Sketch: Inferno

Noira followed the others up the path. Each step seemed heavier than it should have been, as though the biting wind had liquified, a frigid molasses swirling around her legs and under her petra coat. The ancient stone of the mountainside broke and crumbled underfoot, worn by months of movement from workers like herself. Her own crewmates trudged just a few yards ahead of her, yet their passage felt wrong, transgressive. Some deep-rooted fragment of her mind recoiled as the overlook drew nearer, as she trailed the others across what felt like forsaken ground.

She risked a glance over her shoulder. Far below, beyond the treacherous cliffs of the shore, Ark Royal loitered upon the restless tide. Its hold yawned open, a great dark maw, force-fed a choking landslide of misshapen slag from the chute above. Noira’s eyes moved upstream along the creaking trough, winding as it bent and warped up the side of the mountain. Ahead of her, just beside the overlook, the chute disappeared over the rim of the pit.

Her heart throbbed in her chest, pounding from exertion in the freezing air, the rhythm quickening as anxiety seeped into her veins. The edge of the mine drew ever nearer, the mechanical din of the pit emerging through the howling wind. Columns of dense black smoke towered over the platform, whipped into unnatural apparitions by the tempest. Her colleagues marched on with renewed fervor. Piercing white floodlights on iron towers cast their omniscient gaze past the dark procession. Inexplicably, Noira felt herself drawn, an icy metal chain gripping her stomach, tugging her towards the looming edge. Her breath came quickly, her footfalls erratic as she willed herself up the short staircase to the overlook.

The clang of her boots resonated through the metal platform. The others had lined up along the railing, overlooking the mine below. Among the faceless bundles of clothing she saw Kori, beaming her warm smile, beckoning Noira excitedly towards the edge. The grip on her core tightened, each footfall a knell ringing out above the cacophony below. She gripped herself tightly, as though to keep her body whole, and at last stepped up to the railing beside her recent friend.

Noira gasped, a choked sound that crystallized in a flurry about her face.

She was staring into the underworld.

Sketch: Tempest

Marion’s gaze moved sluggishly across the paper, weighed on by the first signs of fatigue. He sighed, resting his head with a hand on his temple. Just three nights into Vigil and the low-light strain was already impeding his productivity; not long ago he might have worked straight through the season, with only the biting wind outdoors to remind him of the long dark. The corrective eyeglasses he’d so reluctantly incorporated into his workflow seemed less a crutch and more an ankleweight, his dependence growing by the day. He loathed the thought of those wires permanently affixed to his face, like retrofitting machinery past its service lifetime. Raising his head again, he moved to adjust his electric desk lamp. Defeat.

Relaxing his eyes, he returned to the document at hand. Figures leapt off the page in the warm light, documenting the assembly process for the rockbreakers’ new end effector. The powder-driven chisel was proving difficult to reinforce against fatigue; this latest revision in the design would hold up well, but introduced significantly more complexity for the crews meant to deploy it in situ. Even he would have lost track of the version number, were it not printed in block letters in the corner of the page. He knew, of course, that all this iteration was necessary, critical; still, he’d be glad to see the final revision shipped.

As he compared an older version against his present charge, the secondary articulation point caught his attention. That joint had seen more significant improvement than any other part of the assembly. Only minor adjustments to the arrangement of these components had been made, but the result had almost totally resolved the risks associated with this joint. It was elegant work; the kind so characteristic of her.

That subtle weight had returned to his chest. Noira had been a truly remarkable asset on his team. She had taken his direction and magnified it, exceeding his expectations for any of his engineers, let alone a junior trainee. This was the quality of work that his division had needed to leap ahead of schedule; the entire program benefitted from a mechanic of her caliber. In return, it was clear that she was flourishing in this environment as well. He had seen such growth from her in such a short few months that nothing could have possibly tempered his expectations for her future.

He sighed again, sitting back from his work. The howling Orine winds scattered icy flurries across the window of his office. She had been impressionable, as she always was. Tanura was such a novelty to her. He had offered his best guidance, knowing the kinds of influences that lay beyond the company district, the cacophony of voices that could lead her naivety astray. It was just what he had been afraid of, with Noira so vulnerable after the accident. The last thing she needed were the insidious seeds of distrust; distrust in the company, and in him. He remembered her face vividly, tormented by fear, confusion…and betrayal.

As it had then, the memory pierced deeper than he cared to acknowledge. It hadn’t been the same helplessness he’d seen in the accident; there was another, more sinister component. All her anxieties had become twisted into a vicious anger, directed towards the company which had provided so much for her, had housed and fed her to a standard of living far beyond what he knew she’d left behind. An anger directed at himself, who had moved mountains to take her under his wing, to provide her with every ounce of instruction and mentorship he could, to help her blossom into the accomplished engineer he knew she could become. All of his efforts had been cast aside, burned down and replaced with this tangle of confused morals she had found in the rakish halls of Tanura.

The ice continued to fall, born from the depths of Vigil, coating every surface in its brittle sheen. Before him, the document lay still, bare. He felt his own deep-seated chagrin creeping in from the corners of the room.

Surely there was some way he might have acted differently. Perhaps he had been overly stern; she had felt stifled, it seemed, unable to meet him where he stood. His unwavering ethic had certainly incited this response before. Elias had been much the same. Marion’s commitment to his craft, the insatiable desire to improve, to push his own boundaries, had been unpalatable for his partner – former, he reminded himself. Time and again he had grappled with this snare, how the pursuit of his own fulfillment could nevertheless drive others away, as it had Elias, and Noira.

Marion closed his eyes, listening to the clattering of the tempest. He would complete no more work tonight. At length, he tucked the document into his case, standing blearily from his desk. At the touch of his finger, the electric lamp went out with a crackle.

Sketch: Haven at Kaldus

Roselight broke over a different world.

Her warmth across the glassy horizon preceded her. Sheets of ice, jagged boulders and crooked floes, lost their edge, softening, pulling apart from one another, slumping into the sea as amber tones crept across the deep dark sky. As she emerged in the following hours, rosy highlights bloomed along the first tenuous clouds to reappear; the wind came steady, breathing life into the sea. The mirrored surface stirred and rippled and broke, scattering embers of Rosa in miniature.

Kaldus cast a long veil upon the water, its angular cliffsides fluorescing against the gradient sky. City lights still twinkled on its shadowed face, tracing their winding constellations up the island’s cobbled pavements. A few aerostats droned about its serrated peaks.

Sheltered in the rocky coast, Northbay was already metabolizing as Roselight shimmered across the waves. Champions of the night lumbered into the harbor, steel mountains to rival Kaldus itself, escorted by a clergy of pilot balloons; their fortress walls gleamed as they settled in their thrones, attended at once by their skeletal harems.

Haven was a ship, its wings glistening, unused, in the feeble dawn. It crept cautiously amidst the drifting floes, making its measured way into port, holding time and again in deference to Ark titans. Its motor chugged wearily, its blades idly chopping through the crisp morning chill.

Noira watched the ground crews scatter across the dockside, tossing their mooring line and deploying their gantries. In the still air she could hear their calls, orders she’d memorized, rehearsed and practiced so often before, the routine of what was once her life. Her eyes came to rest on the empty pier upon which no workman trod; its monarch lost, its attendants dismissed. She watched gentle waves lap at the berth, the sea unburdened.

She thought about Kori, who had spoken of her wife and children; of the men from the catwalk, cards in hand, laughing to each other under the starlight; of the boy in the lifeboat, the helpless sorrow in his eyes that mirrored her own. What had it been for? Why had the threads of their fate been severed in that hour, and she herself left behind?

The cool breeze sent chills up her neck, her hair tossed about carelessly in the light wind. It seemed so arbitrary, in hindsight. She thought of the hours she’d spent mapping the labyrinth corridors of Ark Royal, the care she’d put into every hour of her shifts, the precision of her labor which had earned her stability in the field for the past few years. Every face she’d seen aboard, the temp crews and the long-haulers, had charted their own journeys, had made their own way. What could any of them have done that night?

It was something she couldn’t understand, and she felt she would never make peace with the question. She looked up, to the aerostats milling about overhead, and thought of the aircourt in Eterna, of her siblings on the platform, so small beside their mother, waving up to her from far below.

“Next in queue! Deck hands to mooring stations!”

Behind her, from Haven’s forecastle, came the Captain’s cry, shattering the tranquility. At once the crew scampered to their posts about the bulwarks, lashing lines over cleats and calling across the deck to one another. Captain Dorian surveyed his ship for a moment, scanning the workers intently from his high vantage; Noira ducked to avoid his gaze. Apparently satisfied with their pace, he descended back into the bridge cabin.

“Look alive, girl!”

Rapid footfalls on the damp metal alerted Noira to a pair of workers bounding towards her. She leapt back abruptly from the rail as they skidded into their places, jointly swinging a lancelike docking pole over the ledge. One of them tossed a pointed look at Noira, glaring up through her close-cropped hair, before turning her attention to the dockside. Noira pulled her coat tighter and turned to walk aft along the deck, resolving to find a more secluded spot along the ledge.

Haven lurched in the water as its motor spluttered into action, a muted, whispering thrum emanating from its props. The sea carved around its bow, parting to Haven’s moderate authority, and the small ship began its approach into port.

Silence drew its haunting veil across the deck. Slowly, tentatively, the crew at their stations turned their eyes upwards. Noira followed suit, clutching the cold railing.

Kaldus stood over them all, monolithic, cold; it looked down upon them from beyond the sky. The droning airships were its eyes, scrutinizing the foreign vessel as the great mountain deliberated its approval.

From all sides, vast Ark vessels fixed their gaze upon Haven, the weight of their judgement a lead blanket upon the deck hands. A few shifted nervously, though none dared avert their eyes.

Cold waves lapped at the hull, apprehensive tones resonating from deep within.

The air was still.

Kaldus relented.

Haven sailed across the threshold.

The sounds of the harbor rose into Noira’s ears. The moment had passed, and she felt her shoulders relax as the crew began to chatter amongst themselves once more.

Footsteps came quietly behind her, pausing as they drew near.

“Noira.”

She turned to see Marion. He stood as upright and composed as ever, but there was a softness in his voice. The sight of him summoned the pain and tragedy of the night back to the forefront of her mind. Unable to meet his eyes, she turned back to the rail, guilt and shame at her own helplessness bubbling up from within her.

He came to the rail next to her. For a moment, they stood together, quietly watching the dockside approach.

“I wanted to apologize. I was curt with you that night, and there’s been much to address in the wake of the accident. I never properly offered you my condolences. I realize you’ve lost much more than an occupation.” He looked over at her, as tears ran silently down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Noira.”

She could say nothing in response, lest she risk losing her composure in front of him again. She managed only to nod to indicate her appreciation. Again they stood in silence, the chatter of the workers filling the space.

Marion produced a document from his coat, seeming to review its contents before he spoke again. “I’ve been in communication with the Company over the past round. I’ll be returning to Tanura full-time.”

Noira clutched the rail tighter. She tried to fight off the thought, but Marion was the only survivor of Ark Royal she’d known. With him gone she would be truly alone.

“However…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve perceived an opening for an additional role in my department. Excavation Devices. There’s new ground to be broken, so to speak, and we — I could use a young trainee to help with hardware development.”

Finally she turned to look up at him. In her eyes was a new light, a feeling she hadn’t known since long before that fateful voyage.

“I’m offering you a position, Noira. The Company has agreed to provide whatever accommodations are necessary for your relocation and housing. I’m aware this is somewhat beyond your area of expertise, but…it could be helpful for you.”

Hope. It had been absent from her life on Orus for so long she had forgotten to miss it. The rounds since the accident had made her feel as though it might have left her for good. Now, unexpectedly, it stood in front of her, offered plainly; the promise that things could still change for the better. It was overwhelming in a way she didn’t remember how to manage; she was crying again, her heart overflowing.

“Now, this isn’t time-sensitive, so you may take whatever time you need—”

“I’ll take it,” she managed. “Please.”

The slightest hint of a smile softened his face, in spite of his poise. “Very well. I’ll work on making arrangements once we’re ashore. My flight for Tanura is in about thirty degrees. I’ll make sure there's an additional seat for you.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

With a jolt, Haven sidled up against the berth. At once, the crew were tossing mooring lines across the deck and leaping ashore. Overhead, the sky was warm, the soaring clouds shining brilliantly in the Roselit dawn.

~     ~     ~

Feeling a bit down lately, so I wanted to follow up the latest plot update with some relevant, hopefully more uplifting prose I wrote a while ago. I'm proud of how this one came out; it's a really important moment that I wanted to capture. It also makes for a nice segue into things to come :)

Sketch: Streets

Hopefully I can get to more regular updates soon - until then, here's an older bit of prose I've written in which Noira makes a friend...

~         ~         ~

The long nights still troubled Noira. Her own thoughts would bind her as the workshift came to a close, her feet pulled down along the circuitous halls, her eyes following the tangled, blooming patterns in the carpet, weaving through each other like so many gilded vines. Ornate chandeliers dangled overhead, saturating the corridors with warm auburn hues. She would circle back to rooms she’d seen before, under the pretense of exploration, or a fancy for any one office in particular; she would fascinate herself with the homogenous styling of the building, repelled by the stairwells that would take her down to the lobby, down and out the front doors, onto the cold stone streets, the streets which wound down and down and down towards her apartment, nestled among lush, towering residences, glittering in the streetlights like empty glassware.

Eventually the chronometer in the foyer below would chime, sometimes an hour since she’d clocked out, and she would force herself to collect her things, draping her thick petra about her shoulders, clutching her satchel tightly as she followed the dreadful stairs to the ground floor. She would bid farewell to the receptionist, clinging to precious seconds of conversation before the biting cold would beckon from beyond the threshold, and she would turn to brave the journey home.

As the chronometer marked an hour and a half since her shift had ended, regret gnawed in her stomach. This was the latest she’d ever stayed, pretending to be engrossed in some older technical documents in one of the records rooms, so captivating as to require a little extra delay — then a little more, and more, until finally the churning knot in her chest, not the chronim, compelled her to return to her desk, possessed by that awful quiet panic that bubbled through her veins. Hurriedly she stuffed her notes and tools into her pack, pushing her arms through the coat and slinging the load over her shoulder as her feet carried her down the hall.

Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, the icy grip on her heart tightened; the receptionist was gone. His shift had ended, or he was on break, or he was receiving at the telegraph; in any case, nothing remained to keep her from tumbling out the magnificent wooden doors, nearly sprinting into the night.

It had been an eternity since Rosa had dipped beneath the horizon; in some part of her mind, Noira knew this was the fourth or fifth round of the night. The midnight air was the icy sea; jagged floes cutting at her ankles and wrists and her cheeks as she stumbled down the street, willing her petra to swallow her whole. Alleys gaped in her peripheral vision, dark maws like the mine, or cast in amber light from streetlamps, flickering like the corridors of Ark Royal, frozen wind howling like the sea rushing beneath her, the crashing of waves against the lifeboat, her footfalls ringing in her ears like cannonfire.

The core of her mind knew what was happening, but those clearer thoughts drowned in the turbulent smoke of panic. A streetlamp filled her vision, and it was not orange like the flame, or red like the blood, or gold like the klaxon; it was white: brilliant, blinding white, the eyes of the Founder piercing her soul, stripping flesh down to bone until she stood bare before it, her heart beating in the open, glowing as the waves closed around her, washing the soot from her skin and freezing her solid.

She sobbed into her gloves, the petra coarsening as it grew damp. Her heart still pounded in her chest as she sat against the icy stone, taking in shuddering breaths as the episode gradually passed, doing her best to quench the fires still singeing her nerves.

“Hey?”

Noira startled, her head jolting up as her eyes swept the alley.

“Oh! Hey, I’m sorry — are you alright? I wasn’t trying to scare you!”

A woman stood hesitantly at the mouth of the alley, peeking around the corner of the tall, stone building. Noira could see long, dark hair, and deep, dark eyes, reflecting the soft light from the street. At once she was aware of her own appearance: curled into a dark street corner, very lost and, until recently, entirely inconsolable. She raised her voice in reply, projecting a poor impression of composure.

“Oh, hi,” she managed, rubbing freezing tears from her cheeks. “I’m okay, I’m just…I’m a bit lost, I think. I…” She searched for words. “I didn’t mean to come down this way.” Her voice still trembled, and she could see the concern in the woman’s eyes.

“Okay, well,” the woman paused, taking in Noira’s condition. “If you want, I can try and help you get back? I don’t know where you live, of course, but…” There was a light, playful melody to her voice, and Noira perceived a hint of laughter in the last few words. She sat upright, idly checking that she still had her bag as she responded.

“I don’t...think I want to go home right now, actually.” She held her satchel near her chest. “Is anything open right now? Maybe a library, or somewhere I could stay for a little while?”

The woman’s eyes lit up. Noira saw, as her eyes adjusted, that she couldn’t have been much older than herself. “I could take you to Mr. Bavari’s shop! I was just leaving, but he keeps it open through most rounds of the night. I can get you something to drink, too, if you want.”

Noira took a deep breath. “Sure,” she managed. “Yeah, that sounds good. You said it’s nearby?”

“Yeah, I just came from there — it’s just a couple of blocks back up the road.”

“Okay.” She rose unsteadily to her feet, the midnight chill once again permeating her clothing. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” She glanced behind her, down the dark alley, before turning back to her new acquaintance. “I’m sorry if I worried you, I…I get anxious at night, sometimes.”

“It’s alright! I just wanted to be sure you weren’t hurt or anything. I bet you'll like Bavari’s place; I’ve always liked spending the night rounds there.”

Noira pulled her coat closer to her body, stepping out of the shadows of the alley to meet the woman in the street. She could see her much better now; she had a long, narrow face, with dark features; her eyes were bold, but had the same playful light as her voice. Long, black hair was tucked away into an ornate shawl that sat in bundles on her shoulders; beneath that, a stylish petra overcoat which seemed much warmer than her own. They studied each other for a moment, before the woman abruptly remembered something.

“Oh! I haven’t even introduced myself — I’m Maliyah.” She held out a gloved hand.

“Noira,” she replied, taking Maliyah’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same to you!” She cracked a broad smile, glowing in the amber light.

 

Sketch: Eterna

I'm probably going to take a bit to figure out how I want to format "content" on this blog. For this first post, I've obviously started with a quick intro. After the piece there'll be a bit of director's commentary where I talk more about the process & my ideas behind the content. So without further ado, here's one of the first pieces I ever wrote for the story!