Chapter 1: Chapter 1: The Pond

The rock skipped across the surface of the pond, one, two, three, then sank to the bottom. Chleo let out a small laugh.  Three skips, she could only ever manage three skips like it was a part of her DNA,  ingrained and permanent, coded to her very being.

She shook her head and smiled, determined to try again. With persistence, progress was inevitable. Chleo reached down and grabbed another stone.  Maybe this time would be different. She let loose. One. Two. Three, splash.

“I don’t know why you keep trying.” 

She turned, her smile growing as she spotted Will. “Just wait, one day I’ll break through to four.” She raised a brow daring him to contradict her. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Trees framed Will as he let out an easy laugh.  His common clothes clashed with his gait. Everything about him screamed formal from the casual elegance of his movements to the lilting correctness of his voice. 

He never talked about his past, but she assumed he’d served in one of the larger manors, maybe even the palace itself.  He was too proper for a shopkeeper’s apprentice or gear trader like her dad. The goggles he’d borrowed looked foreign resting on the top of his head begging to be replaced by a top hat.

Chleo giggled as he moved to join her at the edge of the pond.

“What?”

“You,” she said, laughing again, “with a monocle.”

He shot her a surprised look. “Where on Luna would I get a monocle?”  He smiled staring off with an exaggerated dreamy look. “I can see it now.  Shindigs at the manor every weekend. A lovely new socialite hanging on my arm for every party-”

Chleo pinched his arm.

“Ow,” he leaned away laughing, “what was that for?”

“I couldn’t let you get lost in the dream.  Next thing you know, you’d be heading toward the manor demanding an audience with her Duchessness,” she said, smirking across the water at the stone building that could probably house the whole village.

“Her Grace.”

“What?” Chleo asked turning back with a furrowed brow.

“The Dutchess, we, as inferiors,” he said rolling his eyes, “would refer to her as Her Grace.”

Chleo pressed her lips together in thought, wondering again where he’d learned etiquette.  There weren’t many ways for people like them to come into contact with the high-born, and far fewer that a commoner could escape.  She felt a stab of pity for her friend, hoping his past didn’t mirror any of the horror stories that trickled down from their own town’s manor.

He caught her look and gave her shoulder a friendly nudge. “What are you doing out here anyway? I stopped by the Shack first and saw your father tinkering with some new scraps.  I figured I’d have to pull you away with a crowbar.”

Chleo’s face lit up as she grabbed his arm and started dragging him toward a small clearing in the trees near the edge of the pond. “You have to come see. I almost have it working.”

She rushed, dragging him along behind her.  As her latest project came into view, she pulled her goggles down and started fidgeting with the prototype.  If she could just figure out the gas placement, she could correct for the balance shift. She reached for one of the valves, pulling her watch from her pocket. The chain swung down secured to the belt of her jacket. Flipping the cover open, she watched.

Releasing the valve, the second hand ticked. One. Two. Three. She cut it off. Nothing. Her brow furrowed. She needed to work through the math again. Maybe another five inches back and adding another three seconds.

“Another three seconds for what?”

She jumped snapping her watch closed. Oh right, Will.  Was she thinking out loud again?

“Yes, and you still are,” he laughed, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

“Right,” she said standing stiff, an embarrassed smile pushing her cheeks into the bottom of her goggles.  She must look ridiculous. Good thing it was just Will.

She went back to the project’s last piece, tinkering a bit before turning a gear on the side of her goggle frames.  Two more lenses popped off the top and into sight. Everything magnified.

“It’s for flying,” she turned shooting him a proud smile.
Her hands worked at the service flap, edging it open careful not to disturb the knot of tubes and deflated air sacks. She studied them. There. The inconsistency was barely visible. She lifted an air sack. It flopped across her hand, too heavy. Half a shot should fix it… maybe. She pulled a syringe from one of her internal pockets. Purple liquid danced in the tube as she injected it into the sack.

It inflated. She slowed the plunger. Just a bit more… she stopped. Nodding to herself, she turned back to Will matching his smile.

*~*~*
Will stared at his friend. 

“For flying,” he repeated.  Looking from her to the machine he laughed. “Of course, you found a way to fly.” 

He took a few steps forward and started to circle the contraption. It was a board, thick enough to be hollowed out and sanded smooth. Two, maybe three people, could fit sitting back to front if they tried. The service flap was popped open near the back, valves and air sacks tangling down into the hollowed out body below. Two fans sat in the back parallel, he assumed as propellers. Will knelt down and ran a hand over the pointed front. Lifting it, he startled at the weight.

“Odd, it’s definitely wood, but it’s as light as hard styrofoam or plastic.”

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“That’s the Dancing Lava.” 

He looked up sharply.

“It makes it feel lighter.” She looked away, red ghosting her cheeks. 

“Where did you get Dancing Lava?” he asked.  His smile absent for the first time.

Chleo pushed her goggles up, a nervous hand tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.  He stared, happy he didn’t have to look at a pair of magnified eyes while he was trying to keep his face blank.

 “I-I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said softly.

He scoffed.  Of course, she didn’t steal it.  It would have been better if she had, but no, Chleo Rules-Aren’t-Meant-to-be-Broken Mathews wouldn’t steal water from a river, which meant there was only one way she could have gotten it. 

“You went to the steam pits.”  Silence.

“You did, didn’t you?” She glanced at him.  He could see the truth written across her face.  She was never good at hiding what she was thinking.

“I can’t believe—” he said, keeping his voice controlled, level. He jerked to his feet, needing to move. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?  What would have happened if you fell in? To me? To your parents?” He started pacing.  “How did you even reach it?”

“I had a net,” she said quietly watching him stalk back and forth, probably shuffling through different arguments trying to find the best one to calm him.  He ignored her.

“And I suppose being burned alive by the actual steam wasn’t a concern?” He let out a bitter laugh.  She grimaced. He had a point, and she knew it. “Then, you don’t even sell it. It could feed your family for a year, but no. You decided it was better to experiment with the semi-stable liquid fortune instead.”

He turned, abandoning the blank mask he’d learned from birth to hide his true feelings and threw the full weight of his glare in her direction.  She seemed surprised to see it, her mouth half open.  Selling the Lava probably never crossed her mind.

“Do your parents know you have it?” he asked.

Her mouth closed, chin up in a stubborn tilt. She crossed her arms.  It was a familiar sight. One that normally gave him pause, but not today.

He stood his ground. How dare she risk her life over scraps of Dancing Lava?  Most miners died their first time out. The rest died their second.  

The pits were too unreliable. They spouted steam without warning, lava bursting from the ground ready to scald and melt anything in its way. As the lava cooled and began to fall, other spurts of steam would hit it, the heat renewing its glow and allowing it to rise. Travelers used the smell of charred meat to navigate around the area, the purple haze attracting animals to their death on a daily basis.

Mining in the area was outlawed almost three generation ago. A few high-borns had gone to inspect their operations and were found, skin melting, at the bottom of two recently opened pits. Despite the economical repercussion, those who mattered applied enough pressure to force the king’s hand.

“Of course not.  If this is your reaction, can you imagine theirs?” she asked, eyes narrowed.  He tried to cut in, but she wouldn’t let him. “You had your turn. It’s mine.  Do you really think I would have gone if I didn’t have a plan? I don’t have a death wish.  I knew the risks, and I accounted for them. It worked. I won’t go back any time soon. Now, will you please stop glaring, and help me figure out my balance issue?”

Will’s mouth dropped. “Balance—” He snapped it shut.  She could have died. She could have been arrested. He could have never seen her again, and she was trying to sidestep it like it was nothing. Unbelievable. 

He closed his eyes and found his center, his control. When a volcano erupts, it must expect change, his mother’s old lessons echoed from another life. He didn’t want his relationship with Chleo to change. He just wanted her to reevaluate her completely irrational decision to get herself killed… without letting anyone else know… namely him.

Will closed his eyes and forced out a breath. They needed a discussion, not an explosion. His hand found the bridge of his nose. “What if someone sees the board and figures out how it’s floating?  You’d be lucky to get the stocks if not the dungeon.” She needed to understand the danger she was in.

He felt her roll her eyes, saw it as clearly as if he were looking.

“I didn’t break any laws.” He pictured a hand on her hip.  That was definitely her hand on her hip voice. “It very clearly states, ‘No one is to step foot in the Steam Pit region for the purpose or intent to mine.’  I never set foot in the region.”

Will looked up surprised.  He was right. Her hand was on her hip.

“Then how did you—” He let the question hang.

“Nevermind that.  We can talk about it later.  I didn’t die. I won’t get arrested.” She pointed at the board. “Balance. Problem. Now.”

Will bit back a response. He knew her well enough to know when he could push. Hand on her hip, eyes quick to roll, short clipped sentences. If he tried, she would stop talking to him for a week, maybe more.

Heat burned in his chest, rumbling, rushing. He held his control tighter wrapping it around himself like a cocoon. His mask was back, blank and firm. He took a breath. She wouldn’t listen. If she tried again, she probably wouldn’t tell him. He needed her to tell him. The risks outweighed the rewards.

He nodded confident in his decision and let it drop.

“What’s the balance problem?” he asked.

Her smile was worth it.

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