Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘Looks like she was trying to give you the slip,’ the stranger commented and Kyndra winced.

  ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘Not quite.’ Medavle reached into his coat and pulled out a faded piece of paper looped through the cord of a small, worn pouch. He studied the little bag for a moment before grimacing and returning it to his pocket. Then he offered the folded paper to Kyndra. ‘This is for you.’

  Kyndra blinked and took it. Nediah, she noticed, looked ready to snatch the note and burn it.

  ‘Read it later,’ the man named Medavle said and for the first time Kyndra heard a deep, desperate authority in his voice. When he next spoke, however, it was gone. ‘I can’t say it’s been fun, Nediah-ad-Sollas. You’re not the person I remember.’ He tilted his head at Kyndra. ‘And you had better keep a sterner eye on your young friend here.’

  Nediah glowered, but before he could reply, Medavle jumped onto the thin wooden railing, balanced like a cat. Kyndra’s stomach clenched. It was a long way down. As if in a parting gesture, a mischievous wind swept back the white hood.

  There were the midnight eyes Kyndra remembered. They had pierced her twice already, once in a dream and once upon waking. They burned in the deep sockets that had frozen her at the Inheritance, when even her mother’s features had appeared indistinct.

  Medavle looked at her and there was a roaring in Kyndra’s mind, an exultation like the soaring of many voices. The man bowed his head to her. ‘Blessings.’And he stepped into space. Kyndra gasped and ran to the place he’d been standing. Instead of plummeting to the distant ground, Medavle seemed to be walking down an invisible staircase. He held the flute at his lips and Kyndra swore that with every note, a step coalesced under his feet.

  Nediah made a sound in his throat and she twisted to look at him. He was frowning, his eyes troubled. ‘Who is he?’ Kyndra asked, turning back to watch Medavle’s white form until it merged with the forest of poles below.

  ‘His identity does not concern you,’ a woman’s voice said.

  Brégenne stood on the near platform to their right. Kyndra didn’t know how long she’d been there, or how much she’d heard. ‘Nothing ever concerns me,’ Kyndra replied.

  Nediah went to Brégenne, took her arm and Kyndra thought he whispered something, but the words were lost in the wind. He guided Brégenne towards Kyndra’s platform and when she reached it, the blind woman held out her hand expectantly. Kyndra stared at her.

  ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The note, girl.’

  Kyndra frowned and clutched the paper more tightly. ‘It’s mine.’

  Brégenne’s face darkened. ‘Now. I won’t ask again.’

  Anger flared. ‘Why should I? He gave it to me.’

  ‘You don’t understand. Medavle is dangerous. He’s not to be trusted or taken lightly. I want to know what he gave you and I want to know why.’

  ‘Well, you’re about to be disappointed. The note’s mine.’

  Brégenne’s lips thinned. As if this were a signal, Nediah’s hand shot out and snatched the paper from Kyndra. Kyndra shouted and made a wild grab for it, but found Nediah’s other hand against her shoulder. Although it wasn’t glowing, she felt the threat through her shirt. She froze.

  Nediah seemed genuinely sorry, but Kyndra didn’t care. She watched the man pocket the note and glared at him. ‘I haven’t even read it.’

  ‘All the better,’ Brégenne said and Kyndra felt a hot flash of frustration. She silently swore to get the page back at any cost. The possibility that it might be dangerous didn’t trouble her – after all, what could it say? Her mind conjured a fleeting image of cursed words that brought death when read. Kyndra shrugged it off. She didn’t want to think Brégenne and Nediah might be protecting her.

  ‘Do you have everything?’ Brégenne asked Nediah and, for the first time, Kyndra noticed a small sack at Nediah’s feet.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. We had better get back. The airship sails in an hour.’

  Kyndra’s stomach dropped. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘West,’ Nediah said simply.

  ‘To?’

  ‘First to Market Primus. Then we’ll have to argue with the captain.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Onward passage.’ Nediah ran a hand through his dark hair, making a mess of it. ‘Air is faster than road, but it’s expensive. You don’t have to bribe horses.’

  Kyndra didn’t really feel like speaking to Nediah after his theft of the note, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘Where do bribes come into it?’

  ‘Not many captains take their ships west.’ Nediah sighed. ‘He might agree to drop us at Jarra, but without a third horse, we’ll struggle from there.’ He looked mournfully at his purse. ‘It’s going to cost us a small fortune to dock at Murta.’

  An ominous tingle ran down her neck. ‘The sailor I spoke to this morning said some strange things about that place.’

  Nediah snorted. ‘Sailors are superstitious folk. The people of Murta don’t much care for outsiders. I imagine they started many of the rumours themselves.’

  ‘Rumours?’

  ‘Are you two going to stand around and talk until the ship has left?’ Brégenne turned her back and – reaching out to grasp the railing – started towards the area where Kyndra had woken that morning. Nediah picked up his sack and moved to take Brégenne’s arm, but she shook him off. ‘I can manage,’ she said tersely.

  With obvious reluctance, Nediah let her go on ahead. He looked at Kyndra. ‘Come on.’

  And Kyndra had no choice. She was disconcerted to be leaving the sky port so soon. Her plans for escape hadn’t even had a chance to mature. Before she had taken five steps, however, Nediah bent and lowered his mouth to her ear.

  ‘Medavle once tried to join a fanatical sect that lives in the roots of the mountain, far below Naris. The sect is led by a madman … but even they won’t have anything to do with Medavle.’ Nediah’s green eyes were fierce. ‘If he crosses your path again, be careful. He’s not someone you’d want as your enemy.’

  7

  Nediah straightened. ‘I’ve got some clothes for you,’ he said tentatively and Kyndra thought she detected a peace offering. She looked away. ‘We left in such a hurry,’ Nediah continued. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  Kyndra said nothing. She felt Medavle’s dark eyes on her back and looked around, but the walkway was empty. Was the white-clad stranger really as dangerous as both Kait and Nediah intimated? And what was in that note?

  They walked in silence for a minute or so, Nediah keeping an ever-vigilant eye on Brégenne up ahead. Kyndra watched the boards pass beneath her feet. ‘Why are we going to Murta?’ she asked.

  Nediah gave her a wary glance. ‘You saw the envoi. Brégenne and I must make our report.’

  ‘Report to whom?’

  ‘We can’t talk here.’

  ‘It’s about the Breaking,’ Kyndra said, hearing a tremor in her voice. She coughed to hide her weakness and added, ‘You said you were tracking it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nediah stopped and lowered the sack with a sigh. They stood on a blue platform little more than five feet across. The Eastern Set was moored to their left, whirring in its dock. Sailors hurried to and fro, loading cargo and readying the airship. The dock master Kyndra had seen yesterday stood near the gangway, checking off each outbound item. The list he clutched hung to his knees.

  ‘We’ll be underway soon,’ Nediah remarked. Kyndra nodded, watching the frenzied activity on the deck. The boards there looked pale from scrubbing, but the airship’s hull gleamed like honey and sun sparked off the stern windows. Those must be the captain’s quarters, Kyndra thought to herself. She gazed at the expensive panes, acutely aware of the three lonely coppers in her pocket.

  Dales folk understood the need for money; it purchased luxuries to which they’d all grown accustomed. Ashley Gigg was always the first to pounce on visiting merchants, clamouring for herbs
she couldn’t find locally. But trading in physical goods still took precedence over the exchanging of coin. Her mother’s inn was one of the only exceptions. However, the moment Kyndra had arrived in Sky Port East, she’d noticed how essential it was to have money. At home her coppers were enough to buy a decent meal, maybe even a bed for the night. Here they didn’t amount to one drink.

  A whinny of fright broke into her thoughts and Kyndra looked over to see Brégenne and Nediah’s horses being winched up in a kind of lift. The men pulling on the ropes did not look pleased. Brégenne stood at the lift gate, her grey outfit turning her pale skin pallid in the sun. When the horses had completed their nervous ascent, she reached out with her arms until she found each horse’s head. She stroked their necks as they were unloaded, making comforting sounds and offering a few small apples. The horses ate them with apprehensive eyes, clearly unhappy at being off the ground.

  Nediah picked up his sack and he and Kyndra crossed over to Brégenne. ‘How much did you give the captain before he’d agree to take our mounts?’

  Brégenne turned at the question. ‘He’s concerned about his hold, naturally. But I threw in a gold piece on top of the price of our passage and that convinced him.’ She smiled briefly and Kyndra glimpsed someone else, a stranger whose face was like the summer. When the smile faded, that person was gone and Brégenne stood stonily in her place.

  The airship ground against its moorings, eager to be free. And once the reluctant horses were loaded, activity on deck began to subside. A sailor beckoned them over. Nediah took Brégenne’s arm in his free hand and led her across the gangway. Kyndra followed with a flutter of uncertainty.

  She felt the difference between solid dock and buoyant vessel immediately. The grinding changed to a rhythmic tugging on the boards beneath her. She watched three men haul in the wide gangway, muscles standing out in their arms. Another swung down from a rope tethered to one of the balloons. There was a fire-like whoosh and Kyndra glanced up. Flames flared in the braziers fixed beneath the taut canvas, and the balloons swelled, straining skyward.

  The tugging grew stronger and Kyndra looked aft to see the circular paddles spinning even faster. A woman with a smoke-stained face and gloved to her elbows emerged from below decks. She signalled the men on the dock and they released the mooring lines. The craft lurched away.

  Kyndra ran to the rail, watching Sky Port East recede. The airship rose steadily and a squeal of metal on metal reached her from below where the ship’s chain slid along the greased length of the safety line.

  Kyndra’s eyes watered whenever she faced into the wind. It whipped up her hair and chilled her hands. When distance reduced the sky port to a smudge on the horizon, she tried not to feel as if her hopes for escape were fading with it.

  Nediah beckoned her over to the opposite rail where he stood with Brégenne. The wind had reddened the woman’s cheeks and pulled wisps of hair from the knot tied at the base of her neck. ‘Exhilarating, isn’t it?’ Nediah said when he saw Kyndra. The tall man’s eyes were bright. ‘I haven’t been on an airship in a long time. They’re a lot faster than they used to be.’

  ‘Didn’t you come here on one?’

  Nediah shook his head. ‘We rode. Our horses are Hrosst purebreds. They excel at long distance across country. Not as fast as an airship, of course, but they’re a good deal cheaper.’

  ‘You’ll be reimbursed,’ Brégenne said. ‘We’re following orders.’

  ‘I don’t mind about that. It’s the principle.’ Nediah clicked his tongue in disgust. ‘The Trade Assembly is already wealthy beyond imagining. I’m amazed that non-cartel merchants even use the ships, judging from the number of gold pieces I had to part with this morning.’

  ‘It’s the only real option for perishable cargoes,’ Brégenne said absently. She had her back to them, her face tilted up to the sky. The sun was slowly sinking into a cloud bank on the western horizon.

  Nediah glanced at the reddening sky and shifted uncomfortably. ‘I dread the argument we’re going to have with the captain when we reach Market Primus.’

  ‘How far is that?’ Kyndra asked.

  ‘A hundred and twenty leagues or so. We’ll be there in a few days.’

  ‘A few days …’ She watched the countryside fly by and marvelled at their speed. The airship raced towards the setting sun, bearing her with it.

  Kyndra looked over her shoulder. Beyond the polished stern, grey twilight masked the way home.

  Her cabin consisted of a narrow berth and a chest nailed down beneath the round window. At least the window had glass. Kyndra imagined it could get cold up here, especially at night. Being the only passengers – which was hardly surprising, Nediah had muttered darkly – they each had their own room.

  ‘Yes, your clothes,’ Nediah said, standing in Kyndra’s doorway. ‘They’re the best I could do in the time.’ He pulled a sack into the cabin and began to search it vigorously. Soon its contents were rolling all over the floor: cured meat in waxed paper, dried and fresh fruit, soap, a notched razor blade. ‘That’s mine.’ Nediah snatched it up and threw it back into the sack, whereupon it promptly fell out again. ‘I got us cheaper passage if I agreed to supply our own food.’ Something black peeped out from the neck of the sack. Kyndra caught a glimpse of silk. ‘They’re here somewhere,’ Nediah said loudly. He stuffed the garment swiftly out of sight and Kyndra suppressed a curious smile.

  The clothes were found. Expecting a dress, she saw instead a linen tunic, tan jerkin and a pair of dark trousers made from thin, grainy cloth. It was wholly unlike the wool she wore at home. And they were too big. ‘This will help,’ Nediah said, handing over a belt. ‘I know they’re not a good fit, but we can get better ones at Murta. At least these are clean and you won’t smell like a wet sheep when it rains.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Kyndra said tartly, ‘there wasn’t ever a lot of choice back home.’ She paused. ‘Thanks for getting me something sensible.’

  ‘Here,’ Nediah said. He held out a tatty piece of paper.

  A moment later, Kyndra realized it was the note Brégenne had demanded, the note given her by Medavle. She took it in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up,’ Nediah said, as if the act of returning the paper embarrassed him. ‘It looks like a fragment of poetry.’

  ‘Poetry?’

  Nediah smiled. ‘I did say. And I’m as baffled as you are. However, Brégenne thought it was harmless, so I asked for it back.’

  Kyndra unfolded the note. It was definitely a page from a book; she could see a faded number in the top corner. The paper smelled of spent centuries, but was thick and well-made. Perhaps that was why it had survived. Kyndra lowered her eyes and read:

  Of times before the empire walked

  And tamed the soil as red as blood,

  My tongue will spin a marvelled tale

  To leave all listeners wondrous pale,

  To make all pulses thud.

  The cosmos then was full of light,

  But Starborn, they were dark and deep,

  In turn, each built a lonely hall

  And lived a life more cold than all

  The snow-ice on the steep.

  And yet came one who dreamed anew,

  He dreamed that love unfroze his heart;

  By day he chose a window high

  To watch a rider swift and spry

  Ascend on wings of art.

  Her people were the Lleuyelin –

  A wild, remote and ancient race;

  Her mount was scarlet, darkling hue

  And ribbons on her wrist there flew

  And sun shone on her face.

  Such strength he saw in every line,

  A savage charm her body made;

  Her dragon eyes were ruby fire,

  In him they sparked unknown desire

  And found his soul waylaid.

  She took him up upon her mount

  And this before has never been,

  For so a
re yelin maidens proud –

  They would not pause to please the crowd –

  And rarely are they seen.

  He flew with her through Acre’s lands

  And danced on airs that seldom sleep,

  Until he earned her given name

  And shared in the embittered fame

  That soon would make her weep.

  Kyndra turned the page over, but it was blank. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Seems so,’ said Nediah.

  ‘But it’s not finished.’

  Nediah raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Well … it’s a story. But it’s not finished.’ Kyndra glanced back at the poem. ‘See, “shared in the embittered fame that soon would make her weep.” But what fame?’

  ‘I’d like to know why Medavle gave it to you.’

  Kyndra bit her lip. Why had Medavle given it to her? The only names she recognized in the poem were Acre, Lleuyelin and Starborn, and she didn’t know much about any of them either.

  ‘Perhaps Medavle has spent too long on his own,’ Nediah said meaningfully.

  ‘He called you something strange earlier.’

  The man’s brow crinkled briefly. ‘Oh, ad-Sollas. It’s an ancient title that means “of the sun”. It’s not used any more.’

  The odd words were familiar, as if she’d seen them written down somewhere. Kyndra shrugged and looked at her feet. That Nediah cared enough to return the note both warmed and disturbed her. As much as she wanted to preserve her anger, Kyndra had to admit that perhaps Brégenne and Nediah intended something more for her. Buying her clothes and carrying her to bed didn’t sound like the kind of things potential murderers did. They’d had every chance to dispose of her in the Wilds, where the words she’d overheard could be buried alongside her body.

  ‘There’s so much I don’t know about you, about any of this,’ she said painfully. ‘And I think Brégenne wants to keep it that way.’

  ‘She is only thinking of your safety,’ Nediah replied. He stood up and went to the window, leaving Kyndra to gaze at his back. Nediah placed a hand against the glass and let his fingers slide lightly down its surface. It was only then that Kyndra realized how dark the cabin had become. The sun had set.