Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  Kyndra turned at the clipped question and found herself face to face with a couple of city guards. Their gazes flicked between her and the potter’s ruined stall and she could see them trying to fit the two together. She opened her mouth, a denial ready on her tongue, but then Nediah was there. He shot her a silencing frown.

  ‘This gentleman needs help,’ Nediah said. ‘Is there a healer near?’

  ‘All in good time,’ the first guard interrupted. ‘I want to know what happened here.’

  ‘Are you responsible for this?’ the second guard barked at Kyndra. Her white surcoat was blinding in the bright sun and Kyndra narrowed her eyes against the glare. Jerkily, she shook her head. Even that small movement sent the agony spiking up into her skull and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  ‘We’ll see.’ The guard leaned down and, with her colleague’s aid, heaved the potter to his feet. He swayed, but remained standing. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked him briskly.

  ‘M-Mardon,’ he stammered after a few seconds. ‘Jim Mardon. I have a shop in …’ His eyes clouded then cleared. ‘East District, I think.’

  The guards exchanged a look. ‘Must have hit his head,’ the stubble-cheeked guardsman muttered and retrieved a notebook tucked behind his leather cuirass. Pencilling in the name, he addressed his next words to Nediah. ‘Did you witness the incident, sir? This is some costly damage.’ He indicated the wealth of broken pottery and cast Kyndra a suspicious glance.

  Nediah nodded and began to spin them a story. Instead of listening, Kyndra stood hugging herself, trying to suppress the shudders that rolled through her body. She noticed Mardon’s eyes sliding out of focus again. Blood dripped from a gash on his hand, spattering the carpet of shattered pots. He said nothing while Nediah talked, just stood there on drunken feet. Merchants and customers alike had turned from their business to watch him.

  Kyndra’s neck prickled and she looked around. Brégenne was staring at her, a small frown crinkling her brow. No, Kyndra corrected herself, she can’t see me. But the way the woman tilted her head, the way that blank gaze was fixed on her … Kyndra shifted uneasily.

  ‘Sorry you got caught in this, stranger,’ the guard was now saying amiably to Nediah. ‘Your help is appreciated.’ He spared a glance for the man. ‘Poor devil. I suppose we ought to get him home.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he see a healer first?’ Nediah looked genuinely pained. ‘Those cuts need cleaning at the very least.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ the woman said reluctantly. She sighed and beckoned her fellow guard. ‘Let’s get him to Willow Street.’

  ‘I’d be happy to take him,’ Nediah said quickly, causing both guards to stop in surprise. ‘I feel somewhat responsible. If you’d be kind enough to give me directions, I can drop him off before I find my lodgings.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ the unshaven guard said, looking hugely relieved. ‘We ought to get this to the captain.’ He flashed the notebook.

  Nediah smiled confidently. ‘He’ll be safe with me.’

  ‘My thanks,’ the guard said with a nod. His colleague gave Nediah directions to the healers on Willow Street and they both turned to leave. The curious crowd began to disperse.

  Nediah didn’t ask Kyndra to help, but heaved the man up by himself. ‘Are we really taking him to the healers?’ she asked in a low voice, watching as Mardon stumbled and fell against Nediah, barely able to stand now.

  Nediah just handed her the sack of food to carry. He touched Brégenne gently on the shoulder and the blind woman fell into step behind him. She’d have no trouble following them by ear, Kyndra thought. Mardon’s boots dragged and scraped over the cobbles, filling the square with echoes. He leaned heavily on Nediah, who was beginning to sweat with the effort of holding him up.

  They left the noise of the market behind and moved into a quieter district. Nediah did not stop until they came to a narrow passage created by the opposing buttresses of two buildings. With a swift look back, he dragged the man into the opening and propped him on a jut of stone.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kyndra asked. Mardon sagged against the building, mouth opening and closing spasmodically. His eyes flicked from side to side, as if the unfamiliar stalked him. Kyndra wondered what he was seeing.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ Nediah asked him gently. When Mardon gave no sign that he’d understood, Nediah laid a hand on the man’s head and closed his eyes. His face stilled. Only moments later, he gasped and cried out. Golden light blazed between his fingers, knocked the man away and Mardon’s unprotesting body slid to the ground.

  ‘Nediah!’ Brégenne said urgently. She pushed past Kyndra and stretched out her hands until she found her companion’s shoulders. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’

  Nediah opened eyes which were gold instead of green. He blinked rapidly and shed the light like a mist of tears. ‘I’m fine, Brégenne,’ he said in a raspy voice, ‘but he isn’t. I don’t understand it. I was watching him back in the marketplace. He seemed fine at first, a bit concussed, perhaps, but by the time we left, his pupils were fixed and dilated. I thought he might have suffered internal bleeding, so I brought him here to check.’

  Although Mardon lay sprawled where he had fallen, Nediah made no move to help him up. ‘His mind is riddled with cracks,’ he said softly. ‘It’s dissolving.’ He wiped a hand across his face. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘You are certain it’s not natural?’ Brégenne asked.

  Nediah repressed a shudder. ‘Yes. This wasn’t caused by a fall.’

  Kyndra’s stomach began to churn. Her headache had eased enough to allow a memory through. It was a muddle of images: the glass citadel, a sunset, a valley full of armoured men. And then a force had hit her, flung her back from – somewhere. And not only her, but Mardon too. It had cracked the thick stone of his potter’s wheel. How much had Nediah noticed?

  ‘I won’t examine him again,’ Nediah said, eyeing Mardon nervously. ‘Linking to his mind is too dangerous. Let’s take him to the healers and get back to the airship.’ He bent over Mardon, whose limbs had begun to shake violently. When he straightened, supporting the man, his eyes rested briefly on Kyndra. ‘The sooner we get to Naris, the better.’

  Kyndra didn’t like that look. Perhaps Nediah had seen the wheel. She turned away from them all, from the sounds Mardon was making in his throat. The sunlight seemed weaker, the wind blowing more autumn than spring. She tried to convince herself that the potter’s wheel had simply spun out of control and that she’d only imagined standing on the slopes of the valley. But she couldn’t dismiss that feeling of collision, as if she had come up against a force capable of tearing a human mind apart.

  8

  When twilight veiled the walls of Market Primus, Kyndra turned away from the stern rail. She took the memory of Mardon’s eyes with her. They’d left the man in the care of a kindly, soft-spoken healer, but Kyndra knew it was hopeless. Nediah could see no way of curing Mardon without putting himself at risk and conventional medicine would have little effect.

  She shivered. Longing for warmth, Kyndra followed a lamp-lit passage down into the body of the airship, out of the evening wind. Gone was the excitement of seeing the capital. All she wanted now was to go home. Kyndra briefly closed her eyes. You don’t have a home any more.

  When she opened them, she found herself outside Argat’s saloon. One of the doors stood ajar, allowing a chink of light to spill out onto the shadowy floor. The glow fell across her boot, stressing the creases in the leather. She listened. A distant chatter came from the galley where the sailors were finishing their meal, otherwise the corridors were silent. Brégenne was out on deck. She liked to stand under the moon, sometimes for hours at a time. As far as Kyndra knew, Nediah was in his cabin, still pondering the enigma of Mardon’s affliction.

  She put her eye to the gap, looking from side to side, but there was no one in the slice of room that she could see. Hold
ing her breath, she pushed open the door. It swung soundlessly.

  The saloon was empty. Kyndra exhaled and stepped inside, easing the door shut behind her.

  In the eerie quiet, warm lamplight fell across the dining table and gleamed on the panelling that lined the room. Each corner housed a towering shelf made to fit the contours of the airship. In the north corner stood a desk, a vast map unfurled across its polished surface. The inking was exquisite. Kyndra leaned over, running her eyes over a host of places she had never seen.

  The Valleys grew from a green nib, tucked away on the right. The letters looked unimaginatively narrow compared to the crimson copperplate that proclaimed the names of the larger settlements. A horse with a violently inked mane pranced next to Hrosst, a city surrounded by plains three times the size of the Wilds. A grim march of trees presided over the mountainous territory in the north. Ümvast lay somewhere beyond those tangled branches, riven from the civilized world by the expanse of the Great Northern Forest.

  Kyndra turned her eyes south. There the land was squeezed between the desert and Mariar’s impassable sea. Numerous explorers had attempted a crossing, and if they returned, they returned unrewarded. They claimed the water was endless, a great shining sheet whose furthest waves had never known land. Kyndra inspected the archipelago just off the coast. A prickly fruit was inked there in ochre. It strongly resembled the one she’d acquired from Sky Port East.

  Kyndra skirted several low tables, making for the opposite corner of the saloon. The shelves here were stacked with bizarre objects. One was a kind of snail shell, but huge and pearlescent. Its interior gleamed, as if it had borrowed the first flush of the dawn. Next to it rested a stone the shade of night beneath a forest canopy. Jagged edges showed where it had been hewn from some larger rock.

  Other exhibits sat in glass boxes. It was a moving museum, constantly swelled by the Eastern Set’s adventures. How long had it taken Argat to accumulate these treasures? Some must be worth gold to merit protection behind such clear glass.

  Fascinated, Kyndra crisscrossed the room. Arranged in macabre displays were several fish skeletons, tiny bird skulls, a rabbit’s foot and a jar labelled pickled sea-horses. A horn much larger than a ram’s hung above these gruesome offerings. It was broken, as if snapped off by a great impact. Cold violence leaked from it, or so Kyndra imagined.

  She stepped away and bumped into a small table strewn with objects. A bright green feather fluttered to the floor. Kyndra made to catch it, but it slipped through her fingers. As she bent to retrieve it, a small leather bag caught her eye. Ignoring the feather, she straightened and reached for the bag instead. It was a pouch, somehow familiar, with a drawstring pulled tight around its top. Kyndra loosened the string. The inside of the bag was dark and at first it seemed as if nothing was there. She peered closer and something inside shifted with the tilt of her hand. Kyndra tipped the pouch over her open palm.

  Red earth trickled onto her skin and immediately began to writhe as if alive. Frozen in shock, Kyndra stared at it, watching as the sand mounded into a red valley, capped by hills at each end. The living grains built a citadel on her palm. She’d seen it before: Solinaris, with its spires and parapets and its shining drawbridge. Figures climbed out of the valley floor. It was an army, set for a siege. Kyndra watched as they began to march on the citadel, tiny spears uplifted in challenge.

  ‘I see you couldn’t help yourself.’

  Kyndra’s hand jerked and the earth crumbled and spilled from her palm. She took a shuddering gasp and rubbed her hand furiously on her trousers, trying to rid herself of the feeling. Then strong hands seized her shoulders and spun her roughly around. Kyndra blinked up into Argat’s angry face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Her voice rasped and she coughed. ‘I was only looking.’

  ‘Those who only look sometimes see more than they’d like.’ Argat’s eyes were penetrating. He let go of her shoulders, took the pouch and scooped up the earth from the polished floor. The grains adhered as if drawn irresistibly together. Each one returned smoothly to the pouch, funnelled by the captain’s hand. Kyndra watched it carefully, but it remained inanimate. Had Argat seen the valley and the army on her palm?

  ‘I was interested in your collection,’ she said quickly, Argat’s silence unnerving her. Again she glimpsed the unanswered question that was always in the captain’s eyes. Now there was more to it: alarm and a stark curiosity.

  ‘I don’t doubt,’ Argat said finally. ‘It is the work of many years and many journeys.’ He pulled the drawstring tight and tucked the pouch into his shirt.

  Kyndra watched the bag until it disappeared. She could still see the bloody hue of the earth. It haunted her, unnatural and alien. ‘What was that?’ she asked, not expecting an answer.

  ‘Nothing of great value.’Argat looked down. ‘An oddity. Like the rest of these things.’ He swept up the green feather at his feet and presented it to her. ‘Why don’t you have this?’

  Kyndra slowly took the feather. It was rather dirty, she saw now, with a dark smear at its base. She held it gingerly between forefinger and thumb and resolved to throw it away as soon as she could.

  Argat observed her coolly. The pouch with the earth formed a bulge in his shirt. ‘It’s getting late,’ he said, though Kyndra knew it could be no more than two hours to midnight. ‘You don’t seem well. Perhaps the sky doesn’t agree with you.’

  Kyndra wiped a hand across her brow and looked at the cold sheen on her fingers. ‘Perhaps,’ she said.

  Captain Argat walked her to the door and held it open. ‘Goodnight, girl.’ His face was inscrutable.

  Kyndra forced herself to leave unhurriedly. Only when the door clicked shut did she quicken her pace. She couldn’t go back to her cabin. Nediah would hear her. If he came out to speak to her, he’d notice her pallid cheeks and the sweat on her brow. He would ask questions.

  A dull throbbing began behind her eyes and Kyndra rubbed her forehead, digging in her fingers. Where could she go? As she stumbled through the airship’s corridors, flickering night lamps cast their shadows across her path.

  Four times she’d seen the fortress Solinaris and each time was different. She had dismissed the first two as dreams, but she couldn’t do the same for the vision in the market. For one reeling moment, she’d been in another place: standing on that hill and watching the army close on the citadel. It was so real; she could remember the smell of heated air and the brush of the evening wind on her face. Rather than a vision, it was more like … a memory.

  Kyndra took a few deep breaths. The earth had shown her the army too. Whose was it and why had it not appeared to Argat as well?

  She found herself at the stairs to the deck and climbed them, holding tight to the rail, gulping down the breeze that gusted into the airship. The Eastern Set pulled on its anchor chain. Strong winds blew from the north tonight and she raised her collar against them. Her palm itched, as if it wanted to feel the red earth once more.

  Kyndra wiped both hands on her trousers and leaned on the side of the ship. She gazed at the silent land sleeping beneath her feet, and though all was tranquil, she felt afraid. The airship was carrying her inexorably closer to the unknown and she couldn’t help imagining that some unseen will directed her steps.

  Isn’t that what you wished for? her own voice asked her slyly. A great adventure like the ones in your stories? But none of those stories ever mentioned the fear, the uncertainty or the homesickness. She had left her family in a pit of fire and death, a pit she herself might have dug.

  She wasn’t in a story. Her own choices had led her here. Kyndra lowered her head to the rail and squeezed her eyes shut.

  The headache kept her company until midnight. Kyndra had spent the time staring at the dark ground, letting her thoughts drift to the creaking of the ship. Finally she stepped away, body stiff from her long vigil, and headed for her cabin.

  Nediah’s door was slightly open and Kyndra heard talking. Although they spoke quietly, she r
ecognized the voices. ‘… know about it,’ Argat was saying. ‘She’s up on deck now. When I tell someone not to trespass, I mean it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Captain. She promised us she wouldn’t.’

  Kyndra’s heart began to beat sickly. She hadn’t considered that Argat would tell anyone.

  ‘Where is the item in question?’ Nediah asked.

  ‘Locked in my chest.’

  ‘How did you come by it?’

  A pause. The door clicked shut and Kyndra swore silently. A short span of corridor separated her cabin from Nediah’s, which was enough to ensure she wouldn’t hear a thing in there. Then her gaze fell on Brégenne’s door. Kyndra was certain that the woman was still on deck, as she’d seen her at the stern not half an hour ago, a small journal in hand. With any luck, her notes would keep her there. Palms slick, Kyndra tried the handle of Brégenne’s door. It opened and she darted inside.

  The room was much larger than hers, she saw with an itch of annoyance. Instead of a hanging berth, there was a proper bed, its feet nailed to the floor. A pile of black silk lay across the blanket. Kyndra blinked at it, recognizing the garment that had fallen out of Nediah’s bag. Tearing her curious eyes away, she pressed her ear against the cool surface of the wall.

  ‘No. I acquired it recently.’

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘Then why have you come to me?’ Nediah asked bluntly.

  Silence. ‘The girl. Who is she?’

  ‘She’s our companion.’

  ‘And nothing more?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning.’

  ‘I think you do. I think you know why, out of all the hundreds of things in my saloon, she chose to pick up that bag.’

  ‘Really, Argat,’ Nediah said, frustration clear in his voice. ‘I think you’re reading too much into this. I’m sorry she trespassed. I’m sure she’ll apologize in the morning if she hasn’t already, but it’s past midnight. Can we leave it be?’