Aliah's Flight

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story of steam and hammers, faith and fire. This short story is set in the steam punk genre mixed with religion out of control.

Submitted: May 01, 2008

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Submitted: May 01, 2008

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Aliah’s Flight
Aliah walked away from the furnace, her hair was plastered to her face and there was a fading redness to her skin which was caused by the heat of the blaze. She had done it, her task was finally completed. The Peace Givers would be pleased with what she had created and they would thank her in ways only they could do. With great care Asiah managed to buckle it across her back, she was too small for it, as it was meant for someone larger. The buckles of brass shone in the glowing light of the furnace, they were polished and ornately carved with the symbols of fire and water, the icons of the Holy Spirit. The temptation to see if her creation actually worked grew too much to bare and with a quick prayer she allowed the steam to enter into the piston chamber. It escaped through the release vow at a speed which told her that there were no blockages or leaks which would contaminate its power. Her hands, shaky from the growing excitement, fumbled with the taps which would activate it. Aliah stopped. There was something outside, she could see a shadow at the window, it was dark outside and the only light inside was the dull glow of the furnace fire. There was a smashing sound as the glass broke inwards sending shards in every direction. A figure shrouded in an old leather cloak stood up from where it had landed neatly on the floor. A gauntleted hand reached out from the cloak and with a whispered word, a dark sword materialized in its open palm. “Aliah the Steamsmith” it growled in a low tone, “I have heard of your talents with the Word Hammers of your craft, I know of what you have created for the Peace Givers. Allow me to have it and you will be rewarded. There is no need for violence, but I will if you do not accept my offer”. Aliah moved back , closer to the furnace, the heat seemed to give her courage, as if the Holy Spirit moved within it. “There are no rewards that can be given from one who walks Hell’s path, only damnation and the eternal death”. The figure growled and leapt towards her, the dark blade arcing up and slicing down with deadly force. It fell cracking into the stone exterior of the Furnace which Aliah had just been standing, but she was no longer there. From up above, the machine’s long wings stoked the air carrying her into the rafters of her shop. Aliah marvelled at her creation, surely God had granted her great inspiration to have crafted a device that worked on its first try. The figure bellowed up at her, cursing in a language that needed no translation. Its other hand came up from out of its cloak. Its other gauntleted fist was of a make unknown to her, but seemed to be a complex collection of miniature pistons and hydraulics. It clenched its fist and a bow telescoped out of it and formed together, string and all. From out of its cloak it pulled a blood stained arrow and fitted it to the bow. “This is your last chance Steamsmith. This arrow has been thrice-cursed and will not kill the one it hits; far worse is the fate of its victim”. Aliah searched everywhere looking for a way out, the entrance would not provide safe passage and the windows were too small for her wings to pass through. It was then that she heard the cooing of a dove above her and she glanced up to see the dove hop across the glass panelled skylight which was slightly blackened from the soot of her furnace. The dove, the sign of the Holy Spirit. Without hesitation she shot up through the glass and into freedom. The figure launched his arrow at her, it sped straight for heart. It never landed.
The arrow pierced the dove and sent it dropping to the floor. Aliah wept a tear for the death of such a beautiful bird and thanked God for His intervention. “Now, its time to see what this thing can really do!” The wings took her up into the sky and left the dark figure to contemplate the punishment of its failure to capture her angel wings.


© Copyright 2017 Jonas Wright. All rights reserved.

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