The Cradle of Ice, page 51
part #2 of Moonfall Series
But surely not this.
Rhaif tossed both gourds toward the door.
“Bomb!” he screamed.
One of the gourds made it across the threshold, bouncing down the steps. Its flaming wick spun wildly, sizzling even brighter as it did. The other fell short of the doorway and landed in the sand out front.
This second one had the shorter wick.
Rhaif dropped flat and pulled the wing over his head.
The explosion shocked even him. Flames blasted searingly bright, revealing the shadowy bones through the leather over his head. The concussion flapped the wing, too, as if the dead raash’ke were trying to take flight.
As the ringing in his ears died, he heard panicked shouts, the rush of footfalls out the chamber.
“Get clear!” Ghryss hollered as he fled the bomb inside. “Make for the Drakyl!”
As Rhaif had hoped, the fiery blast and the threat of the other bomb had chased the Hálendiians out of the enclosed room. It also drew the raash’ke upon the fleeing men. Their savage cries deafened him. The bridling tried to eat through Rhaif’s lodestone earpieces but failed. Still, it felt like his skull was being ripped apart.
Grimacing, Rhaif waited until the last boot pounded past him. Then he shoved out from under the wing and dove across the threshold. He rolled down the steps into the chamber.
Glace stumbled back from his sudden arrival, clutching the wrist of her maimed hand.
Darant swore.
Chains rattled as other members of the crew fled to the side. Perde lay on his stomach, trying to smother the second gourd.
Rhaif waved him off. “Don’t burn yourself. It’s only a little firepot I made.”
Perde rolled away and patted the scorch across his shirt, glaring at Rhaif.
“What was in that other?” Darant asked as he headed to the door.
Rhaif followed him, ticking off the ingredients. “Three parts refined flitch from the new forges, a fistful of powder from a hand-bomb, and just a dash of flashburn.”
“Write that down for me,” Darant said.
Glace joined them. “Good one on that ruse. Always knew you were a sneaky sod.”
“Thieving never leaves your blood,” he mumbled. “Even when you’re trying to save the world.”
Outside, the raash’ke had already laid into the fleeing Hálendiian forces. Several men thrashed under the throes of beating wings. Rhaif spotted the armored hulk of Ghryss pounding toward the dropped ramp of his swyftship.
One of his men turned and fired a crossbow. The bolt struck a small bat diving at them. It pierced a shoulder, sending the beast into a rolling crash into the sand. The archer fled away, rejoining Ghryss. Both were unaffected by the debilitating cries of the raash’ke—due to shield-helms protecting their ears.
Rhaif could guess where they had learned about such gear. Out on the plaza, Ghryss hauled Ularia along with him.
“Grab that ax,” Perde hollered to another of the crew. “Break these sodding chains.”
Rhaif glanced back. Perde stood over his dead brother, his face hard with fury. Rhaif made a silent promise to share a cask of ale with Perde, in honor of his fallen brother.
“Serves him right,” Darant mumbled.
Rhaif glanced back outside again. Ghryss had reached the bottom of the ramp into his ship. The bat with the wounded shoulder had righted itself and sped on wingtips and legs, running like a feral dog across the sand, racing with shocking swiftness toward the ramp.
Ghryss bellowed and sprinted up the ramp, but the raash’ke took flight, barreling through the air straight at him. The Hálendiian used his only weapon. He flung Ularia, still clutched by the arm, and tossed her at the beast. She flew high, arms pinwheeling, and struck the bat.
They both splashed down into the shallows.
Knocked free, Ularia sputtered up. She scrabbled on hands and knees back to the sand. The bat lunged out, snagging fangs into the back of her thigh. She screamed, then louder as jaws snapped bones and her leg was ripped off. She fell flat, but she still tried to claw away, trailing blood.
The bat leaped high and landed on her back. Claws snagged into ribs. It flapped off the sand, carrying her with it. It must have forgotten its injured shoulder and slammed back down, crushing Ularia. It tried again with the same result.
Ularia mewled and weakly squirmed.
Rhaif had to turn away. “Even she didn’t deserve that.”
Darant disagreed. “She sold out her own men. Got them killed. Left them as carrion, taking only their bulky helms.” He thumbed to a pile at the back. “She merits no pity.”
A loud boom drew their attention. From the stern of the Drakyl, a sailraft blasted out. Its keel skidded the waves, then its gasbag burst taut above it. Its forge ignited with a blast of flames, casting the raft high, propelling it swiftly across the sea.
“Bastard had a fourth sailraft,” Rhaif muttered.
Darant glowered. “A personal escape ship.”
Over the plaza, a flock of wings gave chase, but Ghryss had a good head start.
“What now?” Perde asked.
Rhaif stiffened and grabbed Darant’s arm. “Brayl…”
“What about my daughter?”
Rhaif gave a short account and pointed beyond the village. “We must get to her.” He turned to Perde. “And bring that ax.”
Glace stepped forward, tying off her hand with the sleeve of a dead man’s shirt. “I need a couple of the crew.”
“Why?” Darant asked.
“I overheard the Hálendiians. They left bombs aboard the Hawk, along with a few of their men. Someone needs to check on her.”
Darant nodded, his face tight with worry. “Krysh and Meryk are over there, too. Before the bats attacked, the Hálendiians wanted information about our new flitch and modified forges.”
“Then let’s go,” Rhaif said.
To get everyone moving, he passed around helms, while the axes freed chains from wrists.
By the time they were done, the plaza had emptied of the raash’ke. Some had flown off with their prey. A larger portion had fled after the fiery star of the fleeing sailraft.
This moment of reprieve offered their best chance.
Rhaif pointed to the left. “Darant, I can lead you and a couple men through the village, backtracking the way I got here. But we should hurry.”
Glace pointed her thumb in the other direction. “I mapped a route of these lodestone rooms. Should be able to hop our way across, then stick to the beach’s smoke to reach the Hawk.”
Rhaif was impressed. Apparently, pirates were as good as thieves when it came to preplanning for disaster. Then again, there was some overlap in their vocations.
With matters settled, they all slipped out of safety and back into danger.
Rhaif set off with Darant, but his mind kept snagging on Ghryss’s question, the one that the Hálendiian had been willing to torture and kill to get the answer to.
Rhaif wanted to know, too.
Where are the others?
77
EXHAUSTED AND ON her knees, Nyx stared out across the Mouth. She willed Bashaliia more speed. The small Mýr bat fought through the hot air, his wings striking hard, his body pumping for every bit of swiftness. She knew how exhausted he must be.
Behind him, a roiling storm gave chase. Unlike the golden shine of pure bridle-song, the power that surged in that storm churned with darkness, jagged with green fire, boiling with the scorch of molten rock. It filled the breadth of the Mouth ahead of her.
Buried at the heart, seven great beasts—winged daemons—rode that storm, pursuing Bashaliia.
Beside her, Graylin lowered his farscope, no longer needing it. “We can’t fight those giants. And more raash’ke follow in their wake. Scores and scores.”
Nyx couldn’t see through the black storm to confirm his words.
“What’s that haze surrounding them?” Jace asked.
She glanced over, shocked—then back out again. Even Jace could vaguely perceive what was coming, some innate sense of the approaching danger. The beasts were that strong.
How can we hope to defeat them?
Even if she tapped Daal’s full strength, it would be like tossing a bucket of water at a raging forest fire. Worse, she had already depleted Daal to free Bashaliia. He was on his knees next to her. His face ran with sweat, his breath ragged. Still, he reached to her, offering his hand.
She took it, not to draw upon his fire, simply for his reassurance and comfort.
His fingers squeezed, igniting the fire between them, melding two into one for a few brief breaths. In that moment, she felt how much he also craved this union. But he meant more with this touch.
His voice was a hoarse whisper. “They’re not corrupt…”
She didn’t understand. She gaped out at the dark storm and the bright speck fleeing from it. Bashaliia was almost back, crossing over the insatiable maw of the river’s swirling vortex. The stormy manifestation of the horde-mind was as black and unappeasable as that watery maelstrom below it.
“Not corrupt,” Daal repeated, insistent. “Corrupted.”
She shook her head, still not understanding.
He squeezed her fingers. “Remember.”
Locked with Daal, she felt his memories became hers. He showed her what had already been revealed to her before—by the Oshkapeers.
In a heartbeat, she fell into the past.
—she hikes toward a village. Overhead, more raash’ke ply the skies. Others hop along streets or perch on walls. Children play among them, especially with the smallest of the beasts.
Nyx dropped back to the present with her next breath, bringing with it an understanding. The raash’ke had once been as dear to the Pantheans as Neffa and Mattis were to Daal. He was right to remind her. The raash’ke had not always been corrupt.
“I remember now,” she whispered.
Daal let his arm drop. “Make them remember, too.”
“How?”
Daal pointed to the sky. “Show them.”
Close now, Bashaliia struggled over the last distance to reach her. His wings faltered, his movement frantic. Once near the boulder, he fell, more than dove, toward her. He didn’t have the strength to slow.
“Get out of the way!” Graylin lunged at her.
Never.
She held her ground and cast a silent thread to Shiya. The bronze woman stopped Graylin, grabbing Jace, too. Vikas retreated on her own.
Nyx stood up as Bashaliia struck the boulder, wings wide. His claws scraped across the rock, gouging deep tracks. She lifted her arms, trusting him, knowing his heart. He struck her, but she caught his neck and let herself be carried with him to a stop. He leaned his soft cheek to hers, velvet rubbing her ear. His wings wrapped around her. His body was a furnace, but she clung tightly, happy to burn there forever.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered.
He shivered and mewled, panicked and scared.
She sang to him, softly and calmly, both a lullaby and a promise. She heard her dah’s voice joining her in chorus, alive again in her memory, where death holds no sway. She let the old refrain repeat over and over again:
I am here, right beside you.
So, close your eyes and know it true.
I am here, right beside you …
Bashaliia’s breathing slowed and his shaking trembled away.
“I’ve got you always,” she promised aloud, while never losing her song.
With golden threads, she wrapped past and present. She folded in every moment of their lives together, from warm milk shared under safe wings to this reunion now. She spared nothing: the terror, the hardship, the sting of a merciful knife, the joy amidst the terror. Through it all, there was one constant.
There were no words for it, not in any tongue or gesture. Love was a pale utterance, a placeholder for something far grander. It could only be felt, experienced, endured, even lost. Though there was no true word for it, she placed all of her faith in it.
The closest way to express it was in the purity of song, starting with a chorus of two beating hearts, of breaths sighing in harmony. From there, it continued in a symphony of joys shared, of lives entwined, of sorrows endured, until two became one.
She let that all glow forth, wordless and bright, forming a corona around them.
She sang out to the storm as it descended upon them.
You once had this, shared this.
Still, she knew it wasn’t enough. She reached into her memories and stirred them brighter, bringing back to life a span of centuries, when the raash’ke had lived in harmony with the people of the Crèche. She added this chorus to her glow, filling it with thousands of memories, of generations sharing this indescribable feeling.
She cast that corona wider, turning this past into golden light.
Remember …
Most of the raash’ke were too young to have been alive back then—but these seven giants were not. They knew a time when the Crèche had lived in harmony. Somewhere in the shadows of the horde-mind that memory, that brightness, still existed.
As if sensing the danger of reviving a past long forgotten, the storm swirled. Seven shadows beat the air, holding the sky. Smaller raash’ke swirled farther out.
You must remember …
It wasn’t a demand, only a hope.
The stalemate held for several more breaths. Exhausted and drained, she felt her legs faltering. She hung from Bashaliia’s neck. Then a warm hand touched her shoulder, fire burning through to her skin.
Daal …
Next, fingers of cold bronze gripped her other shoulder.
Shiya …
Daal poured his last flames into her, allowing her song to shine brighter. With that energy came a flood of additional memories from the Oshkapeers, thousands that had faded from Nyx but that Daal had still retained. She fed those into the glow, too, making the past an inescapable trap.
You will remember.
This time, it came with a lilt of command.
On Nyx’s other side, Shiya added her voice, easily finding Nyx’s harmony. Like before, they stoked it into a storm and held it trapped, letting it build into a massive tide, damming it behind walls. Only this time, the dam didn’t have to be so tall. Their target was right here, all around them. So far, both storm and giant wings skirted the threat of those shining memories, as if wary of them.
Still, Nyx felt that impasse would not last.
A nidus of hard darkness lurked within the shadows.
The spider …
From its hiding place, it lashed out with whips of emerald fire and lances of jagged spears, demanding for the storm to crush them.
In that moment, she recognized that malevolence, that corrupting force.
Nyx flashed to six months ago, when she had knelt atop the Shrouds. Shrive Vythaas had wielded a small metal box that sparked and keened with this same malignant fire, coursing to copper needles driven into the skulls of Nyx’s two beloved brothers, Ablen and Bastan.
This was much the same, a corruption of control, only she sensed this spider was much farther away.
She had no more time to ponder it further. The massive golden tide could no longer be held back. Nyx opened her throat and broke the dam inside her with a single word.
Remember.
It was no request this time, but a demand.
The golden corona surrounding her burst into a sun, blasting upward in every direction. It struck the storm and the seven winged giants. The ancient darkness shattered wide for a few moments—but it quickly smothered down, trying to quash that fire, to erase a past.
Still, a few rays of that new sun broke through the shadows, reached the tiniest bits of brightness buried in the storm. With a touch, those beams ignited what had been protected and preserved long ago but nearly forgotten—the memory of harmony, when two lived as one, when hearts beat together.
That bit of brightness exploded, eclipsing even her sun.
Nyx gasped.
The storm broke around her.
As it did, she caught a glimpse of the spider.
A bronze figure stood within a crystalline vault, crouched in a web of copper tubing, glass pipes, and bubbling tanks of a golden elixir. A malignant green fire sizzled and sparked across this glistening web, reflecting off the spider’s bronze with a pestilent sheen.
The figure was clearly a man, but he carried none of Shiya’s majesty of form. He looked more toadish, his bronze a melted slag, as if denying any commonality with humanity.
His eyes stared out at her. The hatred and enmity shining there drove her back a step. Then that gaze shifted to Nyx’s left, to where Shiya stood, her bronze hand on Nyx’s shoulder.
The spider flinched away, his eyes flaring with shock. One word hissed out, reaching across that vast distance. “Axis.”
A bronze arm swept across the web, snuffing the emerald fire. Nyx sensed the permanence of that act. The spider was terrified of Shiya, relinquishing the battlefield, too fearful to ever return, recognizing the Crèche had a new bronze guardian.
The view into that crystalline vault vanished.
Still, before the connection severed, Nyx sensed a greater threat. It was unspoken, but the impression was conveyed through the momentary fusion of bridle-song and corruption. The spider had a way to thwart them, something that terrified even him. But the sight of Shiya had burned away any trepidation, leaving only necessity. He dared not hesitate.
As the view vanished, Nyx was left with a sense of urgency.
It could not be denied.
Time is running out.
* * *
“WHAT IS HAPPENING?” Jace asked.
The panic in his voice drew Nyx back to the boulder, to this moment. She shoved aside the terror and strangeness. She cast her gaze outward, both with her eyes and with her bridle senses.
The dark storm had broken, but now, stripped of that emerald hold, it had turned turbulent and chaotic. No longer anchored by that dark nidus, the horde-mind frayed, tearing itself apart. Its sense of self was lost between the shining golden past and the dark, savage centuries that followed.
