Skyborn

by Cameron Bolling

“You have suffered so greatly out here in this wilderness,” said Honn. “Wouldn’t it have been so much easier to take my offer the day you fled? A quick trip back to my people and yours. I offered you a mercy then, greater than you could have known.” His eyes narrowed; his lips pressed into a thin line. “I will not show it now.”

  “And neither will I.”

  Oleja raised her bow. Honn smirked, already raising a hand for his visor. Oleja fired.

  Thunk. The arrow pierced the wooden stilt beneath the ledge, batting it aside and sending both sailing to the crevice floor. Honn got only a moment’s confusion before the ground beneath him buckled and gave way.

  Coyotes yelped. Honn shouted. A thundering rumble ripped through the still air, stone sliding on stone. Honn pitched forward, releasing his sword as he swung out both arms, grabbing for something, anything, to save him from plummeting to the bottom. But they came up empty, finding only open air.

  When he landed head-first at the bottom, a cacophony of metal crashing down split the very earth beneath Oleja. It shredded her ears and made stars dance in her vision. Honn’s sword clattered on the rocks beside him.

  The chunk of the ledge that broke free came hurtling down next, crashing against the crevice walls as it fell. The two lead coyotes slipped, their claws skittering on the stone as they lost all footing and fell. Their harnesses pulled taut, and as the ground continued to give way, the next two in line slid forward to meet their companions. They yipped and howled in pain. The four dangling over the edge tugged on the straps and the rest of the team and sled lurched forward with a snap, careening over the edge, joining in the collapse. Other debris crumbled away, tearing free from the stone around it and crashing down in a massive avalanche that spread up and down the length of the crevice with each new stone that joined in the downfall of Honn. Even as he stirred, the largest chunk of the rubble struck him, crushing him beneath its weight, handing him the same demise that Pahlo met mere hours earlier.

  The rocks kept coming. Oleja pulled her legs away just as a stone twice the size of her head crashed into the ground where they had been moments prior. She rolled onto her stomach and crawled in a panic away from the avalanche, closer to Pahlo’s grave. Pebbles and rocks as large as her fists pelted her back and legs, sending stinging bursts of pain through her broken leg whenever one struck it. When crawling proved fruitless, she pulled her legs in and folded her hands over her head, covering her neck and skull. More stone rained down on her as she lay there, eyes pressed shut. Images of the countless cave-in victims from her village flooded her mind—neighbors, acquaintances, old smiths who gave her some of the only semi-official training she ever received, and of course, her parents. There were others too—people she never even knew the names of but whose faces simply vanished from the crowds in the days following a cave-in, never to emerge from the mines again. Trembles wracked her body. Of all the ways for death to catch her, she hated none more than the thought of being buried alive. It ranked last, sitting at the absolute bottom of the list. She refused to let it happen.

  Ignoring the pain in her leg as she dragged it behind her, she kept crawling.

  The roaring sounds of stone collapsing slowed and stopped. The noises came from far off, barely audible above the thunderous ringing in her ears. Cautiously, she opened one eye, then the other. Dust filled the air, and the dry, earthy smell of sand lingered. Her eyes stung as she blinked away the airborne debris.

  Behind her, a massive mound of stone rubble rose up, a mountain compared to the one under which Pahlo rested. Honn’s sled and coyotes rested atop it in a tangled heap. Honn was nowhere in sight.

  Nothing moved.

  Oleja rolled onto her back again and leaned her head against the ground. She let out a loud sigh of triumphant relief—or rather, she imagined it was loud. The ringing swallowed up all sound. Air filled her lungs in short, deep gulps as she fought through the haze to get clean air. She took a shaky breath. Honn was dead. It was over. But she still sat in the middle of the desert with a broken leg. If she could make it to the mountains, to the civilization the raiders spoke of, she stood a chance. To get there, she had another whole valley to cross, and then an unknown stretch of mountains. Dawn approached; the blue sky, bearing fewer stars now than before, made clear indication of that, though without a view of the horizon she could only guess at exactly how long she had until the sun appeared. When it rose, it would bring with it another day of heat. Time closed in on her window for escape.

  Oleja gathered her things. She still had her glider—crippled as it was—her bag, and her quiver, now empty. She had her bow too, wherever it landed. In her haste to cover herself to guard against falling rocks, she dropped it. She looked around.

  One limb poking out from beneath a few stones and a hill of sand helped her locate it, but when she gave it a tug only half came free in her hand. She reeled in the string, which pulled along with it the second half. Broken in her hands, she looked down at the weapon with an air of sadness. Sure, she was out of arrows, and without ammunition the bow was useless, but she had carved that bow by hand. Years she spent fine-tuning it, whittling it away and experimenting with the length of the string until she held her perfect weapon, reliable enough to shoot an eclipser through the eye without a second thought. It was the bow at her side when she started her journey. Now, the sun set on its run.

  She unhooked the string and coiled it around her fingers, tucking it safely into a pocket in her bag. The limbs she left beside Pahlo’s grave, joined by her quiver. Then, burdened by her gear, she struggled to her feet and leaned her weight against the side of the crevice. A long climb, made longer now by the added weight she carried, but she had no other choice.

  Before, it had been a race against Honn that propelled her to the top. Now, she raced against the sun. And the sun was an awful lot harder to kill.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Oleja collapsed on the ground, breathing hard, her lungs burning but still a mere pinch compared to the pain shooting up out of her leg. She pulled herself across the ground, away from the ledge, fearing that it may give way beneath her, especially after everything she had put the surrounding terrain through so far that evening. Two cave-ins, both caused by her—one accidental and one manufactured. She did not need to make it three.

  Ringing filled her ears. Loud and high pitched, it swallowed up all other sounds in the dying night. She threw off her bag and glider and rolled onto her back to stare up at the sky. The stars faded as the sky turned to a deep blue. The rocky ground beneath her felt cool to the touch as it pressed against her exposed skin, still red and raw from her sunburn. The cool temperatures would soon flee under the light of the sun, and she’d be pushed to the limit once more—this time lacking the ability to walk. A fun day lay ahead of her. That was, if she made it through the day at all. Her chances still looked somewhat up in the air.

  She cast a glance back across the crevice. A massive chunk was missing from the other side like a giant bite taken out of the ground, chewed up, and spit into the abyss below. The crater expanded beyond the bounds of her expectations. Fantastic work on her part, truly; Honn would have needed a great stroke of luck to avoid the collapse.

  Quite abruptly, Oleja realized that this was her first time on the far side of the gap—the side she and Pahlo tried to quicken their route over to. Hours and hours had passed since they first approached, yet only now did she set foot on the other side. Well, not set foot exactly; she had yet to stand and didn’t plan on doing so with any great haste. She’d be lucky if she managed to get to her feet and keep her balance on one leg at all. And that was before trying to cross the valley in such a manner. Hopping on one leg for the remainder of the distance sounded less dignified than crawling, though neither struck her as particularly heroic.

  Slowly, her breathing returned to a normal pace, and the ringing in her ears began to fade. The clarity brought with it no genius ideas of how to reach the mountains, but it did bring something else to her attention.
More curious than anything, the drowning noise faded into a different sound: an irregular, high whine. Even as the ringing dissolved into nothing, the new sound persisted. Pushing through the aches of her body, Oleja sat up and listened. It sounded again, filtering up from the bottom of the crevice. She froze.

  Cautiously, making no sound, she moved closer to the edge. At the lip, she looked down.

  A haze still hung in the air, blurring the bottom behind a veil of sand. Rubble layered the crevice floor. Honn’s sled rested atop it all, dented and broken in places but otherwise mostly intact. The coyotes lay in a heap, their harnesses keeping them tangled together in a mess of straps and limbs.

  All except one.

  One coyote stood apart from the rest, pieces of its harness still attached to it but otherwise free from the wreckage. It whined as it pawed at the other coyotes and nudged them with its nose. Their heads and limbs lolled to the side as the lone survivor pushed them about, trying to wake them. Blood spattered thick across the stones made it clear the animal would not soon find success, but it kept trying. From one, to the next, to the next, cycling through the lot until it came back to the first and tried again in another round, it worked to wake its companions. Oleja watched it until a fresh bout of pain clutched her leg and she hissed through clenched teeth. The coyote looked up. The pair locked eyes.

  Oleja scuttled backwards, dragging herself across the rough ground. She went for her bow before remembering its fate, then drew her knife from her belt instead. The bow would have served her well—she could kill the thing without having to get anywhere near it, risking a strike from its sharp teeth or claws. If it took her other leg out of commission, she would be thoroughly doomed—if she wasn’t already. Lacking alternatives made brandishing the small blade an easy choice.

  Fleeing made a poor option, of course. Doing so before only kept her at a short lead over Honn on his sled, but against a lone coyote it became an impossible feat. Even running full speed, unhindered by injury, she knew a coyote could beat her in a race. Crawling across the ground, leaving a trail of blood in her wake—the coyote could walk and still catch her without exerting itself at all. It had to be a fight.

  But first the coyote needed to get out of the crevice. How good were coyotes at climbing? The cliff face on this side wasn’t completely vertical either, which might aid the animal if it truly wanted to come after her. Whether coyotes could climb or not was not a question she had the time or means to find the answer to. She’d see the answer in quite apparent terms before long, one way or the other. Fearing to look back over the edge and risk coming face-to-face with the beast, she opted to remain at a distance and wait.

  If the cave-in had killed Honn and all of his coyotes, she’d have taken care of the whole collection of stuff trying to kill her in one sweeping blow. Killing Honn and having to fight the coyotes would have been disastrous, but fighting one? She could do that. It was only one, and she had a knife. One alone certainly gave her better odds than fighting two or five or all eight. Even in her state—her delirious, weakened, unable-to-stand state—killing one coyote was a manageable feat.

  Foolishness had made her think she could be lucky enough to kill Honn and all eight coyotes at once. She should have planned better for a fight after the dust settled. She still got lucky, with only one survivor. Her heart pounded. She felt silly. Worry gripped her over a fight with a coyote smaller than her; she had brought eclipsers to their graves with swift shots from her bow, beings that towered over her. What made this coyote so deadly?

  She didn’t have her bow anymore, nor could she fight much more efficiently than brandishing a knife from where she lay on the ground. The creature itself might have been smaller, but it had every other tactical advantage. Minus the knife.

  A scratching sound came from the crevice. Oleja tensed and gripped her knife tighter. A moment later, two paws grabbed at the cliff’s edge. Two ears followed, then an orange snout, and then the rest of the animal, though it climbed awkwardly. It scrambled for footing, and when finally it stood by the edge of the drop, it shook some of the sand from its coat and then trained its attention on Oleja. Brown eyes stalked her. Its black nose bobbed in the air as it caught her scent. It hunkered low, brushing the lighter beige fur of its belly across the ground. Baring its fangs, it let out a low growl, and then slowly began to advance on her.

  Oleja backed up, knocking against her bag and glider. She let the copper-colored blade glint in the waning moonlight. The knife caught the advancing beast’s eye but did not deter it. The coyote kept coming.

  Oleja sized it up. This coyote was male, and bigger than any of the wild ones she’d seen, as all of Honn’s were—bred and trained to pull a sled and, if she was just unlucky enough, kill. Despite this, it crept forward on thin, bony legs, and as it moved, she thought for a moment she could see the faint shape of its ribs just beneath the skin and pelt. Though not as emaciated as the coyote that stole her jackrabbit, this one certainly could not be deemed healthy or well-fed. A wave of short-lived relief crashed over her. Killing the animal became at least marginally easier if it was anywhere near as starved as her. When she finished clinging to that small boon, she refocused on the approaching fight.

  The coyote growled again; a low, rumbling sound broken up by quick huffs. Oleja held her knife out at arm’s length, still hoping the coyote would suddenly gain some keener awareness of the properties of blades and shy away. It showed no such breakthrough. Or maybe it, too, had sized her up and determined it could win. They’d just have to see who triumphed in the end.

  Unless she offered it a peace.

  The thought came from nowhere. It sounded like something Ude would say to her, or perhaps Pahlo. The moment’s confusion made her falter and she lowered the knife an inch. The coyote barked, a shrill call that sounded almost painful and echoed back off the hilltops. Oleja made up her mind in a second. She kept her eyes trained on the beast as she reached back and felt around in her bag. She tore off a piece of the salted meat from her rations. After a quick prayer that she did not make the dumbest mistake of her life, wasting her meager supply of food on a creature that already had its eyes on its next meal, she tossed the scrap to the animal. It came to rest near the coyote’s front paws.

  The coyote flinched as it watched Oleja throw something in its direction, but then it bowed its head and sniffed at the meat, never breaking eye contact with Oleja. The food disappeared in seconds, chewed once by sharp fangs and then swallowed in a single gulp. The coyote continued to advance, though even slower now. Oleja’s stomach lurched. Fight it was.

  But when the coyote came within a few feet of her, it hunkered lower and then lay down on the ground. It rested its head between its paws, nose pointed towards her, eyes glued to her bag. The situation became clear after a moment, in which Oleja risked a quick glance backwards to be sure it didn’t focus on some new threat approaching. Fortunately, only her bag lay behind her—one more fight she could indeed win should the need arise, so long as victory didn’t hinge on her lifting it again.

  Food served as one of her most precious belongings, but Oleja weighed her options and deemed it a worthy cause. If she could stave off the coyote with another bit of meat, it certainly resulted in a better outcome than the beast pouncing and killing her. She ripped off another small chunk and leaned forward to toss it gently in the direction of the coyote. This one landed another several inches in front of the animal’s snout. Rather than stand and take the few steps, the coyote wriggled through the sand until it reached the treat, and then gobbled it up just as quickly as the last.

  It lay there for a moment and watched her, then took another few cautious steps in her direction. It whined, looking to the bag and then back to her. Oleja shifted to the side to hide her bag from view. Spectacular—in trying to deter an attack, she only provoked it to fight her for her food.

  But the coyote did not. Instead, it came up next to her and settled back down on the ground, though it never moved its eyes from her. O
leja squirmed in discomfort. She wanted to keep the thing from being hostile, yes, but she didn’t know how close she wanted it to her. It could still jump on her in an instant and sink its teeth into her throat. She kept her knife in her hand, though she laid it on her thigh, no longer using it for failed attempts at intimidation.

  The coyote poked its nose against her right leg. Cold and wet, it dampened the fine layer of dusty sand that coated her, and when it drew back its snout the film of dirt stuck to it. It nuzzled her again, and then licked her a few times. Oleja almost shot to her feet as her heart thundered and shivers raced through her body. What was it doing, tasting her? Trying to determine whether or not she’d make a good meal after all?

  No hostility shone through its actions. Either it possessed a fantastic talent for masking its intentions, or it truly didn’t intend to eat her. In her exhaustion, Oleja wanted to believe the latter.

  Its scratchy tongue stung her sunburn, but pushing the animal away seemed a good way to anger it and get bitten.

  “Sorry, I can’t spare any more of my food. I’m going to need it… I hope,” she said aloud, though she didn’t quite know why. Delirium, perhaps. The coyote looked up at her, and then laid its head back down.

  Deeming it safe enough, Oleja turned her head and looked out across the valley below to where the mountains waited as great black silhouettes in the darkness. Too far to crawl. Unless she could fashion some sort of crutch, she stood no chance of walking. And her surroundings offered no good crutch-constructing materials—even her glider didn’t have wooden pieces long enough for that. What a sick joke to have come so far in the wrong direction seeking refuge only to die when at last the end came in sight. In about an hour, when the sun rose, the heat would only make the situation worse. According to her food and water rations, she had about a day left before things got critical—only enough time to cross the valley in full health, and that seemed fairly impossible. She couldn’t just heal her leg in an hour.