The Quest to the Uncharted Lands Read online

  Which reminded Stella, she needed to retrieve her supplies as soon as the ship took off. She’d been particularly proud of that part of her plan. Her parents had arranged to have certain medical supplies from their lab shipped to the palace and loaded along with the other cargo. Never one to waste an opportunity, Stella had hidden a box of her own clothing, food, water, and a few toiletries among her parents’ things. Having memorized where each portion of the ship’s cargo was stored from the manifest, she knew she could get to it quickly, before anyone unpacked it and noticed the additional items.

  So far, everything—well, everything except for her panic attack—was going according to plan. After she set up camp, all she had to do was stay out of sight until the ship reached the uncharted lands. Only then would she reveal herself, when there was no chance the ship would turn around to take her home.

  She wondered how long it would be before the ship launched and imagined standing at one of the windows watching the ship rise, the rush of excitement she’d feel as the ground dropped away from her feet.

  She’d watched the Iron Glory make test flights in the months leading up to the voyage. Right before dawn, when the world was still dark and the stars were just beginning to fade, she’d stumble out of bed, dragging a thick cotton blanket behind her. After a quick stop in the kitchen for a cup of cocoa, she would slip out to the backyard while her parents slept or worked in the lab.

  The ship would take off from a field behind the factory where workers had spent the last year and a half building it, which just so happened to be visible from Stella’s yard. Sitting on the cold, dew-soaked grass with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Stella would squint up into the distance, admiring the dozens of lanterns illuminating the main deck. So captivated was she by the sight of the great airship rising into the sky amid clouds of billowing steam that Stella didn’t care that her pajama bottoms would be soaked by the time she got up. She was too busy pretending that the ship was a fallen star rejoining its brothers and sisters in the sky.

  Maybe that was why the airship fascinated her. In one of the old languages, Stella’s name also meant “star,” and it made her feel connected to the ship, as if they both belonged in the sky. It was a fanciful thought, and Stella didn’t usually think about impossible things like that, except on those nights when she watched the Iron Glory fly.

  On those nights, it’d been easy to believe in the impossible.

  Daydreaming, Stella closed her eyes and let the ship’s engines lull her into a half sleep. She wondered what the Hiterian Mountains would look like from the air. In the North, people told stories of rivers of crystal-blue ice running through them like veins, of the sun reflecting off the unbroken snow so brightly it could strike a person blind. There was even talk of hidden cities, people who made their homes in the cold wasteland at the heart of the mountain range, where it was thought that no living thing could survive. Stella knew they were just campfire tales, but still, a tingle of excitement ran down her spine when she thought of what they might see from their high vantage point.

  Lost in her imagination, she drifted into a deep sleep.

  —

  A sonorous boom jerked Stella awake. For a moment, she froze in confusion, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. She’d forgotten where she was. Then it all came back to her in a rush. The windows on the wall above her didn’t offer much light, and she couldn’t tell where the sound had come from. She glanced around the small space, disoriented and frightened that she might have been discovered. Had the palace guards decided to search the ship after the false fire? Were they about to drag her out from behind the crates?

  Stella went very still. She listened, but there were no footsteps, and she didn’t hear the booming sound again. The cargo bay was quiet except for the deep, constant rumble of the ship’s engines.

  It’d probably been someone passing through the cargo bay, Stella reasoned. The crew would be very active now. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but she could tell by the bobbing motion of the ship and the slight churning in her stomach that they were in the air. Stella scowled to herself. All that excitement and she’d missed the takeoff completely.

  How could she have been careless enough to nod off? The stress of carrying out her plan, combined with the fact that she hadn’t slept at all the previous night, must have exhausted her more than she’d realized.

  Still, the sound she’d heard troubled her. It hadn’t been loud, but it’d been deep and so…close. Cautiously, Stella rose to her feet and stepped out from her hiding place. The cargo bay was deserted. No one was working down here. The sound must have come from the engine room.

  Stella moved along the rows of crates toward the staircase. Maybe someone had dropped a tool and that had made the booming sound.

  No, that wasn’t right. Now that Stella was fully awake, her memory was coming back. It hadn’t been a mechanical sound, but some kind of pulse. She’d felt it reverberate in her bones. She probably wouldn’t have if she hadn’t been sleeping near the wall.

  When she reached the base of the stairs, Stella hesitated. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t risk going near where the crew would be. Secrecy was vital to the success of her plan. If anyone came out of there and into the hallway, she would be seen, and the ship’s security team wouldn’t rest until they’d rooted the stowaway out of her hiding place.

  But what if the sound signaled a problem with the ship? What if no one else had heard it, and even now, pressure was building in one of the boilers, threatening to explode? Stella gripped the rail tightly and gazed up at the dark silhouette of the doorway that led into the hall.

  Maybe she’d just take a quick look, make sure all was well.

  Slowly, Stella climbed the stairs, straining to hear footsteps or nearby voices. All too quickly, she reached the top. On either side of the landing was a support column as wide as her body. Stella hid behind the left one, built up her courage, and then slowly peered around the column into the hall.

  Her heart stood still.

  In the middle of the hallway, partially hidden by the clouds of steam seeping up from the engine room, was a boy.

  Stella swallowed a gasp and slid into a crouch behind the column, trying to make her body as small as possible. Luckily, the boy didn’t appear to have seen or heard her. When Stella’s vision adjusted to the dim gaslights flickering along the walls, she realized that the boy’s eyes were closed. His brow was furrowed tight, as if he was concentrating—or in pain.

  While she watched, afraid to move for fear of discovery, the boy slowly turned to face the wall that separated the hallway from the engine room. He lifted his hands and pressed his palms flat against the wall. He swayed, as if unsteady on his feet.

  Stella’s mind whirled with questions. What in the world was going on here? Who was this boy, and what was he doing on the ship? Did the crew know he was aboard? Stella guessed that this boy was about her age. He had dark hair and wore an old, stained knapsack on his back.

  Could he be another stowaway? Stella bit her lip in consternation. Nowhere in her plans had she allowed for something like that. Who would? Two stowaways on the same ship? What were the odds?

  And such a strange stowaway. He was in plain sight, standing there in the hallway. His hands pressed against the wall as if he were trying to push through it, and yet, at the same time, he seemed vulnerable, as if the wall were the only thing holding him upright. Was he injured or about to faint? For a moment, Stella’s healer instincts took over, and she took a half step toward the boy before she stopped herself.

  Bad idea, Stella. She didn’t know anything about him. She couldn’t just jump out from behind the column and yell, Hold it right there!

  So she stayed where she was, muscles tense, waiting to see what the boy would do.

  The minutes ticked past, and Stella’s uneasiness grew. They were so exposed here, too close to the busy areas of the ship. She was beginning to think the boy would stay there as still as a statue
forever.

  And then his hands began to glow.

  Stella gaped as pale golden light outlined the boy’s fingers and shot up his wrists all the way to his elbows. The gaslights on the wall danced and guttered, as if the light was somehow sucking power from them. Stella must have gasped, because finally, the boy moved, turning his head in her direction.

  He opened his eyes.

  They were also glowing.

  Golden radiance completely obscured the whites and irises of the boy’s eyes, spilling down his cheeks like shimmering tears. The light was so bright that Stella flinched and pushed back from the column, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the stairs. She wanted to turn and run, but fear filled her boots with lead. All she could do was stand and stare at the boy.

  Could he see her? Through that blinding glow, it was impossible to tell.

  “Wh-what’s going on?” Stella’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Who are you?”

  “It’s…all…r-right,” the boy said haltingly. His gaze fixed on her as he spoke, but the light in his eyes was too intense. It made Stella’s own eyes water, and she had to look away. “Just d-don’t…touch me. Please.” The boy gasped out the last word, his voice weakening.

  The please made a tiny crack in the veil of terror that had fallen over Stella, and again her healer’s instincts took over. She squared her shoulders, pushed aside her fear, and swept him with an assessing look. “Are you hurt?” she asked. “What’s happening to you?”

  “I’m f-fine.” The boy spoke with a slight accent Stella couldn’t place—northern Merrow Kingdom, maybe. He stood up straight, lifting his hands from the wall, and the golden light slowly faded from his skin. His eyes darkened to a rich brown. They were actually quite pretty, Stella thought, but she didn’t have time to appreciate them, for suddenly they rolled back in the boy’s head. He was about to pass out.

  Without thinking, Stella darted forward and caught him, her arms encircling his chest. That was a mistake. He sagged against her, and his weight dragged them both down. Scrambling aside so he wouldn’t fall on her, Stella managed to protect the boy’s head by propping it against her shoulder. They both kept sliding until she ended up on her knees in the middle of the hallway with the boy flat on his back, his head awkwardly cradled in her lap.

  The whole thing happened so fast that shock replaced most of Stella’s terror. What in the world was going on here? She was tempted to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. But Stella knew what she’d seen. The boy had been glowing, as if lit from within by a powerful lantern. How was that possible?

  Stella considered her options. She had some spirits of hartshorn in her alchemy case, a concoction of ammonia and deer horn whose fumes might be pungent enough to wake the boy, but if he was badly hurt, the shock to his system could be dangerous. She made a quick inspection of his head and chest but found no injuries, and when she checked the pulse at his neck, it was strong. That was a good sign. Having nothing else to go on, Stella guessed that exhaustion had caused him to pass out.

  But what had exhausted him? Was it that strange light spilling from his hands and eyes? A chill passed through Stella at the memory of the boy staring at her with that blinding gold gaze. She’d lived in Noveen her entire life, and in that time, she’d encountered many people who were different from her. There were the sarnuns with their tentacle-like feelers and their gift of speaking mind to mind. And the chamelins shifted their bodies from human shape to lizard-like creatures with wings. Yet this boy had just done something she’d never seen before. It frightened and fascinated her at the same time.

  Come on, Stella, concentrate, she chided herself. She could figure things out once she was safe in the cargo bay. Any moment, one of the crew could come walking down the hallway and discover them. She looked down at the unconscious boy. “If you won’t wake up on your own, I’m going to have to drag you,” she whispered, half hoping her voice might make him stir. But the boy remained inert, his shaggy dark hair hanging in his eyes.

  Dressed in plain black trousers and a shirt, with a gray linen vest that had been patched many times with crooked stitches and different colors of fabric, he looked tall. Although he was not much bigger than she was, Stella already knew he was heavy.

  She considered the steep flight of stairs standing between them and her hiding place back in the cargo bay. A weary sigh escaped her. “Well, this is going to be interesting,” she said.

  It took time, but Stella managed to drag the boy’s dead weight down to the cargo bay. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and by the time she limped to the bottom, she was spent.

  She had to wrench the back row of crates farther away from the wall to create space for them both in her hideout, and there still wasn’t much room to maneuver, but Stella eventually managed to lay the boy out on the floor near the wall, and she sat down beside him, her back against one of the crates. Now that they were out of sight and out of immediate danger, Stella relaxed.

  But she wouldn’t let herself rest for long. Scooting closer to the boy, she stripped the dirty knapsack off his back so that he could lie more comfortably. Then, making sure he was still fast asleep, she left him while she went in search of the crates of medical supplies where she’d stashed the rest of her own belongings.

  Stella pulled out a copy of the cargo list she’d transcribed from one sent to her parents, and set off in search of where the exact crates were stored. As she walked the aisles, she noted where others of interest were located, too. If she was careful, she could pilfer small quantities of food from the ship’s supplies without anyone being the wiser, but she’d also brought her own store of food and water. Once she’d found the correct crate with her supplies, she opened it as quietly as possible, pulled them out, and then repacked the medical equipment so that it would look as if nothing had been disturbed.

  When she returned to her hideout, the boy was still unconscious, but at least he hadn’t moved or made a sound to alert someone to his presence. Stella sat down beside him and unpacked a couple of blankets from her supplies, covering him with one of them and using the other as a pillow that she wedged beneath his head. Then she lit a candle, as the sunlight from the cargo bay windows was slowly fading into night. Soon it would be pitch-black in her tiny corner, and Stella was not going to spend her first night here curled up in a trembling ball. Just to be safe, she lit an extra candle, filling the small space with warm, buttery light. That done, she turned her attention back to the boy’s condition.

  His eyelids fluttered slightly in his sleep. Stella wondered, if she lifted one of them, would she be blinded by that golden light she’d seen earlier? She shivered and drew her hand back.

  Oh, stop being so squeamish! She was a healer and an alchemist, and she needed to analyze the situation without letting her fear get in the way.

  No, the boy’s eyes would likely be normal, she decided, because his hands were no longer glowing. Stella lifted a corner of the blanket to uncover his right hand. She laid her own palm over his and gasped in surprise.

  His hand was warm, much warmer than the rest of his body. Stella’s skin tingled where she touched him, as if dozens of tiny needles were pricking her fingers. She jerked her hand back, rubbing her fingers together to dispel the sensation. Wherever that gold light had come from, it was still affecting the boy somehow.

  Unsure of what to do next, Stella reached for her alchemy case, but her gaze fell on the knapsack lying beside the boy on the floor. Maybe there was some clue to his identity hidden in there.

  She grabbed the sack and unknotted the leather cord that held it shut. When she peered in, her brow furrowed in confusion. She’d expected to find survival supplies similar to what she’d brought with her, but besides a single food pack, a couple of rumpled shirts, and an extra pair of trousers, there were only three other items.

  She pulled them out one at a time. The first was a neatly folded bundle of shimmering black cloth, much finer and more cared for than the wadded-up shirts she�
�d put to the side or the tattered clothes the boy wore. Stella laid the bundle down to inspect later. Next was a piece of paper that looked as if it had been folded and refolded hundreds of times until it was about to fall apart. Finally, at the very bottom of the sack was a small, round object about the size of a walnut shell but much heavier. When Stella held it up to the candlelight, she realized it was a tiny statue fashioned in the shape of a beetle.

  At first glance, the figure appeared to be made of iron, but examining it more closely, Stella noticed the metal had a distinctly reddish sheen to it, which suggested tarnished copper. But she was no metallurgist and therefore couldn’t be sure. The artist who’d made the piece had put an astonishing amount of detail into the design. Its outer wings shimmered red, while the beetle’s head glinted a lighter shade, almost pink. The antennae jutting from it were so thin and delicate that Stella was afraid they would break off in her hand. She gently touched one of the beetle’s legs with the tip of her finger and was surprised to find that it felt quite strong. She almost believed that if she set the little statue on the floor, it would skitter away.

  But why have something like this when he carried so little else with him? It must be a keepsake or something important to the boy, for though it was beautiful, Stella could see no practical use for it. Carefully, she set the beetle down on the floor—looking back at it once just to make sure that it wasn’t actually going to scurry away—and reached for the bundle of black cloth.

  The fabric was beautiful, dark and glittering like a star field on a cloudless night, but it had a strange, wrong texture. It puddled in her lap, slicker and heavier than cloth should be. Up close, it looked as if hair-thin strands of metal had somehow been woven into the fabric. Stella gently shook it out to get a better look.