by Jenn Reese
“I guess I thought you were all working for Karl Strand.” Even as Hoku said the words, he could see how simplistic his assumption had been.
“So everyone who wants a little glint and hum, a little whir and fizz, is evil, then?” Rollin said. “I guess you’ll tell me that all four-feets are good, and all basics like you are good, too? Add a little shimmy-pop, and we go from Human to bad?”
Hoku scratched his cheek where a line of sweat had started a slow trek down his face. “Okay, you have a point,” he said. He thought back to the City of Shifting Tides. They’d certainly had their share of thieves and killers over the years. And some of the Elders weren’t exactly “good” either. “I guess I just haven’t met any Upgraders who weren’t trying to kill me.”
Rollin stared at him, then burst out laughing. Her mechanical voice fluttered up a full octave. “Well, you have now, Basic. You have now.”
Hoku tried to laugh with her, to be polite, but only managed a strained chuckle. Then, the most wonderful thought in the world popped into his mind.
“Wait. You work for Shining Moon?” he asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.
Rollin nodded. “I work for them now. Used to work other places, but they got too bloody for an old Gizmo like me. Nice place here, if you don’t mind the smell of horse. Lots of tech to fix and fiddle with. Grub’s no good, but everything has a price, yeah?”
Hoku blinked. An Upgrader — a friendly Upgrader. Right here, where they were going to be for two months until the Thunder Trials. He took a step closer, ignoring Rollin’s surprise, and held out his hands.
“Teach me,” he said. “I want to learn about tech. I want to learn everything. How that thing on your arm works, how to build a suntrap, how to fix artifacts. Everything you can teach me, I want to know!”
Rollin’s jaw hung slack again. Hoku pressed on. “I want to learn how to talk to computers, how to mold metal into the shapes I want, how to build wings so I can fly with Calli. I’ll work hard. I’ll study. I’ll do whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.” He took another step closer, until he could almost feel the air from Rollin’s fan.
“Take me on as your apprentice.” He looked in her eyes and saw that one of them was fake, an artifact with tiny diagrams dancing across the lens. His heart raced. “Please.”
Elder Peleke had always said no. Hoku wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t old enough, wasn’t from the right kind of Kampii family. But Elder Peleke knew nothing about science and tech compared to the Above World people. This was Hoku’s chance to finally learn. To finally do what his heart and mind had been driving him to do ever since he was a youngling.
Rollin closed her mouth and looked down at her fan. The air made the hairs in her shaggy white eyebrows dance as if they were alive.
Please-oh-please-oh-please . . .
Rollin shook her head, but when she lifted it back up to look at him, she was smiling. “Tell you what, Basic. You can start by finding me some grub. Real grub. I have special teeth for eating the grass the four-feets like, but I’ve got a craving for meat. You find me some of that, and I’ll teach your little heart to pieces.”
Hoku grinned so wide that he thought his face might split in two.
“You want mustard on that?”
ALUNA MANAGED to get most of the debris out of the horse’s mane and tail before it grew too restless to stand still. The whole while, she talked to it. Mostly about the City of Shifting Tides and her family. She hadn’t intended to talk about her father — she was happiest when she never even thought about him — but the desert had apparently made her soft. Sometimes she almost missed the sad, faraway look in his eyes.
“There,” Aluna said. “The worst is out. You need to stop rolling around in garbage.”
The horse snorted and lifted its chin defiantly.
“Oh, I’m only being silly,” she said quickly. “Roll around in whatever you want. There’s not a lot to do out here in the middle of nowhere, unless killing scorpions counts. One of those little desert shrimps almost got me yesterday.”
The horse lowered its head and huffed. Aluna was starting to get a sense of its moods. This one meant, “I’m still a little irked, but not really mad.”
“I need to come back here with a brush,” she said. The horse glowered. Aluna added, “If you want to be brushed, of course. I know what it’s like to be groomed against your will.”
The horse shoved her head against Aluna’s arm and nibbled on her tunic, right near a huge stain acquired somewhere during their trek from Mirage. Aluna had somehow forgotten that she, too, was filthy. The sun had crept slowly across the sky and now hung centimeters above the distant mountains. She had very little time to get back to the tent and clean herself up before the Darkest Night celebration began.
“I’ve got to go.” She dragged a hand along the horse’s shaggy neck and marveled again at the feel of its coat beneath her hand. “Come with me? There’s room in our tent. You can even sleep there if you want. Hoku and Calli won’t mind.”
The horse whinnied and stepped back nervously.
“I’m not going to force you,” Aluna said. “I won’t ever make you do something you don’t want to do. Just think about it, okay?”
The horse’s tail swished as it considered. Finally it shook its head. Still no.
Aluna considered skipping the evening’s celebration to stay with the horse. She could find a brush, or maybe even convince the horse to take her for a ride. But it would be polite to participate in the Shining Moon’s celebration — even the Kampii had special rituals for the one night a month when the moon disappeared from the sky.
Still, nothing could make her forget about Dash. The entire settlement would be enjoying the festivities tonight, and she wasn’t sure if her spirit could pretend to be that light. Maybe she could make an appearance and then slip off to find Dash. He shouldn’t be alone.
She turned to the horse. It seemed to know that Aluna was planning something; it slitted its eyes while it stared at her, much as Hoku sometimes did. The two of them would probably get along great.
“I’ll find you again,” she told the horse. “If you let me?”
The horse huffed and nodded and stamped a hoof in the sand.
Aluna bowed to it, turned, and headed back. She only turned around once, to see if the horse was following. It wasn’t. In fact, it had completely disappeared.
Equians bustled through the settlement’s streets as she made her way to the tent. She paused outside, surprised to hear laughter and a male voice that she didn’t recognize coming from inside. She shoved the flap out of the way and strode in.
Calli and an Equian male sat on either side of a picked-over tray of food.
“Oh, Aluna,” Calli said, scrambling to her feet. “Is Hoku with you? He said he was going to find you.”
The girl’s face flushed red as she babbled, but her companion remained unflustered. He stood slowly — probably the reason most Equians didn’t sit very often — and offered a bow.
“Dantai khan-son,” he said. “You must be Aluna. Calliope has spoken highly of you.”
Aluna raised an eyebrow at Calli, but the girl quickly looked away.
“Swift currents, Dantai khan-son,” Aluna said to the Equian, falling into a more formal Kampii greeting. She normally thought long hair and braids were impractical and unnecessary, but she had to admit that the Equian wore them well. “Am I interrupting . . . ?”
“No, of course not,” Dantai replied smoothly. “Calliope and I were just discussing the intricacies of leadership.”
“Fascinating,” Aluna said. Her eyebrow tried to rise again, but she forced it back down into its normal position. “I didn’t realize that . . . Calliope . . . cared so much about leadership.”
Calli laughed nervously. “Well, truthfully, I haven’t had much interest before. But I am the daughter of the president, and someday the burden will be mine, whether I want it or not.”
“And so, bette
r to embrace the unique challenges that come with leadership,” Dantai said, folding his hand into a powerful fist. “A leader does not have the luxury of indifference nor the time for selfish indulgence.”
Calli nodded. “It’s true! And what have I been doing for so long? Ignoring my duties. Causing my mother no end of frustration. Skyfeather’s Landing has other scientists, but I am my mother’s only daughter. I must learn to live up to my legacy.”
“Well spoken!” Dantai said, and Calli beamed.
Aluna wondered if they’d been nattering like this the entire time she was gone. She wasn’t surprised to see that Hoku had bolted. Dantai reminded Aluna of her brothers — especially Pilipo — and Hoku could never tolerate being around him for more than a minute or two.
“I hate to change the subject,” Aluna lied, “but I saw a strange horse a few minutes ago, gray and black with white spots? It wandered outside the horse enclosure.”
“That would be Tal,” Dantai said. “Her story is a sad one.”
“Sad? How so?” Calli asked.
Dantai grew somber. “Because you know Dashiyn, you are already familiar with our concept of aldagha, a mistake. This is an Equian formed incorrectly during the birthing process.”
Aluna ground her teeth together. “I’d rather not hear anyone use that word for Dash ever again.”
“I agree,” Dantai said smoothly. “The word is merely intended to be descriptive. Usually less than one percent of all our births result in . . . someone like Dashiyn,” he finished carefully. “Dashiyn is an Equian, but born missing half of himself.”
He’s still worth more than you, Aluna thought. Calli stared at her, eyes wide, and Aluna took a long, slow breath to still the churning in her thoughts.
Dantai continued, oblivious to how much Aluna wanted to wrap a talon around his neck and pull. “Occasionally, another type of aldagha is born. It happens rarely, and I know of no others in the desert at this time,” he said. “Tal is the first in our herd. The first Equian of our bloodline to be born without a Human side.”
“Tides’ teeth, she’s an actual Equian?” Aluna said. No wonder the horse seemed to understand what she was saying! “Why doesn’t she have her own tent? Why isn’t she treated like . . . She refused to use the word mistake. “Why isn’t she treated like Dash?”
The Equian shrugged. “The offer has always been open, but once Tal was capable of feeding herself, she has always chosen loneliness. She lets none of us near her, and yet she never strays far from the settlement.”
“How old is she?” Aluna asked.
“She is not yet three,” Dantai said, “but we do not know if her mind is aging as a horse or a Human. It is possible she is still a child, but we cannot know for sure.”
“What does her name mean?” Calli asked.
Dantai spoke easily, as if the answer were the most appropriate and natural thing in the world. “She was born without her Humanity,” he said. “Tal is our word for half.”
Aluna’s hands tightened into fists. She didn’t even release her talons or reach for her knife. There wasn’t time. She needed to punch every last bit of condescension off Dantai’s face, and she needed to do it immediately. Words bubbled up in her throat. Disgusting. Heartless. Cruel. But she couldn’t find the control to speak them.
Suddenly Calli stood between Aluna and Dantai, her wings half open and creating a barrier of feathers. The girl spoke quickly, but Aluna could barely hear her through the haze of her own anger.
“I’m sorry, but I’m feeling very tired,” Calli said to Dantai. “Would you mind giving me and Aluna some time alone to prepare for the celebration?”
“Certainly,” Dantai said, “but I must state that —”
“Excellent,” Calli interrupted. She grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the tent’s exit. “We’ll see you later. Please give our regards to your sister and father.”
When his tail had disappeared out the tent flap, Calli turned but continued to block the door.
“He doesn’t understand,” Calli said quietly. “He doesn’t know how it sounds.”
“Oh, I think he knows exactly how it sounds,” Aluna said. “I think they all do.”
BY THE TIME the sun had fallen into the mountains, half a dozen bonfires blazed, casting the whole settlement in a warm, flickering glow. Equians of all ages thronged to the flames. They passed food in baskets and on sticks, filled one another’s cups with fruit-infused water, and wished each other “safety until the sun.” Aluna watched a group of yearlings chase one another through the crowds, tossing a ball and laughing when they came close to hitting someone.
“Hoku, where are you?” she whispered. He and Calli had gone on ahead, hoping to find someplace for them to sit that was close to the festivities but safe from errant horse hooves.
She tugged at her new clothes. At least she hadn’t spotted any new tough patches of skin on her legs. No new scales, either, although she was certain that the area by her knee was ready to bloom with them. She’d have to be careful in the tent with Calli so close. Her nightly examinations would have to wait until the bird-girl fell asleep. Thank the ancients for giving Kampii dark vision and keeping it from the Aviars.
“Finally done changing? Are you sure you don’t need another hour?” Hoku whispered back, but then he let it go. “Head to the west side of the bonfire. Tayan saved us a spot.”
“That’s Tayan khan-daughter to you,” Aluna said, and was gratified by his chuckle.
“We’ve got a surprise for you,” Hoku whispered. “I think you’ll like it.”
“As long as it’s not the company of Dantai khan-son, I’ll be thrilled,” she said.
He laughed again. She hadn’t heard him so happy in a long, long time. What kind of day had he had?
It wasn’t hard to find the khan’s fire, not with the golden flames leaping half a dozen meters into the darkening sky. The official ceremony hadn’t started yet, but the Equians had certainly gotten a head start on their celebrating.
She followed Hoku’s directions, darting between dozens of huge Equians and heading toward the clearing around the fire. She didn’t even bother to look for Tal, now that she understood more of her upbringing. An Equian celebration was the last place an outcast would choose to be.
She spotted Hoku and Calli sitting together on a low pile of rugs and pillows. Calli’s wings seemed to radiate light in the growing darkness, as if they were made of glowfish instead of feathers. And maybe that’s why it took Aluna a moment to notice the dark figure sitting next to her.
“Dash,” she whispered.
Hoku looked at her from across the clearing. “Surprise!” he whispered back. “They’ve given him the night off from prison.”
Aluna could barely hear Hoku over the thudding of her heart. When Dash saw her approach, he moved over so Aluna could sit between him and Calli. She sat on the far side of him instead. She wanted him surrounded. Physically inside their tiny group. Protected.
“Hey,” she croaked. Stupid voice.
“You look so clean,” Dash said. “I had no idea your hair was that color.”
She grinned. Firelight danced in his dark eyes. The effect made her brave. Or weak. She wasn’t sure she could tell the difference tonight.
“Did you do it?” she asked. “Did you do what Tayan said?”
His lips pressed into a line. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he did.
“The spies we captured,” he said, “they were a mother and her son.” He spoke so quietly that she could barely hear his voice amid the revelry surrounding them. “They had left the hidden Serpenti city in search of medicine. She had a young daughter, and the girl was ill. None of their own remedies had worked.”
Dash looked up at the fire, his expression difficult to read.
“The woman died that night, before the khan could get any answers.” He took a deep breath. “They had not realized how exhausted she was and how little food she had eaten. Her body could not survive ev
en the smallest of tortures.”
Aluna tore her eyes from his face and studied the Equians surrounding them. They spoke of honor. They fought like warriors. There was so much about them that she admired. And yet they treated Dash and Tal like mistakes, and they could torture a desperate woman to death. She could make no sense of them.
She felt a hand on her arm and looked down. Dash’s warm fingers gripped her wrist. “Do not judge them too harshly. I can see it in your face. You do not understand the war. You do not know how many of us they killed.”
Yes, yes. She understood, because she’d seen the war between her own people and the sharklike Deepfell. She’d seen firsthand how death multiplied when things like honor and justice were used as war cries.
“So you helped the boy escape,” Aluna said. “And you gave him medicine for his sister.”
“Yes.” Dash left his hand on her arm. Every second it stayed there, the heat intensified. “We were saving that medicine, and I chose to give it to him. I thought I was doing the right thing, that I was opening the way for peace between our people.”
“You did do the right thing,” Aluna said. Once upon a time, she’d given her breathing necklace to a dying Deepfell they’d found wounded on the shore. The Kampii needed every necklace they had. And yet if she hadn’t done it, would Prince Eekikee have saved them later? Would they have become allies? Would Fathom have fallen? “It’s harder to stand against your own than to stand against an enemy. You were brave.”
“I was naive. When I told the khan what I had done, a part of me thought he would understand. That perhaps he would see how the Serpenti were no longer our enemy.”
“It didn’t go like that, did it?” she said.
Dash grunted. “No.”
“You still honor him. The khan.”
He nodded. “He did what he felt was right for our people. I may have done the same in his place. I accepted his judgment and thanked him for condemning me to exile instead of death.”
