Young Writers Society

As soon as Abel checked out, he burst out the front doors and down the sidewalk. He had five minutes to get to the bus station, or else he’d have to wait twenty minutes for the next public skyline. Although the school had rented out the entre airport, being near the center of Siren meant that the streets were bustling with activity. Cable cars chugged along the tracks set down the center of the pavement, dividing it into two lanes so that carriages could swarm either way. Poking his head above the crowd, any hope to snag a seat or pole was vanquished at the sight of other students already hanging off the closest vehicle. Abel had come out too late.

If he paid for a taxi, there wouldn’t be enough coin for the bus fare. With his heart as heavy as the school’s crappy engines, Abel once again broke into a run. It was a day as hot as summer would ever be, not to mention the particularly heavy stench of gasoline. He could practically taste the smog on his tongue.

Before long, his legs were too sore to continue at a hasty pace, not to mention his bangs were in a disarray. Having grown up in Siren, Abel knew the city well enough to decide that there was no way he was catching the next bus. Surrender was a fickle thing, but one had to know when to throw in the towel.

He swung onto the patio of a little shop to catch his breath. No chairs, unfortunately. Abel made do with leaning against the fencing.

A spotted mare trotted by, flicking its muzzle. The jingles and clacks from its bell-adorned reins was immediately drowned out when a cable car hosting some of Abel’s classmates drove by. They were laughing hard enough that it seemed like some would fall off. Also, Abel was pretty sure they exceeded the recommended amount of passengers. Not that anybody really cared.

Sighing, he pushed himself off of the smooth wood plank and straightened his back. The sooner he left, the sooner he’d get home. The nearest skyline was significantly closer than the bus station, so there was no reason to rush.

Stepping back onto the cobblestone, he turned the way he came and went for about a block. The skyline was located somewhere on Pine Avenue, if his memory served him correctly. Abel absently rearranged his hair as he walked. The heat was much more tolerable now that he wasn’t exerting himself, but that didn’t mean it was pleasant. If he was lucky, there’d still be cold water by the time he got home.

“Sorry!” A tap on his forearm made him pause. The man who had spoken had long sandy locks drawn back in a ponytail, and worried amethyst eyes. A little girl with the same pale complexion and features stood behind him, her fingers tugging at a rhinestone bracelet. Glycian tourists. The man looked a little young to be a father— perhaps an older brother or cousin? Who was Abel to judge either way, anyway? Hand gesturing animatedly, the stranger pointed at his wrinkled map. “Museum?”

Peering at the map, Abel found it to be written in Glycian. “Which one?”

“Founders? Very famous,” the man tried. He chuckled. “Sorry, Caelluch is not good.”

“No, it’s rather impressive. I think you’re talking about the Founder Memorial.”

The Glycian frowned. “Not museum?”

“It is. Well, sort of. It’s named memorial, but you can walk inside and they’ve got a lot of information on the founding of Caelum,” Abel explained. He pointed in the airport’s direction. “Right before you reach the airport, take a right turn. Keep walking and you’ll get there. Can’t miss it. It’s the structure with pillars and really big statues.”

“Thank you!” said the tourist. Flashing Abel a pearly smile, he clutched the girl’s hand and gently tugged her along. He said something incomprehensible to Abel—Glycian, probably— and she nodded. Then, as Abel took a step to continue on, the daughter unclenched her fist and waved at him. Blinking, he waved back. With that, the two were gone.

His hand flew back over his heart, clutching the fabric. Little kids were adorable.

Lightly shaking his head, Abel walked a little faster than before. A familiar booth came into view. It was similar to a bus’s, but an unmistakable white ‘S’ was painted onto the inner wall and there was no ceiling of any kind. He settled at the end of the line.

Abel craned his neck to left to see the Clocktower, but he was at a forty-five-degree angle and so the faces were out of sight. Grumbling, the navigator scuffed his shoes on a protruding stone.

He was reminded of Cain’s watch, and couldn’t help but think that it would be extremely useful right now.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he muttered to a tall woman in a broad-rimmed hat, “but do you know the time?”

She stared at him for a moment, heavy eyelashes fluttering, before nudging an aged gentleman besides her. “Charles, the boy wants to know the time.”

“Oh?” The man pulled back the gray sleeve of his stuffy-looking outfit to reveal a thin watch, not unlike Cain’s. He squinted, his wrinkles making themselves clear. “I believe it is 2:29.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bowing his head ever so slightly, Abel turned away. The commute should be almost here.

As if on cue, a horn blared to signal the airship lowering itself to the booth. Normally, he hated that sound and had even written the mayor to change it on grounds of it being a public disruption. This time, though, it was as if it was the sweetest note of music in the world.

Okay, no, not really. It was as obnoxious as ever. But it meant that he was one step closer to ending today, and Abel was all for that. The ship reached its lowest point, shuddering to a stop. The doors slammed open, and a wooden ladder unfolded.

People began flooding out, clambering down the ladder. Abel and the others waiting to get on had to step aside as they streamed out.

The crowd thinned until there was no one left. Finally, people were allowed to climb up into the ship. The line was moving.

When it came to be his turn, Abel stepped onto the first board. Then the second. Hands gripping the segmented sidebars, he made his way to where the ticket-master stood, a thick roll of tickets in his hands. Digging into his pockets, Abel conjured a couple coppers and held them out for quick inspection. The ticket-master nodded, and placed the fare into a basket. He then ripped off a ticket and handed it to Abel, who stuffed it in his pocket.

Since he was near the front of the line, there were plenty of open seats. Abel plopped himself in the third row, next to the window. Propping his elbow onto the ledge, the boy released a long sigh.