The “black” was a sunken area of the deck lined with an odd shiny material. Mina followed Pixit down the steps onto whatever it was. The captain had called it rubber, she remembered. Squatting, Mina ran her hand over it. It felt smooth, a little sticky, and very hot. Pixit hopped down the steps, joining her. He was still sparking, but when his bits of lightning hit the rubber, they didn’t burn or spread.

It wasn’t a very large area, just room enough for Pixit and Mina and a few other items. A hammock-like chair was hanging from a hook. She stowed her bag in an empty crate near it. A bowl with water was in one corner—​a pipe led to it, so maybe it was connected to more water?

«Do you think they have lightning-beast food?»

I can explore and see . . .

«Don’t leave. Please.»

Kneeling, she put her arm around his shoulders. You don’t have to be scared. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be, doing exactly what we’re supposed to do. She tried to sound more confident than she felt. It was disconcerting how both the stationmaster and the sailor had seen how unlightning guardian she was. If it was so obvious after only a few seconds . . .

«I’m not scared! It’s just . . . It’s a nice view, isn’t it? I don’t want you to miss the view.»

Mina didn’t point out that she could feel he was scared. And he was polite enough not to point out that she was scared too. She just looked out at the view, across the fields toward the mountains, and he laid his head against her shoulder.

Out loud, she asked, “What do you think is beyond them?”

To her surprise, one of the sailors answered her. “Heard tales,” she said as she coiled a rope. “Terrible tales. Of storms with winds so fierce they rip trees from the earth. And rain so hard it washes away the roads and overflows the rivers.”

“Hurricanes,” another sailor, also a woman, said, taking the rope from the first sailor and hanging it on a hook. “That’s what they call them. Heard you can survive the winds blowing, but you can’t survive what the winds are blowing. Can’t predict them, so can’t protect against them.”

“Tornadoes, too,” another added, an older man with a braided beard. “Where the winds whip in a funnel, busting through everything in their path.”

“Lightning storms that fry everything.”

“Blizzards that freeze.”

“That’s why you have to train hard and learn fast, little guardian,” the first sailor said seriously. “It’s not right that so much depends on children, but it does. You’re what makes Alorria great.”