“Annama?”
“Soul mate.” Vestra nodded. “The boy’s correct—he has as much a right to fight for Errian as any of us. When are your Gaelani friends due to arrive?”
Jameson shook his head. “It depends. Xander is bringing a host of fighters from Gaelan. They may have to stop and forage on the way.” He counted back the days. “Tonight, at the soonest?” They had made plans to meet at Torr Talam at the end of the day, where Jameson had arrived via the waygate.
The thought of seeing Xander again made him both excited and nervous. Had Xander had time to think through the whole pith thing? Emotions and their causes were difficult things to pin down, and Xander wanted an easy answer.
Jameson feared he’d be sorely disappointed. “I’ll see if he’s there at sunset.”
“So, you’ll send me?” Alvyn looked overeager.
“If I do, promise me you’ll find out where she is and get back out to wait for me. No heroics.”
“Promise.”
Jameson wasn’t sure he trusted the boy to keep his word. He remembered what it was like to be a hotheaded teenager.
He looked at Venin and Vestra, who nodded. “All right. But I want you back at the waygate spot just before sunset.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jameson chuckled. That was more like it.
He pulled out the key and opened a waygate to the inside of a half-destroyed building where he’d taken refuge during the battle. “Good luck.” He clapped Alvyn on the shoulder.
“I won’t need it.” Alvyn winked and jumped through the waygate.
Jameson closed it behind him. “The gods save me from overeager teenagers.”
“Not exactly what you expected when you arrived from offworld, is it?” Vestra grinned.
“Not in my wildest dreams.”
They went back to planning the assault on Errian as Jameson kept a nervous eye on the sun.
Chapter Nineteen: Morgan
JESSA HUDDLED inside the dimly lit room, waiting for her pursuers to pass her by. She had chosen her entry carefully, hidden behind a hedgerow of bushes with heart-shaped purple leaves and orange flowers. The cut she had made in the building wall was already starting to heal. She’d kept it small and low to the ground. As long as no one looked behind the hedge for a couple of minutes, she’d be safe.
It had to be late morning. She’d been on the run since before dawn. Her feet were sore. The boots hadn’t been designed for use without heels, and they were killing her ankles and toes. Still, they were better than going barefoot.
She closed her eyes, said a quick prayer to God, and crossed herself. Not that she was particularly religious, but it never hurt to hedge one’s bets.
She looked around the small space she found herself in. It was about three meters in each direction, with a door on one end. More shelves—these people loved their storage.
She scanned the contents. They looked like food canisters. Maybe the back room for some sort of store, or food storage for the building’s inhabitants? It was cool inside, cooler than it ought to have been. Maybe these buildings—plants?—were able to regulate their internal chamber temperatures?
She was starving.
Who knew if this food was human-edible? The flying people—wing men, her captors had called them—seemed human enough except for their wings.
She decided it was worth a try.
If it killed her, at least that was one problem solved. Or maybe all of them.
She opened one. It was filled with a white powder that smelled like flour. Okay, so good sign, but not something she wanted to eat right out of the can.
Another had some kind of oil, while a third had what looked like a dried fruit. She picked one of the shriveled things up and popped it in her mouth.
Not bad. It tasted like a kind of musky, cinnamon-y apple. She ate a few more before moving on to the next one. This one seemed to hold a type of dried meat. She tasted a piece—it was mostly salty, with a gamey flavor. It reminded her of venison.
In another rack, she saw something she recognized. Wine bottles. They were sealed with wax plugs.
She used her knife to pry out a plug, and washed down the jerky with a sip of the dark red wine within. The bottles looked like they had been hand-blown.
The wine was full-bodied, fruity—it reminded her mostly of blackberries—and it had a kick. She stopped after a few sips, wary of getting herself drunk, or worse.
When she had found enough to eat to sate her appetite, she used a canvas sack she found in the back of the room to take some food for the road. She also took one more bottle of the wine, whispering a thank-you and sorry to whoever’s stores she was raiding. She figured they were probably too busy to care at the moment.
She went to the door and opened it a couple centimeters to peer out into the room beyond.
It was a stairwell. It appeared empty, and she didn’t hear any sounds, so she eased out from the storage room into the brightly lit space.
This was one of the smaller buildings. She guessed it was probably a residence. There were certainly no indications of retail activity. She peeked into each of the other rooms on the ground level, five in all. Kitchen, bathroom—that seemed to be universal—and two other storage spaces.
She climbed the stairs. On the second level, she found three bedrooms. All appeared to have been abandoned hastily. The furnishings were simple but handcrafted—carved from wood, mostly—and the linens seemed to have been handmade as well.
In one of the closets were several pairs of handmade leather boots.
She pulled them out excitedly, matching them against the sole of her own broken shoes.
One of them was fairly close, just a little bigger than her current ones. She pulled off her boots and pulled on the new ones, lacing them up tightly. “Oh man, that feels good.” She whispered another apology to the owners and tucked the other pairs of boots back in the closet.
She climbed the stairs again and came out in a single room that appeared to be the top of the structure. It held three window openings. She chose one at random and stepped up next to it to peek outside.
The crater wall that surrounded two-thirds of the city thrust up into the sky before her, black striated rock laced with clumps of moss and something fernlike. The waterfall she’d seen earlier cascaded down the cliff face. West.
The next window looked south, over a tangle of white buildings, a lake, and something that looked like vineyards. That explained the wine, at least.
The last one, the one looking northeast, held the biggest surprise.
A line of wing men, hundreds of them, were being herded past the building, toward the crater wall. Something shiny bound the base of each of their wings.
Enforcers in black uniforms prodded them along, using shocksticks to keep them in line.
Many of them were bleeding or had broken wings.
One of the wing men looked up and caught her eye.
She dove back behind the safety of the wall, her heart racing and her breath coming in short sharp gasps. What in God’s name are they doing to those poor people?
She went back to the window that faced west. The line extended now toward a black hole at the base of the wall.
Then she saw him. A young wing man, making his way on foot from the south, toward the building where she stood.
He was going to run right into the enforcers, unless she did something.
Jamie would have to wait. Maybe the man could help her find him. The voices of her prisoners had said he was working with the wing men.
Decided, she ran down the stairs, intent on saving at least one of the beautiful angels.
ALVYN SLIPPED from hedge to bush for cover, working his way toward the center of Errian. He’d planned to find some of his own people. Surely there must be some hiding out among the wreckage? It seemed like half the towers in Errian were cracked or fallen.
He’d hoped, too, to find Neamiah, his annama.
The place was empty as a cemetery.
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He’d used the sewers under the city to move from place to place at first, but this next bit required a jaunt aboveground.
He glanced up at the sun. He guessed he had about five hours left to find out where this woman, Jessa, was and get back to the rendezvous spot.
He was still trying to figure out the new king. The man was barely older than Alvyn. He seemed to be both Jameson and Lyrin, and both skythane and offworlder. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, but Vestra trusted him, and he had saved over two hundred Erriani from the invaders.
Before the invasion, he’d never even seen a lander. Now they controlled his city. His home.
He checked to make sure the street was clear, ran for the cover of another building, and ducked behind a heartbrier bush. He was about to make his next dash when a hand reached out from the building behind him and hauled him through the wall.
He landed on his ass. “Hey!” he shouted, looking up to see a lander woman. Blonde, blue-eyed, holding something that he thought was a knife at first, but it wasn’t sharp. “You’re…. Jessa.”
Her eyes went wide. “Are you working with them?” Now she was holding a knife, kneeling and pressing it to his neck.
“With them? Who?” The landers. “No, no, of course not. Jameson sent me to find you.”
She lowered the knife and sat back, looking stunned. “Jamie sent you?”
He nodded, rubbing his neck. “I know Errian better than anyone.”
“How did he know I was here?”
“He saw you. When the lander thugs brought you in.” He sat up. “Why did you drag me in here like that?”
“I saw you from the room up above. You were running right into a mess of enforcers.”
“Enforcers—landers?”
She nodded. “They’re taking your people—the wing men—to a cave or something.”
“Skythane. Only lander assholes call us wing men.”
“Sorry.” She blushed. “What should I call you?”
Alvyn thought she was about the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He gulped. “We’re skythane. You… you said they were taking skythane somewhere?”
“Come on. I’ll show you.” She helped him up.
“I’m Alvyn, by the way.”
“Jessa. But you knew that. Come on.”
She led him up the stairs.
They reached the summit, and he looked out to see the tail end of the line of captives entering the cavern mouth. “Oh no.” His heart dropped.
“What’s in there?”
“That’s where the old mines are.” At best, they were using the caverns there as a secure prison for his people. At worst…. He decided not to mention the forge.
“We have to tell Jamie.” Jessa read the fear on his face.
“We can’t reach him until nightfall. Unless….” Maybe there was a way. “Are you afraid of flying?” It was a long shot, but Bolcà Isle was only a two-hour flight. He could do it by himself easily, but with the added weight, it would be a challenge.
“If it gets me to Jamie faster, I’m not afraid of anything.”
“How did you cut through the wall?”
She grinned and held up a piece of metal. “My shoe shank.”
“Must be made of iron. It’s what we use to shape the corrinders.” He took it from her and looked it over.
“The what?”
“These buildings. This could be our ticket out.”
“How?”
“How do you feel about sewers?”
THE ENDLESS white of the snow was blinding to Quince. The cold was starting to get to her too. They’d been flying for hours, and the mountain ahead of them seemed to be taking forever to grow larger.
The storm clouds were moving in too, sure to provide some respite from the blinding reflection of the sun off the ice pack below, but Quince worried about being caught in a blizzard. They didn’t have the equipment for it. She would have killed for a good ice tent.
They had to reach the mountain before the snow came.
She wished they could have postponed this journey until a better day, with more preparation, but Morgan’s voice still cried insistently in her head. They were running out of time, and she knew it.
She wondered what the boys were up to. Had Jameson taken his rightful place in Errian? Was OberCorp moving against them? She should be there with them.
But she had to help Morgan.
“Damned cold place to spend an afternoon.” Robyn shivered. “You sure we’re going to find this Morgan before the storm moves in?” Robyn glanced nervously at the eastern sky.
At least she’s here. Quince followed her gaze. The clouds there were heavy and sullen, sending their first emissaries overhead in the form of high, thin cirrus clouds. “I hope so. We’ll be in a heap of trouble if we don’t.”
The whole world was uneasy. Tremors and quakes, strange weather, nervous animals. Maybe it was all a result of the shift. That made a sort of sense, as the two halves of Erro settled back in together and their weather systems and ecosystems collided and combined. Not to mention their human contingents.
It felt like something more to Quince.
The land below was splintered, the ice cracked and thrust up into strange faery castles, canyons, and miniature mountain ranges.
Some patches were the faintest blue, while others were drenched in purple by algae that seemed to thrive on frozen water. It spread out across the ice fields in some places for a dozen kilometers, its bloom creating stunning fractal patterns.
At last, the flanks of the mountain appeared before them. It was a monstrous beast, easily the match of Deireadh an Domhain, the vast Mountain that had fallen when the world had shifted. Its rampart sides went up and up, sheer black walls dusted with snow and ice.
“It’s huge,” Robyn said. “How are we going to find him? It’s like looking for a single hoarberry in all the Riamhwood.”
Wind teased Quince’s hair. The ice storm was closing in. The western sky was a mass of dark clouds, topped by sunlight as the sun sank toward the crest of the cloud front. “He’ll find us.” She caught an updraft and began to climb, keeping a keen eye on the mountain. Robyn followed.
As they climbed, Quince could see that this mountain was relatively new, geologically. It was full of angles and sharp edges, the rock not yet worn down by the hands of time.
Mankind had the ability to make a mountain, she supposed, though it would mean a huge investment in time and materials. But if whoever had built this one had also split the world, something like this was likely child’s play for them. Whatever they were. She shivered from more than just the cold.
“Quince! Up there!”
She looked up at the mountain, but all she saw was wind and snow blown from the mountainsides. “What?”
“I thought I saw a flash.” She shook her head. “It’s gone now. Probably just a glint of sunshine reflected off the ice.”
“No, I see it too.” It was Morgan. It had to be.
The storm was closing in, covering the western flank of the mountain. Icy wind tugged at her, trying to knock her off course. “Come on. We have to get to safety.”
Robyn nodded, though her doubts were plain on her face.
Quince strained toward the flash, her wings pulling her forward, fighting with the angry wind. She glanced back at Robyn, who was having a hard time of it with her bi-wings. “You can do it.”
“Don’t waste breath on me.” She shot Quince a look that was either angry or determined. Or both.
A huge gust sent Quince spinning through the air.
She spread her wings and slowed her headlong flight, pulling forward once again toward her destination.
She glanced back, and to her horror, Robyn was no longer there.
“Robyn!” she screamed above the wind. There was no response.
Quince looked all around for the woman she’d crossed a world for, twice. The wind was howling by then, making it hard to see more than ten meters in any direction.
> Quince flew as close as she dared to the mountainside, searching for any sign of Robyn.
At last, she found her.
Robyn had made it to the mountain slope, but far below their goal. She lay sprawled on an ice shelf, her bi-wings cracked and broken.
Quince didn’t stop to think. She dove toward the shelf, not caring anymore about Morgan or the quest or the fate of this gods-cursed world. Without Robyn, none of it mattered.
She fought her way through the oncoming storm. A gust slammed her, but she pushed back with her wings, even though her wound hurt like hell in the ice and exertion.
It seemed to take forever to reach Robyn’s body. Not her body. Robyn. She was not a corpse. Quince would not let herself think that way—
Robyn would be all right. She had to be.
At last Quince landed on the ice shelf and knelt beside her beloved.
“Robyn, are you okay?”
The queen lay absolutely still in the snow, one of her legs bent at an awkward angle, a trickle of blood coming from her mouth.
“No no no no….” Quince knelt and picked her up gently, lifting her body from the snow.
Robyn’s face was pale. Quince put her cheek next to Robyn’s mouth.
She was breathing. Faintly, but breathing nonetheless. Thank the gods.
“Quince.”
She turned so fast she almost lost her footing on the treacherous perch.
It was Morgan. He threw his arms around her, acting every bit the eight-year-old boy he seemed.
It was impossible. The flash they’d seen had been much higher up the slope. How could he be down with them so quickly now?
How could he be there at all? He couldn’t have survived the shift. She’d seen it.
None of that mattered. “Morgan, she’s hurt.”
He let go of her and nodded. “Bring her inside.”
Inside?
There before her was a cavern entrance. One that hadn’t been there a second before. She was sure of it.
She shrugged and followed him into the darkness, away from the howling winds outside.
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