The Cloudship Trader

by Kate Diamond

  Miris rubbed nir eyes in exasperation. “I’m sorry. Please. Listen.” Ney stepped forward and sat beside him. A long moment passed, bridged by Miris’s breath and Belest’s fears. “Stop doubting. You have already helped a great deal.”

  He did not believe that yet, but he dared not interrupt, nor look away.

  “You found the smugglers at Northford. And the Star in Tilsa,” Miris said. “I don’t want you to fear me,” ney continued. “What we’re doing isn’t going to be safe. I swear to you that I will do all I can to protect you. But I need you to trust me.”

  Thus chided, Belest nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ll try.”

  From Miris’s expression, it evidently wasn’t what ney was hoping for, but ney said nothing more on the matter. Instead ney sighed and stood, lifted the lid from one of the crates, retrieved something from inside. Ney pushed a bundle of blankets into his arms.

  “Go below. Try to sleep. I want to leave early tomorrow.”

  Silently, gratefully, Belest climbed down into the lamplit heart of the cloudship and spread the bedding in the small space between boxes and sacks. He was safe here, he reminded himself, watching the supplies hanging on hooks sway gently with the motion of the ship. Kela’s allies could not reach him here.

  Miris’s words rang in his head long into the night. He flies with me. Ney had promised protection, and asked only trust in return. Trust, and Belest’s help in tracking the slavers. Belest swore he would not disappoint nem. For the first time, the flier’s presence on the deck above was not a source of anxiety but one of comfort. He would be safe with nem. He could believe that. At last he slept, and did not fear the morning.

  ◆◆◆

  People assumed a great deal about fliers. Some distrusted them. Most revered them. People meeting them for the first time expected them to be as capricious as the Winds, demanding courtesy and luxury wherever they landed. Expected them to hear no arguments and care little for their earthbound brethren. So Miris should be honored and feared, simply because Seres let nem share the sky? Ney couldn’t deny having found that respect useful, or having leaned on it countless times to nir advantage. But to be feared, and thought vindictive? That was too much. It sickened nem to consider it.

  Ney unpacked another of the Tilsa blankets, spread it on the deck and sat on it, thinking. Had Belest truly believed Miris might leave him in the middle of the wilderness if he displeased nem? Or return him to Terthe, or his marriage? He’d suffered more than enough already, from Kela and Terthe and probably still others Miris didn’t know. Guilt crept up on nem, for allowing Seres to frighten him at Tilsa, and for the history ney had learned without his consent, the history he likely did not want nem to know.

  Had he spent the past days thinking himself worthless, indebted to Miris’s mercy and at risk every moment of nem deciding he was no longer of use? No wonder, then, how he ducked his head and kept quiet and shrank into corners. And perhaps Miris had even encouraged that thought, in a way. For had it not been useful to nem for Belest to believe that he should be grateful to be allowed to sleep on the floor and go where he was told and eat what he was given? To obey when he was needed and be silent otherwise?

  This could not be allowed to continue. Not Belest’s fear, nor Miris’s use of it. It was unjust, and it was unkind, and the tensions that it created could only hamper their mission. There would be time enough to mend this before they reached Dawning Crest, if Miris cared enough to try. Cared enough to treat Belest as a fellow and a friend, rather than as a burden borne in pursuit of a goal.

  Ney vowed to remember that, even when the morning light and all the practical considerations that came with it threatened to banish such sentimental thoughts.

  The Ruenwin Aerie

  When Belest woke the next morning to the faint clinking of the pots hanging above him, they were already in flight towards the Aerie. He suppressed a flash of guilt for having overslept. Reason reminded him that Miris could easily have woken him had ney needed him. He folded the bedding into a neat bundle and climbed up to the cloudship’s deck, where Miris greeted him with tea and sweet oatmeal.

  He blinked at the familiar scent of the unexpectedly pale tea, and then smiled at the taste. “It’s mint.”

  “From the mountains. I had a little left in my stores. Do you like it?”

  “Yes. It was my favorite back home.”

  “Good.” Miris nodded, pleased. “Where was home? Before Silverpeak, I mean.”

  “Lark’s Valley, in Bersei.”

  “I haven’t heard of it.”

  Belest shrugged. “It’s tiny, especially by centerlands standards. We’ve barely got a main street. The most we’re known for is producing an advisor to the governor of Gashen.”

  “No, I understand. I grew up by the southern reef, in Trineta, in a village called Kesfarn. We don’t have governors in Trineta. We have a Queen, and then each village chooses a representative to join her council. Queen Rinni speaks for all of us in all business with other lands. So most people outside the reef have no reason to know all the villages, especially the minor ones.”

  Belest knew that well. “Unless they have something to gain from them.” He paused a moment before continuing, turning the mug in his hands. Kirental, carrying Amayla, flew ahead, guiding them, and so was out of hearing. Somehow that made it easier. “My parents build sturdy carts for mountain travelers. They’re good at it. Kela learned of us somewhere, and decided she wanted a stake in the business. She brought us customers we could never have hoped to meet otherwise. And then she wanted me, and she seemed so clever, and charming…” He trailed off, mind walking the imposing halls of Kela’s mountain estate.

  “…until she wasn’t,” Miris finished gently. “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain.” Ney waited a moment, and when he said nothing, began to gather up the mugs and bowls and spoons. “There’s a basin inside. Go rinse these.”

  Glad of the distraction, he took them below. It was obvious even to him that this was Miris’s attempt to make him feel useful, but he appreciated it. He would far rather be a proper assistant than a tag-along. He washed and dried the dishes, and when he emerged again, Miris was talking to Kirental, who’d perched on the ship’s rail.

  “My mother teaches most days,” he was saying, “but I believe she will have time for us. The advanced students meet in the afternoons, and they require less supervision. I doubt there will be too many others seeking an audience with the Master Carpenter,” he added with a gesture of his beak that could only be a grin. “There are several of us returning from our travels today, meaning that there will be a feast tonight to mark the reunion.”

  “Good, good,” Miris replied. “Will there be anything else expected of us? I’ve never visited an Aerie.”

  Kirental shook out his wings in a shrug. “I will present you to the Elders. You must obey them while you are visiting, but they are fair, and won’t ask anything you cannot give.”

  They spoke a few minutes longer, about weather conditions and geography, things that concerned fliers and Ruenwin both, and then Kirental leapt back into the sky and again took position a few ship-lengths ahead of them.

  ◆◆◆

  The day continued like most aboard a cloudship, punctuated by occasional conversation or the beat of Kirental’s great wings. As ever, there were many tasks that needed doing: cleaning the deck and interior, checking the restraints holding cargo secure, logging supplies of food and water. Miris set Belest to the cleaning and brought out nir ledgers. Their supplies were beginning to run low, but they would not be able to stop to resupply until after they’d left the Aerie.

  Miris finished with the records before Belest was done, so ney retrieved nir painting kit and a sheet of thick paper from the market at Tilsa. Ney first tried to sketch Kirental as he flew before them, but the shapes of his wings and clawed legs eluded nem, and finally ney decided instead to copy the curling designs of the Tilsan jewelry packed carefully into padded wooden trays. Ney had drawn two
pieces and was experimenting with a third, letting the pattern expand to fill the page, when Belest appeared at nir side.

  “Miris, the rope holding the water barrel is fraying at the back.”

  Miris frowned. “How badly?”

  “Not a lot, it’s still holding firm. But it’s rubbing against a rough edge. It might last a week or two, but it’s going to wear through eventually.” He hesitated. “I think I could fix it if I had extra rope and a file.”

  “I have that.” Miris set nir pen box on top of the paper so it would not blow away and led him below to retrieve the necessary tools. Belest accepted them and started replacing the fastenings, efficiently but not hastily, with a cautious eye and steady hand. Miris could easily imagine him building mountain carts.

  When the job was done, they both returned to the deck. Miris folded the papers away. They were only sketches, so the creases did not concern nem.

  “Where is that from?” Belest asked, nodding to the pen case.

  “Stonevalley, I think. It was a gift,” Miris said. “It was originally all blue, but I painted it.”

  “You paint? It’s very good.”

  Miris shrugged. “A little. I’m not an artist, but it’s something to do that doesn’t take up too much space. We fliers come up with our own ways to spend the time. There’s not as much of it as some people imagine, but there’s enough to want something to fill it. I know some who read. Of course they can’t collect a library of books themselves, that’s too much space and weight. So they exchange them where they land and keep only their favorites onboard. Others carve, or embroider, or write.” Ney smiled at a memory. “Dasil writes these syrupy love-stories that he gives away to his friends, and it’s made him very popular at the summer council.”

  It often amused Miris, how interested people were in the daily lives of fliers. Ney had lived it for years now, and while the destinations might be fascinating, the voyage seemed hardly remarkable. Sometimes ney wondered if the interest was at least partially an attempt to curry favor through flattery. But Belest’s curiosity was entirely in earnest, and it was no chore for Miris to speak of nir life and the lives of others ney knew, so ney allowed it, deciding that it was far better than the fearful silence of their first day flying together.

  A few hours after noon, Kirental led them over a vast forest, one that stretched so far into the distance Miris could not see the edges of it. For a long while ney saw nothing to indicate habitation, and then they came to a place where the trees thinned out, and Miris saw the ruin.

  A great castle had stood here once, long ago. All that remained now was a spread of crumbling walls and towers half-lost to time, overgrown with moss and criss-crossed in a drapery of thorns. Mighty oaks had struck their branches through and around the towers, embracing the ancient structures in thick gnarled limbs. No doubt this was the work of Seed spirits given free reign over the place for centuries.

  Had the ruins been abandoned, they might have been gloomy, but the scene below them was anything but. The Aerie was shining with color: green leaves and bright feathers, rippling banners and paper lanterns. And all of it was full of Ruenwin. Flying, working, cooking, playing games, minding children, filling the place with chatter and cheer and life. Many of the trees around the ruined castle were ringed with wooden platforms, some uncovered and some with bright fabric forming additional walls and ceilings. Heads peeked out to watch them as they approached, drawn not only by the sight of a cloudship, but also by the return of a friend, and the visit of a Wind.

  Kirental directed Miris to land the Dragonfly at the north side of the settlement, some ways away from the castle. Three aged Ruenwin waited for them when they disembarked, two women and a man, their crest-feathers dyed gold to reflect their exalted status. The Aerie elders, or some of them, at least.

  Kirental and Amayla bowed to them; Miris and Belest followed suit.

  “I bring friends who wish to consult with the Master Carpenter.”

  One of the women nodded slowly, a gesture made all the more weighty by the motion of her long beak.

  “I see no reason to turn them away, so long as they do not disturb her work or her lessons.”

  Thus approved, they let Kirental guide them onwards across the Aerie. Amayla walked with them for some of it, and then she spotted a group of children playing. At Kirental’s nod, she hurried off to join them, fluffy wings fluttering as she ran.

  Fanrien’s workshop, if that was the right word, occupied a small clearing at the edge of the forest. The canopy of curving branches from the surrounding trees provided some cover, but that evidently had not been enough, as fabric stretched over parts of the clearing to shield them from rain and sun. All around were carpenters and carvers hard at work measuring, cutting, sketching, mending. Students and teachers both glanced up from their tasks at the humans in their midst, but they didn’t stare for long. The northern Ruenwin traveled more, Kirental had said. Perhaps they also welcomed more guests.

  In the center of all this they found Master Carpenter Fanrien, claws grasping a tremendous log as she sliced pieces off the end with a great two-handed saw. Her feathers were a soft brown striated with darker lines, and she wore a set of leather straps much like Kirental’s, but hers had far more loops and pouches for tools, measuring tapes, marking styluses, notebooks.

  She finished the cut, and turned to them with a joyous shine in her eyes. When she approached, Kirental lowered his head to rub against hers. They exchanged words in their own language, and then, in accented Arlanan Common, “And you brought us guests?”

  “Miris nib-Seres, Master Carpenter,” ney said. “My assistant is Belest. I’m a cloudship flier, and I want to ask you about Kejan carvings.”

  “An unexpected question!” she laughed. “But I will gladly tell what I can. Especially to a fellow traveler of far-off lands.”

  “I will rejoin you before the feast tonight,” Kirental said. “I have many others to meet today!” He flew off towards the castle, leaving them with Fanrien. She led them to a small round shed half-hidden in the trees, and directed them to sit inside while she searched the shelves.

  “What were you working on?” Belest asked.

  “Here? Bowl blanks, for the junior students to practice with,” she said. She pulled a pouch from a high cabinet and took a journal from inside it. “But if you mean in the mountains, there I studied the carving techniques and traditions of the Jri and Tren clans.”

  She unfastened the ties holding the book shut and spread pages of sketches and notes across the table. “Wood is rare and prized in the mountains. So the art of working with it is valued also. Each clan has their own traditions that build on a shared knowledge.” She pulled a paper from the stack, a page of several tidy sketches, each slightly different but showing the same round, leering, half-shadowed face. “This is called the Face of the Moon. Jri artists will glue two pieces of different-colored wood together, while the Tren prefer uniform pieces that are painted once finished.”

  “May I look through these?” Miris asked.

  “Be careful, and keep them clean,” Fanrien told nem.

  With Belest looking over nir shoulder, Miris flipped through page after page of patterns, symbols, figures of heroes and gods. And then ney saw it. A stone archway carved with twisted, braided knots.

  “This one. What does this design mean?”

  This pattern I saw from both clans, and from both the same. In wood and in stone. I too was curious when I saw it. My guides did not know its origin. Their priests did, they said, but it was not something for outsiders to know.”

  Priests. Priests of what? A chill ran through Miris.

  “Do the Jri and Tren worship stars?” ney asked, not knowing what answer ney expected, or which would be better.

  Fanrien’s crest fluttered; a nod. “They do. The pattern is related in some way. Which is why I tried at first to dissuade my students from using it in their works. But they do not always listen.”

  So the carvings on the pri
sons that held captive Stars were also used by the mountain clans in worship of those same spirits? It was a hideous irony. But it told them nothing about how the act was done, how the Stars were held. Except that they might need to travel deep into the mountains and seek Kejan help to put an end to it.

  “You still have not told me why you seek this particular carving,” Fanrien said, prompting.

  Miris thought of Kirental’s displeasure when ney had told him what ney sought. Arden had been so certain that telling others was for the best. Ney had announced it at Summertooth, when anger had overcome reason, but still ney doubted the wisdom of it. But the more Fanrien knew, the more she might be able to help.

  Ney took a steadying breath, and told Fanrien what they had seen.

  “A grave crime,” she said when ney was done. “I have never heard the like.” She shook out her feathers. “Some of my fellows liken the human and Kejan use of spirits to such slavery. I believed so too, once. But in the mountains I learned that spirits could not be commanded against their will. And from human smiths and farmers I learned the benefits that come of such alliances as you have. But what you have described… it is unspeakable. Let me see this chest, so that I may give as much help as I am able.”

  She gathered her notes safely in their book and followed the humans to the cloudship. Fanrien easily leapt up to the Dragonfly’s deck in a single beat of her wings. Seres dipped down to meet her, and she spread her wings to allow the Wind to run through her feathers.

  Miris pulled aside the sheet that covered the Star chest.

  “The carvings are Kejan,” Fanrien said, after only a moment’s study. She unlatched the lid and opened it slowly. “But the box itself is not, or not wholly. Look at these hinges. Kejan do not use this sort. Nor do we Ruenwin. But human traders do, or those who have bought their supplies from human traders.”

  Had the slavers forced a Kejan priest into helping them? Miris shuddered at the idea.