Chapter 1 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/an-introduction-and-chapter-1-yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky
Chapter 2 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/chapter-2-yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky
Chapter 3: Marchele
Marchele du Albret stalked down the hallway, headed for his quarters as the bells began to ring, signaling battle stations. He cursed quietly to himself; now uncle would want him back in his room for sure.
It wasn't fair that just because he would be Comte someday he couldn't be a part of the fight. He was going to miss it all and not be allowed to distinguish himself at all. His uncle thought of him as a child, but he was thirteen. Half their infantry were barely any older.
Father had been eerily silent on the matter of the war. The Duke du Albret had sent Marchele to deliver the message that the Count needed to levy his troops. Tolosa had been a vague memory. He’d been sent away at such a young age there were only random scraps left to remember it by; the undersides of tables and the inside of bushes in the garden. His father holding court, meting out justice. His armor shining as he prepared for battle. The descent into hallowed ground, the hushed tones and the half-glimpsed rituals of the temple. As an adult it was just another place. His father was just another man. Small, even. When Marchele had delivered the pronouncement that it was time to muster his father had nodded once then dismissed the court and retired to his rooms. That was the last time he’d seen the man.
He felt a lurch as the ship dipped down towards the ground, and a grinding scream as the bomb bays began to open, one by one. Evidently this was no drill. Marchele ran to the nearest window and leaned as far over it as possible, trying to catch a glimpse of marching men below, their pennants and regalia catching the sun, their mail glinting brightly. That was why he'd insisted to go to war; to lead men on a wild charge across an open field, standing together against the thundering enemy gunnes.
Instead he had been sent to his room to sit, safe, thousands of feet above the battle, while brave men fought and died for glory on the ground below. All because his uncle was afraid he'd be blamed if anything happened. Of course, he probably would be. He is the next in line.
Abruptly the airship lurched to the side tossing him to the floor. Marchele pulled himself back up to the window just in time to see a squad of four airplanes wheeling around and climbing for a second run on the ship. Marchele stepped back, shocked. Does the Republic even have airplanes? I mean, I know they invented them and all, but how could a dirt-poor bunch of peasants...
The roar of the firebombs drowned out his thoughts as he was tossed to the floor once again.