Windrunner's Daughter

by Bryony Pearce

  Rocks littered the delta, but boulders large enough to land on seemed too low to the dust, Wren could imagine Creatures lunging for them out of the darkness. To her right was a high tower of stone, which seemed promising, but when she circled towards it, Wren realised that it was too narrow: they would fall off if they tried to set down. Her breath was coming in sobs now, as though her O2 canister wasn’t operating properly. Wren ground her teeth. She would not die like this, eaten by Creatures, not even one colony investigated for a cure. There would be somewhere safe; there had to be.

  She shook her head to flick away the useless tears that were starting to mist her vision and regular shapes: rectangles on the delta, caught her attention.

  Quickly she leaned towards them. Her descent had already taken her into dust. Now the wind carried particles that stung her exposed skin and gathered in the rims of her goggles: she was too low.

  The sand trails that told Wren where the Creatures lurked, seemed larger now, as though they were closer to the surface. Dust surged, showing the Creatures lunging towards the shrinking shadow of her wings, but they had not yet broken cover. Wren could no longer count their wakes as they wound back and forth, wriggling like greenbelt-worms, and she pictured them fighting over her when her feet hit the desert.

  She shivered and pushed towards the rectangles: their last hope.

  A shout told her that Raw was right behind her, but she ignored him. The wind brought her lower still, the rectangles developed ragged edges, and suddenly Wren knew where she was. They were flying above the CFC factory cluster. Already Wren could see that sand had swallowed at least one of the buildings; only a rectangular shadow showed where it had once stood. Others were half absorbed, protruding from the dust like broken teeth, rotting into fragments.

  Only one still jutted unbroken above the delta, its rooftop a wide grey expanse in the titian desert. Tentacles of sand curled up its sides and boulders were rolled against its walls, hurled there by mega storms and never pushed off. But, as far as Wren could see, the sand clung only about half way so the roof was safe. Explosions had not marred its flatness, it would provide a fair Runway, possibly a little shorter than she’d like, but she had no choice.

  As the light faded even further, Wren aimed herself at the rooftop and reminded herself of her father’s instructions to her brothers. “When landing, dive until level with the platform. As soon as you are overhead, drop your legs below your body. After two body lengths bring your arms together. When you feel your feet touch the platform, start to run.” His voice in her mind sounded calm and her chest loosened as she started to follow his directions.

  She glanced back to see Raw copying. He was following as close to her as he dared.

  Rather than dive, Wren sought to angle herself so that the wind would drop her as close to the edge of the roof as possible.

  Terror had shortened her breathing into little shallow gasps. Light headed, Wren struggled to slow her inhalations down, dragging in lungs full of oxygen, until her head spun. The rooftop seemed to move below her, shifting sideways as she dropped her legs to prepare her landing. The Creatures now surrounded the building like a besieging army, as though they knew what she planned.

  A gust of wind caught under Wren’s wings and, just as she was convinced she would miss the roof altogether, it propelled her forward and slammed her toes into an uneven lip of concrete. Then it dragged her upwards again and she cycled her legs vainly in mid-air as she was carried towards the centre of the parapet.

  Wren had to close her wings, or risk being pulled all the way off the other side. She bit down a cry and started to pull her arms shut, but the wind was stronger and kept them stretched out behind her, pulling them backwards and making her wings billow. She had no control.

  Now she understood why her brothers had been crunching weights since they were old enough to hold them above their heads. Their shoulders were strong, Wren’s were not.

  But Wren herself had been climbing up and down the side of the Mons since she was old enough to use a net repair kit. Her trapezius muscles might not be powerful, but her biceps were. You couldn’t climb the net without doing pull ups.

  Instead of trying to force her wings down against the strength of the cooling wind, Wren focused on bringing her hands towards her chin, using her biceps to tuck them in.

  She heard the click as her wings unlocked. Agonisingly slowly her elbows bent and her wings fluttered more loosely. Yet all the time she was being dragged towards the sand.

  An impact crushed Wren’s toes and shook up her ankles; she had met the concrete once more. Remembering her father’s wisdom, she started to run. To go with the wind, at least a little way, was the only way to gain control without hurting herself. She risked a glance towards the end of the roof; she had maybe the length of a wing span in which to stop. Ten steps maximum.

  She tried to count, while she hauled her wings in closer. One, two, three …

  Abruptly her wings sagged as the wind fled from beneath them. Then a sharp gust got behind her and caught in the baggy material, trying to lift it the other way. Wren had to flatten her arms against her sides.

  It was easier now that the wind was no longer pulling, but pushing. She staggered sideways with the power of it. Five, six, seven ... then she slapped her hands onto her thighs. Her pennons slid closed, billowing only slightly, but her momentum kept carrying her forward.

  “Wren, stop!”

  She ignored Raw’s shout, staggering eight and then nine steps. At ten she found herself teetering on the roof edge, staring down at sand that boiled beneath her as if alive.

  Then she was still.

  She backed away from the ledge on trembling legs, her knees collapsed and she crunched to the floor, her wings settling round her like a cloak. She dug her fingers into the slightly crumbling concrete and a nail snapped with a sharp pain as she pressed down hard enough to persuade her thudding heart that she had made it to safety.

  Then she looked up. Raw had wheeled into a circle and was swinging in behind her like a scythe. “Drop your legs,” she shouted and rolled as he swooped over her head.

  Lying flat, she gaped as he crashed into the rooftop. His long legs pounded as he battled to stop. Raw yanked his own right arm closed with barely a hint of struggle, but his left wasn’t moving so easily.

  The crack of the limb snapping backwards during their first flight reverberated through Wren’s memory and she caught her breath. If his shoulder was as badly damaged as she feared, that wing wasn’t going to close.

  Raw snarled as he wrestled with the wind, but his feet jerked sideways as his wing billowed under a strong gust and hauled him against his will.

  Ignoring her own aches, Wren leaped to her feet and sprinted across the rooftop after him. Her own wings started to flutter again; if they caught they were both dead.

  Raw yelled his fury as he stumbled closer to the edge and he tried to turn his sideways propulsion into a spin. He rotated on his toes, but still tottered, a fingernail from doom.

  Wren launched herself at him, arms spread. She punched into his chest and closed her arms around his wings as her weight slammed him down. Raw grunted as he crashed on his back into the rooftop.

  Wren’s own wings finally caught and swelled like sails. “Raw!”

  Immediately his own right arm wrapped around her, crushing the foils against her back. They rustled as the wind squeezed out of them and Wren exhaled shakily.

  For a long moment they lay still together, as twilight darkened around them.

  Raw’s arm was a tight band hot against her back, and his heart beat against her cheek. He smelled sour and his sweat dampened her face where she lay on his shirt. She lifted her head and saw him looking down at her; his eyes deep in shadow, unreadable. She struggled out of his embrace, pushed onto her knees and wrapped her arms around her chest, remembering how furious she was with him.

  "You bloody fool!"

  Raw flicked his ha
ir so that it covered his scarred face. “It’s getting cold,” he replied. "Let's do this inside."

  Chapter six

  “Do you think there’s a way into the building?” Wren examined the flat rooftop. To her left the remains of a communications array twisted like arthritic fingers towards the stars.

  “There’s a ladder.” Raw pointed. He was right; beside the broken satellite an aluminium ladder clung to the lip of the roof. “It must go somewhere.”

  Wren nodded and they made their way across the concrete. “It doesn’t look very secure.” She knelt and gave it a shake. The bolts holding it down rattled in corroded joints.

  “Hold my legs.” Raw made to lean over the roof, but Wren shook her head, lay flat and inched her way out until she could see where the ladder ended. “There’s a window or something."

  Raw pulled her back and Wren hissed as her stomach scraped on the ragged edge. She slapped his hands away as she sat up and shivered. The temperature was already plummeting and her drying sweat felt like frost as it lined her forehead and shirt.

  “How cold do you think it’s going to get?”

  “At night on the delta? We’ll be lucky if it stays above freezing.”

  “No choice then,” Wren’s breath was misting up the inside of her mask, the filters hissing as they cleared the condensation. “We’ll have to risk the ladder.”

  “It won’t be much warmer inside,” Raw warned. A gust of icy wind rattled through their wings and he shivered. “But at least it’ll be out of the wind.”

  Wren stamped as her feet began to grow numb. “You first. Or me?”

  Raw tilted his head, the scarred side of his face merging with the dark. “If you go first, I can hold the ladder at this end in case the joints snap. But I won’t be able to help if a rung breaks and I don’t know what you’ll find inside. There could be sand up to the ceiling… Creatures.” His face hardened as he made his decision. “I’ll go first.”

  Wren shivered again. “What if the ladder’s not strong enough for you?”

  Raw shrugged. “Then the Creatures get me; probably quicker than freezing to death up here.”

  Wren opened her mouth and then closed it again. He was right. They both faced a choice between a quick death or a slow one; at least the quick version came with a chance. Wren clenched her fists. For tonight, at least, she would have to trust him.

  As Raw knelt in front of the ladder, Wren’s skin felt too tight for her bones. Tension thrummed through her as though the rooftop itself vibrated. “Wait.” She lay down, anchoring herself as best she could and gripped the arches where they were driven into the roof. “All right. Now.”

  Raw flexed his fingers and his eyes met hers. Then he took a breath, swung his legs over the edge of the roof and gripped the rail with both hands. Although it was almost full dark, Phobos’ light revealed the movement of the sand beneath him. Slow at first, but then, as he started to climb and the ladder creaked with his weight, faster.

  “They’re below you,” she whispered.

  “You think I don’t know?” Raw took another step and the ladder groaned. Wren tightened her grip.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold this if it -”

  Raw’s eye twitched. “I know.”

  He went down to the next rung and darkness absorbed his legs to the knee. Wren heard his gasp and a clatter. He jerked and slid suddenly downwards. She held her breath until he halted his fall.

  “One of the rungs was corroded through,” he managed to gasp. “Watch it when you follow me.”

  Wren nodded without answering.

  “I’m nearly there,” he said conversationally. “Three more rungs and I can swing inside … it’s been left open all this time.”

  “It’ll be full of sand,” Wren called.

  Raw hesitated. “If the Creatures could climb,” he said eventually. “They’d already have me.” And he swung out of sight.

  There was silence. Wren kept her hands wrapped around the railing and counted her heartbeats, straining into the darkness for sight or sound. If a Creature had him, wouldn’t he scream? What if he couldn’t - what if it had happened too quickly? The chill was seeping through the concrete, through Wren’s clothes and into her gut.

  “Wren!” Finally she heard his whisper.

  “Is it safe?”

  “I think so. Come down, I’ll hold the ladder at this end and catch you if you fall.”

  “I won’t fall.” Wren slid her legs around and over the railing, feeling for the rungs with her toes. Her wings trailed after her, catching in icy wind and billowing as she climbed.

  “Take your time.”

  “Shut up,” Wren muttered. Who was he to tell her what to do? Her toes found a gap and she realised that this was the rung that Raw had knocked into the desert. She looked down and her heart pounded. The sand below boiled; there must be dozens of the Creatures beneath her.

  She gave a scream as something wrapped around her ankle. Wails trickled through the sand.

  “It’s me.” Raw gave her ankle a shake. “You can swing in.”

  Wren looked down to see his hand move to her shin. Would he keep hold of her, or would he let her go? He’d said he hated her.

  “Let go,” she snapped. Carefully she swung around the ladder rail and found herself in front of an entrance barely large enough for a man’s shoulders.

  “You’re sure there’re no Creatures in there?”

  “I’m still here aren’t I?” Raw held his arm out. “I’ll catch you.”

  The wind snatched her hair and tried to yank her back into its embrace. Her fingers were so numb the tips were almost burning. Would he catch her?

  She leaned forward and took a step away from the ladder, reaching with one hand for Raw. Her palm slapped into his and he pulled her towards him. She half fell in through the window and thudded to the floor below the aperture, soft sand padded her landing.

  Immediately the wind let her go and without its icy spikes drilling into her clothing, Wren felt instantly warmer. “You didn’t let me fall!”

  Raw”s face hardened. “You thought I would?”

  “You said you hated me. What was I supposed to think?”

  Raw turned from her and his fists curled at his sides. “What kind of person would let you fall …” His voice faded.

  “Why are you even here?” Wren cried. “Why didn’t you land at Avalon when you had the chance? You’re trying to ruin my mission.”

  “Mission, hah.” Raw hunched his shoulders, his back still to her.

  “I mean it, Raw, if you ruin things for me …”

  “You’ll what?” Raw asked, his voice quiet.

  “Just remember,” Wren warned. “You'll be in just as much trouble as me. When we get to Vaikuntha, you remember that.”

  Raw nodded but did not look at her; instead he went to a panel in the wall by the door. He pulled it out and examined it intently.

  “What are you doing?”

  Raw didn’t answer. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a tiny pair of pliers; then he began stripping and twisting wires. “It’s corroded, but if I reroute …”

  “What are you-?”

  She looked up as a single glow tube in the centre of the room began to brighten. Surrounded by the shattered components of its companions, it was the only light, and it cast a bluish aura that blackened the shadows and made them crowd into the corners and crawl over the floor towards her feet.

  “You got a light on.” She stared.

  “I figured it was worth a try. There must be a solar panel still working somewhere.”

  Raw retreated into the shadows as Wren stood up. Her legs felt like noodles and as she straightened, she almost fell. She groped behind her for the window sill and used it to hold herself up. She winced as the movement stretched her shoulders, they were already seizing.

  She looked at Raw more closely and saw that he too was half curled. He slid his pliers
back into his pocket gingerly, wincing at the movement.

  “Your shoulder?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I can look at it. It’s one of the responsibilities of a Sphere-Mistress - helping Runners with injuries.”

  “Leave it.” Raw pointed towards the window. “That’s going to be a problem. We should find another room, one that’ll be warmer.”

  Wren bit her lip. “We know it’s safe in here.”

  Raw shrugged. “Up to you then. I’m moving.”

  “Wait.” Wren wrestled with herself. She could huddle in the lee of the window, out of the worst of the wind, but gusts still blew into the room, bringing an insidious chill that was already seeping into her bones. She could wrap her wings around her head and survive the night, but it would not be comfortable. If they explored, they might find the scientist’s beds, maybe even some retort pouches of thermo-stablized food, the stuff from dead-Earth that the colonists were eating before Eden got the GM soy crop established.

  Her stomach rumbled, and she avoided Raw’s gaze.

  Worry gnawed at her. Creatures might have broken in from the ground level and for all they knew, this could be the only secure place in the building. Wren had a responsibility to her mother to remain safe. If something happened to her, there would be no-one to seek a cure.

  “We should stay here,” she repeated, but Raw heard the doubt in her voice. He cocked his head in challenge.

  “Neither of us has ever left Elysium, do you really want to huddle in the first room you find? No-one’s been here in over a hundred years, don’t you want to investigate?”

  “It’s dark. There aren’t any sights.” Wren glowered at the flickering light above her head.

  Raw said nothing, simply stared at her with his arms folded. Finally he sighed. “I thought you were more interesting than this.”

  “Who cares what you think?” Wren snarled. But a part of her rose up in challenge. There’d be nothing to see, yet the door beckoned to her, a portal to mystery. She rubbed her elbows, wings trailing on the floor behind her. For the first time she understood the meaning of the term ‘bone tired’. Her arms and legs, even her stomach muscles ached where she had been holding tension for hours; she wanted to collapse. But she knew she wouldn’t sleep, not with the door right there, beckoning.