Welcome to Gaia! ::

The ship was going down, and there was no stopping it.

Later, when Xanir had time and room for emotions beyond grim, ferocious determination to survive, she would be upset about that. Her first Navigator post, and her last; she had served with Red Dawn and her crew for a total of five years out of the ten she'd spent flying, knew the airship inside and out, nearly as well as her own body. She could have crewed any position on the ship, though she was trained and starred as a Navigator. Red Dawn was friend, mother, lover, and Xanir had long since lost track of the hours she'd spent wrapped in the nav bubble, cradled by the nerve center of the ship, feeling the breathing rhythms of flight like a long slow heartbeat.

Now, though, she was fighting suddenly unresponsive controls, shouting with rapidly increasing worry into silent speaking tubes, and watching every dial, indicator, and alarm light up with dire warnings. She had never seen a sensor board go entirely red. She couldn't take her hands off the steering arc; it took all her strength to hold a steady course, and the juddering tension in the arc felt as though the rudder was trying to flap like a bird's wing. The gas sacs on portside were leaking, deflating slow and steady and making Red Dawn list drunkenly, limping and staggering through the sky, and no matter how many times Xanir leaned to the tube and yelled, she couldn't raise any response from the upside crews who should be monitoring and leveling the sacs.

The sky itself, even seen through the slightly hazed field of the nav bubble's ports, was wrong. It was a greener shade of blue than sky should be, and that simple observation landed a cold and leaden ball of terror in Xanir's gut. That half-blink of strange darkness that she'd thought she'd imagined, right before the board lit red -- there was no time to speculate, because Red Dawn was sliding down the air, tipping in a way that would have spilled Xanir out of her seat if she hadn't been webbed in, and the altitude indicators were performing a terrifyingly rapid downward plunge.

Xanir fought the rudder, worked the aileron levers with her tail, kicked off one sandal to manipulate the ballast locks with her toes and kick the pedals into place to release the water tanks, one by one, bow to stern, slowing what was becoming a barely controlled fall. She hoped there was nothing inhabited on the earth ahead, because Red Dawn was going down, and Xanir had all she could manage in making the crash survivable for the crew.

The last moments Red Dawn would ever spend in flight spun by in a blur. A siren shrieked a warning; one of the boilers had blown. Another one joined it, then the third and fourth, and as something scraped horribly across the keel, Xanir heard the buzzing scream of the alarm no airship crew ever wanted to hear: the ship was on fire. Foliage crashed across the viewing ports; Red Dawn was coming down in a forest, cutting a swath of destruction through the canopy as she skimmed down like a meteor.

Xanir closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and prayed.

Impact, like a colossal fist casually swatting the ship, and the world went away.

The furred figure hung limp and unconscious in the Dragon's claws as he brought her back. She had been found in a round room at the bottom of the airship, hanging from a leather harness strapped to a seat built into the structure, surrounded by the wreckage of what had clearly been a set of controls. She had escaped death by the barest of margins; no more than a few inches below her shoulder, a massive metal bar had pierced the wall the chair was built into, and had the harness given way, she would have been impaled.

For all that she was alive only through the grace of good luck, she was uninjured, at least to the naked eye. Flying debris had torn her coat in several places, but she was unbloodied. Her larger, lower set of eyes remained closed, her face slack in unconsciousness; the small upper eyes were partially covered by nictating membranes, giving them a milky, cloudy look. It was these eyes that showed the first sign of returning awareness. The membranes flicked fully closed, then open, then once again, and this time they remained open. Then the woman's mobile ears stirred, lifting slightly, and her lower eyelids fluttered.

Everything hurt. Xanir's torso felt like one giant bruise, solid bars of pain draping over her shoulders, across her upper chest, ribs, waist, hips, across her thighs -- everywhere the harness straps held her body, she hurt. Red Dawn had crashed, and Xanir had to get up and out, find out how many of the crew had made it through, who had survived and who had died, and, in the worst-case scenario, to whom she or the Captain would have to administer a mercy stroke. She had to get up, unstrap herself, get out of the wreck. She forced her eyes open.

She was not in the nav bubble. She lay on a bed. A stranger bent over her, an unusual stranger, face shaped much like hers but head bearing long, curling horns and only a single pair of ears. The stranger was broad-shouldered but narrow-bodied, silhouette unfamiliar, though Xanir couldn't pin down what struck her as so odd. Her heat sensors informed her that the other's body was cooler than normal. Just another alien note in a tableau of bizarrely altered sights.

"Where am I?" she asked, and raised one hand to rub at her face, wincing as the motion made abused muscles scream in protest. Her fur and her clothing smelled of metal and smoke, and she remembered the scream of the alarm. Red Dawn had been in flames. She sat up fast, then whimpered as her whole body protested the movement. "The crew," she managed. "Red Dawn. I have to find them, I'm the Navigator, it's my duty."

"No others? There should - " Xanir bit the words off, closing her mouth, though a bifurcated blue tongue flicked out to lick her nose, a childish, involuntary sign of distress. She let the stranger ease her back down onto the bed. In some part of her mind, she'd known. Speaking tubes could be blocked or broken, but the Red Dawn's crew was one of the best in the fleet, and even without Xanir's commands, the crew should have been working to contain the damage to the ship, balance the sacs, even off the keel, vent the boiler pressure, and there was no way that everything could have failed so catastrophically if there had been anyone manning the posts and seeing to the ship. In her last minutes, Red Dawn had flown like a ghost ship, a ship missing her crew and already dead.

Xanir took a deep breath around the lump in her throat and blinked a few times to ward off the sting in her eyes. What had that instant of cold, still darkness done to the ship and the crew? Why had it left her and only her? She stuffed the ballooning sense of grief down, locked it tightly away, and listened to the stranger's answer to her other question. It meant almost nothing to her, though it did tell her that she was in a temple rather than an infirmary or a private home. That made sense. She was in a strange place, injured, and with nowhere to go. Of course the person who'd found her had brought her to a temple.

Gaia, the other had said. "We're not on Earth?" she asked, just to confirm her suspicion; then she blinked all her eyes, her ears flatting, because she'd meant to say Earth, the word for world, but what had come out of her mouth sounded more like Atini, or something similar. What had she said? Wasn't she speaking in Gallic? No, if she thought hard about the words she'd spoken, what she'd thought and what she'd said had been different languages entirely. It had just felt like Gallic because whatever magic was at work making the translation from thought to word had made the transition seamless and easy.

Her eyes stung again, and she gulped. She would not cry like a newly hatched pup. She was almost thirty years old, a starred and experienced Navigator in Her Majesty's navy, and crying was beneath her dignity. A Gallic lady should take all new experiences with grace and poise, even if she was half dead, even if she was in some strange new land. Especially if she was in some strange new land, because that meant she was the first representative and ambassador of Gaelus in this place, and it was not just her pride at stake, but the pride of her country and empire.

She wanted to sit up again, to present herself with good posture, her muzzle and ears up nobly, but she hurt. She hurt a little less, she realized. The stranger's touch was soothing the pain. "Thank you, madame," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. She was being taken care of in her hour of need. She should at least introduce herself. "I am Xanir Abello di Arato, second daughter of High House Arato, Navigator of the Red Dawn in Her Majesty's service. May I have the honor of your name?"

Her eyes flicked briefly to the other figure who watched her, waiting quiet and polite; this one looked even stranger, but perhaps people in this place had a wider range of shapes than people at home. Were these two servants or priestesses? Without any knowledge of the way things were done here, Xanir couldn't guess from clothing or bearing.

Not wholly impossible? Xanir's ears perked briefly at the thought that perhaps, when she recovered, she could go home, home to see her mothers and sisters again, home to report to the Generals -- and then she realized, in a silent crash of despair, that she could not. She had lost her Captain and her crew and crashed her ship. The circumstances were such that she bore very little blame for the situation, but nevertheless, the weight of shame on her shoulders would be such that honor would demand that she resign her post and her commission.

She had a number of skills with which she could make her way in the world if she had to, but losing her post and her stars would shame her House. The scandal would damage House Arato's reputation and interfere with its business, and the second daughter of the house going into trade would damage it yet more. Yet after over ten years spent in active service, Xanir couldn't stomach the thought of going home in disgrace to become an idle ornament, and if she remained in the House, that would be all she could do; she would certainly not be permitted involvement in anything of import.

No. Unless she could accomplish something so important that it would eclipse the loss of the Red Dawn and her crew, it would be better if she were thought lost with the ship. She must accept that her world was lost to her and prepare to make something useful of herself in a new life.

Her eyes widened slightly as the stranger introduced herself. She had been mistaken to assume these two to be servants or priestesses. Gravely mistaken. This was a King in her own right, and Xanir didn't recognize the title Emblem Pillar, but it was clearly a mark of service to the Twin Crown, whatever that was -- perhaps an Emperor, perhaps a Deity. "Please excuse my impertinence, Majesty," she said, dropping her eyes respectfully. "I was unaware of your rank and that of your son. You have my deep and eternal gratitude for your kindness."

Son was another odd word, one that the magical translation suggested meant daughter, but strangely, with a qualifier that indicated that the person referred to had only the male gender, rather than both. Was there a word in this language, then, that meant female daughter as well? Life was different on fundamental levels in this place, this world. Xanir would need to learn the language rather than relying upon translation. Language reflected culture, social structure, even what other people considered the essentials of life, and speaking and thinking in a different idiom would prevent her from truly understanding life on Gaia.

She flicked a look at the Dragon King's son, curiosity getting the better of her. A child, she thought, bright and enthusiastic, and in spite of her pain and her distress, she smiled a tiny bit. "He is a beautiful child."

Xanir listened carefully as Yu and Joss spoke, and caught two more very important pieces of information: this was not just a King, but a God, and this God was also, strangely, single-gendered, a male. And he was offering her sanctuary, care and protection, for as long as she should need it. In a day of confusing, terrifying, overwhelming experiences, this last thing, this huge, unexpected, unsought kindness was the final unbearable weight, somehow as distressing as all the terrible things, even though she needed it and was appropriately grateful.

To her dismay, in spite of her resolve to remain strong, she felt tears p***k hotly at her eyes, and this time she could not blink them away nor swallow them down. They welled hotly over her eyelids and spilled down her cheeks. She refused to scrub at her eyes or sob. "Thank you, Majesty," she answered, her voice only a little choked. "I - I eat mostly meats. May I have water?" She swallowed against the tears. "By what title and name should I address you and your son, Majesty?"

Xanir choked back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her, accepting the silken handkerchief and wiping the tears from the fur of her cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered. It was a thanks offered both for the gentle gesture and for the discreet and tactful way the deity was allowing her to keep her dignity as well as she could. He was noble not only in title, but in spirit.

By the time the child returned, she had regained some of her self-control, mastering the tears enough that the only signs that she had cried were the dampness of her cheekfur and the slight extra shine of her eyes. She nodded her thanks to Joss, accepting the cup and sipping from it. The clear, cool water felt heavenly on her dry tongue and throat, and she realized that she was very thirsty. How long had it been since she had been plucked from the ruins of her ship? She swallowed another mouthful of water to chase away the lump in her throat. She would not gulp it down; it was not polite, and if she drank too fast on a painfully empty stomach, she risked embarrassing herself by having it come back up.

"Lord Yu and Joss," she acknowledged. "I will remember. I am honored." To be allowed to speak so familiarly to this Lord and his child was a privilege, and one she would not forget. "I would be honored to be presented to your Brothers and your Master," she answered, bowing her head and lowering her smaller set of ears in a gesture of respect and the sixth degree of submission. Perhaps that was presumptuous, but being under the care and protection of a god implied a degree of possession, and it was not an implication that she would dispute, even if she had wanted to.

The fact that Lord Yu could simply bring a bowl of meat into his hands with a thought made her all the more grateful for his tact a few minutes ago in sending his child for water, rather than simply summoning some. That meant that he had deliberately chosen to give her a semi-private moment in which to compose herself. This day had been a terrible and unfortunate one, but she had been exceptionally fortunate that she had been rescued by a benefactor so kind. She patted at the pocket on her hip, found that her eating sticks were still there, and brought them out as she accepted the bowl. "Yes, I am hungry," she admitted. "Thank you, Joss; thank you, Lord Yu."

She ate with careful restraint, though perhaps a bit quickly; she was ravenous, but she would neither make herself sick nor display the manners of a beast.

Xanir set her empty bowl and eating sticks aside on the nightstand beside the bell, bowing her head gratefully. "I am deeply in your debt, Lord Yu, and I cannot express my gratitude," she replied. "I find myself -- very tired. I would sleep, with your permission." Lord Yu had stated that he had other duties to attend to; she would not take up more of his precious time. She would rest and let herself heal, at least physically. She could not offer her service until she was fit to do so. Attempting to perform tasks before she was appropriately capable would be a waste of time and not appropriately respectful, especially with the care that Lord Yu was showing towards her well-being.

Carefully, she lowered herself to the bed again, one eye wincing briefly shut at the traces of lingering soreness. Much of the ache had been soothed away, but her bruises were deep and would need time to mend. "Thank you, my lord," she said softly and sincerely. She hurt in body and mind, she was far from home and unable to return, and she had lost more than she could tally up; but she was safe and warm and fed, rescued and cared for, and she would have time. Time to heal, time to work and to serve, and that was all that a true Gallic lady could ask.