The Tinkerer's Daughter (9 page)

I had always assumed I’d been born and raised in the Riverfork area, and that my mother had probably died in childbirth or fallen ill. This revelation that my father was a foreigner opened up a whole new path of questioning.

“Do you know where he came from?” I asked. My heart was thumping. Who was my father? How had we ended up here, and without my mother?

“I believe he came from the Borderlands, the part of the kingdom that borders the Crimson Strait.”

“The Borderlands? That’s where the war is, isn’t it?”

“Mostly, yes. The Strait is a narrow channel of water that separates the land of Astatia from the Isle of Tal’mar, the home of your mother’s people. That’s where most of the fighting has taken place over the centuries. Legends say that during great battles, the water has turned the color of blood. Hence the name.”

I shivered at the appalling thought. How many people had died to spill that much blood? It was no wonder that the humans and Tal’mar hated each other so. All they’d ever done was slaughter one another. I hated to think that my father had been a part of that.

“Why do you think my father was from the Borderlands?”

“First of all, he had the coloring and build of a Northman, and being that close to the border, it wouldn’t be unlikely that a human and Tal’mar might cross paths. I’m guessing you got your hair from your father’s side of the family, because Tal’mar hair is usually either violet or green.”

“Violet and green? Truly?”

“Yes. Bear in mind that the Tal’mar are not humans, child. They may resemble us in certain ways, but they are most certainly a different species. In fact, I’m surprised that you exist at all, to be honest. I had thought such a mating would be impossible.”

In the span of a few sentences Analyn had gone from acting as if I were completely human to talking about me like some sort of unnatural experiment. I ignored the pain that her statement brought to me, because I knew she didn’t mean it. I could tell from her face that it was totally unintentional. It was just a surfacing of deep, unexplored feelings that she’d never questioned. Even though she had chosen to treat me as a friend –as one of her kind-she still couldn’t forget the duality of my nature. It would always be there, no matter what happened.

If it was impossible for a woman like Analyn Trader to forget our differences, then how likely was it that other, less open-minded people might act? Had I been deluding myself, thinking that people might change that much?

“I suppose it’s just as well, since they’re both dead,” I said bluntly. “Once I die, everything can go back to normal.”

Analyn’s eyebrows shot up. Her face changed, and I saw then that she realized the grief she had given me. “Oh dear,” she said, throwing her arms around me. “Breeze, I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you. I’m sorry that things are the way they are.” She let me go and saw that I had tears in my eyes. She handed me a handkerchief.

“Why did they do it?”

Analyn smiled. “Love,” she said gently. “What else could it be? Who would enter into such a tragic relationship for any other reason? It’s quite romantic really, if you think about it. The two of them, forbidden lovers from two separate worlds, no hope that they could ever truly unite. It must have been exhilarating and frightening all at once. They certainly must have known that if anyone found out there would be trouble. Your father would have likely been jailed and hanged as a traitor.”

“My father was
not
a traitor!” I said.

“Calmly, Breeze. I didn’t say that he was. I only meant that people would suspect. Humans are simple that way. Once they get a thought in their heads, there’s no changing it. Anyway, there is another reason that I brought all this up. I have friends and family up north. I was considering asking them if they knew your father, or had heard of him. I didn’t want to do it without your permission.”

My heart skipped. “You would do that?” I said.

“Of course. I’ll mention your father as a friend, and I’ll tell them I’d like to contact his family. Nothing more than that. That way we can discreetly find out if you have any more family, and hopefully learn more about your father, possibly even your mother. How does that sound?”

I was crying again. I didn’t even have the words to thank Analyn for what she was doing. I threw my arms around her and wept, and she held me as if I were a human.

How can I describe what it’s like, not knowing anything about your parents, or your heritage? A large part of me, the biggest part of me, was a mystery.
What if I did have more family?
Would they accept me, or chase me away? I hardly dared to wonder.

“I’ll compose a letter this weekend. Perhaps in a week or two, we’ll know more.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

She patted me on the back. “You’re welcome, Breeze. Don’t worry. In time, all will be known.” She held me at arms length and gave me a wink. “Run along now, I hear the Tinkerman and that rattletrap contraption of his outside.”

I thanked her again as I left, and she waved me off. On the way home, I told Tinker of our conversation. He too, was touched by Analyn’s generosity. “I never knew your father well, either,” he admitted. “I traded some horseshoes to him once, and some nails another time. He never had much to say. I guess he wasn’t too anxious to make friends. Now we all know why, don’t we?”

The next few weeks flew by. Between my studies and Tinker’s glider, I hardly had a moment to think. In school, I didn’t make friends as quickly as I had hoped. The other children didn’t seem to suspect me, but they weren’t opening their arms to me either. I was learning however, and that was the important thing.

Analyn had a library in the school room, and she readily let me borrow anything that I wanted. Needless to say, I spent many late nights reading by candlelight in my room. I had a voracious thirst for knowledge, and at last I had a taste of what I’d been craving.

I studied the history of my world, and the history of the war. More than anything else, it seemed to be a study of fear, paranoia, and racism. Humans thought Tal’mar were arrogant and devious. Tal’mar believed humans to be inferior and barbaric. The generations of mistrust bred hatred and fear. The two people, it seemed, would never find common ground.

I learned of another race of men who lived to the south, in the barren desert that was officially named Kantraya. Commonly, it was known as the Badlands. The men who lived there were wild, nomadic barbarians who worshipped dark gods and practiced a strange, mystical religion. There was little solid information regarding these peoples, but plenty of conjecture.

It was said they used black magic, and that they practiced human sacrifice and cannibalism. The stories said the Kantrayans, or Kanters, were descended from giants, and that the smallest of them were twice the size of the largest humans.

They conducted raids along the borders from time to time, but they seemed to have little use for logic or organization. The only thing that saved the northern lands from the Kanters invading was the fact that they were too unorganized to form a real army. As a result, they were generally presumed to be too stupid to teach and too powerful to train as slaves.

I found the lack of good information about the Kanters to be troubling. Humans had determined that Kanters were too stupid to be a threat, and therefore simply ignored them. I shouldn’t have been too surprised by this. The humans focused their attention on the greater danger, the Tal’mar. Ultimately, this complacency could have destroyed us all.

Tinker’s project moved steadily forward. I helped him when time allowed, but not nearly so much as I had before school started. The new fuselage was larger and sturdier than the first, and Tinker asked me to see to the shaping of the wood. I did what I could. The thing was little more than a hollow shell.

It was three weeks after the crash that this new glider, now called an “airplane” by Tinker, had its virgin flight. I walked around the aircraft the night before, searching it with my mind. There was no doubt that this vehicle was superior in every way to its predecessor. The wood and steel were meshed, acting as one. The wings were flexible to allow for increased lift and changes in wind resistance, but they had spines like bones to keep them from breaking. In all, I was quite proud of the job we had done.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Tinker stood behind me. He was smoking a cigar, as he did on rare occasions, and the bittersweet smell of tobacco drifted through the air around us, drowning out the aromas of lilac and grease that defined our homestead.

“I don’t think you should fly it,” I said. I turned to face him, gauging his reaction. He immediately became defensive.

“It won’t crash this time!” he insisted. “I’ve got it right now. You can see that, can’t you? It’s a hundred times better than the first one.”

“I know, Tinker,” I said calmly. “I didn’t say it wouldn’t fly. I just said you shouldn’t fly it. Your leg is still healing, and I’m afraid it might not be as strong as it used to be.”

“You want to fly it?” he said. I heard so many things in his voice: disbelief, reluctance, fear. Everything except the acceptance I wanted. “Absolutely not! I won’t even think of it. I won’t allow you to risk your neck on this crazy thing.”

I grinned. “And yet I should let you?”

His eyes were wide and they searched for an answer in the night around us. “Breeze, that’s crazy. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do know, Tinker. I know exactly. I’m asking you to let me do this. Imagine what would happen if something happened to you. I’d be as good as dead. I would have nowhere to go. On the other hand, if anything happened to me, nobody would even care.”

“That’s not true.”

“Besides you, I mean. Not only that, but the truth is I want to do it. I want to go up there in the sky, to feel the freedom that you felt when you flew. Do you know what that would be like for me? All I’ve ever seen of this world is this valley, and I can barely hope to see more. But up there, up in the sky…”

I could see my words affecting him. A change came over his face. He’d been worried and defensive, but he was starting to see it now. He was realizing what it would mean to me.

He looked at our craft. It was stronger now. It was better. More stable, more controllable. “You won’t take off right away,” he said. “You’ll taxi around the field. You’ll learn the controls; test the aircraft’s weakness…”

I rushed into his arms. “Thank you, Tinker.”

The next morning I stood next to our aircraft, watching as Tinker hooked it up to the steamwagon to wind the spring. There was something comforting about the familiar chort-chort of the steam engine, and the vague but ever-present smell of burning coal. It calmed my soul, if only a little. I don’t know why I was so apprehensive. I had explicit instructions about safety, and I knew that I might not even get into the air. Still, there was an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was almost as if I knew how important this moment was, in the grand scheme of my life.

I could tell from the heat of the sun that it would be sweltering by noon. I was dressed in leathers and had a pair of goggles strapped to my forehead. Tinker had insisted on all these safety measures, but as the sun beat down, I was sorely tempted to start tearing it all off. At last, he gave me the signal, and I climbed aboard.

The airframe was designed in such a way that the pilot had to lay across it, face down and facing forward. Guidance controls were located to my left and right, and the throttle control was near my right handgrip. My arms and legs slid into metal hoops that would hold me down, should the craft tilt too far or spin upside down. Tinker had thought of everything.

He pulled the steamwagon around the craft and drove up ahead to my right. He started shouting about all of his safety rules, and I waved him off. Grudgingly, he gave me the go-ahead. I released the brake and slowly throttled up. I felt a rush of wind on my face, and the hum of the propeller filled my ears. The blades became a blur.

The plane was at three-quarters throttle before it started to move. The wheels broke free of the dusty ground and I went bouncing across the field, a broad grin plastered across my face. It was a rough ride, far more uncomfortable than the sleigh had been. But still, it made me want to laugh out loud. I made a full circle around the field, which was about three miles long. By the time I got back to my starting point, my body was aching from all the bouncing. Tinker gave me an approving smile. I nodded, and continued on, increasing the throttle slightly.

I immediately noticed a smoothing of the ride at this higher speed. Encouraged, I gave it a bit more power. The transition was notable. The ride went from jerking and painful to rolling, and then suddenly to perfectly smooth. This was the only indication I had that I was off the ground. When I realized what had happened, I shot a worried glance back at Tinker. He stood on the steamwagon, his hands shielding the sun over his eyes, riveted on me.

I had a choice to make then. Should I try to land, risking a return to that rough, rocky plain? Or should I give it a bit more throttle, and get the machine safely high enough to test the controls? Naturally, the latter seemed more scientifically prudent. And my bruised body begged me not to return to the ground. I pulled back on the flight controls, raised the throttle, and the plane started to climb.

I knew that Tinker would be furious that I had lifted off, but what else could I do? At that point, it seemed safer to continue flying than to return and face his wrath. Besides, now that the thing was in the air, there was no reason not to continue. It had proven itself capable. I was aware of the danger, but at that moment, I didn’t even care. I was
flying
. I was completely free. Words can’t even describe the liberation that I felt.

I used my ability to feel the wood. I let my consciousness stretch out, joining with the machine beneath me. What I found was encouraging. The airframe was sturdy; it was completely unaffected by the change in gravitational forces and wind shear. The wings were strong. Their design was superior, and they flexed easily with the movement of the wind. In all, the entire plane was quite sound, and under very little stress. I was certain that there was nothing to worry about.