Flight

by Jae Waller

  “I apologize. I have done what I can.”

  Ice crackled in my palm. “You still blame my people. You think we deserve this.”

  His mouth pressed into a thin line. “Nobody deserves what is coming. I am sorry, but I cannot be here when the Corvittai arrive. You could not imagine what they would do to me for siding with you.”

  My ice melted onto the ground, pooling on damp soil and evergreen needles. “I’m sorry. Thank you for warning us. I just — don’t know what any of this means.”

  “You are right to be upset, just not at me.” He swung onto his horse.

  “Rhonos.” I squinted against the harsh sun. “If I don’t survive this . . . take care of Tiernan.”

  “Always.” He bowed. “Goodbye, Kateiko.”

  His horse took off north at a canter, jumping fallen logs until they were lost among soaring spruce and twisted pine. It felt like parts of me were splintering off in every direction, but I had one more goodbye to make.

  I rubbed the white patch between Anwea’s eyes. “I promised to take you away from battle. This is it, Anwea. You have to go now.”

  She nuzzled me, tickling my neck. I took a slightly crushed lump of sugar from my purse. She inhaled it and gave a soft nicker.

  “You have to go.” I untied the lead rope and tugged on the halter to steer her into the depths of South Iyun Bel. “Go. Run far away. Go! I don’t want you here when they come!”

  Anwea tossed her head, black mane flying. The last I saw was her tail streaming out before she disappeared into the rainforest.

  •

  I found Nili and her family at the firepits. All around us, people sharpened blades, strung bows, rubbed poison onto arrowheads, tinted their skin with mud or lichen. Nili unpacked arrows from a roll of leather, checking the duck-feather fletching. She and Hiyua wore leather archery guards on their chests and wrists.

  Yironem’s knuckles were white around his bow. “I’m not leaving.”

  “It’s our law.” Hiyua’s face was drawn tight. “You haven’t attuned.”

  “I’m a better archer than any Rin my age—”

  Nili swatted him with a handful of arrows. “Fendul didn’t fight in the Dona war. He was fourteen then, too. Y’think you’re allowed to do something the Okoreni-Rin wasn’t?”

  “I’m not a child! Umeril’s fifteen and he’s fighting!”

  Nili turned to me in exasperation. “Talk some sense into him, will you? Behadul’s sending all the kids to Toel on the boats, but he refuses to go.”

  “Yiro. Listen.” I pushed his bow down. “The Corvittai might be waiting at the docks. We need people to protect the kids. Just because you’re not fighting here doesn’t mean you’re not fighting. Okay?”

  His mouth twisted, but he slung his bow over his shoulder. “Okay,” he muttered.

  “Thanks,” Nili said as I pulled her aside. “He won’t listen to me or our tema anymore. Brat.”

  I dropped my voice. “Nili — do you think I brought this on? I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone why Suriel wants to reach the void—”

  “Nei.” She pointed the arrows at me. “Don’t get that in your head. All that matters right now is survival. And if you have some bludgeheaded idea about — luring the Corvittai away or whatever — piss on that. We started this together and we’re finishing it together.”

  I backed away from the stone points aimed at my chest. “All right. I got it. The Rin are right though. We have maybe sixty people old enough to fight, some too old to wield a weapon.”

  “And we’re the only ones from our generation who have killed someone,” Fendul said as he passed, a lumber axe in hand.

  I tilted my head. “Fen, when did you . . .”

  He kept walking. My brows knit together. There was so much he never told me. So much rested on his shoulders. I wondered if I’d been too hard on him.

  “Rin-jouyen.” Behadul’s voice rumbled over the bluff. He stood by the ashes of a firepit, Fendul next to him.

  I moved closer. As people clustered around, I saw Dunehein holding the double-edged steel axe that had belonged to his father and then to Emehein. Isu must’ve brought it from Aeti Ginu. She stood next to Dunehein, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder.

  “Ever since itherans arrived at our borders, we have defended ourselves,” Behadul began. “The Rin swore to always stand with the Aikoto Confederacy. We bled and died through two Elken Wars. Yet seven years ago, the fallout of those wars caused conflict with the Dona-jouyen. I led you to war with our blood relatives in the name of protecting all we ever fought for.

  “Of all the choices I have made as okorebai, I regret that the most. I do not ask forgiveness, only understanding. The Rin have suffered for generations. We stand here because of choices made in desperation. Now, as we stand on the brink of making amends, an army of itherans rides to destroy us. I do not know if Suriel accompanies them.

  “I will not command anyone to fight. The Okorebai-Iyo agreed to harbour refugees if the need arose. You may go with your children to Toel Ginu or leave Aikoto lands entirely. I do not begrudge anyone who makes that choice. To those who stay, I say this. We are far from home. We fight not for land, honour, or the aeldu. We fight to keep soldiers from reaching Toel Ginu so our children have safe refuge. So they will outlive us.

  “This is only the beginning of the war for the Rin. Many of us will not see the end. But in my twenty-eight years as Okoreni-Rin and thirteen as Okorebai-Rin, you have all done me proud.” Behadul had been looking across the crowd as he spoke, but his gaze settled on me. “You have survived everything and risen stronger. Today we rise again.”

  Fendul lifted his sword over his head. Sunlight glinted off the steel, winking like a star. “Rin-jouyen. Today we fly. Will you fly with us?”

  Isu raised her spear at the same time Dunehein raised his axe. Hiyua and Nili were right after, their bows like ribbons against the blue sky. Umeril, Nili’s old lover Orelein, and her new lover, Taworen, lifted their weapons. Across the bluff, steel and wood and iron met the sky.

  “Kujinna kobairen,” the chant began, louder and louder, spreading like running sap. The Rin battle cry, as old as the rainforest and the flowing rivers and the legend of the kinaru that birthed our jouyen from a great egg on the shore of Kotula Huin.

  I raised Nurivel above my head. I would fly with my people.

  32.

  CORVITTAI

  The rainforest had never been so full of noise. Water dripped into a pond, leaves shivered as birds alighted on twigs, a squirrel darted up the red bark of a rioden. In truth, it was quieter than usual, but as I strained my ears for the thud of hooves, everything else seemed impossibly loud.

  A dirt road ran from Caladheå to Toel Ginu like an artery through South Iyun Bel. Countless half-forgotten paths splintered off toward the coast. An Iyo woman named Mereku said only two paths were wide enough for riders. The Rin-jouyen split in half and barricaded each one. We felled a hemlock over the southern path, its bristling needles jutting like fingers, and took up posts along it. Sunlight dappled everything in misty green.

  I nestled in the crook of a cottonwood, looking down on the path. My skin was smeared with mud, my hair braided with vines. My grey clothes matched the dull, fissured bark. The kinaru on my arm was blacked out by charcoal.

  Fendul led our detachment. He stood below me, perfectly still in a stand of fir, his skin painted grey to blend with the mottled silvery bark. Nili stood behind a curtain of red lichen the same shade as her clothes. A tealhead duck and grey-winged kingfisher dipped in and out of the canopy to keep watch. A wolf, larger and darker than my form, sat listening with its tail curled around its paws.

  Dunehein was with Isu in the other detachment. Ours had Mereku, three other Iyo who’d been at our camp, and nine Tamu that Airedain and Jonalin had sent our way. No one had come from Toel Ginu.

&nbs
p; Sweat ran down my neck. My hair stuck to my forehead. The Corvittai would be worse off, used to an alpine climate, but that wasn’t much of an edge. I rubbed damp palms on my cropped leggings. One thing we had in common with Antlers — we fought without armour.

  I wondered who would hear about my death. Maybe Rhonos would tell Tiernan I left the province. Airedain might track down Iannah, but I wasn’t sure she’d tell Parr. I closed my eyes, remembering the warmth of Parr’s lips, the caress of his voice in the dawn light. Darling girl. I wished I could see him once more. Tell him if I didn’t come back, it wasn’t because I regretted being with him.

  My hands trembled. I was scared, there was no question about it. I’d never had time to be properly scared before. This time, I knew. I was on the other side now, going to war instead of waiting for people to return. Yironem, Dunehein’s daughter Sihaja, Airedain’s nephew — they’d be safe in Toel Ginu if we could hold the Corvittai back. If we die, let it be to protect the people we love.

  In the end, it wasn’t horses or people I heard. It was the low, rippling call of the Rin horn from the north.

  •

  I streaked through the forest, paws slamming the dirt, branches snagging my fur. My wolf body knew how to run. I’d never gone so fast in my life, but I knew exactly where to put my feet, how to make four legs coil and spring in perfect timing. From the moment I attuned, I heard shouting, clanging metal, whistling arrows, shrieking horses. The smell of blood followed — hot, metallic, mixed with the sweetness of sap and decay.

  A horse with an empty saddle dashed past me. I rose into my human body, stumbling over a gnarled root. The charcoal fox keeping pace with me shifted into Nili. Birds swooped down, changed in midair and hit the ground running.

  The Corvittai hadn’t fled the north barricade. A column of riders writhed along the path like a snake with a hundred heads. Spearmen and archers in leather armour, a few in steel plate, wooden shields painted with black kinaru. Spears cut the air, sending out sprays of blood.

  We crashed into them like a wave. I hurled balls of ice at the soldiers, calling new ones as they left my hand. A rider fell from the saddle and met Fendul’s blade with his throat. Arrows hurtled past. Bodies littered the path in a tangle of crushed leaves and churned soil.

  “Ainu-méleres! A len sulos!” shouted a deep voice.

  The nearest Corvittai spurred their horses toward us. I grabbed a branch, swung up and into a tree. I kicked a spearman in the teeth as he charged under me. Pain sliced across my leg. Warm liquid spilled down my skin.

  He tried to turn, but his mount got tangled in dense bushes. I dropped from the tree and seized the rider. We tumbled off the horse and landed on a pile of ferns with a fwump. I slit his throat before he could retrieve his spear. Blood sprayed across me.

  Two, I thought. Two lives I’d taken now.

  His horse skittered, trampling the body, thrashing the underbrush. I dove aside and rolled. My head smacked against something. Dizzy, I saw a flurry of hooves—

  “A len ouelos!” the deep voice called. Every rider in sight veered west — except a spearman and an archer who galloped the other way.

  Don’t let any escape. That was the last thing Fendul told us.

  “Nili!” I yelled, hoping she was near. I caught the reins of the dead rider’s horse, leapt into the saddle, and chased the two who’d gone east.

  Steel and black horsehair flashed ahead as I raced along the twisting path. Even if Nili caught up, neither of us could get a shot in. I gritted my teeth, focusing on the ground in front of the two riders. Ice. Need ice.

  A flood erupted across the path, freezing as soon as it formed, sparkling green from the moss. Their horses slid and fell with a crack that shattered the ice. The Corvittai archer’s arrows flew from his quiver and spun across the glassy surface. His horse writhed on the ground. Its knee was bent the wrong way, bone jutting through bloody hide.

  My horse pulled at the reins just as I threw Nurivel. The dagger flew past the archer. He stumbled up, grabbed a spilled arrow, and fired. Feathers brushed my ear as it whistled past.

  I melted the ice and rode at the archer, knocking him down. I slashed with my hunting knife and caught him across the face — then flung an arm around my horse as it reared. My braid whipped through the air like loose rigging on a ship.

  By the time I got control of the horse, the archer was firing down the path, ignoring me. An arrow sprouted from his stomach. He staggered and fired again. Someone cried out. I snapped around — but it wasn’t Nili.

  Yironem stood in a tangle of bushes, his face pale as fir bark. Blood ran from a gash on his arm. He was already nocking another arrow.

  “Why the fuck are you here?” I shouted.

  Yironem’s next arrow thudded into the Corvittai archer’s chest. A third, a fourth, and the man went down twitching.

  The second soldier, the spearman, pulled himself back into a saddle. I threw my hunting knife, but it clanged off his breastplate. Yironem’s arrow pinged off his helmet and ricocheted into the trees. The next two arrows thudded into his wooden shield.

  The spearman took off east. I sent another wave of ice crackling down the path. His horse jumped and hit dirt on the far side. It took an arrow in the flank and kept galloping. I swore.

  I slid to the ground, grabbed my knife, found Nurivel in the crook of some mossy roots. Yironem ran up. I thrust a handful of spilled arrows at him, swung onto my horse, and pulled him up after me. He was light, just a scrawny boy.

  We raced after the spearman, ducking branches and cascades of grey-green witch’s hair. Yironem’s arm was tight around my waist. The forest slid past in a brilliant green blur. I pulled up at a crossroad, saw a glint of metal, and swung left.

  The main road. Just as I wondered where we were going, Yironem yelled, “There!”

  We veered off the path and crashed through the underbrush. Ahead, the mounted spearman plowed into a lake, sending water cascading over bulrushes. His armour flashed in the sunlight. He raised his spear, pointing toward the coast.

  I pulled back on the reins. My horse jerked to a stop, squelching in thick mud at the edge of the trees. I blinked in the sudden glare. “Yan taku.”

  Kinaru circled over the glittering blue lake — twenty birds, thirty, I couldn’t tell. Huge wings beat the air, long necks straight as spears, undersides pale against the sky. Every one carried a rider. Yironem drew a sharp breath.

  “Get ready,” I whispered. Yironem slid down from my horse and nocked an arrow. I raised Nurivel. “Ai!”

  The spearman turned, flinging up his shield — a second after an arrow sank into his throat. Another thudded into his shoulder, foot, knee. He fell from his horse and splashed into the water.

  I looked down. Yironem’s arrow was still on the bowstring.

  Nili ran up behind us, panting. “Yiro — you fucking mudskull—”

  He scowled. “I said I wasn’t leaving!”

  “How’d you find us?” I demanded.

  “Attuned. Followed the smell of idiot.” Nili smacked Yironem’s arm. “What in Aeldu-yan were you thinking—”

  “Lecture him later. Yiro? Now’s a good time to tell you kinaru are real. And they’re on Suriel’s side.” I squinted at the cloudless sky. We were too late. The kinaru banked, following the spearman’s direction toward the battle. “We have to get back—”

  I fell silent. Two birds swooped low over the lake, wings spread like sails.

  “What do we—” Yironem’s voice was strangled. “We’re Rin! We can’t kill kinaru!”

  A memory ruptured into my mind. Last autumn, the snowcat at Aeti Ginu that didn’t attack. “Don’t shoot the birds. Save your arrows for the riders.”

  We waited, hidden among leafy cottonwood. I tried to form a ball of ice, but all I got was warm water that ran between my fingers. Rivulets of sweat ran down my back. Then I he
ard it.

  Crackling, popping, wood exploding. Black smoke curled into the sky from down the shore. Southwest, where we came from.

  “How can it — we haven’t had a forest fire since the Storm Year!” Nili cried.

  My breath caught. “Jinra-saidu.”

  The two kinaru landed with a torrential spray of water. Two archers leapt off and waded toward the dead spearman, surrounded by a patch of red water. I spent a moment in desperate indecision. Fighting them risked getting caught in the fire. Running would attract their attention. Either way, we were cut off from the Rin.

  My horse buckled. I went down with it and slammed into the mud. It screamed, a high, wretched sound that sent goosebumps across my skin. Blood trickled from an arrow in its chest. I rolled aside in horror as it died next to me.

  Arrows whistled past. One pierced Nili’s calf and came out the other side, spraying blood into the bushes. She fired back, hands a blur.

  I scrabbled through slippery mud that smelled like rot. My hand closed on Nurivel where it’d fallen. I ducked behind a tree. A Corvittai toppled into the water, riddled with arrows. Firelight flickered on the rippling surface.

  Nili dropped to the ground. “I’m all out. Yiro, give me some arrows—”

  I took a deep breath. One chance. It had to be perfect.

  I swung around the tree and flung Nurivel. It whipped through the air and stuck in another archer’s neck. He went down, splashing into the shallows.

  Three lives.

  The kinaru swung their heads around to look. They skittered across the lake, water rising in long trails behind them, and flapped into the air.

  “Where’s Yiro?” Nili’s voice was oddly flat.

  I whirled, looking up and down the shore. Yironem’s bow and quiver lay in the muck. Bloody water swirled around the bulrushes. A rush of air almost knocked me over. Suriel—

  But it wasn’t the wind. A kinaru thrashed in the bushes, wings beating furiously. A stand of cottonwood saplings went down, snapping under webbed feet. White and black feathers fluttered through the air.