The Floating Islands

by Rachel Neumeier

  She had been kneeling by Master Tnegun, watching his slow breathing and assuring herself that he would be fine. She didn’t think he had overextended—he didn’t look nearly as dead as Tichorei had. So she looked up at the prince and nodded, hoping this was all true. She let the prince lead her away from the pool to stand at the edge of the cliffs at the top of Kotipa and stare across the sea toward Milendri. So when the power of the Tolounnese mages failed and the kajuraihi led the dragon winds down from the heights, they saw the result plainly.

  The winds drove the sea into violence before them, so that the Tolounnese ships staggered where they lay and struggled to turn their prows to the increasingly powerful waves; one ship, still anchored by its boarding ladder to the stone of Milendri above, released its ladder too slowly to come around. A great wave rose across its length, and Araenè put her hands over her mouth as the whole ship rolled over, broached, and went down. She knew she couldn’t hear the screams of the men on that ship, not over this distance, not over the roar of the savage wind. But she imagined she could hear them.

  A Quei swept between the waves, tiny at this distance, the sun striking its plumage to iridescent emerald fire. The bird rode the violent winds with nonchalant skill. Two kajuraihi, wings crimson as the lowering sun, followed the bird. The men were almost as indifferent as the Quei to the violent winds and surging sea. One of them tilted his wings, skimmed along the leading edge of a wave, and flung something neatly against the side of another ship: fire bloomed, and again Araenè imagined screams.

  The remaining Tolounnese ships fled. Kajuraihi pursued them, riding the storm winds, fire in their hands.

  “I should be with them,” Prince Ceirfei said in a low voice, staring after the kajuraihi. He stood on the sheer edge of the cliffs, perfectly at home with the winds that shredded around the rocks. His dark hair whipped in the wind. Araenè was afraid a particularly fierce gust might blow him right off the edge, but he seemed fearless. He looked exactly like a prince should, she thought. And extravagantly good-looking, though she had no business thinking that. He glanced at her just then, and she blushed and looked down—then up again.

  “What are you thinking?” the prince asked curiously.

  Araenè could hardly answer that. She asked quickly, before she could blush again, “The dragon wanted something from you, didn’t it? You told it that you weren’t bargaining, that we wouldn’t protest the cost.” She paused, added uncertainly, “Isn’t that what you told it? But what cost …?”

  Prince Ceirfei shook his head, not as though he was refusing to answer, but more as though he simply did not know how to put the answer into words. He said at last, “The destruction of Teraica is a price the Tolounnese paid for their defeat: they might have brought the ruin of their city on themselves, but no one could deserve what happened to Teraica. The wind dragon became fire and gave up the sky; that was the price the wind dragons paid for our victory. But what our cost will be, eventually … that I do not know. But I know that we will have no choice but to pay it.” He looked very serious. “Only, what other choice did I have but to promise anything I must, when your Master Tnegun put a chance of victory, all unlooked for, in my hand?”

  “Yes,” said Araenè. “I mean, of course there wasn’t any other choice.”

  “No. But I hope the Tolounnese … One is never entirely certain what they will consider a legitimate act of war and what an uncivilized act of barbarism.”

  Araenè was not entirely certain she understood why it mattered what the Tolounnese thought, but she didn’t want to ask Prince Ceirfei to explain. She tried to look curious and attentive.

  “Hundreds must be dead, hundreds more wounded,” the prince told her quietly, which she had known already. But he added, turning his gaze at last toward Milendri, “Thousands of Tolounnese soldiers will have been stranded in Canpra. If they will not surrender, how many more will die before they can be defeated?”

  “Can they be defeated?” Araenè asked doubtfully.

  “It’s true we have no soldiers,” the prince said, understanding her doubt, “but we have broken their power. Our dragons have returned to our sky. Our mages will recover, and theirs have been driven away. They have no supply, no reserves, no support, no mages. They can achieve only a brief and temporary victory. But …”

  Araenè nodded. Even a brief, temporary Tolounnese victory could hurt Canpra badly. She bit her lip. “Surely they will surrender? Won’t they see what you see, won’t they understand they have to surrender now?”

  “Those are Tolounnese soldiers,” Prince Ceirfei said grimly. “They are not accustomed to surrender. They may not be able to hold the city for very long. But it would be better for us all if they did not establish that fact through practical experience.” He paused. Then he added, “If they are to surrender, they must have someone to surrender to. Someone of proper authority who can persuade them of the wisdom of that course.”

  “Oh,” said Araenè, understanding him at last. And then asked doubtfully, “But is it safe for you to go to them?”

  “I think so. They are Tolounnese. Honor is everything to them. To them, this has been something like a game, to be played according to honorable rules,” Prince Ceirfei added, irony edging his tone. “It’s important they view us as playing by those rules as well. They prize courage and directness, I believe.” He paused. “Your master came to me because he needed a kajurai. Now … I think now the need is for a prince.” He glanced sidelong at Araenè. “Though perhaps you should remain here, in case I am mistaken. Truly, there are few places safer in all the Islands.”

  “No!” Araenè glared at the prince. “If Master Tnegun can’t help you, then you’ll need me!”

  “I do,” conceded the prince. “Open me a door, Araenè. Something useful. Preferably something that will take us near, but not too near, the ranking Tolounnese officer. A place with a view, ideally, so that we can see what we’re stepping into.”

  Araenè’s glare had turned into a stare of surprise at this very specific request. “A door?”

  “If you can,” said the prince. His eyes met hers, measuring.

  Araenè stared at him for another heartbeat. She was afraid she was blushing again.… She shut her eyes. A door. Master Tnegun said she had an affinity for doors. There would be a door when she opened her eyes. Standing off to one side, set right into the air of the mountain slopes. Not a door to the hidden school. Something helpful. The sort of door that would open to a high balcony near … Where would the Tolounnese forces be? She had no idea how to coax a door to find a Tolounnese officer she’d never even met. Where would such an officer be? Near the center of the First City? Near the court ministry? In the ministry? Prince Ceirfei said he thought the Tolounnese could take Canpra; maybe they already had?

  She opened her eyes. Turned her head.

  The Akhan Bhotounn, the “friendly door,” stood near at hand. It was not quite where she had meant to put it. It stood instead right at the edge of the cliff, so that it seemed that taking a step through it would surely send you plummeting toward the sea. The ebony wood was carved with dragons, Araenè saw: the abstract swirls hadn’t made any sense to her before, but now she could see the hinted curve of the long necks and powerful shoulders, the complicated filigree that barely suggested feathers, the swirl where talons tore through clouds. One of the dragons had its head in the upper left panel of the door, the other in the lower right panel: their tails twined together all across the middle section.

  But it showed signs of burning now. It had not been badly damaged, but wisps of smoke were still rising from the edges of the doorframe.

  Master Tnegun had also said “an aptitude for fire.” Araenè stared at the “friendly door,” hoping it would not open into a furnace or burning building. She stepped cautiously forward to the edge of the cliff and touched the knob, which was hot. But when she opened the door a crack, she found it opened merely to her own apartment in the hidden school.

  “Where is that?” Prince
Ceirfei asked, looking curiously through the open door.

  “That’s the hidden school,” Araenè admitted. “My apartment. Probably it wouldn’t be very useful to go there.” She closed the door. Opened it again. It opened this time to the hall of spheres and mirrors. The hall was deserted. Tichorei no longer lay against the wall. Araenè hoped that was a good sign.

  “A place near the Tolounnese army,” prompted Prince Ceirfei. “But not too near. Someplace deserted. Someplace with a view.”

  “I understand that,” Araenè snapped. She closed the door, opened it again. To the balcony where the black gulls nested. She sighed, staring at the squabbling gulls in disgust. “We could go to the hidden school first, I suppose. I can probably get a better door from there than from”—she glanced around uncertainly—“here.”

  “If you like,” the prince agreed.

  His tone was too carefully gentle. Araenè glared at him. “I’ve not been an apprentice even one senneri! A boy couldn’t do it, either!”

  The prince looked at her in surprise for a moment. Then he laughed. “All right,” he said, in a much more ordinary tone. “Forgive me, Araenè.”

  “Arei,” Araenè muttered. “It’s Arei when I’m supposed to be a boy. I—it’s complicated.”

  The prince tilted his head to the side. “Is it? It seems simple to me. I had to fight very hard for leave to attend the kajurai audition. Very hard. Because princes do not fly. Only, in the end my family gave way, and of course a girl cannot even ask hers for leave to go to the hidden school. So you did not ask, but only became a person who could go … his … own way.”

  Araenè stared at him. She had not expected Prince Ceirfei, of all people, to understand. She had never before conceived of the idea that being a prince was, in a way, like being a girl. But she saw at once that he was right: it was a similar thing. In a way. You were born, and immediately everyone knew what kind of person you had to be.

  “Shall I call you Arei, then?”

  Araenè paused, uncomfortable. “I don’t … Call me Araenè, if you like. Now that Master Tnegun knows, I suppose … call me Araenè.”

  The prince nodded. “You always wanted to be a mage, I would surmise?”

  Araenè gave him a hard stare, but the prince didn’t seem to be mocking her. He seemed sincerely interested. She said at last, “The mage gift comes on you like a rising tide. They say. And it’s true; it does. They say you can smother it. I …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Didn’t care to smother yours?”

  Araenè bit her lip, shook her head. “There was nothing in my life I wanted to keep. Except things I couldn’t have anyway. It would have been—I couldn’t ask Trei to give up the sky! Especially when I didn’t even want the life a girl ought to have. Only a boy would at least know about mathematics and rocks and things.”

  That made the prince smile. But he asked, “Trei?” And, with dawning understanding, “You are his cousin. Of course. He said you had gone to the country.”

  “Oh,” said Araenè, realizing. “You know him, of course.” She lifted a hand to her hair. “He said I would hate the country. He was right. So I cut my hair instead.…”

  “And that’s as well, we find,” said the prince. “So, the hidden school? Or will you try again from here?”

  Araenè looked at the door once more. She said impulsively, “You open it.”

  Prince Ceirfei lifted his eyebrows. Then he came forward and opened the door.

  The Akhan Bhotounn showed them a high, narrow, windswept balcony. The balcony completely encircled a slender spire of white stone. Araenè could see a small chamber inside the spire, and a narrow, sweeping flight of floating stones that dropped from the balcony to a lower tower nearby, and that was all. She said uncertainly, “It seems to be deserted.…”

  Prince Ceirfei grinned, a swift flash of humor breaking through his usually serious manner. “I know that tower: that’s Quei Tower, in my uncle’s palace. The only way to that balcony is by floating stairs—and since nobody wants the Quei disturbed, there’s no magic on those stairs to keep you from falling. The stones would have fallen when the Tolounnese mages drove the dragons away. Even now, when the stones have likely risen back to their places, well, those are Tolounnese soldiers. I can nearly promise you, however firm their grip on the palace, Tolounnese forces will not have crossed a floating stairway to occupy Quei Tower.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.…”

  The prince put a hand on the door’s ebony frame and held his other hand out to Araenè. “I think this will do very well. If you will join me?”

  * * *

  The room at the top of Quei Tower, round and small, was indeed empty of everything except the wind and a single Quei nest. There were windows all around the room, the sills narrow and rounded, appropriate perches for Quei: half a dozen leaped into the air, crying in their high, wild voices, when their tower was invaded. Aside from the room with the windows, there was nothing but a narrow balcony. That was all. The balcony had no rail. The stairs were small, most of them less than an arm’s length across. Though the steps all floated neatly in their places, many of them did indeed show signs of having recently been broken: white chips missing from their edges, or cracks that split one step into two or three pieces. They didn’t look at all safe, in fact. Araenè wasn’t surprised that the Tolounnese soldiers hadn’t stationed men here, even though the tower offered a spectacular view of the palace and the First City.

  There were Tolounnese soldiers on the lower tower, though. They spotted Araenè and Prince Ceirfei right away, their attention drawn by the flying Quei. Then they clearly argued about who would have to go up that dangerous flight of floating stairs to deal with the startling appearance of the Islanders.

  “There seems no reason for hurry,” commented Prince Ceirfei, assessing the general tenor of this argument. “In fact, well. Come here, Araenè. Look there. What do you think?”

  The prince was standing on the very edge of the balcony. Araenè stood back a little farther and wished for a railing. But she saw at once what he meant. “They have the whole palace. There’s no fighting anywhere.” She glanced at Prince Ceirfei, worried. “You don’t think they can have taken the whole city?”

  “They probably pressed to take the palace first,” the prince answered calmly. “If they meant to hold Canpra, that would have been important. I wonder if they realize yet that, now they’ve lost their mages and been cut off from all possible supply and reinforcement, they can’t hold the city for long, even if they take it? Or whether they understand how to let it go?”

  “Your … uncle,” Araenè began, and hesitated.

  “The king meant to take a position at the Five Towers. One of my cousins was to hold the University, the other to go down to the Deep Run.”

  “And you …”

  “I was meant to stay out of the way,” agreed Prince Ceirfei. “In case.” He didn’t say, In case my uncle and both my cousins die. He didn’t say, They might be dead right now. He didn’t have to.

  Araenè stared downward. “They have bows.” At least three of the Tolounnese soldiers below had wicked-looking crossbows. “Maybe we shouldn’t stand here? That’s not too far to shoot, is it?”

  “They are not shooting.”

  This was true. One of the soldiers had his bow in his hands, but he didn’t have a bolt in place. The other two just had their bows hanging across their backs. Apparently they didn’t mean to just solve their dilemma by simply shooting the Islanders.

  “I think …,” Prince Ceirfei said thoughtfully. “Direct action is indicated here.” He glanced at Araenè. “What do you think?”

  He seemed to honestly care about her opinion. Araenè hesitated. “Trei is the only citizen of Tolounn I’ve ever met.…”

  “True,” the prince agreed. “And your cousin is both direct and brave, which I have taken as a measure of Tolounnese character.” He studied her. “You, however, could go back to the hidden school. That might be best.”


  Of course he would suggest that. Araenè said tartly, “If anybody will need a door suddenly open at his back, it will be you.”

  “Well.” The prince’s mouth curved in an unwilling smile. “That’s true.” He glanced down. “Quick, then, before that poor man who lost the toss gets halfway up.”

  There was indeed a soldier on the stair: only on the second stone from the bottom and already looking unhappy about it. Prince Ceirfei stepped out onto the first stair, then down to the second, and offered a hand back to Araenè. When she hesitated, he said a little sharply, “I’m kajurai. I can coax the winds to support me. Can you say the same? I’d offer the same assistance to a boy, I promise you.”

  Araenè flushed and then laughed. She didn’t say, That’s not why I don’t want to take your hand. She only stepped out onto the first stair and … took the prince’s hand. His hand was much bigger than hers—broader and longer both, seeming too large for his body. He would grow into his hands, presumably. She wondered how old he was, but couldn’t remember. Older than she, obviously. Seventeen, eighteen? He held her hand in a firm, impersonal grip. Araenè could imagine Trei helping her like this. But holding Ceirfei’s hand was not at all like holding her cousin’s hand. She bit her lip.

  The prince descended one step at a time, backward, with only the occasional casual glance over his shoulder to find the next stone. He made it look easy. The winds, still violent with their new freedom, pushed hard against Araenè. But Prince Ceirfei did not seem to feel the wind. He steadied Araenè against even the fiercest gusts.

  There were forty-nine stairs between Quei Tower’s balcony and the lower tower where the soldiers waited. Araenè counted, and wondered what the significance of the number might be. Forty-nine divided by seven twice. Was that significant somehow? She wondered what Master Tnegun would tell her about that number if he’d been here. That made her wonder if he was all right, and then she tried hard to focus just on the next step and on Ceirfei’s hand supporting her.