Three days later…
“Ahoy, Daring!” Celaeno called from the helm. “Map says we’re at the coordinates! Our destination is around here somewhere!”
Yearling hurried up the stairs and ran to the closest edge of the deck. Two-hundred feet below was the sparkling waters of the Southern Sea. And all around them for miles in any direction was blue skies and the occasional cloud—save for straight ahead, where a dark fogbank loomed.
Elytra joined her at her side and scoured with her. “What are we looking for, exactly?” she asked.
“Reports of floating islands,” Yearling replied. “They said there was a fogbank too, but…” She trailed off, remembering the report. Her gaze turned slowly skywards.
“Captain! Above us!” she called.
The crew’s heads snapped upwards almost in unison, and there were mixed exclamations of shock and surprise.
There, behind some thick white clouds, was indeed the solid shape of a floating island. It seemed to be made of some sort of cut stone. The tapered bottom made it seem like it had been dug out of the ground and placed in the sky.
“We’re too low, mates!” Celaeno called. “Increase the heat to the balloon, we need altitude! Give me more engine power!”
Elytra abandoned her spot next to Yearling to assist with the rest of the crew. Yearling, meanwhile, wandered to the bow. She gripped the side of the ship as the stern pitched down and they began to ascend.
More floating islands poked through the clouds, almost like a debris field. Some were barely large enough to hold a pony, some were ten times the size of Celaeno’s airship. All seemed to be made of the same cut stone and were just floating in place.
Then dead ahead, Yearling noticed the biggest island yet. Easily the size of a small nation, it was surrounded by pieces that seemed to have broken off of it. The surface was covered in ruins. In the very center was a perfectly round hole, with a smaller island floating in the middle. It had a large structure set on it, and four angled platform-like protrusions set on the four corners.
Each protrusion seemed to point at one of four large islands, each their uniquely-shaped and surrounded by some sort of weather pattern. Pulling out a compass, Yearling checked the directions. Each one seemed to be at an ordinal direction from the center island.
The one to the northwest had a thundering storm about it, the one to the northeast had flurries of snow, the one to the southeast had pouring rain, and the one to the southwest had billowing clouds, as if there were strong winds.
Yearling took one more look at the islands before hurrying back towards the helm. The crew had started to wander from their positions to gawk at the islands and murmur at what they might be.
“Captain, can the ship go any higher?” Yearling asked. “I think that central island and those four outer islands are going to be holding something important. I want to see if I can sketch a rough map for us.”
“I can try, Daring,” Celaeno replied. “We might be hitting our ceiling soon.” She turned to the crew. “Look alive mates! Give me some more altitude!”
The crew scrambled back to their positions—all save for Elytra. She wandered to the bow of the ship and seemed to sniff at the air. Yearling watched her with a frown, before going below decks for sketching materials.
As Yearling began her sketching on board the ship, another pair of eyes watched her through a pair of binoculars, hidden away on one of the numerous smaller islands and behind a cloudbank.
The figure grunted to another behind it, who nodded. The boat they were seated in—an odd craft with two propellers on poles and a third in the back to propel it—whirred to life and descended down into the fog bank below.
The figure in the front flicked a spotlight on the front of the boat three times, and a similar light repeated the flashes somewhere far below. The figure in the back angled the boat down towards it.
Floating in the ocean down below was a trio of ships, a large one and two smaller ones that flanked it on either side. Each was equipped like the small boat, only with grander propellers atop each of their masts and a trio near the rudder to propel them. Each was armed with cannons on the decks.
The figures docked their flying boat on the larger vessel and hurried down below.
They were large, furred beings wearing masks, and several more stood guard on the vessel at various entrances. They finally reached their destination—a long room, with a throne at the far end, bathed in purple light.
The figures bowed to a shadowy figure on the throne, and the first one saluted and made a report of grunts and growls to his superior.
A fanged mouth turned into a vengeful snarl as the figure on the throne clenched her fists in anger.