Surak

I.
The fire dragons’ boat looked like a pile of scrap to begin with. But beneath its rough exterior, it was crafted with fine lines and great attention to detail.
The wood was a lighter, more exotic kind than the tour boats were built out of. Something from the Windswept Plateau. Faster, more agile—in theory.
Surak joined the fire-crew in swabbing the deck and polishing everything with air grease to help it rise. He couldn’t sing along with the cheerful dragons, but he could hum.
The fire dragons, all of whom had beautiful voices, were confused by this. They gave him mints and cordials to soothe his throat.
Brightwing was in charge of the Floater-balance and the sails. It was strange to see the Spiral sit down with the torn cloth, with nothing more than white thread and a thimble. But within a day, every sail was patched up and air-worthy. She had taken the time to paint, to crown the gryphon with an eagle atop its head. The fire dragons found that hilarious.
And Brightwing wasn’t shy about bringing in supplies—twine, additional Floaters, and a wrought-aluminum anchor—from FlyTour. “Dock my pay,” she kept saying, but Jono knew he wouldn’t.
Because as much as he hated to admit it, it felt good to race again.
Was it illegal? Oh, yeah. Dangerous? Certainly. But he was pleased that both Brightwing and Surak trusted him enough to fly with him.
And the price the fire dragons had asked was reasonable.
They wanted a year of free tours.
II.
The pirates kept sending dragons to come over and jeer at them. The female Nocturne in particular irked him. Ponzu, she was called.
Unlike the others who shouted taunts, she simply stood there with a permanent grimace on her face. This was somehow more unnerving than the alternative.
So Jono returned her fierce glare with one of his own, spitting every time she did.
On the night before the race, he stalked up to her.
“Getting nervous?”
She cocked her head. To his surprise, she said, “Perhaps.”
“You—-ah—-uh—good. Um. Good. Yeah.” Jono turned away with a flush.
“I’ve heard some interesting things about you from the locals, about your past?” Ponzu’s eyebrows rose. It was an invitation to boast.
He didn’t take the bait. He turned his back on her.
Brightwing was waiting beside the ladder onto the ship. “Nice comeback.”
“Hush your mouth, little one. Where’s McCoughFace?”
“Sleeping.”
“Do you—you think he’ll be good for the ballast? It’s a quick reaction time.”
He saw from the bemused expression on her face that he’d said the wrong thing again.
“You’ve got to quit babying him. He’s fine. He’s still the same dragon. He just looks different.”
“Is he…happier? Now that he’s a noodle like you?”
Brightwing laughed and shook her head. “You’re impossible, boss.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, um, uh,” Brightwing mocked lightly. “Good.”
III.
The day of the race dawned brilliant, garish gold.
No one had slept the night before. Everyone was at their stations after a hasty breakfast—choking down muffins and biscuits.
Jono stood at the great black steering wheel and felt a shiver. At least it will be over, one way or another. Let’s do this!
Men! he tried to call, but realized he couldn’t. His voice was gone.
It was such a strange feeling—such an unexpected turn of events—that he stood there mutely for a moment.
He tried again.
All that came out was a gruff croak.
Surak was beside him in a flash. His voice was low and musical; the fire dragons’ remedies must have helped.
“What’s wrong?”
Jono pointed frantically at his throat and shook his head. Panic reared up inside of him.
But Surak took his shoulders. “That’s alright. I think I can handle it from here. You’ve got the wheel, though.”
What did I tell you about talking?! Jono wanted to say, but he couldn’t.
Surak lifted his neck and called out, “Crew, today is a great day to fly.”
There were cheers throughout the ship.
“Brightwing, the ballast!” Surak sang out. “Lift the anchor! We’re headed for the edge of the city!”
Jono clung to the wheel as the ship bobbed upward beneath him.
The first instants were always the most frightening. The ship seemed to rise forever. It was easy to imagine them floating away, sinking into the darkness of the sky.
“Even out!” Surak called. He looked tall, bright-eyed, handsome and alert.
Who’s the real captain here? Jono wondered. He shook his head. No time to worry about that.
As they drifted elegantly toward the starting point, they saw the other ship rise alongside them.
Jono’s jaw clenched. There was smoke pouring from beneath the prow. The pirates had adopted controversial coal-powered technology in addition to the Floaters.
Faster, maybe. But also less safe.
Finally, both ships rested on the fringe of Starshade. The two crews looked at one another.
Jono saw Ponzu rest a foot on the foredeck and sneer. “On your mark!”
“Get set!” Surak shouted back.
“Go!” Everyong called at once.
IV.
Flying. Fleeing.
The wind turned cold at once, and whipped Jono’s scarf around his neck. The sails flapped. The ship groaned and tilted to the side.
The pirates had shot ahead. Jono concentrated on the bright red FlyTour logo painted on the back and clung to the wheel. Towers whooshed past. He saw dragons peering from their windows. The Observatory and the Gemology Institute glistened in the morning sun.
“We need more power! Less ballast! Up!” Surak rapped out. The ship responded at once. The surge upward bent Jono’s knees. The wheel began to turn in his paws. His talons dug into the wood and yanked it back to keep the steady.
To his surprise, the pirate ship was slowing down and listing badly to port.
Brightwing dashed up beside him and peered through her field-glasses.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on ballast?” Surak shouted.
“We’ve only got the anchor left.”
Jono frowned, then yelped. The bottom of the boat scraped along the top of a business. Moments later, little flecks of Floaters rose past them and shot into the sky.
That was bad.
But not as bad as the pirate’s ship.
Someone had stoked the coal too much. Unable to stop their forward momentum, they careened slowly, gracefully against a skyscraper.
Red-orange flames began to engulf the starboard deck. Some of the dragons were leaping overboard and taking flight.
The fire dragons were cheering, but Jono wasn’t.
My ship! The pirates!
Surak was right there with him. “They need our help. Do we have water?”
“Some,” Brightwing gasped. “But we need to be closer.”
Jono shuddered. Time for all those fancy flying tricks.
Instead of overtaking them, he nudged his ship nearer and nearer to the pirates’.
“Water overboard! Onto them!” Surak shouted.
The crew was temporarily confused, but began hurling water over the side as soon as they could. Plumes of black smoke engulfed everything.
Jono doubled over, coughing. Through his tears, he could barely see Surak and Brightwing’s brave faces.
Then there was a cannon-shot.
That was the part Jono couldn’t believe. He was trying to help them!
Floaters spilled from his hull, flinging themselves into the air. Their ship began to sink.
Oh no they don’t.
In a white rage, Jono rammed the fire dragons’ ship against the other one. The Floaters there fell out, too. Then both ships were hurtling toward the ground, entwined and completely covered in smoke.
V.
He woke up with Surak, Brightwing, the fire dragons and the pirates in jail.
Both groups were in different cells, and sat glaring across the hall at one another.
“Mr. Jonouchi,” a police-Guardian said.
“Please,” he croaked. “Call me Jono.”
The Guardian chuckled. “Loved FlyTours as a kid.”
“Thanks, sonny.” Jono sighed.
“But it’ll be a while before we get this sorted out.”
Jono leaned back in Brightwing’s lap. “You know what I need after this?”
“Don’t say it,” Brightwing warned. Surak laughed.
“Another vacation.”

--bio thanks to Caelyn--