by Martha Wells
Stone leaned forward then, and Elastan flinched and looked away. His voice even and calm, Stone said, “When he came to you at the trading port in the mineral basins, was that the first time you had seen him?”
“No.” Elastan couldn’t look at him, but she answered readily enough. “Tsgarith comes to the port a great deal. He trades with many.”
Moon turned to Stone and said in Raksuran, “Whatever’s out there, it’s not Tsgarith.”
“No.” In Raksuran, Stone told Blaze, “Stay here, talk to her, be sympathetic. Try to get more detail out of her.” He jerked his head at Moon and slipped out of the shelter.
Moon climbed out after him and said, “She didn’t imagine all that, not unless she’s out of her mind. Something made her think she saw this trader.”
The Arbora, warriors, and Kek gathered around all watched them intently, though the Kek probably weren’t understanding most of the Raksuran, and the Kedaic conversation must have gone over everyone’s head except Blaze’s. But it was clear that something important had been uncovered. Stone said, grimly, “I know what it sounds like.”
So did Moon. “It can’t be. We’d scent it.” Fell rulers had the ability to convince most groundlings of almost anything, to influence their minds. If one had gotten close to Elastan and told her it was the trader Tsgarith who had tried to kill her, she would have been just as certain as if she had really seen it. But even the heavy scents of the forest floor couldn’t conceal Fell stench, not from Raksura. And as Chime had said, Moon had never seen or heard of Fell making animals do what they wanted, not grasseaters or predators or anything else. The Fell had no reason to; the only prey that satisfied them were sentients.
Stone spared him a glare. “I didn’t say it was, I said that’s what it sounds like.”
Moon ignored the glare. “So this isn’t something that followed the Amifata. This is something that was here. It was after that Onde.” Thunder rumbled somewhere high overhead, and Moon twitched involuntarily. He hated storms. At least it wasn’t as bad down here as it was in the suspended forest; with the heavy mountain-tree canopies and so many layers of platforms between him and the sky, the thunder seemed a little more distant. “I should have asked the Amifata if the Onde could influence predators. Maybe the thing out there is another Onde that doesn’t want traders looking for them.”
“Maybe,” Stone said. “But with camouflage that good, why would they need to be able to influence—”
Moon caught a scent that made him shift without conscious volition. His winged body formed around him, his spines already flared and extended. The scent was predator, rank and strong and moving this way. The Arbora growled in startled chorus.
Stone snarled, a deep reverberation in his chest. “It’s big; warn the Kek,” he said, and shifted in a smooth flow of black scales. He leapt up onto the nearest root arch.
Moon said, “Tell Blaze, tell the warriors, the Kek.” As the Arbora and the Kek healers scattered, Moon whipped around and bounded back into the village. He landed near the first group of Kek and said in pidgin, “Tell Kof predator coming!” He lifted his arms and wings. “Big predator!”
He wasn’t sure all of them understood what he had said; most of the Kek didn’t know the pidgin, but they knew an urgent warning when they saw it. Three of them stepped back and let out the high-pitched warning cries while the others bolted into the village calling for Kof.
Moon turned just as Balm bounded past, headed toward the root doorway. “I smelled it,” she called back to him. “I’ve warned Thistle!” He followed, dodging under the hanging houses of the village outskirts and through the undergrowth toward the looming wall of the trunk.
Balm reached the clearing in front of the root cave first and landed among the Arbora and Kek there to guard it. “Inside!” she shouted. “Now!”
Moon took one more bound and partially extended his wings to bounce up to the top of the root ridge. He looked outward and for an instant saw nothing in the diming light but the heavy greenery of the ferns and trees and vines, laced through with rising mist, shadowed by the platforms of the mountain-trees. Then several hundred paces away, beside the trunk of the mountain-tree at the edge of the colony tree’s canopy, there was movement.
Foliage stirred, ferns bent aside and spiral trees leaned. Moon spotted a dark-colored mass moving through the green leaves and shadow. His heart started to pound in earnest and he thought, Oh yes, it’s big.
Below him, an Arbora said, “What about the Kek?”
Moon called down, “The Kek too. Get inside, now, and bar the door!”
The Arbora had been moving to obey, but whatever they heard in Moon’s voice encouraged them to move faster. Urging the Kek to come with them, they climbed up into the root cave. Balm leapt up to land beside Moon. She saw the movement in the forest and hissed.
Moon said, “Thistle and the others?” The Amifata, Elastan, the rest of the Kek …
“No time to get everyone over here. They’re going to dig in, get under the roots.” A growl rose in her throat. “It’ll be coming for this door, won’t it?”
Moon twitched his spines in agreement. “This is what the thing that’s been after the Onde has been doing all day. Looking for a predator big enough to handle us.”
“The what?” Balm said, but River and Drift curved in from above and landed further down on the root ridge. More warriors landed on the trunk behind them, clinging to the bark with their claws. A little breathlessly, River said, “We saw Stone, he’s trying to get around behind it.”
That was typical of Stone. Moon said, “He can’t handle it alone.”
“Maybe he can.” That was Drift, who had to argue about everything, especially in stressful moments.
A shape moved out of the greenery, a big limb that wrapped around the arch of a root. It pulled forward a long, oddly-shaped body that was a mottled color, hard to discern in the worsening light. It was draped with giant capes or tarps, like bottom-dwelling river creatures used for camouflage … Moon said, startled, “It’s from the swamps.” He had heard the descriptions, read from old books in the court’s libraries, of the deep gorges of the forest floor, with swamps at the bottom, and channels that connected under the earth and rock.
More limbs appeared, writhing out of the crushed trees to drag the big body along. It was moving fast for something so big, so out of its natural element, but then it must have to get through the forest on occasion.
As it pulled itself out of the clump of smashed spirals and fern trees, Drift said in small voice, “Oh. It is too big for just Stone.”
Pearl dropped onto the ridge in front of Moon so abruptly he almost flung himself away in pure reflex. He heard a flustered rustle from the warriors behind him but they all managed to stay on the root.
More warriors landed on the trunk and the ridge. Moon spotted Floret, Vine, Sage, Root, and Song, and there were others landing further up. He ducked as Pearl furled her wings. She said, “Stone is out there. Is there a plan?”
“Uh, no.” Moon thought, we probably should have had a plan.
Pearl hissed something under her breath. The only word Moon caught was “consorts.” She said, “Sage, keep five warriors with you and watch this door. Make certain nothing tries to break through it, and that no one opens it from the inside.” She lifted her spines. “The rest of you come with me when Stone—”
A dark shape exploded out of the undergrowth, arched up and then dropped down onto the predator’s back. Moon had an instant to be appalled at how small Stone looked compared to this swampling. Then Pearl snarled, “Now!” and flung herself into the air.
Moon leapt after her, snapped his wings out and flapped hard. As they crossed the short distance toward the swampling he made out more details: the skull was narrow with a long snout. Its mouth seemed to take up most of the lower part of its head but he couldn’t see any teeth, just a rippling curtain shielding its lower jaw. He couldn’t see any eyes either, but the gray spots mottling the slope of
its head might be sensory organs. It was still dripping muddy water and its back was dotted with moss clumps and other plants growing in the dirt caught in the folds and loose flaps of skin.
Stone had landed at the junction of the swampling’s neck and body, normally always a good point of attack. As Moon dropped down for a view from the side, he could see Stone’s fangs and claws digging into the swampling’s hide but there was no blood or fluid.
Pearl and the other warriors darted in to slash and tear at the swampling’s head. A heavy limb swung toward Moon and he snapped his wings in and twisted and dropped. The limb passed overhead to wrap around another tree and drag the swampling forward. Moon caught the top of a bent fern tree and climbed down, trying to see what the swampling’s underside was like.
It was too dark to see detail but the drapes of tough skin extended down the sides, rippling as the swampling moved. There were lower limbs too, that crashed down through the undergrowth to support it. Then the swampling lifted up and surged forward. Another limb, this one much wider, slammed toward Moon and he dove off his perch. He landed on a lower branch and saw the dark shape of the swampling’s underside looming over him.
Knowing he might just be making his last mistake, Moon took a breath and leapt upward. He sunk his claws into the skin of the swampling’s belly and held on.
For a few heartbeats he was too disoriented to do anything else. It was too dark to see anything and the body writhed like a snake, twisting violently from side to side as its lower limbs carried it through the forest. He had hoped for a soft point of attack but the skin under his claws felt like the toughest major kethel hide. He climbed up toward the neck area, treetops scraping at his back and furled wings, and searched blindly for a vulnerable spot.
His spines sensed something looming just under him and he flattened himself to the swampling’s skin. Rough wood brushed his scales and he looked down into the glow of light and hissed in dismay. They had just passed over a root arch, with a clump of spell-lit moss stuck on it; they were near the village already, near the trunk of the colony tree.
He stretched up for another claw hold. He had to get up to the head area, there had to be a vulnerable point there. He had lost track of all the others and just hoped none of them were dead; the swampling had never seemed to pause long enough to kill anyone, so maybe it was just so tough it could ignore them.
Then the whole world whirled around suddenly and he realized the swampling had just lifted up on its rear limbs. Moon glanced over his shoulder and saw the dark wall of a mountain-tree’s trunk coming at him. He scrambled frantically upward.
Moon reached the folds of skin below the lower jaw just in time. The swampling’s belly crashed against the trunk with crushing force as it started up the tree. Its limbs found holds on ancient branch stubs and gripped the rough bark. Moon huddled under its chin, with just enough room to keep from being squashed. Sick fear settled into his stomach. It’s heading for the knothole, he thought.
But there was no way something this big would fit through the knothole. The entrance passage at the back was filled and carved down to be just wide enough for a large queen. Stone had to shift to groundling to get through it. And the twists and turns would keep this creature from even being able to work a limb down it. The passage had been designed and carved and grown just to prevent this sort of incursion. But maybe this swampling didn’t know that.
Moon clawed at the looser folds of skin here, but the hide was far too tough. And the intense mineral stench of plant rot and mud was about to smother … Plant rot and mud, Moon realized suddenly. Mud laden with sulfur. Non-sentient predators, and some sentient ones, smelled of rotting meat and dried blood that they never cleaned from their claws or hide; the flesh they ate permeated their bodies and fouled their scent. This swampling had smelled like predator from a distance, but maybe that had just been the odor of something that lived in the bottom of a swamp among rotting plants and dead creatures. Was this thing even a predator? Was it just a distraction? I have to see if it has teeth.
Moon tried to scramble further up the swampling’s neck but the big body twisted sideways and he had to huddle back as a huge branch scraped past. Wood snapped and groaned and crashed somewhere against the trunk below; he hoped that platform hadn’t had anything too important on it.
Then the skin under his claws twisted and a violent shake flung him sideways. Moon lost his grip and tumbled. He thought he was falling through open air and turned to unfurl his wings. But he smashed face first into wet grass and earth. He lay there a heartbeat, stunned; he had struck the platform so hard the interwoven branches beneath the layers of sod and grass creaked. Gritting his teeth, Moon shoved himself over onto his back and looked up.
The swampling had hooked its lower limbs over the edge of the platform and stretched for the knothole. It turned its head sideways to avoid the spray of the waterfall and Moon had a clear view of the side of its jaw under the flaps of concealing skin. No teeth, Moon thought, still dazed. Its mouth was lined with bristles, a natural filter to draw in and consume small plants and smaller fish, like some skylings fed on clouds of tiny air dwellers. Another distraction. Whatever had driven the predators into the village last night had driven this thing out of the swamp and straight up the side of the tree. So was the real attempt to enter the colony happening below them, at the root doorway?
Warriors darted frantically through the air, Pearl’s gold form flashing among them. Stone had released his hold on the swampling and clung to the trunk above the knothole. Moon struggled to sit up, watching as the swampling reached the knothole. The edge of the waterfall washed over its side and it let out a bellow that echoed off the mountain-trees. It pulled away from the knothole and started back down the trunk without turning around, moving as readily as if it had a head at each end. Stone pushed off from the trunk and dove past it like a sharp shadow. Pearl swung in a tight circle and led the warriors in a steep descent.
But if the swampling was a distraction, why was it leading everyone back down? And why had it come up here in the first place? Moon clawed his way to his feet and managed to extend his wings. He jumped and flapped, fell back to the platform, staggered up for another go, and made it into the air this time. He might be wrong, but he wanted to check something first, just to be on the safe side.
If he had ridden the swampling all the way across the clearing and up the colony tree without it or anyone else noticing, something else could have managed it too. Especially if the something else was an Onde.
Moon landed at the edge of the knothole. From the spell-light of the snail shells mounted on the inner walls, he saw that the swampling must have slammed a limb down in here. Water from the stream that fed the waterfall had splashed out of the channel and dripped down the walls, and the floor was awash in mud, obscuring the polished shell inlay. And there were tracks in it, the tracks of something too big to be an Arbora.
Moon furled his wings and stepped forward, staring at the marks in the mud. Something fell here, went toward the edge of the stream, then toward the passage into the greeting hall … Moon flung himself toward the passage. He had really thought he was wrong about this.
He shot through the defensive twists and turns far too fast, bouncing off the smooth wooden walls. Halfway along he heard snarls of alarm from the greeting hall, eliminating any last chance that this was a mistake.
He burst out through the doorway and slid to a halt, his foot claws tangled in something. It was the remnants of a light cloth drape that must have been fixed over the doorway, as a means to warn the guards if any camouflaged beings tried to get in. Something had ripped right through it. Grain and three other soldiers lay sprawled on the floor near the stairs down to the teachers’ hall. Moon scented blood.
Moon shook the shredded cloth off his claws and reached them in one bound. Grain struggled to sit up. He had a dart embedded in his shoulder, another in the scales above his knee. He gasped, “Consort, something got inside! It was like the other one,
we couldn’t see it! It went down there!”
Down the stairwell. Toward the nurseries. A pulse of pure rage made Moon’s vision go white on the edges. He dove for the stairwell and whipped down it into the teachers’ hall.
He couldn’t see the intruder but it was obvious it was here. Arbora blocked the doorways leading away from the hall and two huddled back against a wall, wounded. The one in groundling form was Strike, bleeding from a dart wound in the shoulder. But a big wooden projectile weapon lay shattered on the floor near Strike, a stock of darts scattered beside it. The Onde’s weapon would have been visible even against its camouflaged fur; the Arbora must have been able to disarm it.
From the opposite doorway, Merry shouted, “It hasn’t gotten past us! It’s in here somewhere.”
“We think it hasn’t gotten past us,” Sprout countered grimly.
“Quiet,” Moon snapped. Everyone shut up, leaving the only sound the ragged breathing of the wounded. This was bad. Most of the Arbora were probably down in the bottom of the tree, making sure nothing tried to come through the root doorways, and the bulk of the warriors were out with Pearl and Stone.
Moon moved forward slowly from the stairwell and extended his wings, raised his spines to their fullest extent. They were right, the creature was still in here; he could sense movement, a trace of foreign scent, foreign breath. Any gaps in the camouflage were impossible to see against the wall carvings and the falls of light and shadow from the shell-lights. Broken pottery and a spilled kettle lay near the bowl hearth in the center of the room, but there was nothing on the polished wood floor to show tracks.
Other senses told Moon that whatever was in here was moving, that it was larger than the other Onde, maybe much larger. He wondered if the smaller Onde was a child, but if it was, this was no parent trying desperately to retrieve an offspring. The small Onde was fleeing this creature, had been willing to die in hiding rather than be caught by it.
Something gray flicked at the edge of his vision and he half-turned toward it. He sensed the swing before it connected only because his wings were so sensitive to air movement and there was no breeze in the teachers’ hall. He ducked by instinct, snapped his wings in and rolled.
