Rufus was still hanging onto the edge of the vine bridge, looking for a handhold or way to follow them. “What about me, guys?”
“We’ll be right back,” Samra replied. “Keep a lookout.”
Rufus frowned but nodded and turned to watch the council door. He always took lookout duty seriously, and Samra had to admit he hadn’t failed them yet. He was great at distractions and pretending to cry. If worst came to worst and he thought his friends were in danger of being caught, Rufus would ‘lose’ his buoyancy belt and float off the patch, yelling for a rescue. That was always good for a diversion. Watching the boy taking up his position in front of the council door, Samra paused. How many more times would he be a part of her adventures? Her family was leaving in a few days. Could this be the last time he’d cover for her?
Kip called for her. “Come on! I see it.” Samra dragged her eyes from Rufus and turned to follow her friend. She wasn’t leaving yet. And she still had to hear about the end of the world.
3
MR. AND MRS. ROOSE
There were only a handful of times Kipling had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, but each one of those memories had one person in common—Samra Rose Coley. As he scaled the council grove, he hoped this excursion wouldn’t be added to the list.
Kipling clung to the healthy vines at the lower hemisphere of the globe, and settled himself near the clump of desiccated leaves. From this position of security, he parted the dried-up tendrils as quietly as he could, making a hole to peer through. Samra was at his elbow, her head nearly touching his, curious to see what was going on inside. They kept their breaths shallow, ready to plunge away at the first sign of danger. Samra edged closer to the hole till their heads did touch. Kipling eased back the last deteriorated vine so she could see.
The interior of the council chamber was roughly a sphere—a pocket of space hollowed into the center of the council globe’s main root system. Kipling had never been allowed inside during a session, but his mother came home each night with stories, so the room was constantly alive in his imagination.
The shape of the room was maintained by two wide horizontal discs made of latticed heartwood. One disc made up the floor, and the other the ceiling. Since both were porous in places, a few of the globe tendrils had sprouted down through the ceiling and out the bottom again, but these intrusions were symmetrically spaced, giving the illusion of support columns like one might find in a Grounder building.
“Looks crowded in there,” Samra whispered.
In the center of the room, a table in the shape of a horseshoe was raised from the floor. Around this table, seven high-backed chairs made of plaited reeds faced the open space in the middle. All seven of the council chairs were occupied today. Old Mag, Doctor Kesh—Kipling knew each of the councilors well enough to greet them and engage in conversation when he encountered them about the patch, but he was most intimately acquainted with the occupant of the head chair, which sat at the apex of the table’s curve. In that seat of honor sat his mother, Chief Councilor Katya Roose.
“Your mom looks worried,” Samra said. Her breath tickled his nose.
Chief Roose, as she was commonly called, led the tribe on Corra Mara and, as a result, was the highest official in the Northern Sky, since all other northern colonies were now descendants of the Globe Mother. The title of chief councilor was somewhat of an anachronism, since there was no specific person the group was meant to advise—the globe council was simply required to reach a majority decision as a group when it came to issues affecting the various globe tribes—but his mother was chief nonetheless. She had her serious expression on today. At home, that look meant Kipling had better keep his mouth shut and steer clear till she finished whatever she was doing.
As Kipling scanned the room, he picked out the other occupants of the council chamber, some standing, some floating, and a few seated among the columns surrounding the council table. Kaleb looked smug, standing at his usual position, a few steps behind their mother’s chair. Kip glared at the Watcher horn attached to his belt, then looked away. Surprisingly, his father was also in attendance, near the open end of the table. As master grower, his dad’s knowledge of the patch and its health was occasionally made use of by the council, but he wasn’t typically part of council meetings. Kipling wondered what news could have made his presence necessary today.
Enzo was in the center opening of the horseshoe table, watching Chief Roose finish her analysis of the scroll in front of her. It seemed that everyone else was familiar with its contents and Kipling suspected that the messenger must have read it aloud during the time he and Samra were searching for a vantage point. The councilors’ expressions were mostly grave, though Councilman Bottlebrock was merely picking at his teeth with a bit of twig.
“What we can be sure of, is that this issue is affecting us all,” his mother said as she laid the scroll back on the table. “The health of this patch and all of our other colonies depends on our ability to get to the bottom of this mystery.” She looked directly at Enzo. “Mr. Mooreside, you have done us a great service by bringing us this news. When you spoke with the smaller councils, did you perceive that some of the colonies are faring better than others in their spawning plans for next season?”
Enzo straightened up, his leather pilot’s cap held in both hands. “Well, ma’am, it wasn’t till about the third message came in with the same news that I put it together, so to speak. But from then on, whichever colony I intercepted, I did my best to ask for the master growers and tell them about the problems the others were having. I felt it would be in their best interest to know that they weren’t the only ones having trouble.”
“A wise decision,” intoned Councilman Thur. “You’ve likely saved us a season’s worth of confusion and unrest.”
Enzo nodded. “Well, I can’t say as I know all the ins and outs of pollinating a globe patch, but once I heard the severity of the issue and spread the news, each council had their master grower assess the situation and send you word.” He rummaged in the basket and pulled another bundle of message tubes out. “Some of them have begun to inventory the globe sons they’ve still got on the vines. They wanted me to pass this information along to Master Roose for his advice.”
Chief Roose signaled her husband and he stepped forward. Kipling’s father accepted the messages from Enzo and bowed to the council.
Samra wiggled her body closer, pushing against him as she tried to see better, but Kipling stayed put, his eyes glued to his father.
“Master Roose,” Chief Roose said, using her husband’s formal title. “Please assess these messages posthaste, so that we can have time to pen appropriate responses to the colonies. We are counting on you to give us guidance on this issue. It would seem that resolving this threat must become our primary focus.”
“I’ll read the messages tonight and begin working on responses immediately,” his father replied. “I should be able to leave instructions for the other colonies with Mr. Mooreside by the end of the festival.”
“Globe pollination?” Samra whispered into Kipling’s ear. “I thought for sure it was going to be something exciting.”
Kipling shushed her and went back to watching. Whatever the issue was, it would certainly involve the growers.
His mom finished talking to his dad and had returned her attention to Enzo. “Mr. Mooreside, you can expect to hear from my husband when the patch descends. As I stated, we are grateful for your aid in this matter and hope that we may continue to engage your services. It would seem we will have many more messages with a pressing need for delivery.”
Enzo bowed again. “My pleasure, ma’am. Always happy to be of service.”
“And you will of course be paid for your haste. For now, please avail yourself of whatever hospitality we can show you until your return trip.”
Enzo fiddled with his cap. “I think I’ll be headed home straight away, while the winds are favorable. But I’ll look forward to seeing you all when you land for the fe
stival.”
Samra elbowed Kip in the ribs. “What do you think is going on? Is the patch in trouble?”
Kip frowned and scooted away from the hole, not wanting his voice to carry inside the chamber. “Not sure. Something to do with breeding season. Sounds bad though.”
“Will we still have the festival games?”
“I can’t see why not. The patch has to—” He was cut off by a loud “Kacaw!” from near the Gate of Thorns. The signal from Rufus meant someone was coming. Kip released his grip on the vines and bounded upward, headed higher on the council globe. Samra launched herself after him, soaring past and leading the way. They perched high up in the globe’s leaf girdle, hiding in a thick bunch of tangleweed that leaned far out over the patch. From there they could view the bridge to the Gate of Thorns. Rufus was in conversation with Kip’s father and looked nervous. He glanced left, the way he saw his friends disappear, then returned his attention to Mr. Roose. Kip’s father didn’t linger, but seemed intent on shooing Rufus in front of him. The rotund boy bounced along the vine bridge casting occasional glances behind and looking unhappy.
“Think your dad knows we’re up here?” Samra asked.
“I’d better get home,” Kip replied. “He might be looking for me.”
“He has Enzo’s basket,” Samra noted as she watched Mr. Roose work his way along the bridge. “Try to see what’s in those letters. I bet there’s all kinds of interesting news from the other colonies.”
Kipling crept along the rim of the globe till he was facing the direction of his family’s aerie. “I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll meet you later. I’ll get free after supper and find you.”
“At the Starpark?”
“Yeah.” He took aim, exhaled steadily, and leapt.
The fall down the main stalk of the Globe Mother was technically illegal. Plummeting was deemed unsafe, especially for patchlings. It was another one of the rules Kipling had seen fit to bend, largely because it was Samra’s favorite method of navigating the patch. He had to admit, it beat walking the twisting trails and aerial bridges between globes.
Samra liked to plummet through the wide-open spaces between globes where she could get the fastest speeds, but Kip preferred a few obstacles. Also, a bit of cover. Samra wasn’t the chief councilor’s child and the consequences for breaking this particular rule never seemed to apply to her.
Kipling splayed his hands and feet out as he fell, dodging and ricocheting his way through the tendril clumps and creepers that clung to the side of the stalk, and relishing the wind on his skin. He whipped past other aeries occupied by families he knew. He spotted Mrs. Tundus washing out diapers from the latest of her green-faced babies.
He plummeted till he was below the level of the upper granaries and then took a deep breath, illuminating his skin to a warm yellow glow and arresting his fall. From there he stretched out and grabbed a tangleweed vine and swung himself into the heart of the main stalk. Kipling dimmed back down, then swung overhand below the deck of the granary till he reached the opening that ran up into the center of the main grove. He climbed inward, leaping when he could, over the thick clumps of vine and into the clearing that made up the core of Skylighter life on Corra Mara.
Kip moved slowly through the grove, trying not to attract attention. He made sure his skin had properly darkened and he tried to look cool. It wouldn’t do to come blazing into the grove white-hot. You were always watched here. If it wasn’t by some well-meaning adult out to improve your character, it was nosy Mrs. Dinlas who seemed to do nothing but sit in her hammock near the window of her aerie, shouting at children to slow down and keep quiet. She never seemed to mind that she was louder than anyone else in the grove.
Kip climbed the vine bridge leading to a platform of stripped bark that made up the front porch of his family’s aerie. He poked his head inside long enough to reassure himself that he had gotten there first, grabbed his school workbook, then took a seat in the chair on the porch, doing his best to pretend that he’d been there studying for a while.
Fortunately he didn’t have to put on the act long enough that he was in danger of actually learning anything. His father arrived with the basket of reed message tubes and deposited them near the door. Rufus was nowhere in sight. Mr. Roose must have been reading some of the messages already on his way down to the grove because bits of ribbon and crumpled leaf paper protruded from the pocket of his trousers.
“Hey, Dad. What’ve you got there?” Kipling did his best to sound casual as he eyed the basket of messages.
“Kip, I need you to do something for me.”
Kipling bounded to his feet. “You need help reading those messages?”
Mr. Roose shook his head. “No. I’ll take care of the messages. I need you to head down to the seedpod cluster and start counting the globe sons we have stored in the nursery nests. Count every one that’s ripe enough to fly and then count the ones still on the vines.”
Kipling’s heart sank. Doing inventory of the globe sons was nowhere near as interesting as reading the messages from other colonies. “Can’t we get one of the pod tenders to do it? Dimli Bottlebrock is down there all the time. I’ll bet he knows—”
“Kip, I want you to do it. This is important. The council has commissioned me to get to the bottom of a serious problem and I’m counting on you to help.”
Kipling studied the stress ridges on his father’s forehead. “What’s the matter?”
“We’re not certain just why yet, but there has been a severe shortage of globe sons in the slipstream this season. Without them the new globe daughters aren’t getting pollinated. We’re not sure what’s happening to them, but we haven’t seen many of last season’s globes still aloft, and this season’s early crop hasn’t been doing well at reaching the other colonies.”
“I thought it only takes one globe son to pollinate a globe daughter. Don’t the patches germinate hundreds of globe sons per season?”
“And they still have been. But for some reason they haven’t been reaching their targets. That’s why the batch we’ve got growing may be more important than previous seasons. Might even be key to the survival of the northern colonies.”
“Shouldn’t I help you read the messages first, just in case there is more news? Maybe someone else fixed the problem already and—”
“If I need help with the messages, I’ll drag Kaleb down from the council grove.”
“I can do anything Kaleb can do,” Kipling objected. “I know he’s a council novice, but—”
“Kip. This is what I need. You’re the grower apprentice, and you’re my son, so it’s your job to do what I say, understand?”
Kipling’s mind wandered to Samra still bouncing around the globe tops. He was beginning to regret coming home early. “Do I have to do it right now?”
“Yes. Now. Get down there and get them counted for me. I’d like to have the numbers by supper.” Mr. Roose turned his son toward the grove by the shoulders and pointed the way. “No dawdling.”
“Yes, sir,” Kipling mumbled.
Kipling trudged his way back through the central grove, suddenly envious of everyone milling around him that didn’t have a boring chore to do. His plan had been foiled. Instead of having first knowledge of what the messages contained, and being the one to glory in sharing the latest news with his friends, Kaleb would probably get to. He’d probably be the last one to hear anything. All the messages about the goings on in other colonies would get delivered and he’d be stuck in the stupid pod grove.
Perhaps Samra would find him and want to help him count the globe sons. But why would she? She was free to roam the patch, race to the farthest outlying globes, or even stand watch with the patch guardians. She could do anything she pleased, really. The afternoon seemed suddenly full of tantalizing possibilities.
She was probably out on the upwind globes right now with Bronks, the guardian captain, saving nursery patchlings who’d gone overboard, or using his array of harpoons to defend th
e patch from a roving school of predatory wind eels. Maybe she’d save Bronks’s life with a last-second harpoon throw and come home a decorated guardian hero. She’d join Kaleb tonight on the pedestal after he accepted the silly Watcher prize again, and the colony would cheer twice as loud for her. Kipling could see the envy in Kaleb’s face. Only now it was him with the guardian medal around his neck and—
“Kip! Get moving!”
Kipling came unfrozen as his father’s voice resounded across the grove. Passersby stopped to figure out the commotion, their eyes finding the grower’s son as he jolted out of his reverie and sprinted toward the chute for the pod clusters.
4
SAMRA
The Sunshine Express vanished into the horizon below the jagged points of the Fanged Mountains. She couldn’t spot it from here, but Samra knew the little aircraft was bouncing its way down the wind currents toward the Rift Valley hidden just this side of the farthest ridges. Samra sat atop Minda Dona, the newest globe that had spawned from the Mother. The bright green sphere tilted and bobbed in the slightest hint of a breeze, not yet stable enough or big enough for anyone to live on board.
Samra liked the new globes best. They were designated as dangerous and too turbulent for patchlings because you could be thrown off at a moment’s notice. It was the kind of place anything could happen. If something ever would.
Laughter rang out from the nearby grove below Dimra Tasha, the closest globe to the west. Samra recognized the laugh as belonging to Khloe, her neighbor and soon-to-be fellow colonist on Cirra Sola. A gaggle of girls was clustered together in the sun at the edge of the grove. Khloe had taken advantage of every bit of attention that came with the honor of being a new colonist. She was currently surrounded by at least five other girls, giggling and whispering about their latest plans for the festival.
Faster Than Falling: The Skylighter Adventures Page 3
