Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 406
"The forest," said Calandria. "Come on!" She began
sprinting. He looked up again, then followed.
Low rumbles like thunder began. Instead of fading, they
grew. The sound was familiar to Axel, and unmistakable:
something was coming in to land. The sound had a ragged
edge to it. Years of exposure to spacecraft told him it was a
small ship. The big ones sang basso profundo all the way
down.
Their shadows sharpened as they ran. Axel began to feel
heat on his face. The roar became a steady, deafening thunder.
On the shoreline below, the crescent of sand lit amber under a
midnight dawn. Axel knew better than to look directly at the
spear of light settling towards them, though it seemed as
though Mounce was going to bring her ship down right on top
of them.
The sky was starting to glow from horizon to horizon.
He’d never seen that effect accompany the arrival of a starship.
Axel redoubled his effort, though he had twisted his
ankle and it spiked pain up his leg with every step. Calandria
was pulling ahead, but he didn’t have the breath to spare to tell
her to slow down.
Suddenly spokes of light like heat lightning washed
across the sky. Their center was the approaching ship.
A blinding flash staggered Axel. Childhood memory
took hold: he counted. One, two, three, four-- Ca-rack! The
concussion knocked him off his feet. He came up tasting grass
and dirt.
Whatever that flash had been, it had happened less than a
kilometer away. He blinked away lozenges of afterglow in
time to see the brilliant tongue of fire overhead waver, and cut
out.
A dark form fell with majestic slowness into the forest.