The Eqe Aqawe, Over the Tincta Basta
“Niccolette – you are –” Aremu hesitated, eyes wide.
From behind them, the two heard the pirate howl – heard the wet thunk as Kirrah’s blades found their mark.
“Get her inside,” Niccolette said. “Strap in. I’ll push.” The Bastian stepped away from the door, glancing up at the ship overhead. She stepped back against the wall, reaching up, and tugged down the straps of a harness, securing herself to the wood. Her hands fumbled, and Aremu reached for her, pulling the straps tight.
The imbala stepped back, and glanced up at Kirrah as she stumbled towards them. “Ms. Grey,” he said, tension hard in his voice. “There is no time – come with me, please,” he would grab her arm if she needed the support, hustling the passive in through the door, then ten feet down the hallway, away from the deck outside.
“Hold tight,” Aremu said, jaw clenching. He glanced back out the door, as if he could see Niccolette through the solid wood.
She was not, Niccolette thought dizzily, much of a physical sorcerer. It had never been her specialty. Blood was dripping steadily from her nose now, the adrenaline spell already pushing her body beyond what it could handle. Uzoji or Chibugo might have been able to cast the spell from inside. She had heard Uzoji cast it often enough; Niccolette was sure she could do it. She did not see as that she had a choice.
Niccolette inhaled, deeply, and held tight to the last of her energy as she began to cast, eyes fixed on the ship above, her body tense. She could feel the Eqe Aqawe begin to move – could feel the nose point down, Chibugo trying to put distance between them and the other ship. The engine rumbled loud through the ship – the propellers whipped around, adding energy to it. Niccolette tempered her spell to account for the change, chanted again –
And a push spell from the galdor caught Eqe Aqawe, and shoved it through the air, hurling it in the direction Chibugo had pointed her in. Not hard - not nearly as hard as Uzoji or Chibugo could have done it - but hard enough. The snap of the movement lifted them all off the ground – Niccolette, strapped to the outside of the ship, the wind battering against her – Aremu and Kirrah inside, with Aremu reaching out again to catch hold of Kirrah, if she needed it – distant, in the cockpit, Chibguo was already strapped close to the wheel, but even he and Uzoji would feel the lift of it, the sudden sense of weightlessness.
The pirate Kirrah had killed flew backwards off the ship, dragged over the deck railing – spun off into the distant night. Niccolette watched him, dizzy; she had curled the spell, and that was good, because nausea was churning in her stomach. The Bastian vomited, and the wind swept it away. She sagged, held up only just by the straps, and felt the last vestiges of the adrenaline spell fade; her nose dripped blood, her hands were numb, and she threw up again, splattering vomit over the ship’s deck.
Chibugo caught the new current, and the wind swept them away from the aerial battle, set them on a new course.
The moment the ship leveled out, Aremu let go of Kirrah and ran for the door, leaving the hand holds behind. He fumbled it open, eyes locked on Niccolette. After a moment, seeing the fragile flutter of her pulse in her neck, the passive let out a soft sigh. He shoved his leg through one of the leather straps, holding himself in place, and unbuckled the Bastian, lifting her in his arms.
Niccolette groaned, softly, not even half conscious, head lolling back. Blood smeared her pale face, and vomit flecked her lips, the make-up that had been neat a few hours ago a smeared mess over her eyes and lips. “It worked,” she told Aremu, pride fierce in her voice with the last of her strength. Then, eyes fluttering closed, Niccolette surrendered (briefly) to the night.
Aremu chuckled, hefted the unconscious Bastian, and chose his moment carefully between the gusts of wind, carrying the galdor back inside. He shut the door behind him with his leg, and looked up at Kirrah.
“Could have been worse,” The imbala said, grinning, although he was shaking slightly. “Uzoji’s alive – Niccolette’s alive – I am alive – Chibugo must be alive, or the ship would not fly so smoothly. How is your arm?” He carried the Bastian past Kirrah, turning sideways to fit in the narrow hallway, and headed not for the bridge, but for once of the small rooms along the corridor.