“Found this one in the cargo nets. Must have been hiding in the vines when we took the goods aboard.” The man holding Samra elevated her farther so the captain could have a better look.
“Bring her here.”
Samra didn’t struggle this time, but watched warily as she was set on her feet in front of the captain. The red-haired man kept his hands resting on her shoulders, weighing her down. She was fascinated by this woman with the whip who was so readily obeyed. She wasn’t old—surely no more than twenty—but these men and women in the crew seemed to respect her.
The captain lifted a pricklefish spine away from Samra’s face, then examined the shark tooth necklace with her fingertips. “What’s your name?”
Samra glared at the woman with as much ferocity as she could muster. “What did you do with my family? Where’s Kip?”
The captain let the necklace fall from her fingers and straightened up. “Your people attacked us, then fled into the sky. If that’s who you’re talking about, they’re long gone now.”
“My family didn’t attack you. You’re lying.”
The captain slung her whip around her shoulders. “Someone from your clan did. My back-up pilot was impaled by a harpoon and sent overboard because of your kind. Some of my crew are injured. Crews on the other ships as well. Your people have a lot to be accountable for.”
Samra looked past the captain, and for the first time noticed that there were other shapes in the darkness behind them. Other airships.
“Let me go!” She struggled again but the big man’s hands encircled her biceps and kept her from floating.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that just now,” the captain replied. “Your people may attack us again and if they do, things are likely to go badly. I’ll need you here to explain that we didn’t steal you. It was you who stowed away with us.”
“I didn’t stow away. You took my globe. You took Cirra Sola!” She attempted to jab a finger toward the partially deflated globe daughter. Clearly this woman needed to get her facts straight.
“That globe?” The captain pointed. “That is a plant we found in the sky. It’s not yours. It’s ours now.”
“That’s my home!” As Samra stared up at the ruins of her family’s globe, she couldn’t believe that her family’s future and that of the other members of her new colony could be so tidily disposed of and bundled away. What would they do now? What was going to happen to her parents?
The captain’s eyes were fixed ahead of the ship now. “We’re nearing the Rift. Tie up that vine rubbish and get the girl below. Leave nothing above deck that might attract the wildlife.” She spun on her heel and moved toward the hatch.
“But you have to let me go!” Samra shrieked. “I have to get back to the Mother!” The captain paid no attention, and merely descended the steps.
The big redheaded man scooped her up again and followed the captain.
“I have to get back . . .to . . . the Mother.” Samra repeated as she thrashed in his arms.
“Looks like you have a new mother now.” He reached for the hatch and closed it over top of them as they descended into the depths of the ship. “And her name is Restless Fury.”
14
NIGHT THIEF
Kipling didn’t own much that would be useful on a rescue mission. The closest thing he had to a weapon was his pruning knife he used for work. The obsidian blade was now secured into the waist of his pants, but he needed more. He needed the armory.
Kaleb had come home late, still obscenely giddy at having been elected to the council. You could see it on his face plain as day beneath the mask of false sincerity. Circumstances being what they were, he could have at least shown some real regret at Mom and Dad being displaced. All he did was bark orders about getting to bed and not making him look bad as a new councilor.
Kipling went to his hammock but didn’t sleep. He merely waited for Kaleb to finish waltzing around like he owned the place and get to bed. A couple of grown-ups stopped by to check on them, delaying the process. Kipling listened through the wall as they praised his brother for his courage and wished him well in coping with the tragedy. Kaleb assured them he could handle it and agreed that he had a responsibility as an older brother now to manage the family. Kipling wanted to march out to the front door and inform all of them that he was not in need of any management, but held himself in check. He had a responsibility, too, and after tonight his brother wouldn’t be a problem.
The glow of the Mother had shifted to a soothing light green by the time Kipling snuck out of his hammock. The aerie was quiet and Kaleb was asleep, no doubt dreaming smug, self-important dreams. The grove was likewise silent. Kipling moved quickly to the tendril ladder and climbed silently to the Citadel.
There was usually a guard posted near the entrance to assist citizens in time of need, but tonight they were out on patrol. With their depleted numbers, every guardian who could fly would no doubt be watching the skies, alert for more Grounder attacks. It was a lapse he could take advantage of. Even so, he moved softly, floating down the tunnels and touching as few things as possible.
Kip paused at the door of the Citadel’s main entrance. He searched his pockets till he found the key. It wasn’t his. He’d never even touched it before tonight, but he’d always known where it was. His mother wasn’t an official member of the guard, but she was chief of the patch, and this key was a symbol of her power. She had access to anywhere aboard the Mother other than private aeries. There were drawings in the histories of previous chiefs wearing their keys around their necks constantly, but his mother had never followed that trend. The key hung unused on a hook. But Kipling remembered.
Kipling opened the circular key, twisting it until its five arms extended like the points of a star. He then inserted it into the star-shaped receptacle in the door. As the lock turned, he felt a pang of unease. It’s not really breaking in when you have a key, is it? It’s not like he wasn’t allowed to be here. He had visited earlier tonight—though for a decidedly different purpose. He crept through the main living area and scanned the tunnels to the barracks. All was quiet. He slipped through the doorway to the armory.
It was a tight space, as nearly any pocket of the Globe Mother was, but this seemed even more restricted, resembling a closet more than a treasure trove of weapons. Fortunately, many of the guardians had their equipment in use and the space occupied by their mechanical bone wings was now free.
Kipling scanned the racks of what was left. It seemed most of the guardians had been wearing their wings during the festival, and still had them out, so pickings were slim, but a few must have had duties that didn’t require them because five sets of wings still hung in the racks. Three were too large for Kipling to dream of using—one belonging to Captain Bronks, and two others that were nearly as large.
Kipling found himself wishing that Auralee had been off duty on another patch. She was nearly his size. Her wings would have been a great fit. As it was, he had to make do with a pair usually worn by Corky Altos. Corky was taller than Kipling by several inches but at least he was skinny. Kip bundled the silken wings into a blanket he’d brought from home, careful to not bend any of the bone ribs, and moved on to the weapons.
He’d have to be careful here. There was no way he could sneak out with a long harpoon. Even some of the clubs were far too heavy for him to dream of wielding. He searched the options till he found a medium length warhook with a heartwood handle. It was about the same weight as the pruning ax he used with his father and the handle fit comfortably in his palm. The hook was shaped from the tusk of a shadow raptor and inscribed with runes. The end was sharp at the point and then again at the end of the curved hook. The hilt was notched in a few places from previous battles, but the shaft still had all of the blackened shark’s teeth fitted into the saw tooth back edge.
One of the shark’s teeth still had a bit of something stuck to it. Fur? Feathers? He wondered what beast had unwisely threatened the patch and met its end.
&nbs
p; Kipling untied the tether and let it dangle from the handle, then slung the weapon over his shoulder.
“I carried that warhook the day I killed my first dreadwing. You could certainly do worse.”
Kipling spun to find Bronks leaning against the doorway. His face was pale—a dusty brown many shades lighter than normal. His chest was bare with the exception of the stained bandages. Kipling didn’t know whether to be concerned that he was caught or worried that Captain Bronks looked so weak. The big man’s face was beaded with sweat.
“Off to battle the world, are you? Going to defeat our enemies single-handed?” His eyes lingered on the warhook. “I remember those days. The flame of youth flares brightest against the darkness.”
“I have to rescue Samra. Someone has to save her.”
“A rescue is a task for the guard,” Bronks said, his voice raspy in the darkness.
“The council won’t send you. They won’t go after her. That’s . . . that’s why I have to go.”
“Kipling, you are very brave, but you’re too—” his words were suddenly cut short by a coughing fit—moist, bloody coughs that racked the big man’s frame. Kipling took a step forward, not knowing how to help.
“What are you doing out here?” The voice was frantic. Ellea Conlay, the guardian healer, emerged from the hallway and raced to Bronks’ side. Kipling stuffed the warhook into his bundle to hide it. “You are in no state to be out of bed! What are you thinking?” She lifted Bronks’ arm and threw it over her shoulder. Holding a towel up to his face, she wiped his brow and then gave it to him to aid in his coughing. She glared at Kipling. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be encouraging him. Get home. It’s too late for visiting.” She immediately began guiding Bronks back down the hall. Bronks struggled to get his coughing under control and speak, but all he could manage was a few words.
“Bright, Kip. Glow bright.”
Kipling backed away down the hall and placed a hand on the front door handle.
“Get!” Ellea shooed him away before guiding Bronks back into his room.
Kipling fled down the ladder and back into the central grove.
He had his prize. He was halfway to the vine bridge when he realized the gear in his arms didn’t weigh nearly enough. The warhook was solid, but the wings were hollowed and light. The silk between the bone ribs was strong but nearly weightless. Without the harpoon and the armor that guardians wore, he wouldn’t be able to sink very quickly. He could exhale his breath in spurts and he’d probably get to the ground eventually, but from this altitude, he might drift for hours or days before settling to the bottom of the sky.
He needed a faster drop. He’d need a buoyancy belt.
His own was now lying on the ground in Womble and he didn’t have a spare—but he knew someone who did.
Rufus and his family lived aboard Brumla Sing, one of the lowest-flying globes in the patch. It was a water reserve globe, so, despite its size and strong ties to the Globe Mother, it constantly trailed aft and below the main bulk of the patch. Kipling crept down the bulky water roots that led to the underside of the globe and threaded his way into the grove hidden below.
Rufus’s end of the patch was significantly worse for wear after the attack. Brumla Sing’s grove had been connected to three other globes in a long arm that typically made up the tail of the patch. The other globes had cut loose and were now making their own way through the skies, and their departure had ripped a hole in the tendril wall that made up one side of the grove. Water droplets from severed xylem veins still dotted the perimeter of the tear and raw heartwood was visible in places where the green protective skin of the structure had been torn off. Family aeries around the grove were now exposed to the outside winds.
Rufus had a window in his tendril pocket that overlooked the grove but it was currently shut. Securing his bundle on his back, Kipling climbed to the window and whispered through the thin gaps between closed tendrils. “Rufe. Wake up, Rufe. Rufe!” The last call came out a bit too loud but it resulted in some stirring inside.
“Kip? Is that you?”
“Yeah. Let me in.”
“Did they find Samra?” The tendril vines parted and exposed the rotund boy’s sleepy face.
Kipling climbed through the opening and hopped to the floor of Rufus’s room. He then illuminated himself to a dull glow and looked around. Rufus’s tendril pocket was even bigger than his, and far bigger than Samra’s. The walls were cluttered with oddments from school and souvenirs from their adventures around the patch. Kipling recognized a thick root that Samra had carved into the shape of a monster and decorated with pillberry seeds. He’d thought the creation long lost, as Samra had decreed that the monster be banished from the patch in one of her more elaborate imaginary rituals. But here it was, preserved among other similar treasures.
“Where do you keep your spare buoyancy belt? Can I borrow it?”
Rufus blinked a few times to clear his vision. “What for? Are you too full? I barely even had a chance to eat at the festival with all the—”
“I need to get back to the ground.” Kipling began searching corners of the room.
“The ground?” Rufus looked out the window, checking the view of the night sky. “But we just got back to the Heights. I thought we were staying up here.”
“The patch is, but I’m not.” Kipling found a buoyancy belt under a pile of clothes near Rufus’s hammock and began checking the belt’s various weight pockets. “I need the heaviest rocks you’ve got.”
Rufus rubbed his hands across his face and finally came around to the situation. “Who else is going down?”
“No one. Just me. I’m going after Samra.”
Rufus spotted the handle of the warhook tucked in the folds of Kipling’s blanket. “Oh wow! Where did you get this?” He grasped the weapon and drew it from the bundle.
Kip straightened up and looked at the saw-toothed shaft. “That used to be Captain Bronks’ hook. He said he used it to kill a dreadwing once.”
“Flaming mother . . .” Rufus swore softly. He held the warhook up with both hands and waved it around. “And Captain Bronks gave it to you?”
Kipling looked away and continued searching the floor for rocks. “I’m just borrowing it. I’m going to bring it back once I’ve rescued Samra.”
Rufus’s face grew serious. “You think she’s in bad danger? Where do you think she is right now?”
“I don’t know, but the stupid council isn’t sending anyone after her. No guardians. They only plan to gather the globes. But we saw Cirra Sola get taken. We saw the ships take her.”
“So . . . wait. Why did the council agree to send you?”
Kipling stuffed the handful of rocks he’d found into the pockets of the belt and began fastening it around his waist. “I decided to go. It’s my choice.”
Rufus stared at him blankly for a moment, but then dropped his eyes to the belt. His brow furrowed. “You’ll need more. You should use the lead ones.” He moved to the wall and parted a section of tendrils revealing a secret compartment. Inside was a trio of shelves loaded with more weights. A few were rocks but most were smooth, dark metal. He scooped a few up and handed them to Kipling.
Kipling gasped at the weight of them. “Whoa. Where did you get these?”
“Dad traded with some Grounders for them,” Rufus said. “He said if I wore smaller belts, I wouldn’t look like as much of a patchling. These weigh a lot more than the rocks. I’ve been using them for years.” Rufus’s skin was glowing faintly having admitted this. “My dad actually still uses them, too.”
Kipling had often wondered how Rufus’s father, who shared his son’s hefty proportions, never drifted off the patch. Feeling the density of the metal in his hands, he now understood. Weights this heavy should have been registered with the council and the balance officers in charge of keeping the patch properly weighted, but he’d never heard anything about them. The consistent surplus of weight on this end of the patch had been throwing off his
father’s water ballast calculations for years. They’d attributed the discrepancy to undiscovered water pockets in the tendrils, but the math was now adding up. It was a violation of patch rules to own things this heavy, but right now, the contraband would certainly come in handy.
“I should go with you.” Rufus blurted the statement out as if unable to contain it. “For Samra. I don’t have a warhook, but I could come, and I could—”
“I think you should stay,” Kipling said.
“Why? She’s my friend, too. She needs rescuing and she’d do it for me. I know she would.”
Kipling didn’t doubt that was true. Samra certainly would have leapt into danger to save one of them, but the truth was, he needed to move fast if there was any hope of catching up to the raiders. He had no idea how long it would take or how far he’d need to go, but he knew he’d get there a lot faster if he weren’t waiting for Rufus. The boy was determined, and Kipling didn’t doubt that he’d go anywhere to find Samra, but endurance and stamina were not words typically used to describe him.
“You can’t come. I need you to stay here and see if you can convince my brother that I’m still on the patch. If I get past the guardians tonight without them noticing, they won’t be able to drag me back right away. But Kaleb will still be looking for me in the morning. If you cover for me, you can buy me time. You can tell him I’m working on the repairs of the patch. Doing grower stuff. Tell people you’ve seen me and I’m just moving around. It’ll throw them off the trail. If you don’t do it, they’ll know I’m gone and they might catch me. Once the patch is far enough downwind, I’ll be safe, but not unless you help.” Kip rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You know how good the guardians are about nabbing overboard movement. One person might sneak off the patch but I don’t think they’d miss seeing two.”
Faster Than Falling: The Skylighter Adventures Page 13
