Aethosphere Chronicles: Winds of Duty by Jeremiah D. Schmidt

Author:Jeremiah D. Schmidt [Schmidt, Jeremiah D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy adventure, airships, moral dilemma, backstory, heroics, aerial battle, highflying action, military exploits, world in the clouds
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8: Ascent into Turmoil

Al was right. This is sheer lunacy!

Attempting to climb the Chimera’s hull was perhaps the worst idea Bar had ever had. At least that’s what it felt like hanging half in and half out the hull; clinging for dear-life with his ass to the wind. One of his legs dangled uselessly into space while the other just barely had a hold on the edge of a narrow trim-board, and the merciless wind threatened to take it all away as it whipped and tore at his uniform, obliterating any remaining sense of balance he might have felt. Ensign Bazzon was positive that a falling death was coming for him, and sooner rather than later; giving him just enough time to reflect on the stupidity that brought him here in the first place.

It’d taken Sven exactly ten minutes to saw a rough hole into the side of the hull, which was exactly ten minutes too long for a man waiting anxiously with his thoughts filling rapidly with dread. The more he thought about scaling the outside of the ship with nothing but birch-hooks, the more preposterous it became. But then what choice did he have? Doing nothing was the worst of the options available, so when the final cut was finished, and the brilliant light came spilling onto the floor with the piece of the hull, he stepped up, even as he felt his stomach roll over. He was committed, but he took a moment to bask in the warming glow and the fresh air that came flooding in. He started to feel the doubt roll back, driven to the dim corners and cob-webbed rafters under the tide of exhilaration.

Stepping up, he came face to face with what seemed to be a portal into a different realm altogether—one that contrasted the hold in every way possible. Beyond the wound in the ship’s finite bulkhead was a world of infinite space, an endless expanse, painted orange and swirling with dusty clouds, a world whose top and bottom were lost to the same hazy aether bound to the horizon. In the distant southwest stood the uncompromising ridge of the Barrier Shoal and a fading sun set to collide with it. Already the clouds lay dashed against its high reaching volcanic fingers, turning them to a panicked black mass spewing lightning and rain in a bid to climb higher and escape. But there was nowhere to go; the reef complex was impossibly high, its fingers in space and its base lost behind the curve of the planet. No cloud had the strength to make that climb. Instead, they died beneath the canopy of stars, lost and pulled apart so their listless ghosts could join the hazy net cast overhead, helping herd their fellow brethren towards the same dismal fate.

No ship had ever flown high enough to clear its summits—or so it was told. Many had tried over the centuries, but hypoxia, impossible cold, and raging storms had driven them all back. Many more had simply failed to ever return.

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