The Immortal Storm (Sky Chaser Book 1) Read Free

roared. Searchlight beams lanced across the dune-tops, carving the dust. Kite dived to his belly and scooped sand over his patchcoat. The Monitor was above him now, turbines beating against his back. He covered his ears, choking on the exhaust fumes; greasy and metallic like old coins in his mouth.
    Any second now Kite expected a lookout's call and the searing pain of electrocution. He covered his ears and scrunched his eyes shut and thought the noise would never end.
    The engine noise changed pitch and faded with acceleration, soon replaced by the wind's hiss and the chaotic hammering of his pulse.
    Something hard poked him rudely in the backside.
    “You can get up now,” Ersa said.
    Kite shook off the sand and spat the greasy chemicals from his mouth. The navigation lights of the Monitor were heading inland, sparkling over the darkening dunes. A sudden tide of relief washed over him. He almost cried.
    “Pull yourself together, boy,” Ersa said, already shuffling back toward the sandboat. “They've gone back to their city. That’s the end of it. Now get us home.”
     
    Three leagues east from Hurts Deep, near the skeletal markers of the Bone Roads, Kite was still a sack of nerves. Sat at the stern with his boots planted on the thwart he nudged the tiller, navigating the rackety sandboat between the dunes. His hands still shook. Everyone now and then he'd glance over his shoulder, fearing  the flicker of lights and the sound of deadly engines.
    “Calm down, boy,” Ersa said. “They're long gone.”
    How could he be calm? The First Light Foundation had been here. Here , barely a dozen leagues from Dusthaven. There was nothing in the Old Coast for the Foundation so Ersa had always told him. That's why she had them hiding there. But now Kite wasn't so sure. The sooner he got them back to the bothy the better.
    Jawbone markers rattled on the dune-tops warning Kite to alter his course. The outrigger lifted a little in the crosswind, skimming the sand. The mainsail swelled in the westerly, giving the sandboat a satisfying kick. Soon she was doing a steady seven, maybe eight knots.
    Tight in her seat near the bow, knuckles tensed white on her stick, Ersa huddled against the wind. She was always like this. Kite was certain she hated anything man-made. If it contained a cog or moved on a wheel the thing was possessed.
    The sandboat crested the next dune. For a weightless, breathless moment the bow pointed to the endless Undercloud, studded wheels turning on the air. He imagined great skymetal wings sprouting from the sandboat's hull and catching the wind, he soared. Slicing away the clouds, rising into a star-flickering night... 
    “Slow down, boy!”
    Kite scrambled back to reality. He loosened the lines, spilling the wind from the mainsail. The sandboat slowed to a couple of knots, easing her way between the dunes. Sometimes he wished flying away from the Old Coast could be more than a dream...
    “Your head's always in the clouds,” Ersa grumbled. “You think too much that's your problem.”
    Kite stuck his tongue out.
    Suddenly Ersa twisted in her seat, her eyes narrowed to slits. Did the old crow have eyes in the back of her head? But for once her fierce eyes weren't looking at him this time. “Curse them,” she said.
    A moment later Kite heard it - the roar of engines rising on the wind. He twisted around. The Undercloud darkened over the Bone Roads and the storm cleaved apart, torn by an armoured keel. The First Light Foundation had found them.

 
     
     
     
    3
The Weatheren
     
    Kite swung the tiller, forcing the sandboat off the track. His heart rattled like the whale-bones markers on the dune-tops. Somehow he had to escape the Foundation airmachine. Their only chance was to lose them in the dunes.
    Then the shriek of stuttering engines rose on the wind. And Kite could see through the swirling dust that the Monitor was losing altitude, bleeding smoke from her turbines. She was falling.
    Kite veered between