Ascension Gate Audition Chapter: Fritz Devereaux

The snag of stone and rust screeched across the shadows in a dull, unimpressed scream. For a moment, the moonlight lit a gleam of interest on the sharp metallic faces, but when the doors rolled shut, they were doused once more in quiet disappointment.

They regarded each other, the thief and the room.

Beneath his boots lay the shattered ruins of silence. The dirigibles- cloistered around him, cold and lifeless in their gasless sleep- seemed to stare down at him with an air of bitter criticism. Somewhere in the darkness hundreds of empty wicker baskets swung above his head, disapproving not only of their solitude being disturbed, but by whom.

You’re to be our theif? Drawled the creak in ropes. Impress us.

Gloves hands fumbled in the darkness until it resolved with a click. It sizzled with a shushing hiss, and his shadow cowered in the growing flicker.

He lifted the lantern, diligently pretending the look on his face was of determination. Try me.

Metal glinted with entitled disinterest.

He cringed.

Slowly, the boy began to tiptoe around the glares of the airships, his shoes squeaking out rather loud apologies. Beyond the field of deflated dreamers he could see the large tarp at the other end of the hanger, unmoved by the strong winds he knew lay beyond it’s veil. A makeshift plaster to conceal the great scar of all the scientists and machinists since the Catastrophe. Hesitantly, he started towards it.

This place was forged by the sweat and blood of history. He'd heard stories about this room, whispered excitedly by the students at the academy- all too anxious to earn the right to see this sacred place themselves. They were stories told by almost every child in Montefeath, really. No one could resist the lore of a hundred mechanical beasts, sleeping in their mountain nest, just waiting for right recruit to bring them to life with a gust of hydrogen, and the weight of a thousand years of teaching whirling inside their heads.

His method of reaching there was... Unorthodox. To say the least.

He could almost hear those stories then, echoing off the endless ceiling like a spout of vitriol assaulting his ears. He'd heard myths of the fate of souls who dared to enter this room without the highest marks from the academy. Heard rumors of lidless eyes resting in the navigation boxes, gifts left by the great Arioso to protect the city's greatest treasure.

He felt those eyes on him. A line of a thousand bright and passionate eyes of long gone engineers and pilots were watching him with distinct distaste. They voiced their distrust from the whine and rust of age old wicker and pipe. Their souls, condensed and liquified into swirling propane, stirred in their pressurized tanks as he passed.

He quickened his pace.

It was ridiculous. Even as he drew nearer and nearer to the door he kept looking over his shoulder. Glancing warily at the hourglass above the entrance, or at the wisps of guilt he knew were hidden in the squeak of his boots.

Soon the tarp lay before him, a great screen over ten meters tall and at least twice as wide. It shrouded the hanger from the world: the chill, the moonlight, and prying eyes. When dawn creeped through the cracks, the screen would rise- freeing the flock of dirigibles into the bright orange sky with the buzz of ignited flight.

He looked back at the hourglass. More than half of sand lay wasted at the bottom.

He glanced up warily. A thick chain ran from the floor and up into the endless darkness. Even when he raised the lantern high above his head, it refused to dissipate- and even then, the shadows laughed, teasing their way into the edges.

         Carefully, the lantern lowered to the ground. The light fizzed out like a frightened whimper, and he found himself casting it a startled glare. His shaking hands gripped the chain, and with one last warily glance upward, pulled.

The gears rolled into motion with a great heave that almost sent the boy crashing to the floor. He all but hugged the chain as he dragged himself up, pulling the chain with each downward motion. Dark locks of tarp rustled upward as the before dawn glow began to peek out from underneath and a soft breeze nipped at his ankles. The system of pulleys and rope groaned at their burden like a chorus of tower bells, ringing in the morning.

As the exit opened, the wind grew stronger. Chilled, glacier air whipped around his skidding legs- his struggling arms- until finally a full blown gust filled the caravan. In the dawning light, it breathed.

He spit a clump of hair out of his mouth, only for it to catch wind and strike his face with a lash-like sting. It was only then that he noticed his eyes were bolted shut, guarding against the windy assault. Blindly, he took a hand off the chain and searched the top of his head for his goggles.

A falcon sounded from below, and before he could regret it, his eyes shot open.

His feet were poised at the edge of a long, long drop. A noise escaped the back of throat and he scrambled to get the chain back in his hands. When it was secured firmly in a vice, he allowed a few calming hyperventilations as he slowly began to realize he was not dangling out into the clouds. His toes were just barely kissing the ledge. He sighed in relief.

When he finally saw past the mile long slope of biting air and jagged cliffs, he saw the mountainside level out into a winding ridge. He saw it widen and shorten and rise with little huts and homes before swirling into the cobblestoned town square. Everything was covered in the soft smile of sunrise.

Far, far below, the village lay quiet and sleeping. He almost smiled at the sight of it, with it’s stone cottages and rock lined fences. His eyes followed the switchback paths, partly obscured by the morning clouds, until they landed on the last house on the ridge. It’s thatched roof had seen better days, and it stood quivering on the edge of the gorge, but it was home to someone. Nine little someones who deserved a much better goodbye than a single orange on each of their pillows. They deserved a note, a proper goodbye.

They deserved a letter explaining why they their big brother wasn’t coming home.

He leaned out, heels off the ground and toes just barely touching the ledge as he held onto the chain for dear life. The house stared at him and he stared back. He felt his mouth dry from all the words that died in clenching of this throat.

At the very least, they deserved someone who could sign Frederick at the bottom of that letter.

He sighed. Even a simple Fritz would’ve been better than this.

As he leaned out, the grand spires of the air guard academy came peeking out from other side of the shoulder, glittering in the quickly fleeing night. He frowned.

It was just the wind bothering his eyes, after all.

Behind him, hidden by cloud cover and his own unwillingness to lean out further, was the mountain top. Enormous and eternal in it’s presence, it gazed down at it’s burden with an ancient apathy that could only spawn from the indifference of a disappointed parent. He couldn’t see it, but it’s icy stare made him shiver, none the less.

It was enough to make him swivel on his toes, turning back to the hanger and meeting a hundred curious, lifeless gazes. For a moment, eighteen imploring little eyes flashed in center of their control dials. His breath hitched.

The next moment, they were once more the disapproving gazes of metal and rope.

   They’d probably disapprove of tears, too. So he didn’t give them any.

   He’d probably need them later, anyway.

   He placed a hand on the top on his head, feeling the cracks in the goggle lens and the tangles in his hair, and took a long, deep breath. The sooner he left, the sooner he could come back- and he was going to keep telling himself that until he believed it. That’s what the oranges had been for- a silent apology, a promise to return.

   Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wicker basket tipped onto it’s side. It was a decent size, and most importantly of all, it was close to the door. He had a vague idea about the steps: first, inflate the balloon; second, overturn the basket. Many of the balloons were pre-inflated through vents in the floor, breathing tubes of mountain air. He could see this one’s giant, half full canvas stretched out behind it like a wing prepped for flight, and he knew- this would be the one.

   With a last glance towards the ridge far, far below, he let the chain slip from his fingers, and started towards the resting balloon.

   The lantern reluctantly hissed back to life in his hands. As he placed his palms on the top of the overturned basket, feeling the weaving of the wicker beneath his hands, he was struck with the sudden realization that he was actually there.

   He heaved himself on top of the basket’s side-

   A tuff of blonde hair crashed into his nose.

   Fritz’s eyesight was suddenly a whirlwind of flailing limbs and a fast approaching floor. A crash resounded around the hanger as he fell to the ground, lantern clattering out of his grasp. He sat up in time to hear a similar crash echo from the basket, and a series of well choiced swears rise up from the wake. He’d landed on his hand, and he hissed in pain as he tried to shake it out. Fritz was nursing his wrist when he looked up, and saw the upper half of a figure sprawled on top of the rail.

   It was another boy, perhaps a year or two older or younger than Fritz. He wore the  cravat and vest of an aristocrat, but the goggles and gloves of a mechanic. A thin braid of fine, beaded hair ran from the back of his ear to just above his shoulder- the mark of a scholar.

A pair of blue eyes emerged from the mat of wind tossed fringe as the blonde boy raised his head. Fritz’s own eyes widened as he realized just who had been hiding behind the basket. A moment later, the azure eyes widened as well.

   “You-!” The blonde boy whispered, his eyebrows furrowing into a glare.

   “You?” Fritz knew that face. He’d seen it the day he walked out the academy with the two torn pieces of his application gripped in his hands. That day, the boy’s face had been plastered in the center of an oil painting. His shocked expression morphed into one of confusion, “What are you doing here?”

   “I’m stealing an airship! What do you think I’m doing?” The boy shot back, “What are you doing here?”

   Fritz reeled back as if the bluntness had slapped him.

   “Y- you- you can’t just steal an airship!”

He was momentarily graced with an absolute sense of his own stupidity.

   “Hmpf. Your opinion.” The fair boy shrugged, “So I suppose you’re one of those silly good doers who’s answering the call, yeah? Aren’t you that Fretta- Freddie- Fettuccine-”

   “Frederick.”

   “Fritz boy from the Aves house?” The blonde raised an eyebrow down at him, which might have been intimidating, had he not been suspended over the edge of a hot balloon, like some sort of sarcastic, boneless cat, “So what are you doing here, farm boy? Don’t you have some cattle to prod?”

   “Sheep.” He muttered.

   “What?”

   “We herd sheep, not cows.”

   “I don’t think either are going to earn you points on the ‘Who deserves to become a God’ scale.” The fair boy glanced behind him, and started lowering himself off the ledge, “Whatever. Your life. I’ll put an ‘A’ for effort on your tombstone for you.”

   “Hey! Wait a minute!” Fritz pushed himself to his feet, hands balling into fists. There was something about the boy’s attitude- the careless hand gestures and the flippant remarks- that seemed out of place for someone about to head off to change the world. But right then, Fritz couldn’t worry about that. What he did know was that this boy could fly an airship- if they could help each other-

He saw the blonde peek his head over the basket, a eyebrow cocked questioningly, “What? Would you prefer a gold sticker instead?”

And then, it clicked, “You’re not actually going on the quest, are you?” Fritz blinked up at the boy in surprise, “Then why are you-?”

“Oh this?” The blonde raised a hand, gesturing vaguely to the world, “No no no. Purely for personal reasons, this. Did you honestly think I was going on that suicide mission?”

   Fritz blinked, “Well... Why aren’t you?”

   “Because I’m not a bloody idiot!” The blonde shoved his chest back on top of the wicker, glaring down at Fritz with an irritation that immediately disappeared at the other’s startled jump. The fair boy propped himself up on his elbows, sighing in what Fritz begrudgingly called theatric patience, “Look, I just need an excuse to disappear, and if someone who’s been training to be an air fleet captain goes missing within the next few days- conveniently after the Manifold gate opens- everyone’ll be willing to look the other way. But what’s your excuse? You couldn’t even get in the basket without tripping over your own shadow! What’re you gonna do with an airship? Flail around until it explodes?”

   Fritz paused. “It... can’t be that hard to steer.”

   The fair boy’s jaw dropped into his hands, “Oh my gods. You don’t know the first thing about piloting, do you? You can’t even read runes, can you?” At Fritz’s blank expression, the blonde slid, very, very slowly, down to floor, out of sight, “Oh. My. Gods. You’re gonna die. You’re gonna die from how utterly stupid you are.”

   Fritz felt his cheeks flush. All possibilities of this boy helping him flew out the window. He steeled his expression, “You know what? It was nice bickering with you, but there’s a Manifold gate waiting out there.”

   A moan followed, “And how’re you gonna get there? On your herd of flying sheep?”

   “I’ll fly one of these. You’ll see.”

   “Yes. Do show me, Oh godly one.”

   With a huff, Fritz walked around the basket, looking over the other airships and hoping he at least looked like he knew what the hell he was doing. As he made it around the back, he noticed the fair boy had lowered himself down into a chair, and was watching him with just barely contained amusement.

   Fritz squared his shoulders, turning towards the nearest balloon in sight.

   He was just about to inspect the new balloon’s basket when a cough sounded behind him. He ignored it. Another, more punctuated cough followed.

   “Fritz.”

   He sighed, “What?”

   “That’s a weather balloon.”

   Before Fritz could reply, the snag of stone and rust cut through the hanger. Both boys turned sharply towards the opening door at the entrance. Faster than he could think, Fritz was being pulled down behind the fair boy’s balloon, a finger to his lips silently shushing any protests. They were hunched within the side of the basket, hidden by the basket’s floor and a wall of propane tanks surrounding the sides.

As the blonde tensed, listening intently for footsteps, Fritz’s eyes flickered over the other boy’s legs- two lifeless and unnaturally skinny things shoved inside their pant legs- belted in across the lap to the chair, a chair with two large, shining wheels at the sides.

   He blinked. That would explain why all the portraits had been from the waist up.

   They both listened. The footsteps echoed across the endless ceiling, but they seemed to stay close to the entrance.There was no denying who those steps belonged to, though. It was the morning guard, coming to tip the hour glass, and open the hanger for every pilot and assistant to discover Fritz’s and the fair boy’s hiding place.

   He didn’t breathe.

   The blonde boy carefully removed his hands from Fritz’s wrists. He looked around, and when he seemed to think it was as safe as it was going to get, he leaned forward. Even in his caution, his expression showed no fear- something Fritz was finding himself rather envious of.

He whispered, just barely audible above the hissing of the air vents.

“Alright, look. I need an airship, and you need to settle your God Complex. No no no, don’t deny it, sheep boy. Now, you can’t read, right? And I can’t have you giving me away. We can work with this.”

   Fritz was seriously beginning to doubt that, but he didn’t have much of a choice in this situation. He nodded.

   The fair boy reached under the wheelchair, pulling out a tattered scroll from the compartment underneath, “I stole this map from the- don’t look at me like that! It’s not like you weren’t here to steal something either! As I was trying to say, I can get you to the gates, as long as you help me get out of here. Deal?”

   The boy held out his hand. Fritz’s eyes looked over the stained roll of paper, then back to hand. The footsteps drew closer, and the sinking feeling in his stomach twisted. He didn’t trust his voice, so once again, he nodded. He grasped the other boy’s hand, and shook.

   His hand was crushed in a bone crunching grip. Fritz’s voice seemed to be squeezed out of him, “We should probably get going.”

   The blonde nodded. He placed both hands on the tops of the wheel rims, and slowly rolled himself to peek around the basket. His eyes surveyed the darkened hanger. He muttered under his breath, “Alright, first things first. I’m the captain.”

   Fritz took advantage of the other’s turned back to make sure his hand wasn’t broken. “Alright.”

   “And the navigator.”

   “Fine?”

   “And the-”

   “Can we talk about this later?” Fritz choked, wincing at the hitch in his tone.

“Fine. The balloon’s almost filled, we just need to tip the basket back up and hook up the tanks- you can do that while I get the tanks and the knots ready.” He rolled back, pointing his thumb behind him,” That guard is going to leave the hanger for approximately ten minutes to wake the barracks. We have that much time to ship shape and get the hell out of here.”

Right on cue, the closing of the hanger door sounded. Silence settled once more over the air like falling dust. Fritz let out a breath he’d hoped he hadn’t been holding.

The blonde gave Fritz a hard look, nodding his head hurriedly towards the rail. Fritz nodded in turn. The boy pulled some sort of lever on the chair, making the seat lower enough for him to inspect the ropes on the floor.

   Fritz peered over the edge, finding the hanger momentarily quiet. As he started hauling himself over the top, he looked back down at the boy in the wheelchair, already absorbed in making the knots.

   “You never told me your name.” Fritz whispered.

   He didn’t look up as he replied, humming in thought, “I’m also the engineer, by the way.”

   Fritz snorted, “Alright, Captain Engie.”    

   The engineer looked up through his fringe, the smallest of smiles gracing his face, “Sure. That’ll work, sheperd boy.”

---

   It was easier than he thought, working in the dark, keeping silent because any little noise might set off an alarm and alert the whole of Montefeath that, yeah, he was stupid enough to try this.

At least he wasn’t the alone on that fact.

   When the basket had been slowly raised upright, and the propane tanks lowered into the hull, Engie- he’d decided to keep the nickname, a payback for the sheep insults- had unlatched himself from his wheelchair, and grabbed onto one of the many pipes lining the skeleton of the balloon. He was able to move bar to bar, eventually making it inside, and lowered himself into another chair- this one with it’s wheels latched to the basket with rope, in the corner. Various ropes and pulleys were within reaching distance of his seat, and Fritz couldn’t help but wonder just how long Engie had been planning for this.

   Fritz was going around checking all of the gas lines, only taking about two and half steps to reach the opposite side of the basket, when the door sounded. He was yanked down by his wrist with a barely stifled yelp, Engie leaning down to hide beneath the basket’s rail. Many of the other airships were in a similar state, so their balloon wasn’t suspicious, but it made Fritz nervous, all the same.

   Engie was fixing a pair of goggles over his eyes, testing the give and pull of the burner chains. Fritz couldn’t stop fidgeting, and from the way Engie was glaring at him, he knew the blonde would have kicked him if he could.

   Instead, he just sat there, letting the steps come closer and closer. Fritz was about to say something, when Engie opened his mouth.

   “Before we go- I need to know that you can do this.”

   A quiet moment passed between them. Fritz looked around the flight-prepped balloon in questioning, “We’ve already got everything ready-”

   “No. I need to know that you honestly think you can do this.”

   He was talking about the quest. If Fritz believed he could make it through the gates, become a god. A raw sincerity was burning in his eyes, a flash of the true strength that lay behind all that bravado. It wasn’t for show- it was real.

   You’re to be the thief. Those eyes screamed. Impress me.

   He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t. Instead, he kept that gaze, bringing forth a flood of emotions- enduring, sufferance, resisting- each a star in a sky that stretched eighteen years wide.

   He breathed, “Do you think I can?”

   Engie stared at him for a long moment, searching for something in his eyes. Slowly, he reached for one of the levers. For one irrational moment, Fritz thought he was going to say no, and pull an alarm.

   A flame sparked above their heads, gas flooding into the canopy like a sudden rush of relief.

   He must have found what he was looking for.

   In a matter of moments, an updraft flooded the hanger, sweeping the balloon into the morning light.

---

   “If you start screaming, I’m turning us around.”

He sighed, “I’m not going to scream, I just find this rail very, very huggable.”

Fritz was watching Montefeath flee beneath them with an unreadable expression. At least, he thought it was unreadable.

“Alright spit it out.” Engie made a hurry up gesture with his free hand, the other was controlling the air vent, “This hull’s heavy enough without your emotional baggage. Get it out now.”

Fritz continued to stare down at the mountain, wondering if he would see a little blue house pass under them, or the nine little faces that resided inside.

“It’s just... I’m going to miss my kids.”

He glanced behind him in time to see Engie’s face morph into a look of cartoonish horror, “Dude. You have kids and you went off on this crazy-”

“They’re not my kids, not really.” Fritz didn’t really know how to explain it. He got the distinct impression that Engie was an only child, so he couldn’t accurately describe the responsibility he felt over his adopted siblings. “They’re family, though. I made sure someone would look after them, of course, but-”

A swooshing sound came from below them. Fritz peeked an eye back over the edge of the basket, only to see archers, lined up on the roofs, pointing their bows up at them.

None of the arrows made it any where near their ship, but still. People were shooting at them.

After a long, deep breath, he let go of the rail. Slowly, he slid down onto the floor of the basket, stomach churning disapprovingly as it swayed with his weight. On the last leg of the journey, he fell to his knees- hands clamping together as he started muttering long lost memories under his breath.

Engie’s voice sounded dreadfully confused behind him,  “What are you doing?”

When Fritz spoke, it was almost passable as calm, “We are suspended in midair over 1,500 meters above sea level, held aloft by a ball of burning gas, barely contained within a highly puncturable canvas, and sitting like turtle-ducks in a highly flammable life raft raft. Not only that, but we are heading into Other World territory where there are flying monsters- and our mode of transportation looks like a giant flaming target. I need a wind god to like us right now.”

There was a moment of silence, and then, “You’re going to need a lot more than a wind god.”

   Fritz turned to glance behind him, seeing the other rub the back of their neck in guilt. Engie was looking up, pulling a rope that seemed to be doing nothing.

His stomach dropped, “Why?”

   “Because,” Engie shrugged, yanking down hard on one of the ropes, “Our balloon just popped.”