“Rough sailing?” asked Trayde, pulling up on her horse.
“They lost several crates of our loot,” said Casmia. “Who knows how much was lost to the bottom of the lake. This is why I advised taking the safe route and going around.”
“Ah we didn’t lose all that much,” said Wulshe. “And what an adventure!”
“For you, perhaps. You rode in the dry boat,” said Onet, wringing out the drenched hem of his robe onto the other man’s shoes. Wulshe shoved him off with a huff of laughter.
Before they reattached the roof or reloaded the cargo from the roof-boat onto the wagon, the party lifted it so that Oleja could refasten the runners to the bottom. The sun sank beneath the westward-pointing limb of the lake as they got the wagon reassembled and replenished their supply of water. Hylde wound her way around the outside of the wagon, inspecting the sides.
“Here! I found the leak,” she said, pointing. The party crowded around to see. “Two holes here on the side.” She poked her finger into each one in turn. Casmia stooped to inspect them.
Oleja didn’t need to look to know exactly what they were—the holes from her mobile tinkering tray, the modification she and Trayde put together. Her own foolishness swirled around her, drowning her in embarrassment. She nearly sank the entire wagon because she forgot about the tiny holes that she herself carved in the side. With a quick glance, she met Trayde’s eyes. Understanding, regret, and just a hint of amusement played out on the girl’s face in a great conflicting battle. Foolish, but they all survived in the end—minus the belongings that now decorated the dark depths of the lake. Perhaps one day when it had truly dried up, Casmia could return and reclaim them.
If she could manage it, and if Trayde’s face did not betray her involvement, Oleja intended to keep the nature of the holes a secret from Casmia. The raider captain had spat enough fire in her direction. And Oleja, caught in the midst of the feud kindled between them, already sank so far in over her head that she might as well have been alongside the cast out items at the bottom of the lake.
Chapter Thirteen
The tension in the air followed them, too stubborn to stay behind. It weighed heavy enough upon them that if Oleja had found a means by which to throw it over the side of the wagon back in the middle of the lake, its absence alone would have lifted them up out of their predicament and—quite likely—into the sky.
They followed along the lakeshore heading west. The terrain on their right was rocky and steep, the base of a line of hills. In some places the slopes ran right up to the waterline, forcing them up towards the peaks until they could descend back to the banks.
Night descended in full shortly after. They made camp on a dry spot of land near the water, far enough away that they were in no great danger of finding their campsite splashed; they all agreed they’d had enough unplanned water for the day.
“Gleathon, Trayde, Dirin—pull out the tents and get them set up here,” said Casmia. “That is, if we still have them.”
Oleja shot her a look, but Casmia failed to notice, or at least pretended she did. Oleja had made sure not to throw anything important into the lake, only extra loot from the ruins. Tents were important supplies and would have been among the last things to go.
The trio set to work on the tents. Hylde got a fire started while Onet and Kella prepared their supper. Casmia pulled Jeth aside to discuss some features on her map, leaving Oleja alone without a duty. She highly doubted it was by anything but explicit design. After a few minutes jumping between groups and attempting to look busy, she gave up and wandered down to the water’s edge. Slick gravel blanketed the beach. Water ran between the rocks, rippling and pooling in tiny channels as waves sloshed against the land. Rocks more significant in size dotted the dark shoreline, and on one around which the waves surged in gentle rhythm, Oleja found a place to sit.
She sat cross-legged at first, keeping her feet from the water that flowed around her, but soon pulled off her boots and lowered her feet to let the cold water run over them.
Ude would have liked it by the lake. He always enjoyed sitting by the village river. In his age, he was no longer expected to work in the mines. He sometimes spent his days making clothes or pottery, and he rather enjoyed hanging around Oleja’s workshop, carving new scenes into her workbench or prodding her for a nerve to strike, but no rule required him to do more for the village. Leisure was the gift of living to see an old age, reserved for those lucky enough to bypass the most common cause of death: mining accidents. In Ude’s case, few in the village were particularly happy about his luck. They disliked his presence enough when he contributed to their survival—having him around as a freeloader did no favors for their detestation of him. Of all the reasons they wrongfully wanted him dead, it just added another item to the list.
But Ude ignored them and enjoyed his time nonetheless. His days spent at the riverside were his favorites—at least he told Oleja so. He could watch the water course by for hours, wave caps gleaming in the midday sun. Oleja sat with him sometimes. She couldn’t stand to do it often—the act of sitting and watching the water seemed too unproductive for her. She needed to do something—to feel like her time meant something. But sometimes, on slow days, she could sit with him for a short while. During those times he told her about the river—something he seemed to be able to do at great length, despite how clearly defined and uninteresting it seemed to her. He liked to watch it, he said, because it was the only thing that came and went from the village. Sure, births and deaths created a cycle of faces—skyborn children marking the most unique of the bunch. The eclipsers lowered down food, and threw junk into The Heap, but once those things arrived, they never left. The river was just passing through. It came in through the grate in the north wall, ran down the length of the canyon, and then left, out through the grate in the south wall and back into the world. Neither the eclipsers nor the canyon walls made any effort to hold it back; they allowed it to move about as it pleased. The river was free.
News of the outside world never came to the village, but Ude said he learned of it from the voice of the river, from the words it spoke as it flowed over the shores and pooled through the channels. Sometimes Oleja thought for sure the man had lost it.
She kicked up a wave of water, sending ripples across the surface. She would see Ude again. She had to go back, and when she did, he’d be there waiting. He couldn’t exactly go anywhere. But when she saw him again, she could never admit to how much she missed his company in her time away. He’d never let that one go.
Footsteps crunching in the gravel caught her attention.
“Food’s ready,” said Hylde.
Oleja turned her head to the side an inch, though not enough to see the woman behind her. “Thank you. I will be over in a moment.”
Hylde did not leave immediately. Oleja was about to ask if she needed something else when she spoke again.
“You’re thinking about someone you miss,” she said, her voice quiet. “Is it your parents?”
“In a sense, yes.”
Hylde stepped up to the waterline to stand beside Oleja. The waves swelled around her bare feet.
“I’m sorry if it’s not my place. Kella told me about the conversation the two of you had the other night. Forgive her if it was not something you wanted her to share, I did pry from her the source of her tears.”
“It’s all right, it’s no big secret.”
Hylde nodded. “We all had a stressful afternoon—you and Quinje most of all. Sometimes we think of those we miss in the wake of fear.” Hylde paused as she worked through her next words. “I’m sorry about your parents. Losing those we love is never easy. And I’m sorry about Casmia. She tries her best, and most of the time she does have everyone’s best interest in mind, but she doesn’t take well to being challenged. Concerning herself more with the cargo than with yours and Quinje’s lives, though—I cannot condone that.”
Any words Oleja could have strung together into a response refused to come to he
r. She nodded instead.
“I will leave and give you a few more moments alone,” said Hylde. “But just know that should you ever need it, for a moment of advice or for a lifetime, you are welcome to come to me if you need a mother.”
If Oleja had been unable to find the right words before, words may as well have not existed at all in the moments that followed. Hylde took her leave as she said she would, but somehow Oleja felt her presence there for many long minutes after.
Morning passed in a blur, and as the sun climbed to midday its rays subjected the party to their hottest day yet. As they walked, Oleja noticed how different the terrain had become compared to the canyon. It had been a steady change, making it hard to detect overtime, but as she thought back to the rusty color of the sand and stone of the canyon and surrounding wilderness, she realized that the orange color had faded over the course of her travels. Now, brown rock and beige sand comprised the landscape. Some pockets still retained that orange hue of her village, but in most places that color was muted or gone.
The heat grew harsher as well. Even under her robe—which had served well so far in keeping her cool—sweat dripped down her forehead and spine, soaking into her clothes and adding to the discomfort. Late afternoon marked their parting from the shores of the lake, which did them no favors in dealing with the heat. Without the ability to stray down to the waterline to splash water on their faces, trudging over the hills and through the sand became even more unbearable. But as they crested a tall range of hills, they got their first glimpse of the destination Casmia had promised.
Ruins rose up on the horizon. None of them had doubted for a moment that ruins marked the end of their path; the question revolved more around what made them so noteworthy. What set them apart as awe-inspiring, “something like none of them had ever seen” as Casmia claimed, was the immensity of them. Towers stood taller than any hill, some perhaps even taller than the walls of the canyon Oleja had spent her years looking up at. They cast enormous dark shadows across a flat, sandy landscape below, dotted with smaller crumbling structures, though even the smallest of them looked several times larger than those in the other ruins. Still, few looked to retain the elements of the buildings they once were. Imagining them in their prime painted an image beyond belief. How could anyone have made structures so tall?
They couldn’t reach the ruins by nightfall, though the sight of their destination increased the morale that suffered in the heat, which kept them moving until darkness fell. With the darkness came cooler air—a relief beyond words.
They made camp and talked excitedly about the ruins over their meal, theorizing about life in the Old World. No one, not even Casmia, could guess at why anyone needed buildings so large. Oleja doubted there were enough people alive in the entire world to fill even one.
After eating, Oleja sat to the side with Kella to work on her glider. Kella worked diligently on a contraption of unknown function, though it included a bit that spun which made it neat enough all on its own as Oleja told her. Her glider was coming together nicely as well—she finished the frame, fastened all of the hinges into place, which held the arms in their proper spots, and built the release mechanism, though it shifted about loosely without a spring. She still worked to whittle away extra wood on the sides of the frame to keep the arms from scraping on them as they swung out. After that, she needed to add the springs—which she had collected most of, though not all—the straps, and then stretch the fabric across the arms and fasten it into place.
“How does this look?” asked Kella. She pushed her work over for Oleja to see. The purpose still remained a mystery despite the evening’s additions.
“Looks great,” said Oleja, hoping her smile said more than her lack of words. Kella pulled it back close and set to work tightening some loose bits.
She flipped it around, letting the spinning element whirl about. “When is my first lesson with my bow?” she asked, though she kept her focus on her work.
“You’re persistent,” said Oleja. “Dedication is the sign of a good student. How about tomorrow night in the ruins after our day’s work?”
Kella threw her hands in the air. “Yes! Finally. And I’ll hold you to it.”
“I expect nothing less, Sky-eyes.”
Thunder rolled across the land. Oleja looked at the night sky. Clouds were few and far between, and no streaks of lightning cut through the blackness. A crashing in the brush off in the shadows snapped her attention back to the earth. Not thunder, a growl. Oleja got to her feet in an instant, maneuvering between Kella and the noise.
Black and yellow streaks emerged from the brush. Clawed feet dug into the sand. Beady black eyes found Oleja’s. She nocked an arrow.
“On your right!” shouted Onet as a blur cut through the shadows in her peripherals. A second mutant lunged for her, but just before it struck her a spear sailed through the air, finding its mark deep in the exposed underbelly of the creature. It roared as it staggered back into the long dry grass, but two more took its place, flanking it as they stepped forth.
The raiders raced forwards with weapons drawn—Onet with a second spear at his side, Wulshe and Trayde each with a sword, and Jeth with two. Hylde grabbed two small axes that she typically used to cut up branches for their fires. Even Pahlo, though he moved forward in timid hesitation, wielded a sword given to him by Casmia and which Jeth and Wulshe trained him in the use of. Oleja drew back her arrow and aimed for the eye of the leading beast.
“Raseari!” shouted Casmia, the tone of frustration she so commonly wore already plain in her voice. “Where is my sword?”
Oleja loosed her arrow. It caught the mutant in the shoulder and its advance slowed. “How should I know?” she shouted back without shifting her gaze.
“It was in the wagon you so kindly unloaded!”
Oleja fired another arrow into the mutant’s ribs. It screeched and clawed at the wound.
“I only threw spares overboard!”
“My sword is not a spare!”
“Well good, then I didn’t throw it overboard!”
The mutant was on her now, lashing out with razor-like claws. With her free hand, Oleja drew her curved knife and caught the advancing strike, slicing into the soft scales of the beast’s palm. Trayde finished the job—with two swift strikes, the mutant’s head found itself no longer attached to the rest of it, a sure sign that they no longer needed to worry about it attacking.
Oleja risked a glance back to where Casmia’s voice came from. The woman tore through the contents of the wagon, but it seemed her luck was nowhere to be found.
Dropping her knife into the sand, Oleja went for another arrow and unloaded it into the hide of the first mutant, which Wulshe staved off with his sword as it charged him. The arrow stuck in its neck and the beast recoiled, giving Wulshe an opening to slice a cut across its right eye and jaw. An axe flew through the air and sunk deep into the thing’s face. It twitched as it fell to the ground, dark blood dripping down its snout and staining the sand below it.
Another beast snapped at Oleja. She sidestepped the blow. Jeth cleaved at it with his swords, but it skirted underneath and swiped at his legs. Sharp claws raked across his right thigh, eliciting a grunt as blood bloomed across the front of his white robe, staining the tattered fabric with red streaks. He plunged a blade into its shoulder. It hissed and stepped back.
Oleja kicked the beast hard in the snout, causing it to whirl and face her. She unloaded an arrow into its foreleg, and as it reared up, she sent another straight through its throat. It fell into the sand, dead.
The one with Onet’s spear in its belly emitted a low, rumbling growl as Pahlo brandished his sword at it. The beast tried to slam him with its tail, but he scampered back. Then, as if remembering the blade in his hands, he swung, cutting a deep gash in its tail and side. As Oleja reached for another arrow, movement on her right caught her attention.
Kella rushed forward, Oleja’s knife in her hands. The mutant turned to see her as she ran up and
thrust the blade forward. It sank to the hilt into the scaly neck, and at last all four of the beasts lay still.
Oleja’s breaths came heavy. The other raiders around her echoed her gasping. Wulshe and Hylde went to assist Jeth in bandaging and cleaning his wound.
“Sorry,” said Kella, approaching Oleja with the knife held out and her head tilted down, though it didn’t hide the smile playing at the edges of her lips. “I saw it on the ground and grabbed it. I wanted to help.”
“Don’t apologize, that was fantastic!” Oleja took the knife back and sheathed it. “We will make you a master archer soon, and then you won’t have to go around picking up other people’s weapons from the ground.” Kella beamed, but the exchange was cut short when Casmia approached them.
“Raseari, would you like to tell me where my sword is?” she asked.
“Probably exactly where you left it. I didn’t throw it into the lake.”
“Hmm. Well, the funny thing is that I checked where I left it, and it doesn’t seem to be there. But I distinctly remember watching you throw plenty of things to the bottom of the lake. Why don’t you go check down there for me?” Malice dripped from her words.
“Was it in the big metal bucket in the corner? About…” Oleja made the shape with her arms, “this big?”
“No, those were all spares. Mine was on the shelf by the gate.”
“Then that’s where it should still be, because the only swords I threw overboard were those in the bucket.”
Casmia narrowed her eyes as she studied Oleja, her gaze cold and unwavering. “That’s a lie and you know it.”
Heat rose in Oleja’s face. “I am not a liar.”
Skyborn Page 14