The Cloudship Trader

by Kate Diamond

  And then the old priest turned his head, and saw them. That voice that had sung to the Stars rang out across the peak, harsh with outrage. Belest shrank back, but he already knew there was nowhere to hide or run. This had been a ruinous plan. Who would listen to them now, after they had intruded on such a thing? Miris tensed beside him but did not retreat.

  The priest marched up to them. He was a tall man, old and strong, brown fur edged with grey at his muzzle. Daslin. And as Vessirn had warned them, he was not impressed. He stared them down, eyes narrowed in fury, fangs showing. His fellow watched them from a distance, looking more surprised than displeased, but did not speak or approach.

  He snarled something at them, accusatory, and Belest did not need to know the language to understand. He opened his mouth but found no words. What could he say to Daslin’s anger? Humiliated, afraid, he looked to Miris. Ney stood firm, unbowed by the priest’s fury.

  “We needed to know,” ney said, speaking quickly before Daslin could interrupt. “We need to talk to you. Harsa is-”

  “Daslin. Listen.” Vessirn’s voice came from behind them. She stood at the cave entrance but did not step onto the ritual ground. “Spare them your anger. I sent them to watch.” She spoke their language, to give them the benefit of understanding. Daslin responded in the same tongue.

  “You invited outsiders into the Calling?”

  Something gusted into the crater and wrapped around Miris, hissing warningly at Daslin. Seres had found them.

  “They bring us dark news. Of Harsa, and the Stars.”

  Daslin looked from his unwelcome guests to Seres to Vessirn’s imploring face. After several long moments, he lifted his head and said something to her in their own language.

  Her ears flicked in acknowledgement. “Come,” she said, and led the three of them back through the painted hallway. The junior priest followed at a distance and said nothing, acting almost as if the ritual had not been disturbed at all. Seres remained outside. Belest could only imagine that a Wind spirit would be deeply unhappy in the tight mountain tunnels. Still, he wished the spirit could follow them, could guard them. Surely Daslin would not harm them, not with Vessirn watching, but the fear lingered.

  Vessirn led them into the heart of the mountain, into a round chamber with a high ceiling. Compartments stuffed with scrolls lined the wall. In the middle of the room sat a cold hearth, a stone bowl full of herbs and flowers waiting at the center. Daslin and the second priest approached it, bowed, whispered a prayer. They held out their lanterns and tipped them until the bowl caught. A fragrant smoke lifted into the air, enough to scent the space without darkening the room.

  Daslin said something to the other priest. A dismissal, evidently, for the priest bowed and walked from the room. Daslin leaned on the stones and looked into the depths of the flickering light. For a long time there was nothing but the crackling of the flame as it blackened and devoured each blossom and stem of the offering.

  “Tell what you have to tell,” he said into the quiet, voice drawing rumbling echoes from the stone.

  For the second time that day, Miris told their story. Except this time, they had an answer to it. This time, they could guess what Harsa had done. Daslin listened, expression grim.

  “I have often wondered where Harsa found himself. I asked myself that when he did not return, and every day since.” His tail lashed the floor though the rest of him remained as still as stone. “I should not have sent him away.”

  “He might still have become a deviant, had he stayed,” Vessirn said, darkly.

  “Had he stayed, he would not have had the knowledge to do such harm.”

  “How do we stop it?” Miris asked. “We don’t know where he is. He ran when we arrived.”

  Belest thought of something. “But we know where he might go.”

  Daslin caught his meaning first. He hurried from the room at a pace Belest hadn’t expected from his age, forcing the others to follow. Perhaps it was merely his fear, or the strangeness of the night, but Belest could feel something wrong long before they reached the tunnel entrance, before they saw the red light flickering in the distance and the faint notes of a familiar song drifted to their ears.

  They emerged into the cold air to an even more chilling sight. Harsa stood on the ritual ground, a Flame spirit burning eagerly in a bowl at his feet, and in its light his gold fur looked like fire itself. There was something else in the bowl, something that the spirit embraced as it burned. He was not close enough to see, but Belest thought of the metal trays that had carried the Stars, thought of the Flamescript carved into them. Harsa held a burning torch aloft, focused utterly on the two Stars floating slowly towards it, bright white sparks in the dark sky.

  “Wait,” Miris urged. Harsa had not noticed them. As the Stars approached his torch, he lowered it ever closer to the Flame. One Star refused to follow, darting back into the sky. Harsa growled in frustration. The other Star stilled at the interruption to the song, unmoving until Harsa picked up the melody again. Daslin hissed silently, ears flat with rage, watching his student twist his song to capture spirits for profit. The Star continued its descent, oblivious to what awaited it. Just as it touched the torch, Harsa brought the torch to the Flame, the motion unsettlingly similar to the ritual Daslin had performed. The Flame surged out to engulf the Star. There was a flash of light, and when it cleared a glowing gem sat unmoving as red fire flickered around it.

  Daslin could stay silent no longer. He stormed from the passage, shouting condemnations and curses. At Belest’s side Miris made a sudden alarmed sound and pressed a hand to nir arm. Ney dove out after Daslin, yelling for him to get down, get back. The two of them went to the ground just as Seres roared over the peak. Harsa, who had stilled with shock at the intrusion, did not heed the warning. The Wind struck him with full force, throwing him into the base of the one of the pillars. Seres turned back, swept across the ground, sending Harsa’s things flying.

  Harsa dragged himself from the ground, growling. He turned a hate-filled glare on Miris and charged towards them. Seres was faster. The Wind pinned him to the ground before he even had a chance to react. Daslin unsheathed his claws and grabbed Harsa by the arms and neck, taking no care to avoid his wounded wrist.

  “Go to the guest room. Wait for us there,” Vessirn told Belest and Miris. She went to Daslin’s side, more resignation than fury in her eyes, and together they dragged Harsa into the mountain tunnel, Seres whipping at his fur all the while. The Wind calmed once they were inside, and spiraled back to brush affectionately, comfortingly against first Miris and then Belest. He stilled with wonder at the Wind’s touch. He had been right to fear Seres at Summertooth, he thought. But somehow, the spirit had forgiven him.

  “Belest?” Miris called to him from the entranceway.

  “Wait,” he said. “I have to see something.”

  Belest walked along the edge of the peak, searching among the scattered items. He found a wooden case, torn apart at the hinges and both parts split with cracks. The extinguished torch had fared better and was still intact. The Flame reduced to a dormant ember beneath the upturned and chipped bowl. Then he saw it. At the edge of the crater sat a square metal tray, soot-blackened, carved with Flamescript. Belest gingerly reached out to touch it. He pulled his hand back as soon as his fingers brushed the metal - it was cold enough to sting. He sighed, both relieved and disturbed. This confirmed all his suspicions. But where was the rest? Harsa must have a stockpile somewhere of such supplies, at least all those that weren’t in the hands of his traders.

  He gathered up the poor dormant Flame. Could they hold the spirit responsible for what Harsa had asked? Even if they could, what could be the punishment? He had once thought that the spirits did not care what people did, so long as they were fed. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He knew better than to suppose he knew what they thought or felt. He hoped Triset and Welon would know what to do. At least they would treat the Flame better than Harsa had.

  Miris said nothing to h
im as they once again paced the corridor that led deep into the mountain. The room was still lit when they entered; some other hearthkeeper must have come through since Triset left. Belest went to the hearth and tilted the bowl, letting the still-red ember roll into the fire. Slowly, the spirit woke, stretching tongues of fire to embrace its fuel. Belest watched it, fearing that he had made a terrible decision, that the two Flames would fight, like Terthe’s sometimes did, or that the hearthkeepers would be angry at him for disturbing their charges. The first Flame reached towards the newcomer; they tussled for several long moments, but then settled down, ignoring each other. Like barn cats, Belest thought with sudden amusement.

  “Thank you,” Miris said, surprising him. “I should have thought of the Flame.”

  “I don’t think Harsa was any better to the Flames than he was to the Stars,” Belest said, quietly. “There wasn’t much fuel in the bowl. He must have been starving them, forcing them to take the heat from the Stars.”

  Miris sighed, shook nir head. “How did he even think of it?”

  “I don’t know.” Cruel people might have their reasons for what they did, but they were not any reasons Belest understood.

  He and Miris sat in the round niche-chairs and waited. Belest had very nearly fallen asleep when Daslin and Vessirn appeared at the door, quiet and grim, and ushered them through the halls to the round room where Daslin had lit the hearth with the Star’s flame. That hearth had nearly burned out by now, but there was still a faint glow lingering under the ashes.

  “Harsa told no others,” Vessirn declared. “He would not tell such a secret, for that would mean sharing his power. This ends with him.”

  Daslin grumbled something in agreement.

  Belest wasn’t as certain. Miris voiced his concerns before he found words. “But there are still traders who know it’s possible,” ney said. To destroy knowledge, to lock up an idea after it had been released, that could be an impossible task.

  “Traders who have never seen our rituals,” Daslin said. “Traders who know nothing of our clan’s connection to the spirits. They cannot hope to recreate what Harsa did.”

  But the tension did not lift. There was something else that troubled them.

  “This site has been poisoned by his acts,” Vessirn said, words bald and cold. Daslin did not react to the shocking statement, as if he had been thinking the same. “It cannot be cleansed.”

  Daslin stared into the dying embers of the Star-born flame. “Bring down the mountain,” he said at last. “Destroy these monuments. They shall stand no longer.”

  Belest nearly gasped. “But- the ceremony…”

  Daslin shook his head, one sharp motion. “There shall be no more worship here. Not after such desecration as this place has seen.”

  Vessirn stepped forward. “Our clan has moved before. We can move again.” She sighed. “Perhaps we have been here too long, grown too content. Perhaps the world wishes for us to move on, seek new lands. Our ancestors did the same, many times over.”

  Belest looked to the scrolls lining the walls and wondered how many libraries just like this one they had occupied over the years. How many places had the clan called home?

  Vessirn drew herself up in a shifting of cloth against fur, and her next words were an order. “Daslin. Take your novices and find a worthy site. I shall inform the clan of the rest.” She turned to Miris, tilted her head. “There is one last thing we will ask of you.” One ear flicked. “Or rather, ask of the Wind.”

  ◆◆◆

  “The Winds do not fly here,” Vessirn told Miris. “These heights belong to the Stars. But I believe they will permit Seres and the Winds of the mountains to assist.”

  “Assist?”

  “To pull down the monuments. To close off the peak so that none may stand there again.”

  Miris shivered, nir hand going instinctively to nir arm. “Yes. We can do that. Tonight?”

  “No,” Daslin interrupted. “Not yet. I need time. To consult with the others, and to prepare a message to the Stars.” He sighed, whiskers flaring. “Vessirn. I will need your help. But first take our visitors to bed. This is not for them.”

  And he wanted them to know that, or he would not have spoken it in a language they understood.

  “Yes.” Vessirn motioned to the humans. “Come.” She led them from the room, following a candlelit path that led away from that guest chamber they had spent the day in. Or at least Miris supposed it did. Nir sense of direction, so sharp in the open air, was near useless here, and ney had long forgotten what turns they had taken or curves they had followed.

  “Do not let Daslin frighten you,” Vessirn said once they were out of his hearing. “He does not show it, but he is grateful. As am I. We would have someday learned on our own what Harsa had done, no doubt, but I fear to think how many Stars he might have taken by then. And know that you are far from the first to creep into the ritual uninvited.” She laughed, though weakly. “Though most of the others have been curious children. And many of those joined us as they grew, and learned the rituals properly. I have always said that the Stars call those who are suited to them.” As did Winds, Miris thought, wishing again for Seres’s touch at nir shoulder.

  Vessirn came to a doorway, pushed aside a curtain, ushered them into the small room behind it. This was no tidy guest chamber, bare and plain or decorated to impress. Someone lived here, had filled the shelves with meaningful things. The whole space was blissfully warm. There was no bed or pallet, but a blanket-filled depression took up most of the room, large enough to fit three or four people.

  “I believe humans prefer to sleep away from others?” Vessirn said. “There are a few of us who are the same. My son’s love-mate is one of them. He does not like the touch of any but his mate. The two of them sleep here, most nights. They teach children. Tonight they are traveling with their charges.” She lifted the curtain and paused on the threshold. “Rest now. Triset will find you in the morning.”

  That energy borne from crisis drained from Miris as soon as it was no longer needed, leaving nem exhausted and cold. Ney dropped into a niche-chair by the doorway and ran a hand through nir hair, waiting for the warmth to ease away the last touch of chilled sweat.

  “We found him,” Belest said, as if talking to himself as much as to Miris. “And now the clan knows.”

  “Yes.” It should feel like a grand victory, but right now ney was far too tired to care. Ney settled into the deep cushion at one side of the Kejan bed and fell asleep within a handful of breaths.

  The morning came like a breath of relief. Light fell into the room through a slim channel in the stone that Miris had not noticed in the previous night’s darkness. The lamps by the doorway burned merrily - a hearthkeeper must have come by at some point. Miris rose from the bed, regretting the lost warmth. Belest had already woken, unusually for him, and was sitting in the chair, deep in thought. He looked at Miris, made as if to talk, and then paused.

  “What is it?”

  He took a breath, looked away. “I want to see my parents,” he said. “I didn’t try before, because that would be the first place Kela would look, and I didn’t want to put them in danger.” He sighed. “But if she was going to hurt them, she would have found a way.” He looked up at nem. “I need to know they’re safe.”

  “Yes. I can take you there. But we need to go to a waypoint first, for repairs.”

  He smiled, though it was still tinged with anxiety. “Thank you.”

  As promised, Triset came to collect them and take them to the morning meal. She led them to a communal chamber, loud with talk and laughter. Beautiful tapestries hung on the walls, depicting people, landscapes, animals. The style was far softer than the angular images painted on the path to the ritual site. Cooks stood hard at work at the center of the room. Miris and Belest lined up for their meal. When they reached the center, one cook carved them thick slices of meat from a massive roast, and another poured them drinks from a steaming kettle. Ney sniffed it, sipped, a
nd realized with some surprise that it was broth, not tea.

  Such an ordinary scene, after so many extraordinary things. They earned a few glances, for the strangeness of being humans in the middle of a Kejan hall, but the people of the clan were ultimately more interested in their food than their guests.

  Belest still looked uneasy. Finally, he turned to Miris and said, quietly, “All these people who are going to have to leave their home… do they know yet?”

  “Not yet,” came a familiar voice. Vessirn sat beside them. “But soon, they will. It will be difficult. But it is necessary.”

  “But, rebuilding all of this,” Belest protested, “That could take decades.”

  She laughed. “No, no. It will not be like that. These mountains are full of our ancestors’ caverns. To bring old clanlands back to life, that is something good.”

  “Old clanlands…” Miris mused. Ney could only imagine what a criminal exile might make of a long-abandoned system of caverns. “Might Harsa have hidden himself there? Or his tools?”

  Vessirn nodded. “I have been wondering the same. We shall see what we find. And what he will tell us.”

  Satisfied as ney was that Harsa had been captured, ney decided not to linger on that thought. They finished their food, all of it delicious and much-appreciated, and Vessirn brought them back to the hearth-chamber, where Daslin and two others waited. The central fire was dark; the room was lit instead by lamps on the walls. Daslin nodded as they entered, but he did not introduce the junior priests.

  “We shall follow the example of the Kita clan,” he said, but did not elaborate on what that entailed. The other priests knew what he meant, and that was all that mattered. “It will be a season or more before we are ready. But until we have found a new home untouched by Harsa’s crimes, we will not call to the Stars. We do not deserve their presence after what we have allowed to happen on our land.”