Cradle of Sea and Soil Read online

  “I don’t know what to think any more, Narune. I’m a warden without a craft or a lore. At best I might be able to gather along the edges of the forest or fish, but mostly I’d be a burden on you two.”

  “Neither of us are wardens,” he pointed out. “We try as best as we can, but it’s just not who we are. Especially not my mother. My cooking is already better.”

  Kisari giggled. “True!”

  “Well, now you know. I don’t even have to ask her. What about Ixchel?”

  She frowned at him. “Has she not been visiting you?” When he shook his head, she shrugged and said, “I haven’t spoken with her much. She told me she’s been busy with her training, but...”

  “But?”

  She looked at him for a moment, then brushed one of the leafy tendrils in her hair and turned to the canoe. “Maybe we can meet with her soon, and talk. That would be nice.”

  “It would! She needs to stop acting so haughty just because she’s a spiritseer.”

  “So, are you going fishing?” she asked, pointing at the canoe.

  Narune paused, considering whether to lie to her and risk her asking to come along, or tell her the truth and then somehow convince her to stay behind.

  Kisari knew him too well though. After a moment, he felt her prodding him in the side. What are you really doing, then? her voice sounded in his mind.

  “Uh...”

  “I saw Sanemoro’s face, Narune. I bet it has something to do with that. You can tell me, I promise.”

  He sighed and glanced across the water. “I’m going to a sacred island.” Maybe she wouldn’t—

  “For heartwood?” Kisari snapped, clever enough, it seemed, to follow his thoughts all the way through and not liking the destination. She threw out an arm out despite her promise. “Of a tree-lord? For a Flowing Blade?”

  “Eh… maybe?”

  She crossed her arms. “I want to come with you.” Then her expression softened and she touched him again. I’ll keep your secret and the island isn’t like the forest. You can protect me, can’t you?

  She was right; the sea itself, which teemed with life as dangerous as the forest, was probably worse than the sacred island. Still, it wasn’t completely safe, and they weren’t even supposed to be on the islands without the Spiritseer Circle’s permission…

  “Please,” she said softly. “You did just give me an oath, and I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  Narune frowned. “I was only worried about you; that’s all. But if you want to come, then come. I’ll protect you.”

  She embraced him briefly, then stepped into the canoe while he held it still for her. He reached for his breechcloth and knife and put them on, then stepped into the canoe and took the paddle from Kisari.

  They remained silent as he rowed them across the sea, eyes on the water. Kisari stared out into the horizon, lost in thought, maybe, or just enjoying the sea. The breeze sent her long loose hair fluttering freely, but the thicker tendrils, especially the flowering ones, remained in place.

  Eventually, Narune spotted something moving in the water and sighed. “Uh… don’t be afraid.”

  That, of course, alarmed Kisari, but when her gaze snapped out across the water, her expression twisted with confusion.

  An island coyote slowly swam toward them.

  Narune waited as it neared and then watched it struggle to climb onto the canoe, slipping several times. It finally scrambled over the lip, yelping as it tumbled into the space between Narune and Kisari. The coyote then rose up and shook itself, scattering water everywhere, and turned to growl at Kisari, who scooted back, before spinning toward Narune after he swatted it on the rump.

  It barked at his glare and waggled its tail.

  The island coyote was large—almost as large as a moss wolf—and the color of its fur was a mix between the dark black of shadows and the deep blue of the depths.

  The coyote picked up the fish it had dropped and placed it on Narune’s lap. Then it licked his face and jumped over the edge of the canoe. They watched it swim away.

  “What… was that?” Kisari asked. “I thought it was going to tear out my throat out, if not yours.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Island coyotes sometimes come and treat us strangely—well, by strange, I mean they always seem to either come annoy us or pile us with fish.”

  “Eh?”

  “I don’t understand it, either. Sanemoro says Halfborn are worshiped a little by the beasts we borrow from.” He paused, thoughtfully. “How about you?”

  She snorted. “If you’re asking if trees come to leave me fish, then no.” At his laugh she shrugged and added, “Maybe if I ever stumble onto a hunting plant, it’ll leave me alone.”

  “Or bring you a boar!” Narune said excitedly. “That’s a lot better than fish. You’d never need to hunt!”

  Her eyelids fell and she maintained her lazy glare all the way to the island. Thankfully, it happened without an umoth or any other leviathan devouring them. They landed and Narune helped Kisari out of the boat and onto the beach.

  Then, with a simple shrug, Narune walked onto the forest and onto the first root-road he saw. Kisari followed at his side.

  It was eerily peaceful; the songs of the coquí were absent, the calls of birds and the buzzing of insects subdued. In fact, the hushed air was disturbed only by the rustling of the tree-lords guarding the island, and the Flows of Creation were so deep that it felt like he was wading through water.

  The screaming storm pressed closer too, though. The voices were faint, like an itch deep in his ears.

  Kisari looked at him in alarm, but he smiled and said, “I hear them, but I’m not listening.”

  Chagrined, she mumbled out an apology, but he waved it down. After what happened at the Proving Grounds, she was right to worry.

  “So?” Kisari asked, awed by the place. She stood very close to him anyway, as if something might come out and snatch her at any moment. “Do we go to any tree?”

  Narune shook his head. “The tree-lords will supposedly guide me if I’m worthy.”

  She frowned. “So you’re not even sure you’ll get any heartwood? Did you really think this through, Narune?”

  Of course he had. There were other ways to get heartwood, but this was a ritual in itself. It proved the honor of the novice, showed respect to the land, and gave the tree-lords a chance to look over those who might become greatest among all predators.

  But he didn’t know how it actually worked.

  Narune closed his eyes briefly, felt the screams grow louder, closer, and then tuned them out. Nothing happened, so he sighed and reopened his eyes, then stepped forward. Kisari didn’t comment and simply followed.

  They moved across the little island, following the root-roads at whim, side by side. Kisari didn’t mock him or voice any doubt, and, after growing a little more comfortable at his side, began to smile and point at the beauty that so often lay beneath the danger of the forest. Narune laughed in delight at her sense of wonder and joined in on her awe; even if they left without the heartwood they wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

  He eventually found what he sought. It surprised him, because they arrived without warning or spectacle or without really understanding how, but Narune knew this couldn’t be a mistake.

  The tree-lord was old, and then old again, its bark gone, its withered flesh blackened. Few leaves clung to its drooping branches, and the other tree-lords had kept their roots away from the ancient out of respect.

  Narune and Kisari exchanged a look.

  The root-road they were walking on cut through the air straight ahead and joined the other roots of the tree-lord at the center. Since its own roots were the only ones here, the empty space formed a chamber, and since the old lord had no leaves, more sunlight than usual filtered down. Below them spanned a mattress of detritus and a few shrubs.

  The road itself ended at a massive opening in the ancient lord’s side that glistened with sap. The whole sanctuary pulsed wit
h the Flows of Creation, as if it coursed through the very roots and flesh of the tree-lord. It was overwhelming, and the screaming storm surged in response with an equally vibrant chorus.

  “Go to the tree-lord,” Kisari said in a tiny voice, as though words were too harsh a thing for these sacred grounds. “This is meant for you. I’ll stay here.”

  Narune nodded, then crept forward. He crossed the root-road bridge all the way to the tree, tail low, ears flat, and reached out. The Flows of Creation surged as he drew near, and when he caressed the side of the noble tree-lord, it felt wet with power. Flow sparked between them, silencing the screams within Narune’s head and filling him with clarity as serene as a pool of water. And, in that same moment, he realized with a gasp that this wasn’t simply an old tree-lord.

  It was a dying one, and it had been waiting for him. He sensed these truths through his fingertips somehow, as if every exposed lump, crevice, and mark were stories being told to his flesh, and then, in turn, to his very spirit.

  The lord had endured storms and Stillness, watching over the islands across a span of time Narune would never be able to comprehend. An elder beyond the very meaning of the word, yet it saw him as an equal, and wished to bestow upon him a gift.

  The gift was the humblest and oldest of all rituals, so great that it was given all the time: a beginning born from an end. The continued turning of life’s cycles.

  Narune gasped, breathless, his hand trembling not from the Flow surging between them, but from the enormity of what he sensed. He had come expecting to take a length of heartwood from a far younger lord. Instead, Narune had been brought to an ancient that wanted to entrust the final moments of its life to him.

  Narune almost refused, but then he licked his lips and shook away the arrogant thought. He was honored beyond words and would respect the forest’s decision, seeing it as further proof of his worth.

  Narune reached into the massive wound of the tree. Columns of the truest heartwood filled it like tendons, slick with blackened sap and the feel of Flow. Narune hesitantly closed his both of hands around one and felt it give almost immediately. He pulled the piece free and then stared at the wood. It was long and smooth.

  Hard to believe it could paint sorcery into existence.

  Narune fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against the root-road. “Thank you, noble one,” he whispered.

  The tree-lord didn’t answer, but Narune noticed that the screams in his head remained silent. Puzzled, he glanced back and saw Kisari was equally confused. In place of the screams, there was a deep sad silence that seemed to stretch forever.

  Narune rose uneasily and crossed back to Kisari. They eyed each other for a moment, then whirled when the tree-lord began groaning like some monstrous beast, its remaining leaves falling. Its branches crumbled and fell, and rot sprayed everywhere. The nearest root-roads snapped, as did the dying tree’s trunk, and for a moment it looked like it was bowing.

  Then the lord collapsed and rumbled down into the clearing, spraying detritus and soil.

  Narune and Kisari should have feared for their lives, or at least, should have moved somewhere safer. But they didn’t. They stood staring, both terrified and awed, while somberly witnessing the end of the tree-lord’s life.

  The forest cast off its peaceful silence then, and the very ground seemed to tremble. It felt as if the entire island was mourning the fallen lord, and maybe it was—the forest suddenly erupted with a cacophony of cries, from bird to beast, shocking Narune.

  He bowed at the settling grave. Kisari joined him a moment later, and when he looked up, he saw that she was crying.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with obvious embarrassment. “I—I don’t know. This is just so…” She halted, seeming searching for the right words, but then shrugged.

  Narune understood. He nodded, and it wasn’t long before his own cheeks were wet. They waited until the forest returned to its respectful silence, bowed one last time together, and then turned, leaving the tree-lord to its eternal rest.

  They were as quiet as the forest while making their way back, and they remained so all the way to the canoe, and as they glided across the water. Kisari held the length of heartwood for him, cradling it gently like it was some kind of artifact, and frowned at him while he paddled.

  Their silence ended only when they returned to the beach to find his mother fighting a trio of halja outside their bohío.

  Chapter 15

  Sweat streamed down Colibrí’s face as she advanced barefoot across the grass, positioning herself within a battlefield that seemed strangely like a crossroads in her life. The sea was to her right, the forest to her left, the shapes of the distant village smeared against the horizon before her, as she kept herself between the monsters and her bohío.

  Colibrí’s breathing was measured and deep, keeping sweet air flowing through her body. The fading sunlight vanished into the black bone of her spearhead, the spear itself trembling like a predator about to pounce.

  White-hot emotions jolted through her. They were the same color as the screams in her head. A snarl escaped from between her lips as her tail paused high behind her.

  The three halja didn’t seem impressed. Two were a poor imitation of serpent fern, a large and deadly plant that protected itself by strangling anything that came close; it even shredded apart other plants or tore them from the soil. Here, that trait had been emphasized to the extreme.

  The Empty Fern were gray and hollow, their flesh made up of the same sinewy material that marked the Stillness’ corruption. They walked on four root-like legs, wobbling as they moved, their leafy blades forming a mass of appendages that writhed in search of prey.

  But at least they were easier to understand; the ferns were shaped from the memories of corrupted land, from things she had seen and touched. The Empty Victory, however, was a thought that had been stripped of meaning and then shaped into physical existence by something other than the wild—and, as a result, was even further removed from the cycles of Creation than lesser halja.

  Colibrí focused on the Empty Victory as it watched her in return.

  It had two feet like spears that stabbed into the ground and its torso was eerily similar to a hollow human ribcage. Large muscular-seeming arms sprouted from the sides of the monster, but these were also hollow outlines of sinew.

  A bundle of spears sprouted from where its head should have been, the shafts visible all the way down its chest, and it held one of the bony spears in a hand.

  The Empty Fern lurched forward again.

  Colibrí’s spear tore the nearest leafy appendage as it reached for her, then she sprang forward and hopped over a sweeping grapple from the second Empty Fern. Colibrí landed lightly just before the first plant halja and thrust with both hands. The halja’s other appendages curled forward and began wrapping themselves around her body.

  Black bone met the fleshy center of the halja and found fierce resistance, but she was a warrior and Halfborn and she had aimed well. After a heartbeat, the spearhead sank into the thick meeting point of all the leafy appendages.

  She jerked the spear upward, freeing her weapon in a plume of gray dust as the appendages around her clamped tight—then weakened. The halja collapsed and began to crumble, its fern blades slipping from around her flesh.

  Colibrí whirled without hesitation and met the cowardly strike of the Empty Victory.

  The thing was silent as it towered over her and jabbed its spear one-handed. Her own spear bit back with equal hunger, her feet skidding furiously across the grass as she parried its attacks and chipped away bits of its legs or chest while striving to keep the halja between her and the other Empty Fern.

  The halja fought obsessively, with little care for itself, but that wasn’t surprising. Colibrí was fighting for survival whereas the halja was driven by its obsession to achieve victory at any cost.

  The other Empty Fern finally managed to tumble around the Empty Victory’s legs and whipped out its appendages toward h
er. Colibrí ducked and backed away toward the forest. The monsters followed, but the Empty Victory allowed its lesser kin to lead, likely in the hopes of catching her off guard while she faced it.

  Colibrí refused to be cowed and swung at the Empty Fern’s appendages as they grasped for her. The halja didn’t stop and continued to reach for with almost desperate abandon.

  The screams became shrieks and Colibrí winced, and the Empty Victory lunged.

  She threw out a desperate strike as the Empty Victory leaned over the other halja, then stumbled from the force of the blow. She felt the Empty Fern wrap around her calf and fought to keep herself upright, but then the halja jerked its leafy appendage.

  She sailed over the Empty Fern and slammed into the ground. Soil filled her mouth and she could feel clumps sticking to her face. Colibrí rolled over and gasped as the fern wrapped more and more appendages around her legs. Warrior discipline had already sent her spear upwards to meet the strike from the Empty Victory that she knew would come—

  —and then Narune soared over her. He crashed into the Empty Fern and grappled with the halja, knife glinting in the sun, but the halja was ignoring him.

  The spear-like foot came down and barely missed her head. Both pain and blood gushed from the gouge in her cheek, but Colibrí didn’t even register them; instead she awkwardly swung her spear when the Empty Victory tried again with a lazy thrust of its own weapon.

  All her Halfborn and warrior strength went behind it. The two weapons met, but hers hit like a club and snapped the halja’s spear, sending up a plume of thick gray dust. The Empty Victory shifted in a way that made it seem like it was staring eyelessly at its weapon, then it discarded the broken spear over a shoulder and began to draw another from its chest.

  Colibrí felt the Empty Fern’s appendages slacken around her legs and kicked them free. Her son, now gasping, helped tear the remains of the halja from her while she scrambled onto her feet. He only had his knife, but a moment later they stood side by side and faced the Empty Victory together.

  The halja turned and fled into the forest on its long limber legs.