Hope.
The sky was devoured and the Twins’ lives sown
There’s good reason the Hagmiri Mountains used to be called “the peaks that devour the sky.” We left the Aphorain desert three days ago to begin the climb into the foothills. Since, we’ve climbed and climbed and climbed—up ridge, down valley, up another ridge.
Then, fancy that, we climb some more.
My calves and thighs burn with effort whenever I give Lil a spell. Dunes and canyons keep you fit, but these slopes are something else altogether. I’d ask for a break, but I’d rather push through aching legs than the pain I’d face if the Rangers catch up with us. Even after a sandstorm, Ash says they would have our trail again now. Sure as stink on scat.
The slopes don’t seem to bother Ash in the slightest—he keeps a steady pace, his breathing in time with his steps, face calm, impassive. Each time I change his dressings, I marvel at how quickly his wounds are healing. At this rate, his bandages will come off within days. Does it have something to do with whatever he keeps taking? Fancy medicine from the capital?
I skip a few steps to catch up to him. “What drug is it? Some kind of protective?”
“Excuse me?” he asks, almost too lightly.
“The way you heal. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re on something, aren’t you?”
“Ugly habit.”
I shrug. I’m not one to judge. “People do what they—”
“Ugly habit of yours—sticking your nose where it’s not wanted.” He strides ahead purposefully, then gives me a dismissive look over his shoulder. “Or needed.”
I’m about to start after him when I hear Father’s voice in my mind. You get more with honeysuckle than bitter yolketh, Rakel.
If only I had a zig for every time I’ve heard that. But thinking of Father, of the little time I have left to get back to him, reminds me of what’s most important.
Ash can stew in his stinking mood until we find the cure, for all I care. One way or another, I’ll figure out whatever it is he’s taking. Because if it causes side effects or withdrawal symptoms, I want to be ready. Things are bad enough. Last thing I need is to be on the run with a Shield losing his mind.
We trek higher. The air cools and fills with moisture, so thick it seems you could close your hand around it. The vegetation begins to change, too. The resinous tang of conifer trees gives way to the honeyed pollen of dense kigtai forests. Barely any light penetrates the thick canopy, while springy moss grows underfoot.
Then there’s the quiet.
It hangs over us, smothering the valleys. The higher we get, the more muted the world becomes. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced or imagined. Even the scents seem muffled, the damp earth and decomposing leaves clogging each breath.
Eventually, we crest a ridge capped with exposed rock. Scrambling to the top reveals one of the most breathtaking views I’ve ever seen. A carpet of deep pink kigtai blooms unfurls across the landscape, and miles below the plains have receded to patches between the mist.
Above, snowy peaks meet the sky like the jagged teeth of their name. The temple says the twin deities, Zir and Tro, came from these heights. Which means somewhere, up there, is something to do with their birth. Or something they sowed. A tree? A flower? I don’t know. But I’m going to find it.
Whooshing air buffets my face and I flinch. What in the sixth hell was that?
A huge butterfly, bigger than the largest desert vulture, swoops over me again. My heart tries to thump its way up my throat as the creature settles on the flowers nearby. The boughs dip under its weight. Twin circles of crimson decorate the bottom segments of its wings, as if they were red eyes staring out of the velvet black background.
Ash drops the scowl he’s worn since I asked him about his medicine. His eyes go wide in boyish wonder, reminding me that he can’t be much more than a turn or two older than me. “There’s a tapestry in the imperial palace of one of these. I never thought they were real.” He stretches his arms out to either side. “That thing’s wings must be double my reach.”
The giant butterfly flutters—if you can call its great wingbeats “flutters”—to the next lot of trees. It half perches, half hovers over the branches as it sucks nectar from the blooms through a long, thin proboscis.
I shudder. It may be beautiful, but there’s something off-putting about the way it feeds.
“You know,” I tell Ash, “there’s this stall in the Aphorain market that sells exotic remedies from different parts of the Empire. The rarer, the pricier. There were these tiny silver butterfly chrysalises—dried with the creature mummified in their little cocoon. He claimed that when caterpillars seal themselves up, they turn to mush before clumping back together as a butterfly. The only parts that don’t dissolve are the bits the butterflies grow from. Potent regenerative stuff, he claimed. Make a tincture from the cocoon, inhale the vapors, and you’ll keep ‘a youthful appearance.’ I thought he was a charlatan, but the rich sorts used to snap up every shipment. Reckon they’d drink baby’s blood if they thought it would cure wrinkles.”
Ash huffs. “I wouldn’t put it past half the nobles at the imperial court, either.”
“I’m wondering—The sky was devoured—we’re in the right place. And the Twins’ lives sown. What if it’s a play on words? Twin lives? A caterpillar and a butterfly? Both from the same parts. From the ‘seeds’?”
Ash’s expression turns thoughtful. “It’s possible. You think your market vendor might have spoken the truth?”
“If his tiny specimens really had the restorative powers his customers swore by, then …” I gesture to the giant butterfly as it launches into the air, great wings bearing it toward the even higher slopes.
“Only one way to find out.” He holds out his arm, like it’s a bridge between our divide.
I take it, letting him steady me as I clamber down the rocks back to the forest floor.
When night falls, we camp under the trees. Ash builds a small fire. The canopy will dissipate the smoke, and the flames will be masked by the leaves. With no sign of pursuit since the desert, and given my light cloak does little to stave off the chill of the mountains, we’re in agreement that it’s an acceptable risk.
We settle on opposite sides of the fire, our thoughts our own. I twist my locket on its chain, still wondering why Sephine would have had it made for me all those turns ago, why Father wouldn’t have told me its origins. If I’m ever going to learn the full story, I’ve got to get back to Aphorai and heal the Prince. Talk to Father. Maybe even track Luz down. One of my buyers or their associates must have a lead on her. I’d even stoop to seeking out Zakkurus one last time, if it meant knowing the truth.
But to have a chance at any of that, I need to solve another puzzle, with limited funds, half the Rangers in the Empire on my tail, and no idea whether the Prince will truly cling to life until some superstitious starwheel event.
I pull my cloak around me.
One scent at a time, I tell myself. One scent at a time.
Ash shakes me awake at dawn. The fire has been built back up and the savory aroma of roasting meat greets me. I sit up and look around. A small pile of russet fur lies crumpled nearby.
I grimace. “Squirrel?”
“Close,” Ash replies. “Glider. Flying squirrel.”
“Does everything up here fly?” I ask, scowling at the tree canopy.
He shrugs and hands me a sizzling skewer. “Alas, my wings are only ink.”
“That was dangerously close to a joke.”
“Hardly. A Shield is ever vigilant against the deadliest of perils.”
I snicker.
Ash kicks dirt over the coals, a small smile quirking his lips.
I try not to think about where the meat came from as I pick it off the sticks Ash used to skewer it. I have to admit, once you get past all the fussy bones, it doesn’t taste too bad.
By the time I’ve finished eating, Ash has packed our small amount of supplies back into L
il’s saddlebags. I’m surprised she lets him anywhere near her, let alone stands patiently as he works. She doesn’t even try to bite him.
We set out. About an hour’s hike from camp, Ash calls my name from a dozen paces ahead.
“Stay here, girl,” I murmur to Lil as I slip from her back.
I catch up to Ash, my breath fogging in the chill air.
He gestures ahead.
Is that a … chrysalis?
It’s huge.
What I had at first glance assumed was a particularly thick tree is in fact a giant chrysalis hanging alongside a trunk. It’s suspended from the sturdiest branch—half again as tall as Ash, and reaching almost to the ground, blending into the same russet-beige of the tree’s bark. No wonder the flying squirrels were a similar hue. Everything up here is camouflaged.
“That’s … a specimen,” I manage.
“Isn’t it just?”
I point to the giant chrysalis. “You think the Aphorain store holder was onto something? There’s really some sort of ‘seed of life’ in those things?”
“We can’t know for sure unless we open one.”
“Wouldn’t that hurt it?” I don’t want to destroy an innocent creature on a whim. But I can’t think of any other way.
Ash gives me a sympathetic look. “You’d rather I take the lead on this?”
I nod.
He crosses to the tree and reaches out, giving the giant butterfly casing a push. Something inside roils and twists, the skin of the chrysalis bulging and dimpling.
Ash jumps back with a yelp. “Perhaps not that one.”
I can’t help it. I burst into laughter.
He glowers at me and it only makes it worse. I brace my hands on my thighs, howling with mirth. “Watch out for the killer baby butterfly, mighty warrior!”
“Are you going to help, or are you just going to guffaw all day?”
I adjust my satchel strap and turn back to Lil. She seems happy enough cropping at the few blades of grass that have managed to poke up through the forest’s mossy floor. I start after Ash.
We cross the next ridge and descend into a valley carved by a rushing river to find more chrysalises. The forest is so thick here there aren’t even dapples, and it’s hard to make anything out beyond the third or fourth tree in the gloom. Still, so many trunks receding into the distance appear too thick to only be that—almost every single one has a giant chrysalis hanging alongside.
There must be dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.
Ash stops in his tracks.
I step up behind him. “They’re everywhere, aren’t they?”
He nods. “Where do we even start?
I peer at the nearest tree. “If we’re going to able to work out which bits are the ‘seeds,’ we’d need to pick the time between caterpillar and butterfly, don’t you think?”
“Seems logical.”
“My guess is that would be a dormant time. It shouldn’t move.”
“Agreed,” Ash says, nodding a little too enthusiastically.
“So, we’ll just go around poking them and see if they move like the first one we found. When one doesn’t, you cut it open. Sound like a plan?” I hope it does, because I can’t think of a better idea.
“Why do I have to be the one to cut it open?”
“The two swords strapped to your back might have something to do with it.”
“Fair.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “This might take a while. You check that lot”—I point to the left slope of the valley—“and I’ll take the other side.”
“All right. But make sure you—”
“Stay in sight. Don’t worry, I have no intention of taking any longer than needed.”
He eyes me quizzically. “You were the one mocking me for being scared of a butterfly; what’s changed?”
“I …” The truth is, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not used to the oppressive feeling I get here in the forest, so different to the dunes, the ravines, the open desert sky. Or maybe it was the way the first butterfly we saw sucked the nectar from the flowers, its antennae twitching. Beautiful. Yet somehow unnerving.
“Shout if you find anything,” Ash says. “And see that stretch of river edged in sand? Meet me down there if we get separated.”
He lopes down the valley, leaving me alone in the gloom.
Guess I’d better get to work.
I move toward the first cocoon. I’m about to reach out and give it a nudge, when I think better of it and cast around the forest floor for a stick. I choose a forked branch, breaking off the unneeded twigs. When I prod the chrysalis, it undulates as the creature inside squirms.
Not this one, then.
I work my way along the trees, each bearing a dangling insect shroud that’s big enough to fit me inside. Truth be told, it’s cold enough that I’d almost like to crawl into one. Maybe it would be nice to hang from a tree in a snug cocoon and forget all this trouble.
With each chrysalis I test, they become less threatening, or maybe I grow bolder, wanting to know more about these strange creatures. I decide to try without the stick.
The cocoon’s casing feels soft and warm, like the supplest leather. Its occupant wriggles against my palm, and I wonder if they’re so creepy after all. You could almost imagine it’s like stroking a pet.
Lil has drifted higher with me, and she looks up from where she’s found another clearing of grass under a small patch of sun. She snorts and rakes the ground with a hoof.
“Calm down,” I tell her. “I’m not trying to replace you with wings.”
I move on to the next chrysalis.
When I poke it, nothing happens.
I try again. Still nothing.
Have I found one at the stage we need? Curiosity driving me on, I pull my knife from its sheath. Before cutting into the casing, I glance around. Lil watches me, ears laid back, teeth bared. What is she picking up on that I’m not?
I sheathe my knife.
This can wait until Ash is here, too.
I scrape my boot through the leaf matter and moss, drawing a semicircle around the tree so I can find it next time. Then I retrace my steps, scuffing a mark every ten paces or so.
Back at the river, I cup my hands to my mouth. “I think I’ve found one!” I call to Ash, my voice uncannily loud in the damp quiet of the forest.
He comes jogging out from the tree cover. So much for staying within sight. With a few sure-footed leaps from stone to stone, he’s across the river. “Let’s see it, then.”
I lead him back the way I came.
He folds his arms, sizing up the chrysalis. “What makes you so sure?”
“See for yourself.”
He gives it a push. It swings a little, but that’s it. He turns to me, expression excited, and draws one of the daggers at his wrist. “You found it, why don’t you do the honors?” He holds out the blade, hilt first.
“How terribly thoughtful of you.” This is not going to be pleasant.
The dagger is heavier than I expected. Adjusting my grip, I step over to the cocoon. I decide to start high—if what we need is liquid, I want to be ready to capture it.
I’m sorry, I tell it silently. I wouldn’t do this if I had another choice.
Carefully, I pierce the chrysalis, making an incision downward.
Green ichor, so dark it’s almost black, oozes from the cut. I thought it would smell terrible, but it doesn’t. It’s metallic, sure, but there are notes of something distinctive and sweet, almost like anise. Interesting.
I pause and look back to Ash. He gives me a nod. So far, so good.
The casing offers little resistance. I drag the blade lower, inch by inch, until the bottom of the cut is at eye level. No more ichor weeps from the wound. That’s a relief. I expected there would be copious amounts.
I’m about to cut farther, when the whole cocoon shudders.
It starts stretching and morphing, bulging more violently than any of the others we’ve tested.
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I jerk the dagger free and take a step back.
There’s a horrible tearing sound. At first, I think it’s the cut I’ve made splitting, but then I realize the sound is coming from behind me.
Another cocoon has a rend in it. Two antennae emerge from the gash, shorter and stubbier than a butterfly’s, with barbed spikes running along their length. They’re followed by an enormous head, wet and black, featureless but for a pincer-like mouth.
It gapes at me, displaying multiple rows of teeth. Then it lets out a bone-melting noise somewhere between a screech and a guttural snarl. Though it has no eyes that I can make out, it seems to lock its attention on me. Can it hear me? Smell me?
“They’re waking one another!” Ash warns. “Get out of range. We don’t know what they’ll do!”
I retreat another step, only to find myself backing up against a third giant cocoon.
It begins to writhe.
A heartbeat later, its occupant bursts from its casing. Mandibles stretch wider than my face, and it’s a sure bet that’s where they’re aimed. I heft Ash’s dagger in my hand and stab at the side of the insect’s head.
Jarring pain shoots up my arm.
I recoil with a cry of surprise, the blade scraping off without doing any damage. The thing isn’t soft and gooey as I expected but covered in a hard casing, like it’s wearing armor.
I realize I’ve dropped Ash’s dagger. Stink on a reeking stick.
It’s as if the creature senses I’m now defenseless. It looms closer and I edge farther toward the tree. Rough bark digs into my back.
With a hiss, the thing splatters ichor across my face. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head away.
Fetid breath huffs against my cheek.
I hope it’s a quick death.
The hissing monstrosity bares its fangs mere inches from Rakel’s face.
I pull her back by the satchel strap and shove her behind me. My pulse quickens, hands and feet tingling as I bring my sword down on the snarling creature.
It shrieks.
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