The Cloudship Trader

by Kate Diamond

  “Does that help?”

  “I think it does,” Miris said, standing. “Thank you. We’ll go to Hawkridge and ask there.”

  “And if I see one of these false charms?” Kasrin called after them. “How do I free the spirit?”

  Miris paused, took a visible breath, and turned back, eyes fierce. “Break it,” ney said, voice sharp-edged. “If it’s frozen, put it in a fire.”

  “So I will. And I’ll tell the others too, so we can all be on watch. I wish you luck on your travels, and may the gods go at your side.”

  They left the village and made their way back along the ridge to the Dragonfly. Seres met them halfway back and accompanied them the rest of the way, circling over their heads and deflecting the chill gusts that would otherwise have blown in their faces. Once onboard the cloudship, they followed the ridge a while longer, looking for the road to Hawkridge. Belest pointed out the trail-markers as they passed, tall columns of angled stone carved with numbers in a language that predated most of the villages.

  They had only just lifted clear of the peaks when something struck them, shoving the Dragonfly off its course. Miris hurried to correct it, but ney had barely managed to turn the ship back when the same force slammed into them again, this time from the other side. But what was it? There was nothing in the air around them… except, Belest finally saw, an icy disturbance rushing alongside them, and then another, throwing frozen shards where they passed. Belest followed the motion, caught a vague glimpse of what could only be Seres fighting against the combined might of several other Winds. He realized with a shudder that there might be no child-eating monsters in these mountains, but there were spirits who knew these slopes far better than they, spirits who guarded their territory with ferocious zeal.

  Miris swore. “No! Not this! Go away! We’re here to help!” ney yelled, but the Winds took no notice of nir pleas. They circled tighter and tighter, until Belest could barely see a scrap of empty sky.

  The entire ship shook, sending Belest tumbling bruising-hard into a railing. Something buffeted him from behind, allowing him to regain his balance - Seres, protecting him?

  “Get down!” Miris cried over the endless roaring. Belest threw himself to the deck, holding tight to one of the ropes. It did no good against an attack from all sides to hide himself behind a crate, but it at least shielded his face from the onslaught of frozen debris with which the wild Winds lashed them. Belest waited, crouched there as the cold tore through the air around them, thoughts lost to the howling storm.

  The Dragonfly abruptly dropped as Seres sought to evade the Winds. Belest felt as much as heard the ship scraping against an outcropping of rock; he cringed at the horrifying sound of cracking wood. They smacked into the snowy ground with a bone-jarring thud. And then the chaos ceased, the storm abated. When Belest dared open his eyes he opened them on a clear sky. The wild Winds were nowhere to be seen. Seres circled them, almost anxiously, brushing gently against Belest and Miris.

  Miris hurried to his side. “Are you hurt?”

  Gasping, Belest dragged himself to his feet and checked himself over. The exposed skin at his neck and wrists stung, chafed raw by the icy Winds. His palms were red and burned from clutching the rope, and he ached where he had been thrown against the ship’s rail, but otherwise he was unscathed.

  “I’m all right,” he reported. “Are you?”

  “I’m fine. But- the ship-”

  Belest looked up, and his heart clenched at what he saw. The sail, torn in a dozen places, still fluttering weakly. And the great mast, cracked just above Miris’s head. Not broken, but close enough to it, and more than enough to keep them grounded.

  Miris leapt from the deck into the snow and paced around to where they had struck the edge of the mountain. Belest heard nir breath catch and climbed down to join nem. An ugly gash stood out on the ship’s wide flank, not quite deep enough to tear through the hull but wider than Belest’s hand and bristling with splinters. Seres floated alongside them, closer than Belest had ever seen before, as if trying to comfort Miris.

  “How bad is this?” he asked into Miris’s silence, afraid of what answer ney might give.

  “It’s… it’s mendable,” ney said, and let out a heavy sigh. “But I can’t do it alone. We can’t do it alone. Not here. We need a shipwright.” Ney swore again, and Belest noticed ney was shaking faintly.

  That morning there might have been a trail leading back the way they’d come, but the wild Winds’ fury had sent a mound of snow and stones tumbling down the ridge. It was only a small avalanche, hardly the stuff of adventure tales, and yet it had blocked the tight valley and left the path impassable.

  “We can find help,” Belest said, trying to believe it. “In one of the villages, or a Kejan clan.”

  Miris nodded, but did not look at him. “We’ll have to,” ney agreed, flatly. “We should start now.”

  “Towards Hawkridge?” It would take a long time, perhaps the rest of the day, but he thought he could find the way.

  “Yes. Wait.” Miris climbed back up to the deck of the cloudship and disappeared inside. Ney returned several minutes later with a bag strapped to nir back and another in nir arms.

  “Here.” Ney handed it to Belest. “Food, supplies. Hopefully enough for a few days. And I have some… valuables, in case we need to bargain.”

  Would the people here demand that a flier in such desperate need trade for aid? Perhaps not the people of Lark’s Valley or Brightstone, he thought, but Terthe certainly would. Kela would. Or perhaps it was merely caution, and a desire to bring the most valuable of nir possessions with them rather than leave them on the damaged cloudship where a passing traveler might loot them. He winced at the thought of an uncaring stranger intruding on the Dragonfly while it waited, alone and vulnerable, for its flier to return with the means to repair it.

  Miris adjusted nir pack. “Come,” ney ordered, forcing Belest to finally pull his eyes away from the wound in the cloudship’s side.

  They continued north on foot. After days of travel by cloudship, the pace seemed impossibly, painfully slow. And there was no certainty that they would even reach a settlement by nightfall. Like all children of the mountains, Belest had been taught how to survive if stranded, but still he hoped it would not become necessary to retrieve those lessons from whatever recesses of his head they had hidden themselves in. He said very little as they walked, because there was nothing to say. Not while the Dragonfly lay damaged and they wandered through the mountains chasing secondhand gossip. At least the Winds mostly ignored them now that they were on the ground. From time to time Belest caught glimpses of them soaring around the peaks, showering the paths below with snow. Seres kept close, seeming almost subdued, to Belest’s untrained eye. What did the Wind think of this? Did the spirit mourn the damage done to the cloudship, or fear what might await them as they ventured deeper and deeper into the range? Somehow he doubted a human - or any mortal person - could ever understand a spirit’s mind.

  Perhaps two hours had passed in that uncomfortable quiet when voices drifted to them from a ridge just above their heads. Miris grabbed Belest’s arm and dragged him to a position from which they could watch and listen.

  There on the ridge, just outside the entrance to a cavern, stood two people. One was a Kejan man, thick golden fur tipped with brown at his ears and tail. That tail lashed impatiently as he talked, sweeping over the snow at his feet. His companion was a human, or at least Belest guessed they were, for they were bundled in so many layers of furs and cloaks that it was hard to be certain.

  “It will be worth your time,” the Kejan was saying.

  “I’m not doing this without protection, Harsa,” the human growled.

  The smugglers at Northford had spoken of a Harsa. Miris and Belest crept closer.

  “You think I haven’t planned for that?” Harsa shot back. “My mercenaries will meet you at the pass. They’re humans, they’ll attract no attention.”

  The human considered thi
s. “How do you know I won’t just run off with the money when I’m done?”

  Harsa didn’t seem troubled by the possibility. “Because you’ll want more, and there’s no getting more without me.” He showed his fangs in an unsubtle threat. “And my friends will accompany you back, of course.”

  “And how many of your hirelings have returned in one piece?”

  Harsa’s tail curled. “Enough of them.”

  “I plan to be among that number.” The human held out a purse. Harsa reached into a bag at his hip. Before they could complete the exchange, Seres roared out ahead of them and knocked the Kejan to the ground just in front of the cave mouth. Miris and Belest climbed up onto the ridge in time to see his human companion flee into the cave.

  Harsa scrambled to his feet, pulled something from his bag, checking it over furtively for damage. A slim wooden box, lid bordered with winding knots. Seres howled and barreled at him yet again, a merciless storm of sharp edges and freezing, reaching tendrils, tearing the case from Harsa’s claws. It struck the uneven ground edge-first. The latch burst open with a harsh snap, sending pale gems - frozen Stars - skittering across the ground. Most of them woke moments later and shot into the sky, searing bright streaks into Belest’s vision and leaving behind damp patches of meltwater. When the sparks cleared, one gem remained, sitting utterly still on the snowy stones in a circle of cold light.

  “Ha!” Harsa spat, and knelt to retrieve his prize. The moment his fingers closed around the Star, it erupted into flame, engulfing his hand and arm.

  Harsa screamed.

  The Spirit Trader

  Harsa writhed, stumbled, and to his immense fortune came down in a snowdrift, which doused the flames handily. But the damage was done. A hideous stench of burning fur rose up from Harsa’s wrist, and his breath came in strained hisses. He raised his head to glare hatred at Miris, ears pinned flat with pain. Seres gusted menacingly between him and Miris, whipping the snow into small spirals of ice. Miris glanced down the cave’s gullet but saw nothing. The human trader was long gone.

  “You!” Harsa hissed. “Who are you? What gives you the right to attack me?”

  “How did you do it? Where are the others?” Miris demanded.

  Harsa snarled. “Do you think I’m going to tell you?”

  Seres lashed at him again, sending him scrambling back a few paces.

  “How-” His eyes narrowed. “A cloudship flier?”

  “Yes. A trader.”

  “As am I. Leave me to my work.” He walked past them and continued along the ridge. Harsa carried only a small pack, as had the human trader. There must be a settlement somewhere nearby, or at least an outpost or campsite. And Miris was not going to let him out of nir sight. Ney followed, Belest at nir side.

  Harsa growled. “Leave! Fly away and let me work.”

  He could not know that they were stranded here, but the reminder of the downed cloudship did not make Miris any more sympathetic towards him. He scrambled through a crevice; Miris and Belest followed after him. When ney caught up with him, he was crouching by a snowdrift and had wrapped a scrap of damp cloth around his burned arm.

  He looked up at them and hissed. “You use a spirit for your own needs, Windsworn,” he accused, turning the title into a curse. “Why deny the rest of us that right?”

  “I don’t imprison unwilling spirits,” Miris retorted, voice icy. “And I don’t use them either, like you do. I have a cloudship contract with Seres. An agreement that we will aid each other.”

  “And what do you use it for?” Harsa led them onwards, leaping over a pile of stones that blocked the path. “I know how your kind lives. Flitting around, sharing quaint little foreign luxuries with those who can afford them.” He glared. “You fliers might disdain money, but that isn’t an option for the rest of us. We have to find a living where we can.”

  The pouch of jewels Miris had taken from its hidden compartment on the Dragonfly weighed heavier in nir pocket.

  “There are a thousand ways to live that aren’t this,” ney returned.

  “Why not make what use of all that we can? It’s no different than building a house of wood or stone, or yoking an ox to a plow.” He glared back at them, eyes narrowed. “Or raising a hog to slaughter.”

  Miris bristled. “They aren’t animals.”

  “And they’re not people either. Even if you believe they’re alive, they live forever. What time we use them for is not even a fraction of that.”

  And that made it right to take them from the sky against their will?

  “It doesn’t make what you’ve done any less cruel. We have no right to steal them. I’ve flown with Seres for years. I know for truth that spirits have minds and feelings. Maybe different ones from ours, but real ones, and far more than animals.” Ney kicked snow from the path with more force than necessary. “And a farmer would not encase a hog or an ox in glass,” ney added, knowing it was a petty argument but far too angry to stay quiet. Such disgusting justifications for such terrible things. How many Stars had he captured? How many others worked alongside him? And how many had bought what he sold?

  They walked on. Harsa eventually slowed his pace, as if he had accepted the fact that he could not outrun Miris and Belest, or cause them to lose his trail.

  They reached an open valley, the unreachable grey sky stretched above them. If ney had nir ship, they could have flown above the suffocating clouds, but they were trapped here instead. And for how long?

  A harsh whistling was their only warning before a Wind dove from the heights, trailing ice. Seres thrashed over their heads, fighting the spirit, deflecting the worst of the attacks away from the people below. Protecting them.

  Harsa watched, eyes locked on the battle. What did he think of it, Miris wondered, to see a spirit who he had deemed less even than a beast defend friends?

  The wild Wind at last gave up the attack and spiraled away. Seres calmed, brushed gently against Miris’s cheek. Under the heavy layers of fabric ney could feel the tattooed glyphs heat, and without looking knew which they were: storm, onwards, safety.

  If only Harsa could hear the Wind speak, perhaps he would understand.

  ◆◆◆

  Belest hadn’t hiked this far and this long since those childhood adventures seeking lost goats. It was more difficult than he remembered, and he longed for a minute’s respite, for better shoes, for a hearthfire to return to come evening. “Miris. Can we rest a moment?” he pleaded, several hours after they’d set out following Harsa. He was tired enough to be dragging his feet, and Miris had barely slept the night before.

  Miris grumbled an agreement. They found a place on the path that offered boulders large enough to sit on, which Belest did with great relief.

  “How weak,” Harsa taunted, watching them.

  “You could leave us,” Belest said.

  “And have you running after me later? I’d rather wait.”

  Miris looked up. “You need us,” ney said. “You’re afraid of the Winds.”

  Harsa said nothing in reply. He took his bag from his shoulder, hissing when the strap rubbed against his wrist.

  Belest massaged his aching legs, searched through the bag Miris had given him. Dried meat and dense bread, a canteen of water, a short knife in a leather sheath, a tightly-rolled blanket. His fingers closed on something smooth and hard. He pulled it from the bag and saw that it was a stout glass jar half-full of a thick greyish salve. The peeling label read, in neat, tight handwriting, Numbing Ointment, followed by a curling glyph that Belest recognized from the Brightblade’s sail. He looked from the jar to the Kejan kneeling at the edge of the ridge, pressing a handful of snow to his burns.

  “Harsa,” he called, before he could think better of it. And then, so that he could not take it back, “Use this.” He held out the jar.

  Several tense and uncertain moments passed, in which Harsa glared at him suspiciously, eyes dulled with pain, and then he stood, approached, and with his good hand snatched the jar from Belest�
��s palm. He studied the label, then tried to wrestle the lid off one-handed.

  “Let me-” Belest tried, reaching for it, but Harsa growled and turned away from him.

  Miris watched them, eyes narrowing. “Is that the ointment Arden gave me?”

  “He needs it, Miris,” he protested. A few paces away, Harsa had managed to open the jar unassisted. He held the lid clamped in his teeth as he rubbed the salve onto his wounds, letting the metal muffle his small sounds of discomfort. Miris did not say anything more.

  By the time they wordlessly agreed to continue on, Harsa’s breathing had steadied somewhat, and it was only with obvious reluctance that he returned the jar to Belest. He offered no words of gratitude, but he did not snap either, which was surely an improvement. Belest did not need to be thanked to know the salve had eased Harsa’s pain a great deal.

  They walked on, along an icy ridge marked here and there with stone wayposts. Harsa still refused to tell them where it led, but he needed shelter as much as they did, so Belest doubted he intended to lead them in circles or off a cliff. But wherever their destination lay, it was far away. The sun dipped lower in the sky and the air grew colder. Miris and Harsa continued to argue, though there was less venom in Harsa’s voice since they’d rested.

  By the pace ney set, Belest could easily believe Miris intended to travel all night, despite nir obvious fatigue. But soon the light faded beyond the point where even a Kejan could safely navigate, and they were forced to make camp in a shallow cave.

  First, they needed a fire. They gathered the dry weeds that sprung up from crevices. A herd of animals had passed by recently, leaving behind dry dung that served well as additional fuel. The fire they managed to light was small, and smoky, and it smelled, but not intolerably. It was warm, which was all that mattered. Seres hovered by the cave’s entrance, wafting away the smoke and keeping cold gusts from sneaking in. The three of them sat around the fire, nibbling at the food from their packs and wrapping blankets tight around their shoulders.