by Kate Diamond
Contents
The Summertooth Fair
The Flamesmith’s Assistant
The Inn at Northford
The Windsworn Healer
The Terraced City
The Winged Artist
A Friend’s Hearth
The Governor of Pirren
The Ruenwin Aerie
The Sleepless Wind
The Northern Mountains
The Spirit Trader
The Star-Touched Peak
A Ship Towards Home
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to my editor lunarennui, without whom I probably wouldn’t have finished this story.
Thanks also to my first readers: Daphnis Bream, Robin Sanford, Lynn O’Connacht, and Katherine Wolfe.
Cover art by Agata Broncel. Interior art by James Tordiff.
A Note on Language
The nonbinary characters in this story use the pronouns ney, nem, and nirs. Example usage: “Miris walked through the market, the Wind following beside nem. Ney chose a treat for nemself from a baker’s display and tucked it away in nir basket.”
The Summertooth Fair
Miris woke as the first streaks of dawn light filtered through the Dragonfly’s sail and dappled the cloudship’s deck with patches of gold. From the dampness in the air, it had rained at some point during the night, but the clouds had burned off with the sunrise and those that remained promised not storms but only comfortable shade. The merchants and marketgoers were likely already praising the spirits for the weather as they carted their wares to the market ground and prepared to fill the dormant stalls of the Summertooth Fair with bright and colorful things gathered from the world over.
While Miris slept, Seres had spun a canopy of breezes over the Dragonfly’s deck, keeping the rain from ever touching the cloudship’s surface or disturbing its flier. Miris pushed the worn quilt aside and stretched, watching the Wind spin in lazy circles above the mast, waiting to set off. Ney touched a hand lightly to the glyphs carved into the mast as ney passed, bedding bundled in nir arms, to go below to check the cargo and prepare breakfast. At the brush of nir fingers against the glyph for gratitude, a symbol like twining ribbons cradling a winding knot, Seres dipped lower, fluttering through Miris’s hair and setting the dark strands drifting.
Smiling, Miris pulled open the hatch and dropped through into the cloudship’s hold, stepping past the crates lashed securely against the walls into the tiny living area. Everything was in place: the barrels of supplies, the foldaway tables, the ledger case sitting on the shelf where Miris had left it.
The lamps slotted into the walls of the small space would need replacing soon, ney noted, as ney folded the blankets away into a chest. As it was, there was just enough light from the lamps and through the narrow windows for nem to take the last piece of slightly-stale flatbread from the basket on the shelf and the second-to-last apple from a net bag hung on a hook to the side. The weather called for something richer, but Miris had none; ney was used to making do with what ney had, while in flight. There was no honey left in the tiny jar, and the remaining bit of centerlands cheese had gone too hard to be appealing. All the more reason to go to the market today. Ney placed the bread and fruit on a plate taken from a narrow cabinet and reached up to unhook a small kettle and chipped mug from the low ceiling. Ney spooned tea into the kettle, sparing a moment to long for the rich island brews nir previous hosts had served, then filled the kettle from the water barrel (that, at least, ran no risk of running dry, not when Seres need only divert them through a rain shower to gather more) and climbed back up to the deck to eat and watch the sunrise. The morning was cool but not enough to warrant extra layers of clothing, even at this height. Miris lit nir tiny stove and set the kettle on it to wait for it to heat.
The previous day’s travel had brought them from the tiny uninhabited Feathered Islands past the mainland’s sea cliffs to the edge of the Summertooth Range. The ancient caldera of the central peak hosted a monthly market that brought people from all around: nobles and townsfolk, mountain dwellers and valley farmers.
For the moment, nir cargo was fairly small: pouches of spices from the western islands, a crate carefully packed with tiny bottles of expensive oils, a collection of gilt filigree fans ney hoped were worth the leather ney had traded for them. Miris had hoped for oranges, but the crop had been small and the farmers unwilling to trade to outsiders.
Unwilling to trade their crop, perhaps, but not at all unwilling to invite a Wind-bourne visitor to share their homes and their meals, or to accept nir gifts of mainland goods. The humans of the islands and the mers of the surrounding reef both welcomed Miris, and ney had spent a memorable week there, not only trading with the artisans but also listening to the stories the islanders had to tell, or drifting just off the shore watching humans in boats fishing alongside teams of mers, gathering their catch with the aid of water spirits while their fellows harvested shellfish and seaweed on the rocky shoals. Listening to stories and songs by firelight as star spirits glittered over the ocean, watching but uninvolved.
And then there were the long hours talking with a boy who hoped to tame a Wind, teaching him the basic glyphs needed to communicate with the spirits. Seres had even taken an interest and “spoken” with the boy several times, delighting him and surprising Miris. Ney had promised nothing, but ney rather thought he had a good chance, even with a class of spirits who rarely deigned to work with mortals. He respected them, and sought an alliance rather than to enforce his will. Perhaps one day he too would fly a cloudship, as a trader or storyteller or healer or any other of the various roles fliers took.
Miris returned nir focus to the present. By the end of the day, ney planned to restock the Dragonfly’s supplies and trade island treasures for mountain goods that would be of interest in the southern plains. Perhaps ney could even exchange some of the spices and oils for jewels to add to the small collection in the carved box ney kept under the water barrel. Cloudship fliers might not be allowed to handle money, but there were small and valuable items that served just as well as insurance against hard times. Later, when Miris had a better idea of what the merchants in Southpeak and the Stone Islands and Greenfort sought this season, ney would trade the jewels yet again for crates of goods and sail into the markets to bargain.
By the time the bread was gone but for dusty crumbs and only a core remained of the apple, the morning was bright enough for them to continue. Miris traced the glyph of travel on the mast, glancing up to where the Wind waited. Ney caught only a brief glimpse of Seres’s form, the faint outline of a tremendous serpent-dragon formed from wisps of mist, and then with a quiet low roar of elemental strength, the sail filled and they were off.
Miris watched their shadow drift over the ground far below, where the ragged mountain slopes were softened in places by dense green foliage and strung with narrow paths and the almost-invisible entrances to caves and tunnels. Caravans pulled by clever-footed goats wound their slow way up the scrub-littered track carved into the mountainside by generations of traders and travellers. The mountain folk needed no such help to traverse the heights, but as the paths brought the world to them, they maintained them even so.
In the flatlands of the east, or even the centerlands spread between the icy peaks of the north and the mountain-ridged forests of the south, merchants would scoff at the idea of hauling goods so high for a single market. They would buy mountain wool and leather and herbs second-hand, for greater cost, rather than go themselves. Here, the climb was tradition, and lucrative, for the merchants and the customers and for the mountain people who would bring packs to the peak in exchange for a cut of the profit.
Guided by the Wind, the Dragonfly rose up until they cleared the p
eaks and the market ground waited ahead, the bright flags and kites visible even from a distance. Some of the people with the caravans glanced up at the sight of a cloudship overhead, but they were merchants used to travellers from all corners of the world, and it was not a source of excitement to them as it was to people in more remote areas. Though cloudship fliers came from all ranks and lands, their numbers were few. Here at Summertooth Fair, Miris would be surprised if ney didn’t see one or two others before the day was out.
At last they came close enough for Seres to set the Dragonfly down at the crater’s edge, in a divot carved into the bare stone plain that ringed the busy peak. As soon as the cloudship settled in its stone cradle, Miris climbed below to bring out the cargo and an empty basket.
Tattooed across nir arms in silvery-blue ink, bright against deep brown skin, were the same set of Windscript glyphs carved into the Dragonfly’s mast. As Seres set the last box on the flat cart with a delicacy and precision few humans could manage, ney brushed the sign for thanks again, and then the one for onwards motion. Seres coiled around the cart’s handle before Miris could reach for it. Ney did not protest, but let the Wind direct the cart as they headed into the market.
Ney liked to think ney had a better connection to nir Wind than some, but ney knew in nir heart there was no way a mortal could truly understand an elemental spirit. That the Winds would agree to cloudship contracts was already a gift beyond imagining. Smiths’ forges and sailors’ ships and farmers’ fields, all those could carry on without a spirit’s help and had done so for countless generations before the spirits had deigned to assist, but without the grace of a Wind, a cloudship would never leave the ground.
As far as Miris could tell, Seres liked nem, and that was enough.
After the relative quiet of several days of flying peaceful skies, walking into the busy market was like stepping into the waves of the sea. Miris let the chatter and music and sounds of carts wash over nem, enjoying the bustle. Even at this early hour, the fair was active and had been for some time.
The tents and stalls of the Summertooth Fair were arranged in three concentric rings around a central pagoda in which musicians and dancers performed, with gaps at the compass points to allow people to pass in and out. The outermost edge hosted food sellers offering a feast of nearly endless variety: skewers of meat, tiny sweet cakes, vegetables fried and dusted with spices. The air was filled with the mingled scents of cooking and wisps of smoke, and Seres weaved and twisted through it all, tasting the unfamiliar spices. Miris passed a pair of women selling dumplings stuffed with chopped nuts, a large man wrapping ribbons of flatbread around morsels of peppery meat with surprisingly nimble fingers and dipping the tiny packages in a thick reddish sauce.
In short order, Miris traded some of the tea for mountain herbs, packages of dried fruit and meat, and a bag of spiced nuts. Around the other side of the circle, where the food was more of the sort travellers sought rather than treats for fairgoers, ney found dense bread and cured meat and seeds and cheese and small stuffed pastries. Once these were packed away in a crate, ney headed for the next ring.
Ney could better discern the music now, drifting out from the center, classic songs and popular ones and whatever improvisations the musicians could spin from them. In the second ring, with soaps and candles and cutlery and crafts to either side, Miris soon found a soap maker eager to trade a sizable box of his product for some of the oils and dyes Miris brought from the western islands. The carved soaps with their delicate scents would be greatly prized by the noble families of Southpeak, as would the wool from the herds the mountain people kept closely guarded. Ney found ribbons and wooden bowls and goblets, paper and pens and inks, combs and beads and lengths of soft leather, and slowly replaced all of the oils and most of the island spices and tea and all but two of the fans.
The items for sale in the innermost ring were rarer and more precious still - those made with the help of spirits. Iron tools stronger than any others from the presence of Flames in their forges, glass ornaments that swirled with living color, enormous flowers in impossible colors nurtured by earth spirits, spices and medicines grown many times more potent than ordinary plants.
A Flamesmith called to Miris, extolling the virtues of her unbreakable locks. She was one of the mountain people, not human but Kejan, the feline race that called the steep ranges home. The tawny fur on her shoulders and strong arms was dyed with the symbols of her mountain clan. The intricate braids in bright colors edging her felted wool vest likely indicated another affiliation to those who could read them, but Miris didn’t know what it was.
The musicians struck up a familiar tune; Miris paused a moment to watch the dancers at the center of the market in their traditional costumes shift seemingly effortlessly to the new pattern.
A fruit seller pushed slivers of sweet golden melon into Miris’s hands; ney savored the taste but decided against trading for a basket of the fruit. The swirling pendants, however, were too beautiful to pass up. A few minutes of bargaining, and Miris exchanged one of the gold-edged fans for a twisted glass wave on a silk cord - rare in this region, and valued by these merchants - blue and green sparks dancing at its heart in a ceaseless swirl of color. Some noble or wealthy merchant in the sprawling seaside mansions of Southpeak would give a great deal for an item of such beauty to wear alongside their Naming bead. Ney folded it away into an inner pocket of nir vest, and moved on to the next table.
Miris was looking over the richly-hued flowers in their vases of glass ruffles, listening to the grower, a small third-gender with copper blossoms tucked behind nir ears, wax lyrical on the rarity of such plants, when Seres tugged at nir hair.
Surprised, ney turned. Seres rarely showed interest in the proceedings of the markets, except to play with smoke and tangle in streamers or to greet another Wind. Perhaps another cloudship had docked?
Seres tugged again, and Miris followed, letting the Wind lead nem to a lamp-seller’s stall. Ney had nearly forgotten that the Dragonfly needed new lamps, and thought ruefully that ney should have brought the old ones to be refreshed by a Flame spirit, so that ney would not have to return early. But it would be good to get this cargo back to the ship in any case. Ney reached for the tattooed sigil of return… and then something about the lamps on the table caught nir eye.
Unlike typical Flameforged lamps, which contained a twisting warm glow like a candle, these eggs of hollow glass shone with a steady unwavering light, sharp and cool.
In all nir travels, Miris had never seen anything like those lamps.
The lamp seller - a third, by the green bead on nir Naming necklace, edged in merchants’ brass - was an imposing person with hair bound tightly back from a round face that managed to be stern even so. Beside nem stood a slim assistant with uneven reddish hair.
“Belest! Get me another one, the blue,” ney ordered. Nir assistant jumped and ducked down behind the counter to retrieve another lamp. When he rose, Miris saw his Naming necklace - a man’s red Naming bead, but scuffed around the edges as if the metal border had been pried away and the family crest was gouged beyond recognition. Some form of disgrace? But it was not Miris’s place to ask, nor was it why ney was here, and so ney let it pass without comment.
Seres was still roiling around Miris’s shoulders, and the glyph for danger by nir left shoulder was itching. But the Wind did not pull nem away or do anything to answer Miris’s questioning. Ill at ease, Miris inquired about the lamps.
The seller glanced at Miris’s Naming necklace, likely noticing the crystal border and flight glyph in place of a family crest that marked a flier, as if the Wind drifting in tight uneasy circles around nem did not say as much already. Ney introduced nemself as Terthe nib-Rathen. Miris didn’t recognize the family name, but it was probably western by the sound and by the sharp lines of the crest.
“Trust me, Windsworn, you will not find better,” ney said of the lamps. Miris shook nir head at the lofty title.
“Miris nib-Seres,” ney
corrected, and then said of the lamps. “These are fascinating.”
“They’re made with crystals from the north that please the Flame while they’re blown,” the assistant added. Terthe turned a brief chiding look at him, nir eyes narrowed a moment and nir hand on the table tightened in an aggressive fist.
“No others have mastered the technique,” ney said, turning back to Miris, voice still calm despite the flash of anger. “See-” Ney swept a length of stiff black cloth from a shelf and rolled it in a cylinder around the lamp, to better show its glow. In the dark, the light seemed somehow less harsh, almost comforting. “They will not fade, and they will last far longer,” Terthe promised.
Miris left with one of the unusual lamps, for the price of the remaining fan and a slim bottle of saffron. Belest, under Terthe’s unkind eye, wrapped it in cloth and nestled it in Miris’s basket before ney departed. Miris walked back through the three rings of the market, Seres gusting in uneasy spirals beside nem, making nir tattoos twinge and burn. What could possibly have unsettled the Wind so?
Ney was almost back at the docks when Seres abruptly surged through nir basket, lifting the lamp free of its wrappings and sending it crashing to the stone at Miris’s feet.
Miris leapt back, expecting a burst of flame, flying glass, anything but the spark of living light that coalesced under the glittering shards and then shot up towards the sky, leaving behind scorched stone and a smell like lightning. Another moment, and Miris recognized what ney had seen. A Star spirit. A Star spirit, that had been trapped inside a lamp.
Seres roared like thunder and dove back into the market, tearing flags from poles and sending scarves flying like leaves. Miris had never seen such fury from nir Wind, not in all their years of partnership, and it frightened nem, though not as much as finding a Star locked inside a glass lamp frightened nem.
