The Harbors of the Sun

CHAPTER TEN

Moon and Stone flew southwest, making brief stops only to rest and hunt, or when they came across anyone who might have seen a Kishan flying boat pass. This country was fairly empty and there weren’t many opportunities, which was for the best, since it usually required them to waste time pretending to be groundlings.

The latest confirmation that they were still going in the right direction came from a party of furred groundlings moving slowly along on the back of a giant armored herdbeast. Their leisurely method of transportation had given them plenty of opportunity to watch the flying boat go by.

There hadn’t been any more sign of the kethel, but Moon had an itch in his back teeth that told him it was out there somewhere, still following them. Whenever they stopped, Stone stared toward the north, growling a little.

The cloudbank Moon had spotted to the south never broke up. And he was certain it was getting bigger, like flying toward a mountain growing in the distance. He had decided it must be a large collection of flying islands. They had passed several and used a couple as spots to sleep a little. All were fairly small, some with broken towers or ruined remnants of walls still visible above the encroaching greenery. There had been a number of different flying island people, of a variety of species. They were all gone now, as far as Moon knew, their flying archipelagos nothing but fragmented remains.

But the next flying island they came across was different. From a distance it looked like a mass of trees with light-colored trunks and light green leaves, as thickly clustered together as grass, with a sweet green scent. Up close, it still looked like that, and flying under it, Moon found there was apparently no island, just the matted tangled roots.

He banked up to see Stone had landed on the edge. Stone shifted to groundling to squeeze through the trunks into the glade’s interior. Moon dipped down again to light on one of the outermost trees and hook his claws in the roots. Large dead trees, and some failed saplings, had their roots still trapped in the matrix. Moon furled his wings and carefully pulled himself up and in.

He slipped between the trunks as birds chattered overhead, stepping over holes in the root mass where he could look straight down to the ground far below. The sweet scent was clean and piercing, like a mountain-tree almost, but sharper.

He found Stone in a small open clearing, drinking from a deep rainwater basin formed where a trunk had fallen. Moon crouched on the edge to scoop up some water. When he was done, he sat back and said, “What kind of flying island is this?”

“A cloud forest.” Stone wiped the water off his face. “I’d heard of them but never seen one before.”

Moon looked around again. The leafy canopies were open enough that the sun fell through, bathing the whole grove in a warm light. There were smaller trees and more saplings here, as if the forest must grow from its center and push outward. It was too bad they hadn’t encountered it later; it would have made a good place to sleep for a while. “Is that what we’re seeing to the south? That big thing that looks like a cloud bank?” If it was one mass, and not a collection of fragments and heavy clouds, it was far larger than any other flying island Moon had ever seen.

Stone shrugged. “I’ve heard stories about a giant flying island you can see from the far south. I didn’t think they were true. It was called the walls, or the cloudwall, or something like that.”

Moon mentally sorted it under “things with no explanation that were interesting to look at and not particularly dangerous.” He stretched his back, taking a deep breath of the cloud forest’s scent. He thought about shifting to groundling, but Stone was probably going to want to leave in a moment and it wouldn’t be worth it. Just then Stone grunted and started to push to his feet.

The birdsong abruptly dropped in volume.

Moon clamped his jaw against a hiss. Stone went still, head cocked to listen. There was no stench of Fell in the light wind, and none in the forest. Stone stepped soundlessly over the rotting trunk, and turned to slide between the two nearest trees. Moon eased to his feet and followed.

The moss and winding roots didn’t creak as they moved toward the edge, but the low nervous rustle of birds and flying lizards made Moon’s spines want to twitch. They reached the outer circle of large trees. The view was nothing but empty blue sky and the rolling, brushy green hills below, and the wind came straight at them from the northwest. Keeping his voice to a low whisper, Stone said, “Probably Fell. We need to split them.” He jerked his head. “You go out the other side.”

Moon twitched his spines in agreement and ducked back through the trees. This was bad, but could still be survivable. The Fell must be angling up toward them from downwind. They would have spotted Moon and Stone sometime after dawn and been waiting for them to stop to rest. It probably meant there weren’t that many, maybe just a small scouting party. They wouldn’t want to fight inside the cloud forest but they wouldn’t be sure exactly where Moon and Stone would come out.

Moon reached the outer fringe of the forest, stepped between the trees, and spotted three dakti riding the wind high above. He flung himself out into the air, extended one wing and twisted as if he had fouled the other one.

The dakti took the bait and dropped on him. At the last instant, Moon snapped his other wing out, caught the wind and used it to slide under the forest. He caught a dangling root and contracted his body, tucking himself up and out of sight.

Two dakti shot past but one tried to follow him under the roots and blundered in right beneath him. Moon fell on it, shredded its right wing, dropped it, then dove on the other two. He caught one as it foolishly tried to come up at him and ripped its chest open. The other fled, flapping madly, and that was when he heard the crashing and growling from the far side of the forest.

Moon snarled, forgot the dakti and flapped up toward the roots. He found an opening in the forest floor and wriggled through, clawed his way past roots and moss. Dodging between the narrow trunks, the roots vibrated under his feet and the trees ahead shook and thrashed as something struggled just at the edge of the forest. Moon swung up into the canopy for a better view. He spotted Stone and snarled in horror.

Stone was in his winged form but something had fallen on him, a huge thing like a sticky web that had trapped his left wing and half his body against the dead trees on the outer edge. A kethel flapped just above him, swiped at Stone as he struggled to free himself.

Moon leapt from tree to tree then jumped down into the understory, dangerously close to the thrashing body. Moon lunged in and ripped at the sticky net with his claws. This close he saw it had been made from a sac, the substance that the kethel could secrete to carry dakti or rulers. It was caught all through the dead trees and there was no way he could shred it fast enough—

Something hit his back and bounced him off the nearest tree. He fell onto the moss and rolled to see three more dakti clawing their way toward him, jaws gaping with laughter. But the trees were too close together for them to come at him at once, and one shouldered the others aside to be the first to leap on him. That was a big mistake.

Moon caught its shoulders, yanked it forward, spread his jaw to its fullest extent and bit its face and muzzle off. He flung the still-twitching body into the second one, who tried to retreat but wedged its body against a tree long enough to get its chest ripped open. The third fled but Moon caught it in the dead trees at the fringe, slammed it down between the roots and snapped its neck. The dead roots cracked and broke under the force of the blow, and Moon realized this was how he could free Stone.

He shoved through the trunks to where Stone’s left foot was trapped in the sac-net, then started to claw and rip at the brittle roots of the two nearest dead trees. Without the root connection to the rest of the forest, the trees started to sway and topple. Stone must have felt the give; he jerked his foot and the trees ripped out and dragged half a dozen others with them.

Stone dropped and twisted, the sac stretching, strands snapping. The kethel caught the edge of the forest with one clawed foot to swipe at Stone’s face. Moon was close enough to see the collar of skulls around its neck, all groundlings, different shapes and sizes, some so recent rotting skin was still attached.

Another dark body loomed over them, blotting out the light.

Moon looked up at another kethel and thought, well, we’re dead now.

Then it slammed down atop the first kethel, yanked it off its perch and dragged it away. Stone twisted out of the sac-net as they fell past him. The two struggling kethel dropped out of sight under the bulk of the forest.

Moon leapt into the air as Stone wheeled away. He flapped until he caught the wind and then looked back over his shoulder. The two kethel fell, locked in combat. The kethel who had helped them had to be the one from the half-Fell flight. It was the same size and wore no collar.

Three smaller figures darted away in the opposite direction, fleeing the battle. It was a ruler and two dakti.

Ahead, Stone growled. Moon turned back and they flew south and away.

They flew until the cloud forest was out of sight. The terrain below was spidered with river channels running through shallow gorges, steep and inhospitable for groundlings. It was shaded by the occasional tall slender tree with a single layer of delicate canopy, spread like a parasol. Moon tried to signal Stone to land, and finally Stone circled down.

Stone landed on a rocky island that broke a wide channel into a short waterfall. He perched on the rock, then shifted to groundling and collapsed face down. Moon hit the rock, frantic, and shifted to lose his claws as he crouched to examine Stone. He didn’t see the big wounds he was afraid of, just streaks of blood from scratches on Stone’s arms and back. Then Stone croaked, “Left shoulder’s dislocated.”

Moon hissed, rolled him over, and shoved the shoulder back into place. Stone snarled as it clicked into the socket, then gasped in relief. He blinked and yawned. “Yeah, that’s better.”

“How did you fly like that?” Moon demanded. The wing joins used different muscles, but still.

“Not very well,” Stone admitted.

Moon pulled Stone’s pack around and dug in it. He pulled out a paper-wrapped packet and sniffed it. “You’re still carrying around the bug paste?”

Stone worked his shoulder carefully, his jaw set against the pain. “Obviously.”

Moon snarled in frustration, shoved it back in the pack, and dug out the half-full waterskin to hand to Stone. He took the empty one to the edge of the island to fill it. This is stupid, he thought. We can’t keep doing this. They were relying on luck and the word of a bladder-boat groundling that they were even on the trail of the right flying boat. And that shitting kethel was still following them.

Moon splashed water on his face and felt the sting of claw slashes and bruises he hadn’t noticed until now. He sat back and looked at Stone.

Stone was watching him, the waterskin on his chest. “We’re not stopping.”

It wasn’t nearly as satisfying to hiss in groundling form, and Moon was more exhausted now than frustrated. “We don’t even know if we’re going in the right direction.”

“We do, because the Fell are going this way.”

“They could be following us.”

“Then where are they?” Stone lifted his brows. He sat up with a groan, cradling his arm, and jerked his chin toward the empty sky. “That was the flight’s rear guard. The rest of them are ahead of us. They sent scouts ahead and spotted the Hians.”

He had a point. Moon rubbed his eyes and tabled the decision for the moment. He was suddenly hungry, and knew it was probably just nerves more than anything else. “That other kethel, that was the one the half-Fell queen sent. Which means the rest of the half-Fell flight has to be out here somewhere. They’re following us, fighting the other Fell.”

“Not necessarily.” Stone shrugged and winced. “It might be just that one kethel.”

“So it’s competing with the other Fell to see who gets us?”

“Maybe.” Stone squinted at the empty sky again. “We need to get going.”

“No. I’m going to hunt, we’re going to eat, then we’ll find a place to sleep until dark.” At the far side of the pool below the waterfall, large silvery fish wove through the reeds and water flowers, and there were cracks and crevices in the rock that could make a good hiding place if he could find one wide enough.

He expected Stone to argue, but Stone gave him a sideways look and a slight smile. “And then we’ll get going.”

Moon snarled in frustration again, mostly at himself this time, shifted, and jumped into the water.

He managed to get enough fish for both of them before the school fled the pool, then helped Stone up to a crevice in the cliff that was big enough to lie down in. Stone slept, but Moon sat up just inside the cover of the overhanging rock, dozing off and on and watching the sky.

Before the sun set he spotted a lone kethel, crossing back and forth across the clouds, searching for them.

Malachite and the others left at sunset. Chime watched with horrified fascination as the Fellborn queen’s three kethel built the sac from the secretions of pouches in their winged forms. It was far smaller than the huge sac Chime had seen before, maybe thirty paces across at most. Two kethel lifted it between them and most of the dakti and the rulers climbed inside. Malachite, her warriors, the Fellborn queen, and a few dakti rode the two kethel, with the third flying alongside. The idea was to switch out periodically with the riders inside the sac and rest, with the third kethel spelling one of the two others, so that the flight could be in continuous motion.

“Good luck,” Chime had said to Rise, Malachite’s lead warrior.

He had thought he was doing a good job of hiding how appalled he was, but she had smiled ruefully. “Believe it or not, this is not the oddest thing I’ve done with Malachite.”

Malachite had chosen five Opal Night warriors to remain behind, and Chime stood with them in the stern, watching worriedly as the flight vanished into the clouds. Saffron was one of them, and Chime found himself exchanging a horrified expression with her. He didn’t particularly like Saffron, and they didn’t agree on a lot, but they were as one on this point. The Fell sac they had been trapped in together had been a terrible experience, and Chime couldn’t imagine climbing into one voluntarily.

And he would have never thought he would miss Malachite, but with her and so many warriors gone, the wind-ship felt far more vulnerable.

Chime turned and realized he stood next to Root. The news about the threat to Indigo Cloud and the Reaches had struck everyone so hard, and preparations for Malachite and the others to leave had been so urgent, Chime hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him yet.

There was something about the way Root stood there, his spines drooping a little, that made Chime think that River’s concern wasn’t misplaced. Not that Chime expected Root to be happy, but . . . “Are you all right?”

Root didn’t react, his gaze on the shapes fading into the dusk. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t sound fine. He didn’t sound like himself at all. “That’s good, because nobody else is,” Chime said, hoping to provoke a reaction.

It did. Root turned to face him, his expression grim and unfamiliar. “We shouldn’t have left Song’s body behind.”

It was as abrupt as a sudden slap. The memory of Song’s face, twisted and slack with death, was too vivid still and Chime winced, controlling a snarl. He swallowed his temper and made his voice calm. “We had to, Root.”

The Kishan had left their dead behind, too. They had buried them all on a small island in the archipelago off the coast of Kish, barely more than a sandbar. The Kish were afraid the dead would bring disease in the warm weather, and Chime couldn’t blame them. Indigo Cloud had left its dead before, when the court had had to flee the eastern colony and they had burned the remains of all those killed in the Fell attack. It was never easy, it was never right. But there was no choice.

“We brought Flower back with us,” Root said, stubborn and angry.

“It isn’t a far comparison,” Chime said. Root knew that as well as he did. They had had a queen’s urn to carry her in, and they had been on the freshwater sea, with a boat to take them near the shores of the Reaches, and not so many days of flight from home. Without Flower they wouldn’t have had that home; burying her in the tree had been a symbolic act.

Root looked away, his throat working. Then he shifted and leapt to the cabin roof, so fast Chime stumbled backward. Saffron caught his arm to steady him. “What was that about?” she asked.

“He’s hurt, and he has to take it out on someone,” Chime told her. That was all he wanted to say in front of the Opal Night warriors. He just hoped Root could control himself.