rain became welcoming. I was in my own bunk before Sicarah came in. Just because my hearing is acute doesn’t mean I was up to no good.

I don’t know, Leon drawled in a needling tone. Those midnight strolls on the deck with Brayde are turning into a regular habit.

The boys snickered, and Avilene tried to laugh it off. It was none of their business if she liked to hold hands with Brayde under the stars.

Her laugh turned into a yelp, as she tripped over an uneven plank. Curse this wind. How was she supposed to sense where she was going without either her hearing or her sight?

Almost there, Webber said. Five more paces.

She was grateful for the directions, with her hearing hampered by the wind as it was. Although she’d told Brayde on occasion she didn’t need his verbal guidance, there were times she appreciated it.

I’m at the first step now, Jence said. We’ll take it nice and slow. Apparently, they were all getting in on the act. Boys.

Avilene felt forward with a toe until she found the drop off to the first stair. She stepped down carefully. As they descended into the protection of the stairwell, her sonic sight slowly returned.

The outline of the stairs drifted down into a melee of sound. Children scurried past, carrying boxes and bedding. Avilene’s hearing wasn’t limited to the walls of the ship’s lower decks, as her sight would have been. Although she couldn’t discern details, when she concentrated, she could pinpoint the locations of children in the officers’ quarters to the left and the galley to the right. They scampered up and down ladders in the center of each deck, moving easily between the hammocks strung throughout the berth and the storage bays. There was even a child in the orlop, the lowest level of the Carpathia, where the radio crackled, and the Geissler tubes whispered, waiting for Webber to call them to life.

Avilene recognized those closest to her by the unique sounds their bodies made, in the rhythm of their hearts, and the blood coursing through their veins. Her mind interpreted it all as a detailed image. Though it lacked color, it allowed her to move with confidence again, as the door of the stairwell closed, muting the wind.

Although using her Andul power to slip instantly from one location to another had cost Avilene her sight, her sonic sensitivity more than made up for the lack.

Set the sail down against the wall, grunted Webber.

They were bending down when Deryn came out of the galley, chin tilted up at them. She was dry washing her hands. Our food supplies are getting low. How long do you suppose the storm will last?

Leon grunted as he pushed his end of the sail closer to the wall. There’s not much coin left. Have you already used up those tins of flour I bought you?

Webber spoke from behind Avilene with a defensive tone. The Captain’s not here to charge Geissler tubes to sell. We’re just doing the best we can right now.

Nobody was criticizing you, Webber, said Deryn. Her unspoken words filled the awkward silence. If only Avilene could charge Geissler tubes, we’d be all right.

But Xanthe had been snatched away before he had the opportunity to teach her how. Besides, Avilene had recently avoided slipping.

Tassadar can head into town for donations, Avilene said, as soon as the storm lets up.

People in Pembrook have already given us enough, Deryn fussed.

Avilene put on her best sergeant’s expression. It’s either that or starve. Deryn cringed.

Avilene took a deep breath and reminded herself the crew wasn’t used to the severe style of Yugend Academy where she’d been raised. She modified her tone. You’re clever. You can make our supplies stretch.

Deryn nodded and returned to the galley.

The door above banged open. Kali, the leader of the wingers, stumbled in, as though blown by a gust of wind and sleet. She juggled two more sets of wings.

That’s the last of them, she said. Her tiny frame inched around Webber when he proved to be too slow. The tips of the leather and brass wings weaved over her head, threatening to overwhelm her.

They tilted toward Avilene, and she caught them in two hands. Do these go down in the hull?

Yes, Kali panted. Thank you, Avilene.

The wings weren’t heavy, but they were awkward. Avilene had flown similar contraptions in Yugend. The Tyrian Empire ruling most of the Yuropene continent with an iron fist honed academy students into tools for their military arsenal. Avilene’s life before had been all duty to the harsh realities of war. Since joining the Carpathia crew, Avilene had come to see the world in a rosier light.

Just as Avilene lifted the wings from Kali, she heard someone scrambling up the ladders from the lowest level. It was Mim. Her breath came fast and her heart pounded.

Something’s wrong, Avilene said. The boys grew tense.

Mim’s head popped out from the center of the deck. When she scrambled off the ladder, she noticed them and came at a run.

Help! Webber, Jence. They’re going to find them. What will we do?

Slow down, said Jence. Who’s going to find whatsit, now?

Mim’s words tumbled over each other like the rapids in a river. "We can’t fly in the storm. But they’re coming, and if we don’t do something, they’ll find them. Avilene, you’ve got to slip into town."

What are you talking about? Leon asked.

Webber hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers. Mim is on radio duty. What did you hear, Mim?

With a gulp, Mim gathered herself. That new governor, the one Brayde’s always complaining about?

Governor Hassanov, Kali supplied.

Yes. He’s ordered troops to search the houses in Pembrook.

Mim’s words acted like a shot of adrenaline as they sunk into Avilene’s chest. Her heart pounded in rhythm with Mim’s. From the moment Hassanov landed in Pembrook two weeks ago, it was obvious this would happen. But Avilene had hoped he wouldn’t act this soon.

I told Brayde those false papers were a bad idea. They’d roused the new governor’s suspicions. Avilene shoved the wings at Leon. Did they say which end of town they’ll search first?

Mim passed a hand over her forehead. I don’t know. I heard the order to search and I panicked.

Avilene groped for Mim’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze, hoping it conveyed comfort. It’s okay. We’ll get Noona and Cupcake out of there. It would be good to see them again, even if it was under distressing circumstances.

I’ll pull out the motorized bike, Webber said.

Avilene was already halfway up the stairs. Wait. Let me talk to Brayde first.

The wind and a handful of sleet smacked into her as she burst back onto the upper deck. It should be deserted now, but it was impossible to tell with the force howling around her. It caught the tails of Xanthe’s coat, dragging her back as she fought to reach the gangplank. Avilene moved from memory, hesitant and cautious in her near-blindness.

Brayde, she called. Brayde!

Hands grasped her shoulders, startling a squeak out of her. Not being able to hear was unpleasant enough without people sneaking up on her without warning. Her heart pounded even harder.

Brayde’s hair tickled her forehead as he leaned in to speak next to her ear. What is it?

Mim heard Hassanov order his troops to do a household search in Pembrook.

Then Cupcake and Noona are in danger. He threw an arm around her, shielding her from the wind with his body, so she could hear. "Can you slip us over there?"

No, was her immediate response, though she didn’t voice it. When she had first revived her ability to slip three short months ago, it had been like discovering an old friend torn violently from her side. But now, the thought of using her Andul power to transport from the Carpathia to Pembrook made gooseflesh prickle along her arms.

I—I don’t know, she stammered. "I haven’t done much slipping. I’m not very good at it yet."

Brayde cupped her chin in his hand. It’s too risky to fly the Carpathia into Pembrook with the soldiers there, and if we took the motorized bike, we wouldn’t arrive in time. The town’s seven kilometers away.

Slipping was as risky for Avilene as flying the Carpathia, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Brayde that. Besides, her friends were in danger. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to Cupcake and Noona.

Avilene reached up to entwine her fingers with Brayde’s, forcing her breathing under control. His skin was calloused and familiar. It grounded her. She could do this, couldn’t she? Very well.

Brayde leaned in to kiss her softly on the cheek, his musky scent caressing her heart before the wind whipped it away. That’s my girl.

Inside the sure guidance of Brayde’s arm, Avilene made her way back to the alcove under the quarterdeck without any trouble. It was a relief when the door shut out the storm again.

Ten steps down, Brayde said.

I can hear now, Avilene replied.

Sorry. Habit. Brayde trundled down the stairs after Avilene. Sicarah, he bellowed.

Sicarah’s voice was faint. Busy.

Avilene identified Sicarah’s room, where a figure bent over the bottomless trunk of clothes. She’s in her quarters.

Get your frilly petticoats out here, Brayde roared. We’re in a hurry.

Keep your stockings on!

Without waiting, Brayde tramped down the hall of the forecastle dividing the officers’ quarters under the sloping roof of the ship.

I’m coming. Sicarah jumped as she stepped out of her cabin and was met by a fuming Brayde. She wore a more austere outfit than her usual frills, the shape clinging to her frame under crisscrossing leather straps. Perching one hand on a languid hip, she drawled, What do you want?

"Tassadar’s still working on the anchor. Keep everyone else below deck. Avilene and I are going to slip into town and bring back Cupcake and Noona."

Sicarah’s head tilted toward Avilene. "She’s going to slip?" Her tone was full of incredulity, sending spikes of fear surging through Avilene.

Sicarah was right. This was a horrible idea.

Yes. Brayde seemed oblivious to the girls’ silent exchange. She can do it, I’m sure.

Sicarah’s hand slowly drifted down from its perch on her hip, relaxing at her side. Of course she can. It’s just—

Avilene waved her hands frantically behind Brayde’s head. She was glad he didn’t have the sonic sight to sense what she was doing.

What? Brayde prompted when Sicarah broke off.

She gave a little shrug. Be careful. My jailbreaking skills are rusty.

Reaching for Avilene’s hand, Brayde replied, I’m always careful.

Sicarah snorted. Yeah, right.

Brayde gave Avilene a nod, indicating it was time to go. With a deep breath, she steeled herself. She could do this.

Avilene began to sing.

The soul song filled her, expanding up from the depth of her diaphragm to swell her chest and vibrate her skull. Although she did not understand the Andul words her mother had taught her so long ago, the music was a culmination of the few short days of happiness she’d salvaged from her eighteen years of life. To her, it was not sad as many Andul songs were, but a celebration of life and joy and memories.

Avilene had lost the soul song when her father took her away as a child to Pragnov to fulfill his political ambitions and later exposed her to moldavite too strong for her to handle. She had only recently recovered her song in a catastrophic event resulting in her father’s death.

While singing filled her with renewed hope and joy, she didn’t like to dwell on the disaster that had swept away people she loved or contemplate how the death of her father left such an aching void when he had only ever treated her harshly. Instead, she focused on the song.

As she sang, the wooden walls of the Carpathia’s forecastle fell away into shards. They pulsed and joined a maelstrom of images and sound, rotating around her like stars circling a planet. Not only could she hear the sound each image made, distinct and demanding in its intensity, but here she could see.

The nayplace.

At least, that’s what Avilene had come to call it. She’d first found herself here last fall when her childhood friend, Lorelei, was forced to slip into the past.

Thinking of Lorelei brought on a maelstrom of emotions: betrayal, sorrow, and loneliness. They had been constant companions for years, in spite of Lorelei’s increasing hostility. When Lorelei fled to regions unknown, Avilene sought to fill the void with new friendships aboard the Carpathia, but she couldn’t help wishing Lorelei had stayed. Perhaps they could have mended their relationship and regained the easy trust that had marked their first years together.

But Lorelei’s slips to the past had destroyed everything, and Avilene was ultimately to blame. Without her, slips through time were impossible.

Xanthe had called Avilene a conductor, a very rare talent allowing her to guide other Andul in their attempts to slip. Only with a conductor could great distances be crossed in the blink of an eye. The nayplace was where Avilene chose the destination of a slip.

But now, something was wrong. Her skin felt slimy, as though she’d bathed in oil. Avilene jerked around, certain someone watched her in this place that wasn’t a place. She saw no one, not even Brayde, whom she would pull through the slip with her.

Best to get this over and done. Sorting through the shards, Avilene found the home where the Bakers lived, named for their trade. They’d been happy enough to take in Cupcake and Noona and provide them with a family, and Cupcake had been delighted at the prospect of eating all the baked treats she could stuff into her small mouth. It would feel good to hug that little bundle of mischief again.

There. The stone house at the end of the village with a double roof covered in shaggy moss. Avilene reached for it, her song slipping her there with Brayde.

2

Pembrook Haven

Brayde grasped Avilene’s hand in the hall of the officers’ quarters. Her fingers warmed his own, left cold and numb from working in the rising storm. He gave her a nod to begin the slip and a squeeze for good measure. She hesitated, and he realized it had been some time since she’d last slipped