by Amanda Sun
“It’s sturdy,” he says, pressing on the fur with the leather of his shoe. “Have a seat.”
I sit slowly, and I find the nest of branches holds more weight than I’d thought. It’s steady and curved.
“Rest now,” he says. “We’ll stay here for the night.”
The sun is only just starting to set in the sky, but the day has completely drained me. Searching for water and food, running from the chimera, learning that the earth has human survivors—all of these, coupled with the fresh meat and water in my ravenous stomach, press on me with the weight of severe exhaustion. I barely hear Griffin as he climbs back down the tree, as he buries what’s left of the fur-packaged meat in the dying ashes of the fire. The ashes make me think of the Phoenix, of her promise to save us from the earth and its scourge of monsters. She has sent Griffin to save me, I know. She will wrap me in her soft warm wings. She will keep her promise to rise anew, so that we will be saved from this plagued world once more.
The thoughts comfort me as the hazy pull of sleep overtakes me.
TEN
I HEAR THE chimes of the bells in the citadel’s crystal tower, see the smiling face of my father. I run to him, Elisha beaming at his side. The Phoenix statue is draped in red garlands and Aban stands near us in his white robe, the first tome of the annals in his hands. Everything is ready for the Rending Ceremony, and I’ve returned from the outcrop just in time.
Millions of red petals fall through the air like snow, cascading over the courtyard and hiding my father from view. There are too many now, the entire courtyard bloodred with the blossoms, and they’re falling in my eyes and tangling in my hair. All I can see is crimson and scarlet drowning the world.
I jolt awake to see Griffin hovering above me, our stomachs almost touching. His chin nearly rests on mine, and his eyes focus on something behind me. His arm lances out and I hear a squealing hiss that makes me jump right against his warm chest. I scramble to get upright, but Griffin’s body is stretched out above mine and I can’t get around him to look.
He leans back a moment later, a long gray snake impaled on a broken tree branch in his hand. The snake has tufts of fur along its back and curling antennae that spiral into a yellowish color in the dusky light. I’ve never seen a snake that big, except for the chimera’s tail.
Griffin tosses it over the side of the tree to the ground, where it squeals and writhes on the stick.
“Are you all right?” he says, sitting down at the far corner of the branch nest.
My eyes are wide, my thoughts disoriented from the panicked waking. “What was that?”
“Dream Catcher,” he says. “They use their antennae to send waves into your dreams and keep you relaxed while they make the kill. They usually hunt birds in the trees, so they make the mistake of suggesting red flowers in the dream, which wakes up human prey.”
I look down at the snake. He was the reason for my dream? “I thought it was safe up here in the trees.”
Griffin shakes his head, running a hand through his jagged brown hair. “Safe-er,” he says. “There’s no place on the earth where the monsters don’t hunt us.”
I wrap my arms around myself, looking down at the snake on the ground. It would’ve killed me. If I’d climbed a tree that first night, one probably would’ve gotten me there, too.
“Don’t look,” Griffin says gently. “It’s better not to think about it too much.”
He’s right, but it’s hard to think about anything else.
“There’s still time to sleep,” he says. “Rest. I’ll keep watch.”
The sky is a deep orchid purple, the stars stretched out overhead like glittering crystal. The two moons hang low in the sky, near the horizon. Below us, the campfire gleams with the sparks of embers from the night before. “It isn’t time to go?” I ask.
He hesitates, and I know if it was him alone, he’d be ready. “There’s still time,” he says, generous and patient.
My head and ribs throb, my back aching from sleeping against the bony branches. But sleeping in the fur cloak was still much nicer than the night before, propped against a scratchy tree trunk in a pouring thunderstorm. Neither is what I’m used to—a rich, fluffy bed full of goat fur blankets and feather-filled pillows.
I want to be stronger. I want to be like Griffin, able to survive down here without complaint. I don’t want the softer, easier life I’ve always had, marking me inept and useless.
“I’m ready,” I say. Griffin opens his mouth to protest, but I look at him with hard eyes, and he gets the message.
“Okay,” he says, and I help him untuck the fur cloak from the branches. He fastens it around his neck and motions for me to put my arms around him again. With the cloak on, it’s like hugging the stuffed animal pika I’ve had since I was a child. The fur cape looks matted, but it’s soft and warm as I hang on. Griffin slides down the tree slowly, his feet hitting the ground with a jolt that throbs in my ribs. Beside us the Dream Catcher has stopped writhing, but Griffin walks past it toward the gleaming embers of the fire. “Aren’t you going to eat it?” I ask, pointing with my bare toe at the gray coil.
Griffin shakes his head as he digs through the ashes of the fire. It amazes me he doesn’t burn his fingers. “Dream Catchers are way too poisonous,” he says. “I can’t even use their venom to hunt monsters. Even a drop on an arrow to bring down a hazu would come back to bite me when I ate the kill.”
He pulls the package of chimera meat from the ground, the skin crinkly as he peels it back.
“What’s a hazu?” I ask, kneeling beside him. He passes the meat to me; it has been charred overnight by the slow heat of the embers.
He takes a piece after I do, chewing on it as we sit on the grassy hill. “The hazu is a sky beast,” he says. “You’ll probably see some today. They tend to circle on the plains.”
I wolf down the smoky meat, but there’s no water in the flask today, and we can still see the scavengers in the distance near the creek. More have come, by the looks of it. I shudder.
“There’s a waterfall we can drink from, but we won’t reach it for a long time,” Griffin warns me. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I just nod. He’s wasted all his water on me, I’m sure. Then he slips off his soft leather shoes and places them in front of me. “Here.”
“Oh, I... I can’t.”
He shakes his head. “The plains are home to scorpions and sole worms, and lots of thistle patches. I know what to look for, but you don’t.”
I look at the soft shoes, the edges trimmed with smears of paint. I slide one foot in, then the other. The shoes are too big and still warm from Griffin’s feet, but they don’t pinch like Elisha’s sandals did. “Thank you.”
He nods and rises to his feet, dusting off his leggings. “Ready?”
We descend the steep slope of the hill and turn to the left, toward the mountains in the distance. I’m glad to know every step is taking us closer to them, to the place where the airships will be able to see and rescue us. We walk slowly as I trip in his too large shoes. When I step right out of one, Griffin stops and pulls handfuls of grass, stuffing them into the toes of the slippers. The grass is feathery and ticklish, but the shoes stay on a little better, and we can cover ground faster.
The tangle of ancient trees on the hilltop fades behind us, and the valley stretches out in front. The landscape is a lot hillier than it looks, full of dips and dives. A forest spreads beside us, hiding whatever terrain might lie on the eastern side. As the sun rises, its orange light spills onto the thick underbrush that crunches under my feet. Griffin wasn’t joking when he said the plains are full of coarse, spiky plants. I flood with the guilt of leaving him barefoot.
As the sun rises, the breeze turns warm once again. I’m still not used to the heat of the wind on this land below Ashra, the richness of the thick air I breathe in.
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A shadow swoops over us, and I duck instinctively. It’s a massive bird creature, the ones I’ve seen before with the long lizard-like tails. This one has curling horns on either side of its head.
“A hazu,” Griffin points as it swoops away. He unties his cloak and places it around my shoulders. “Here. Wear this.” He unfurls the hood of the cloak and drapes it over my head. The wolflike fangs hang down on either side of my forehead. “Hazus don’t go after karus. Too much trouble.”
Karus? “How many types of monsters are there?”
Griffin laughs, adjusting the cloak around me with his nimble fingers. The shell necklace around his neck glistens and clinks as he ties the karu fur tightly. “Lots,” he says. “There are the sky beasts, beasts of the land, the fiery lava-land types, the ones in the ice lands and lots of water beasts. To name a few groups.” His eyes gleam. “There. You look more like a monster hunter already.”
The shells clink together again as he leans back. The bow and quiver on his back are exposed now, his feet bare. He’s all weapons and pouches and leather strings everywhere, stretched over his toughened, tanned frame. I look nothing like him, and we both know it. But the semi-compliment makes us both smile, my cheeks blazing with undeserved praise.
We walk on, hazus swooping over us now and then. In the distance I can see giant monsters running in packs.
“You said you were named Griffin after the first monster you hunted,” I say, breaking the silence.
“Killed,” he says. “Not hunted. He hunted us.”
“Oh,” I say. “Is a griffin a beast of the land?”
He shakes his head. “Sky beast,” he says. “Head and wings of an eagle, body of a lion.” At my expression, he adds, “Half bird, half cat.”
I don’t remember lions from the pages of the annals. But I clearly remember the giant cat and the furry chimera head. “And it attacked you?”
Griffin’s expression is dark, and we walk for a minute in silence. I know I’ve crossed a line, but I’m not sure exactly where. “I’m sorry,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s not you. It...it was a long time ago. It attacked in the night. Killed both of my parents and had my sister in its beak to kill next. So I killed it first.”
I lift my hand to my mouth. I can’t imagine carrying a memory like this. It’s exactly why the Phoenix saved us all, why we’re so lucky to live on the floating continents. If only we’d known there were humans still on earth. We could’ve found a way to rescue them, to spare them horrible histories like this. “I’m so sorry.”
He says nothing, only keeps walking along the uneven plain. I’m scared to ask if his sister made it, or where she is now. Instead I say, “There are no monsters on the floating continents, you know. You’ll be safe there.”
He laughs, which confuses me. What’s there to laugh about? Can he not conceive of a world that isn’t flooded with monsters? “Really,” I promise.
“Just another kind of oppression,” he says.
“What?” This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. My father rules with benevolence. The lands are happy and monster-free. Yes, there’s my concern about the rebellion brewing, but he couldn’t know that. And my father always reminds me how important it is not to return to those dark days before the Rending. I know the rebels will remember that, too, in time. “You’ve never been to the floating lands,” I manage. “How could you know what it’s like there?”
“I know what the fallen have told us,” he says. “And I know that they all decide in the end to stay here and not look for a way to return.”
My body seizes with confusion and irritation. No one has fallen from the continents in fourteen years. It’s a fact. Why does he continue to act like this is the truth? And I suppose if you’re used to being free, wandering the earth without contributing to a community, you might feel the life on Ashra was oppressive. Everyone has to do their part there to survive, after all. But why make up stories to support your reluctance to come to Ashra?
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, “but no one has fallen from the continents in fourteen years. There must be a mistake. Ashra and her lands are a place of refuge, not oppression. The Phoenix tore them from the earth and placed them in the sky as a safe haven from the monsters down here. No one was meant to be left behind.”
“The Phoenix?” Griffin repeats. My eyes are wide, my pulse rushing. Has he never heard of her?
“She’s the only monster who ever felt compassion for humans,” I say.
Griffin laughs with scorn as another hazu blots out the light around us. “No monster has ever felt compassion for its dinner. That’s why they’re monsters.”
My cheeks flush. “The Phoenix did. She saved us. Why do you think she sent the floating continents into the sky three hundred years ago?”
“Did she, now?” he mutters, but he says no more and keeps walking in silence.
It would be better if he kept arguing with me, I think. I don’t like the uneasy feeling that I’m wrong. But I’m not wrong. I couldn’t be. The annals clearly state what happened. There’s no other explanation for the floating continents.
But the memory of Aban and the lieutenant, and the strange secret volume of the annals in the cupboard, leaves me unsettled. The rings sketched underneath the Phoenix’s wings, the strange mechanism covered by the inky tail feathers and the lieutenant’s paper. What do they mean? When I return to Ashra, I’ll show my father, and if Aban is really against us and refuses to help, we’ll contact the scribes in Nartu to decipher them.
The plain slopes suddenly toward a greener valley, the plants growing less crunchy underfoot and softer, waterlogged. The sun is at the top of the sky now. We must have walked for hours.
“Let’s rest for a minute,” Griffin says, and at that moment I realize how much my ribs are burning. We sit in the grasses, looking down the slope at the forest stretching out on the left, the mountain range far ahead. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he adds.
A flood of hot embarrassment spreads across my face. He’s saved my life twice now, given me shoes and a cloak to wear, food to eat and a place to sleep. And I fumed at him for not appreciating a life on Ashra that he can’t even imagine. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know.
“You didn’t,” I say. “It’s all just overwhelming, that’s all.” I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them, resting my chin on my knees. “We have an order on the continents called the Elders. They’re sort of the servants of the Phoenix and the people. Anyway, they’ve kept these record books for three hundred years, since the Rending. They’re called the annals.”
“You mentioned them before,” he says.
I nod, staring at the edge of forest near us, the stretch of mountains so far away. “I used to read them all the time, wondering what the earth was like. I never thought I’d be here.”
Griffin smiles, leaning back on the palms of his hands. “Is it how you imagined?”
“Not at all,” I say. I could never have imagined this world with its ravenous monsters and vibrant landscapes. The sun glints on Griffin’s necklace, and I can’t keep the question at bay any longer. I point at the string of iridescent shells. “Did you get them from the ocean?”
“Hmm?” He looks down to see what I’m pointing at. Then he loops his finger into the chain, lifting it as the circles clink together. “This? It was my father’s. He used to be a fisherman on the ocean’s shore.”
“Then...you’ve seen the ocean.” I know my eyes are gleaming. “What’s it like?”
“I’ve only seen glimpses, never up close,” he says. “Only rivers and lakes. My father moved away from the ocean before my sister was born.” He grins then, at my excitement. “I guess you don’t have oceans on your floating island.”
His face is kind and genuine, warmth and honesty exudin
g from his every glance. He’s not hardened or cold the way I’d imagine a monster hunter would be. He’s human, I think. Just as human, maybe more, than those on Ashra. In a way, we’re penned up there like cattle. Life is harder down here, but he’s free, and it shows on his face. He’s paid a heavy price for it, but he’s free, and he knows it. I smile back at him, and there’s a giddiness to it all, like for one moment in my life I’m not the Phoenix’s heir. I’m not the wick and the wax to burn for others. I’m just myself, Kali, just a girl on a walk with a boy she’s just met. A boy she wants to know better.
Then the world flashes black, a rush of feathers beating against my face, and suddenly I’m alone. Griffin is gone.
I look up into the sky and see the hazu as it flies away, Griffin struggling in its claws.
ELEVEN
“GRIFFIN!” I SCREAM. I stand there helpless, desperate. The hazu is so high in the air that I can’t even throw my flint piece at it. I wish Griffin had given me his bow and quiver, but it’s not like I know how to shoot anyway. I scream out for him, not knowing what else to do. I chase after them away from the forest, across the coarse orange plain.
It’s all my fault, I think as I pant and trail the hazu. Griffin gave me his karu fur cloak. If he’d worn it, the bird would never have snatched him. It would’ve grabbed me.
The hazu screeches in the air, its long spiked tail snaking behind it. I’ll never catch it, but I follow anyway, unwilling to let go of my only companion on the earth.
The giant bird screeches again and shakes its foot back and forth. I see Griffin climbing out of its talons and up its leg. He suddenly leaps through the air and grabs the hazu’s right wing, hanging off it like a rag doll in the sky. The wing folds under his weight and the hazu veers sideways, plummeting in a downward spiral. It tries to snap its beak at Griffin, but he rolls along the side of the wing and the hazu comes away with nothing but a mouthful of its own plucked feathers.
They’re going to slam into the plain, and I realize in horror that Griffin won’t survive it. But just as they’re almost to the ground, he climbs along the wing to the monster’s back. The hazu flaps desperately and lets out a horrible screech. Dust clouds swirl under its wings as it fights its way back into the sky.
