"But Old Kioshi says that—"
"Be silent, Ayumi-san!" Father said. "Must I strike you?"
Ayumi bit her lip, remembering the welt on her hand, the gift of his ruler. She had stolen seashells from his pocket that day, but had never stolen since. She tucked her hands behind her back, still feeling the sting.
"Someday I'll have tattoos on my hands instead of welts," she said. "Sorry, Father. I mean runes." She rolled her eyes.
And Father did something unexpected. He laughed.
"Come here, Ayumi-chan. Look at this rug I'm weaving."
She sat beside him on the bench and passed her fingers over the rug. As her fingers moved near, the birds moved their wings. She trailed her fingers over the grassy hills, the flowing streams, the mountains.
"I can feel the grass!" she said. "And the stream is actually wet, and the mountains feel like real stone!"
Father nodded. "That is the power of aether."
Ayumi sighed wistfully. "I wish I owned such a rug! Is this for a great general? A king? An emperor?"
"I weave this rug for you, Ayumi-chan."
Her eyes widened. "For me, Father?"
He nodded, smiling, but there was a tinge of sadness to that smile. He took her hand. His rune was still warm.
"You're my little girl, Ayumi-chan. But very soon, you will be thirteen, no longer a child. I watch you growing up so fast. And so I weave this rug for you, something eternal when all of life is so ephemeral. I weave you a rug with a vision of Earth."
She gasped and turned back toward the rug. Again she touched the grass, the streams, the mountains.
"Earth," she whispered.
"Our homeland," said Father. "Our birthright. I may never live to see Earth. But perhaps you will, or your children, or your children's children. Until that day, may this rug be as a sweet memory. I've never seen Earth. I've never seen paintings or photographs from our homeworld, or even read books written on that world. But we have our tales. We have our legends. This is how I imagine Earth."
Ayumi tightened her lips. She clenched her fists. "I promise you, Father. Someday I will leave the enclave. I will reach Earth. Then I will come back here, and I will tell you if Earth is like this rug." She tilted her head. "Actually, I'll take you with me to Earth. We can live there together, don't you think? We can bring Mother and even the baby."
Father laughed. "That's very generous of you. Can we bring Granny too? Or—"
A rumble sounded outside, so loud the room rattled.
Ayumi started. She frowned. She had never heard anything so loud. Even a thousand mulers pulling carts down cobbled alleyways wouldn't sound this loud.
"Thunder?" she said, her voice barely audible.
She made to dash toward the window.
Father reached out to grab her. "Ayumi, come with me!"
But Ayumi ignored him. She ran upstairs. The entire building was trembling. Ayumi burst out the window and climbed onto the roof.
The sound was rumbling around her. Smoke veiled the sky, and a stench like burning oil filled her nostrils, but she saw no flames. The city was shaking—not just the enclave but all of Palaevia. Humans were running through the enclave and pointing at the sky, and the wails of native Paevins rose beyond the wall. The Paevin airships were mustering in the sky, brass cannons bright. Their small wooden airplanes were taking flight, propellers buzzing. The sky gurgled, the smoke churned, and the rumbling grew louder.
No, this is no thunder, Ayumi thought.
She craned her neck back and saw the sky crack open.
Fire blazed like strands of flame in a burning loom.
And the demons descended.
They had to be demons, these shards of black metal ringed with fire. They were massive beasts, each larger than her entire house. They were triangular like arrowheads, and they moved just as fast, swooping toward the city. Red eyes blazed upon them, and their bellies rumbled, belching out fire.
Machines, Ayumi realized. They're machines like the airplanes. Like the blimps. Great machines that burn massive engines filled with steam, more steam than powers this entire city.
She had heard of such machines. The elders still spoke of them. They said that back when humanity had still lived on Earth, brave men and women had flown great flying carriages called starships. They said that Queen Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness of Earth, had led thousands of starships to smite humanity's enemies.
"These are starships!" Ayumi cried out. "Enemy starships!"
But nobody could hear her. The starships were so loud. More and more emerged from the clouds, hundreds of them, then thousands. The Paevin airplanes attacked, firing their machine guns. But the bullets glanced off the starships like spitballs off a stone wall.
And the black, triangular starships opened fire.
Bolts of searing red flame blasted out and slammed into airplanes. The wooden wings burned. The steam engines shattered. Blimps tore open, and the hydrogen inside ignited and blazed and filled the sky with an inferno. Fire rained upon the world of Paev. Both humans and Paevins screamed.
"We're under attack!" Ayumi shouted. "Aliens from another world!"
"Ayumi!" Father was reaching from the window. "Ayumi, come inside!"
But Ayumi remained on the rooftop. "We have to save Mother and the baby!"
"Ayumi!" He tried to grab her. "Ayumi, come—"
One of the black starships came to hover above the guildhall. Wind blasted back Ayumi's long black hair. Heat bathed her. The machine rumbled above, casting shadows and red light. It was forged of metal, many plates bolted together. There were portholes too, like on an airship, and creatures scuttled inside. Great arachnids. Eyes red and blazing. Shells black.
Scorpions, Ayumi realized. Scorpions larger than men.
Cannons extended from the ship.
Fire rained down.
Near Ayumi, a bolt of searing blue agony slammed into the roof, blasting sparks and tiles and heat and flame. It tore a hole into the roof and roared into the building, burning fabrics, toppling bricks.
Ayumi screamed and stumbled backward until her heels hit the roof's edge. Her arms windmilled.
"Ayumi!" Father cried from the window. He was climbing outside, feet wobbling on the windowsill. The Weavers Guildhall was burning.
She reached down to him. "Fath—"
Another bolt slammed into the roof, shattering the building.
The walls crumbled.
Screaming, Ayumi fell through dust and smoke and hailing stones.
Tiles and bricks slammed into her. Smoke filled her lungs. She landed with a thump on bolts of fabric. Rolls of wool tore free and unspooled, spilling everywhere, blazing. Ayumi coughed. She had landed inside the workshop. The roof was gone, and the sky burned.
"Father!" she cried.
The entire building was burning, crumbling. Half the floor was gone, leaving a gaping hole. The staircase remained, and Ayumi ran down to the first floor, calling for her father. The loom lay shattered on the floor. The rug embroidered with Earth scenes was burning. Even through the horror, as the world burned, Ayumi leaned town and tore free a patch of the rug. It showed a white bird on a blue field.
"Ayumi!"
Father stumbled toward her, bleeding and covered with dust. He was limping, and burns spread down his side. She ran and embraced him.
"Ayumi, outside, onto the road!" Father said. "We must find Mother and the baby."
They fled the crumbling guildhall. People filled the streets, screaming, pointing at the sky. The starships were roaring overhead, and ash rained. A muler raced by, bleating, its fur ablaze. A dead man lay by a collapsed building. Above, the wooden airplanes were still launching an assault, and the machine guns rattled across the sky. A plane ignited, crashed down in flame, and slammed into a ropemaker's shop near Ayumi. Shards of wood flew. The wooden propeller detached and rolled across the road, mowing people down.
Ayumi and her father kept going, barely able to navigate through the panicking throng.<
br />
"What do they want, Father? Who are they? Why—"
A shriek sounded above.
Words tore across the sky.
"Bring me the humans alive, you fools! I want their skins! Do not burn them. Bring them to me alive!"
Ayumi looked up. Through the smoke and fire, she saw a figure standing on a rooftop.
She gasped.
A human!
But she was not a human like the others in the enclave. Her skin was purest white, the color of bleached bones. Her hair was blue and flowed in the wind. She wore a garment of black webs. Across the distance, the woman made eye contact with Ayumi and smiled. There was as much warmth in that smile as in a steel blade.
Several of the triangular starships came to hover above the woman's head, arranging themselves in the shape of a star. Hatches opened in the ships' underbellies, and the scorpions spilled out.
Ayumi stood frozen, unable to even scream, to comprehend the horror.
The beasts fell onto roofs, streets, and balconies. They were as large as mulers. Gleaming black shells covered them, and their pincers seemed mighty enough to tear through trees. Their stingers curled over their backs, dripping venom.
The aliens swarmed.
They moved like lightning. They pounced onto humans, knocked them down, and grabbed them with their claws. One man resisted, lashing a cleaver. A scorpion snapped his pincers, slicing the man in half under the ribs. The man fell, organs spilling.
"Humans, hear me!" cried the blue-haired woman on the roof. "I am Jade, a human like you! I am your friend! I've come to take you home to Earth. Line up, follow my scorpions, and I will bring you home! Resist and you will die."
Some people began to line up, glancing around, whispering in fear.
"Earth!" a woman whispered.
"She's come to slay the Paevins who imprison us!" said an old man. "She'll take us home!"
Ayumi stared up from the street. Jade met her eyes again and gave her a small nod.
I don't believe you for a second, Ayumi thought. She had heard what the woman had shouted earlier. She wants our skins.
"Move, you filthy apes!" rasped a scorpion, shoving a mother and son onto the road.
"Line up and move, pests!" shrieked another, shoving a man, bloodying his back.
Great, so they can talk, Ayumi thought.
Hundreds of people lined up on the narrow road. The scorpions clung to the walls and balconies, venom dripping. Where the liquid hit flesh, it sizzled and burned. Children wept, only for a scorpion to grab one boy, slice through his neck, and toss the severed head onto the road. The other children fell silent, faces pale, bodies trembling.
Ayumi winced and squeezed her father's hand. Tears filled her eyes. This seemed unreal. It had to be a dream. Just a nightmare like the ones she had where her teeth were falling out. Any moment now, she would wake up. She would find herself back in her bed. She would leap out the window, and buy a sweet roll from Mister Hiroji, and visit her father to help him weave, and none of this would happen. None of this could be real.
"Father," she whispered, voice shaking.
"I'll watch over you, Ayumi-chan." His voice was soft and deep. "We will not die today."
A scorpion leaped off a balcony and landed beside them. The beast hissed, stinger raised, red eyes blazing.
"Get into the line, apes!" The creature snapped his pincers. "Line up or I'll slice your limbs and suck your marrow."
Ayumi felt the blood drain from her face. Her limbs shook. She began to move toward the line of humans, but Father refused to budge. He remained on the roadside. Gently, he released Ayumi's hand and turned to face the scorpion.
"Move it, maggot!" the scorpion hissed. "Do you want to die in front of your daughter?"
A gust of wind billowed Father's long white hair. The weaver rolled back his sleeves, revealing gnarled arms. Runes were tattooed onto his forearms with white ink, intricate sigils of circles and filigree—the runes of air. They began to glow.
"I am Hiroto Kobayashi, weaver of aether, servant of the ancient ones," Father said. "And I am a son of humanity, an heir to Earth. You will stand back, foul beast, or you will feel my wrath."
The scorpion hissed and reared.
"A weaver!" the beast said and lunged forward, pincers snapping.
Ayumi screamed.
Father held out his arms, palms pointing toward the scorpion, and his runes shone.
The air rippled.
A funnel of air thrummed forward and slammed into the scorpion.
The alien flew back into a smithy wall, cracking the bricks.
At once, a dozen scorpions pounced toward Father, shrieking.
Ayumi leaped back and cowered, covering her head with her arms, trembling. She watched with eyes narrowed by terror.
Father spun from side to side, his runes shining. Funnels of air blasted from his palms, rippling forward like visible sound waves, pounding into scorpions. The blasts knocked the aliens back, cracking their shells, slamming them against walls. Father's cloak and hair fluttered in the wind. A scorpion thrust his stinger, spraying venom. Father held out his palm, and a blast of air blew the venom aside. Another scorpion swooped from a balcony, and Father swept his arms, knocking it onto the ground, cracking the flagstones. He moved with the studied grace of a dancer.
Ayumi slowly removed her arms from over her head. Her eyes widened.
He's more than a weaver of fabric, she thought. I always knew he was more.
She had never been more proud of him. Never loved him more.
Ayumi ran to stand beside him. She had no runes of her own, no power to access the aether, that mystical light from the realm above. But she followed his movements, thrusting out her palms, snarling, as if she herself were a weaver.
"Take that!" she cried. "And that! Be gone, scorpions. We are humans! We are strong!"
With every word, she extended her palms, mimicking her father's movements. And her father kept fighting at her side, his tattoos aglow, knocking the aliens aside with blasts of air.
"Ayumi, get back!" he said.
Scorpions kept descending. They covered the rooftops, scuttled down the walls, and raced across the alleyway. Father could barely knock them aside fast enough. Three of the beasts lunged onto Father at once. He managed to knock two aside, but the third sliced his leg. Father fell to one knee, blood spurting.
Ayumi cried out.
More scorpions raced forward.
Roaring, Father rose to his feet and tore off his robe. An intricate tattoo shone on his bare chest, a masterwork of coiling lines and circles. Now, instead of blasting out funnels of air, he cast beams of light from his fingertips, searing the scorpions, cutting through their shells.
Ayumi gasped.
He's firing pure aether from his fingertips, she realized.
He was terrible to behold, so mighty that even Ayumi took a step back, fearing him, what he had become. His wrath tore through the beasts, slaying scorpion after scorpion.
But his runes' glow was dimming.
He was using up too much power too fast.
The light faded.
Emboldened, the scorpions moved in, climbing over the corpses of their fallen. Another claw tore at Father, slicing his arm. He cried out, voice hoarse. A pincer slashed his leg, severing it beneath the knee.
Father fell.
He hit the bloody cobblestones, bellowing, and his runes lost their glow. They now appeared as mere faded white ink.
"Father!" Ayumi ran toward him.
She pulled him into her arms, weeping. He was trembling, losing blood fast. Already his skin was turning gray.
"Leave him for me!" rose a shriek from above—the voice of Jade. "He's mine! His skin is mine to claim."
Tears in her eyes, Ayumi turned to see Jade leaping off a roof. The strange, pale woman landed on the cobblestones with enough impact to crack them, then walked across the street toward Father. Her blue hair billowed, and claws extended from her fingertips.
He clutched her with both hands. His arms were shaking. Blood pooled around him. He looked into her eyes.
"Fly, Ayumi-chan," he whispered. "Fly like only you can, roof to roof, and leave the enclave."
"But I'm not allowed to—"
"Fly, Ayumi!" His tears fell. "And know that I love you."
His runes glowed again—soft now, their shine barely visible. But it was enough. Ayumi felt the power surge from him. Father hurled her into the air, and wind blew out from his palms, blowing her higher, thrusting her out of the alleyway, up toward the rooftops.
"Father!" she said, legs kicking in midair.
The scorpions grabbed his remaining limbs and pinned him down.
Ayumi landed on a rooftop, rattling the tiles.
Below, Jade approached Father. She smiled crookedly, looking down at the man.
"I like your skin," Jade purred. "Such lovely tattoos. They will form my new robe."
Father tried to fight, but only weak blasts of air left his hands now, and his runes faded.
He used his last power to save me, Ayumi realized.
"Earth calls us home!" Father cried. "Remember Earth, sons and daughters of humanity! Remember our—"
Jade lashed her claws, slicing his throat open.
His head hit the cobblestones, dead eyes staring.
Ayumi wept. She reached into her pocket and clutched her scrap of rug. A piece of cloth. Of Earth. Of her father.
Father . . . No . . .
Jade looked up from the alleyway, her claws dripping blood. She met Ayumi's eyes. The creature—surely she was a creature, not a woman—grinned savagely.
"Scorpions, grab the girl!" she shrieked. "Bring me the girl!"
Ayumi turned and ran.
She pattered across the roof and soared into the air, vaulting over another road. She landed on another rooftop, ran, leaped again.
The scorpions were everywhere. They scurried across the rooftops, moving at incredible speed. They jumped off pagodas. They landed before Ayumi, cackling, stingers raised.
But Ayumi had grown up on these rooftops. She knew every slope, ever rickety chimney, every loose tile. Today Ayumi flew.
A Memory of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 2) Page 2