Author Note:
I have a bit of an obsession with mystery stories - like actual, true mystery stories. And so the story of the disappearing BSAA planes is one I read about years ago, and I always thought there was something uniquely creepy about it.
So I wrote this story after spending too much time at the gym listening to an album by one of my favourite bands, the Delays. The album is called 'Star Tiger, Star Ariel' - feeding my obsession makes the treadmill more bearable! What I have also done, is splice it with another story that has a overly sad, tragic ending and mixed them together in some kind of weird, Hobbit-based, sci-fi concoction. And I've tried to give both elements a happy ending this time round.
I've kept the names of the actual flight crew in this story - these were real, historical people and I've tried to keep the details as true to reality as possible. And where the details were unknown, I've used my imagination...
New Flights to Helicon
Chapter One: Connections
As the Avro Tudor IV approached the Kindley Field tarmac, Captain John McPhee finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.
The first engine had failed shortly after they'd crossed their Point of No Alternative, somewhere 18,000 feet over the North Atlantic, and although his faith in the beautiful silver bird he flew was complete – he knew that others on the aircraft remained sceptical.
Ever since the disappearance of the Star Tiger – almost a year ago to the day now – the knives had been out for the Tudor aircraft – and the parent airline itself. People had cast disparaging comments about the way the British South American Airways staff had handled the whole affair, and McPhee knew all too well that another incident could bury the lot of them.
Nevertheless, as he glided the plane westwards onto the runway, something made him cast a final glimpse into the dark, moonless sky above him – as if checking the familiar constellations were still there. A strange sensation fluttered past his heart, and his blue eyes flicked to the aircraft's gauges to make sure nothing was amiss.
McPhee was an experienced fighter pilot. He'd learned to fly under the tutelage of the RNZAF, and had flown numerous bombing raids behind enemy lines in Germany and Burma. The young, blond Kiwi was considered by all who knew him to be one of the best his airline – or any other airline – had.
Yet even as he raised the wing flaps and the plane began to slow, he knew the danger lingered on. Not here, and not now – but it was coming. But so far, it was still hidden from view.
He had long ago learnt to trust his intuition, and something – some motion in the stars, perhaps – told him there was trouble ahead. The broken engine wasn't the cause.
He knew it on instinct.
With a frown, McPhee drew the Star Lion into the hangar bay, and stared solemnly from the cockpit window out to the East, regarding the sliver of blue sky on the ocean horizon that heralded the approach of the rising sun.
And with a shiver, he wished he was far from this place – on another shore, on another island, on another ocean – as long as it was far from this coming day.
And on another shoreline, far away from the North Atlantic squalls but under similar stars...
There were flames. And there was burning.
The torched birch and burnt tar mingled bitterly in smoking sheets as jets of fire clawed higher at the moonless night sky.
And a multitude of fearful eyes watched in awe as Laketown was taken by the fire.
The blaze was alive, roaring and rumbling as it consumed whole buildings and boats, licking and scratching at the water's edge with fierce, hissing fingers – no doubt trying its hardest to reach those survivors on the beach. Those that had somehow escaped its blistering grip and made it across the chill waters of the lake to the dark pebble beach that sat bathed in flickering light.
One of the young women beheld the fire as if hypnotised – her pale eyes watching with a becalmed curiosity as the features of her home town were rubbed out from history, one by one, while the heat of their passing left her cheeks flushed with a ghostly warmth.
Maybe that was why she hadn't noticed her ankles were wet – or that even now – she was slowly walking towards the fire, fascinated by the way the fiery flames were singing in forbidden, foreign tongues as they burned her town away.
Maybe if she could touch them, she could reason with them – or at least understand why they were taking such exquisite enjoyment in such reckless destruction...
"Come away, Sigrid."
She felt a hand on her arm, and blinked in surprise. She knew who it was, at her back – but why were her feet wet?
"Come on – come with me. Let's get you warm again."
With an understanding that came more from her body than her mind, the woman allowed herself to be turned away from the inferno.
Dazed by the darkness of the beach behind her, her eyes quickly found the flames again – reflected in the wells of the dwarf's blue eyes.
She stared at him in confusion, and saw the worry on his face as he gave her arm a gentle squeeze and motioned towards dry land.
"It's all gone, Fili. What do I do now?"
She heard herself speak without thinking, and saw the small blond's face turn back to hers – uncertainty in those bright, proud, eyes.
She took a step towards him, and realised he was standing in the cold lake water too – waiting patiently for her to come to her senses and heed his advice.
Feeling foolish, she hurried out of the water, and cast him a rueful sideways smile. Free of the spell, Sigrid felt a sudden chill. She was beyond exhausted – and cold – but Fili was beside her still, taking off his blue cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders, shuffling closer to her as he did so.
"Sigrid, you're safe – and so are your family. That's all that matters." Fili waved at the ghastly light. "All that's been lost can be replaced. It can be rebuilt." He looked her in the eye again, offering her a sympathetic smile. "We'll all help each other now."
She nodded, trying her best to be brave for him – after all he'd done for her and her family this night, she didn't want him to think she was some weak and silly-minded girl. But she felt the cold tear roll down her flushed face nonetheless, and closed her eyes in dismay.
To her surprise, the dwarf pulled her close, holding her gently while the tears rolled silent down her face. He might have only stood as tall as her shoulders, but she leant herself into him without question, and was surprised how safe she felt in his strong, muscled embrace.
And she was surprised how good it felt to be close to him.
She could feel the warmth of his body running into hers, and found herself inhaling the dry, smoky scent that clung to his blond hair.
It was oddly alluring.
He'd risked a fiery death to save her and her family many times tonight – and she knew that he would do it again, without hesitation. And without expecting anything in return.
He was a real hero.
While all she could do was stand around and cry.
Bending her head low to him, she murmured into his ear. "Let me help you rebuild your home, Fili. I owe you that."
He tilted his head up towards hers, and sighed. "You don't owe me anything, Sigrid. I'm sorry for the trouble we've brought to your door. I'll do whatever I can to help you."
He looked at her again with those clear, blue eyes, and Sigrid felt a startled sensation in her chest. She didn't want to break away from his gaze, but somehow she had to – his face was so close to hers and she was unsure what it was she wanted to do.
"That's a deal then, Fili."
She smiled at him, and he seemed to relax. He loosened his hold on her, and took her by the hand.
"Come back with me, and let's get you dry."
She let him lead her to the high ground at the top of the beach, out of reach of even the wildest waves, and saw her sister playing at a pile of burning logs with the red-haired elf and Fili's dark and handsome brother.
Tilda seemed enchanted by the elf's long, red hair – she was holding one of the elf's braids in her hands, brushing it against her cheek and laughing. Sigrid smiled at the scene, and shook her head in disbelief.
"I hope she's not bothering you too much there. She has a thing for long hair – she's always grabbing at it!"
The elf shrugged. "Elven children are the same. I guess I must just have nicer hair than Kili here."
Beside her at the fire, the dwarf grinned. "I think she's just intrigued by the colour. It's not really a common shade to see on elves – or women, for that matter. Maybe you have some dwarfish ancestry?" He raised his eyebrow, and was rewarded by a withering look from Tauriel.
"Don't you start as well. I had enough of that growing up in Mirkwood."
At her older sister's approach, the little girl dropped the auburn plait and jumped to her feet. "Siggy? Where's Dad? I want to see him!"
Sigrid scanned the beach, uncertain herself where her father had gone. She'd seen him around earlier, with her brother – but she knew she'd have to find them both soon, before they got worried.
"Okay, we'll go and find him, Tillie." She motioned to her sister, and the girl came half-staggering round the fire to meet her. Sigrid could see how tired she was, and hoped her father had found a shelter for the night.
She turned back to Fili, unsure how to say goodbye to him – and feeling unexpectedly torn.
She didn't want to say goodbye.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" She tried to sound casual, but she suspected even her little sister could hear the hope in her voice.
But the dwarf shook his head. "Kili and I must leave for the Mountain. We set off at first light."
He glanced up at the dark peak – as it shrouded the stars from view with its vast, jagged bulk – and his voice grew hoarse. "I need to find my uncle. He might have been hurt."
Sigrid understood. She knew why he had to leave. But she didn't want to let him get away so easily.
"But you will come back... won't you?"
He met her gaze, and she could see the uncertainty for a moment in his worried, blue eyes – but the nod her gave her was resolute, and she knew he meant to return.
"Of course – I'll help you get settled in Dale. Nothing will stop me coming back, to see you." He held her eyes for a second longer than he should have, before breaking off to stare at the ground. "And your father," he added quickly.
Sigrid nodded, still not satisfied – but keenly aware of the others watching them from the fireside. "I'll look forward to it." She murmured softly – soft enough that he could hear, and no one else.
Then before she could change her mind, she turned away from him, and nodded towards his companions around the fire.
"Thanks for everything, and good luck with your quest."
And then she was shooing little Tilda away – reaching for her hand and walking away from the gentle warmth of Fili and the campfire, striding blindly across the dark beach, without a clue as to where she was going.
There were pockets of people all over the shoreline, as far as the eye could see. Some of them sat around lit campfires, but some just lay huddled together on the cold pebbles, too exhausted to even light a hearth. She tried to peer at their faces, searching for her father and brother – or for her friends and neighbours.
Anyone who might know where her family were.
But in the end, it was Tilda who spied them. Sigrid herself could barely see straight, and wondered if she was still spellbound by the flames.
The ones she'd seen shining in Fili's eyes.
"Look, Siggy– they're over there!"Her little sister squealed and tugged at her hand, leading her towards the birch and alder thicket by the edge of the beach. She strained her eyes, and could dimly make out the silhouette of her father's back, sat beside her sleeping brother at a small, glowing fire.
And as they stepped over the shingle and into the trees, their father turned to greet them, a tired smile on his face.
"My girls," he stretched his arms wide, and Tilda ran to him, closing her eyes and stretching out on the ground beside him. "How are our dwarf guests? Did they look after you well?"
Sigrid thought she could hear some undercurrent of contempt in her father's voice, and was stung to anger.
"They saved our lives, Dad."
"They unleashed the dragon."
"Not Fili and his brother – they've been here the whole time!"
Her father shook his head. "They're all the same. I should have left them for the orcs at the river."
Sigrid cocked her head to the side, wondering what her father meant. "You mean the orcs followed them from Mirkwood?"
She crept closer to the fire, and sat down beside her father, frowning into his bleak blue eyes as the fire popped between them.
A dark image of Fili's party being pursued across the countryside by those murderous creatures crept into her mind. And a doubtful feeling took root in her stomach.
Her father caught her gaze, and nodded. "They've brought nothing but danger to us all." He looked around him at the series of hearths glowing along the beach. "Nothing but ruin for us all."
Sigrid shook her head. "But you killed the dragon, Dad. Now we're all free." She looked at him in earnest, desperate to change his heart. "We can rebuild the old city, and make it strong like it used to be."
Her father smiled sadly into the flames. "You sound like your mother, Sigrid. She used to talk like that." He blinked, and turned away from his daughter. "And it didn't come true for her either."
Bard's voice trailed off, and Sigrid sighed, unwilling to listen to his lectures, after everything else. From the lake, a chill breeze blew – the first cold gust she'd felt in a while. The fire must be losing its heat by now, as the new supply of tinder was burned away. Soon it would die, as all things here on the beach would die – and the wind would blow a lot colder thereafter.
Without thinking, she pulled the cloak further around her shoulders, savouring the warmth of the fur trim around her neck.
Her father glanced over at her, and smiled darkly. "Did he give you that?"
Sigrid looked up in surprise, puzzled by her father's tone. "It's Fili's. I was cold. And he gave it to me." She glanced back towards the far end of the beach, uncertain what to do. "I forgot to give it back."
Her father raised a speculative brow. "It looks very fine – did he give you anything else?"
Sigrid glared at her father, knowing well what he was implying, and resentful of how mean-spirited he could be. He'd been like this since her mother had died – as if always trying to see the worst in people, determined that no good deed could be without some hidden, selfish agenda. She rose to her feet, realising she didn't want to be here anymore.
"He has given me nothing but kindness since I met him, Dad – and I should really give him this back. He's leaving for the mountain tomorrow, you'll be glad to hear."
Bard shrugged, dismissing the accusation. "I'm sorry, Sigrid. I'm sure your new friend means well. But he's a dwarf – and they bring nothing but trouble. Mark my words."
Sigrid turned and stroke back to the beach, holding the cloak fast against her chest, hearing her father's parting shot ringing in her ears despite her best efforts. They formed another layer of acid in her stomach, and she realised she felt uneasy now – despite her earlier confusion. The blank, hollow feeling she'd sunk into as she watched the burning was now giving way to a deepening dread, and she wanted to run as fast as she could and leave it far behind.
Before whatever it was caught up with her.
Before they were all out of time.
