Fieran released a breath, relaxing slightly as Dacha’s vast, reassuringly strong magic took over, dragging those aeroplanes the rest of the way to the ground. “There. Got three aeroplanes to Escarlish lines.”
“You were right. It is quicker to shoot them down than use your magic.” Merrik’s aeroplane appeared back in Fieran’s vision, winging overhead as he cut off a Mongavarian aiming for Fieran.
Fieran gathered himself, realizing he’d let the protective magic on the others go thin as he poured so much into taking down those three aeroplanes. He blasted his magic back through the protective network, his magic eagerly following the wires reinforced with Pip’s magic.
Blinking away the last of the blurring from using so much power, Fieran took in the dogfight again.
Only a handful of Mongavarian aeroplanes remained in the sky. Columns of black smoke rose from crashes just on theMongavarian side of the Wall while a few enemy aircraft had set down on the muddy, marshy field just over the border.
But some wreckage had come down over Escarland. The aeroplanes that would have crashed into Fort Defense had been caught and either dragged to the ground or incinerated by Dacha. An enemy aeroplane floated in the Hydalla River while another bit of wreckage stuck out of the shallow Chibo on the Escarlish side of the Wall.
Surely in some of that wreckage—not to mention the aeroplanes Fieran had taken to the ground—there would be enough pieces to test for that foreign magic. He was getting really sick of not knowing what it was.
After the last of the Mongavarians were taken down, Fieran and Merrik remained in the sky while the rest of the squadron landed. Capt. Fleetwood’s squadron was the one on duty, with Lt. Hadley on standby. Both of their squadrons had chased off the distraction attacks easily enough. As their aeroplanes returned, they took up station over Fort Defense once again.
When it was Fieran and Merrik’s turn to land, Fieran led the way with Merrik shadowing him. Fieran craned his neck to keep an eye on Merrik, nearly bumbling his own landing because he was so busy watching Merrik’s.
Merrik set down more heavily than he usually did, his aeroplane bouncing over the ground as it slowed.
Fieran’s aeroplane rolled to a halt by the end of the airfield, and he unbuckled his belt and climbed down. When he glanced at Merrik’s aeroplane, Merrik was still sitting inside the cockpit, not getting out.
Why wasn’t he climbing out? Had he been shot and Fieran hadn’t noticed?
Fieran dashed for Merrik’s aeroplane, his heart hammering. He flung himself upward, his toe finding the step on the side by long habit. “Merrik? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I can’t…I can’t get out. Legs won’t work.” Merrik’s hands were braced on the sides of the cockpit, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his breathing ragged.
Fieran gripped Merrik’s shoulder and squeezed hard enough to make Merrik look up at him with eyes that were too wide, too panicked. Fieran gave him a slight shake. “Breathe. Deep breaths, Merrik.”
It was the same thing Dacha had told Fieran when he’d been panicking, and Dacha seemed to know what he was talking about when it came to that.
Merrik leaned his head back against the leather padding at the rear of the cockpit. He squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing not slowing for several more long moments.
Fieran kept his hold on Merrik’s shoulder, hoping the contact helped the same way Dacha’s grip on his shoulder had kept him from falling apart.
Merrik’s breathing eased, but he didn’t open his eyes. “I cannot get out.”
“It’s all right. We’ll—”
“No, you do not understand. You do not know what it is like, lying there in bed unable to so much as get to the lavatory by yourself.” Merrik’s eyes remained shut, his hands clenched so tightly on the sides of the cockpit that his knuckles were white.
Fieran clamped his mouth shut. He’d been in wooden bracing from his ankles to his hips for nearly a week. He’d been there, unable to move, unable to care for his own most basic needs.
But it had been less than a week for him, and he’d been told right from the start that he would walk again. He’d simply had to wait it out, then he was back on his feet, just as good as before.
His experience hadn’t been quite like Merrik’s, even if he’d gotten a taste of it.
“I still fear getting back to that place. The wheelchair rolling out of reach. The prosthetic placed somewhere I cannot get it. My leg giving out if I try to hop. I have two working knees, and I know I can crawl if I must, but…” Merrik’s voice cut off, as if he couldn’t finish that sentence. He swallowed, still not opening his eyes. “I nearly did not get on the train to come back here. The fear of being in a place where I could not control my surroundings—where I might end up stuck, unable to get myself out—was nearly too much.”
Fieran gave his shoulder another squeeze, his own chest tight. It was a fear he couldn’t banish for Merrik with a few empty words. He could make sure there were ramps. He could make sure the things Merrik needed to get himself around were within reach. But he couldn’t battle this fear for Merrik.
Merrik had come back too soon. He wasn’t fully healed, physically, mentally, or emotionally. He should have taken far more time to heal in the peace of Estyra rather than forcing himself to return so quickly.
Yet perhaps it was foolish, but Fieran wasn’t going to force Merrik back to Estyra, much as he probably should.
Members of the ground crew halted a few yards away, as if unsure what to do since Merrik was still in his aeroplane.
Fieran waved them forward before he gave Merrik a slight shake again. “I can’t promise that we can control things so that you aren’t ever in that position. But I’ll do my best. Today, the ground crew can wheel the aeroplane into the hangar, and I’ll help you out. You are not stuck.”
