Cradle of Sea and Soil Page 3

  The poncho was her most precious possession, worth a fortune in favors and the trade of skills. Its cloth came from the bolls of the saro plant, which only grew up in the branches of the oldest tree-lords. The material made for a comfortable and deceptively protective garment that let the breeze pass through as if she were naked. Even so, it warded against water, which meant storms were slightly less miserable.

  Colibrí nodded to herself, satisfied with her preparations.

  She turned toward the bead curtain of their bohío—and jumped at the sight of a figure bowing before the threshold.

  “Sea and soil,” he said in greeting, his forehead pressed against the earth.

  “Sea and soil, Sanemoro,” she returned without bothering to hide the delight in her voice. The name tasted odd even after knowing him for so long, but then, it was a name meant to be spoken by a people that had been made from very different soil.

  That soil supposedly came from a land riddled with volcanoes, a land that had existed to the west, long ago—Vanadyl.

  Colibrí didn’t know much about the land other than it was the true origin of sages like Sanemoro, whose blood could store and gift memories with perfect clarity. With Vanadyl being little more than a scar of obsidian and basalt now—and the few survivors that had drifted to the archipelago long dead—those memories were the only proof it had ever existed. It was supposedly for that reason that sages continued to wear the name of their predecessors.

  Colibrí went to him, her free hand pushing aside the curtains.

  Sanemoro didn't lift his head, but reached into one of the two baskets on either side of him and pulled free a smaller basket filled with long lumps wrapped in banana leaves. She caught the scent of honey and bean paste and felt her mouth begin to water.

  Colibrí took the sweets with measured restraint, then waited. He reached into the basket again and retrieved a beautiful bracelet made of nutshells embedded with glistening waterstones, then offered it to her without lifting his head.

  The ritual gifting continued for a while longer—a tradition belonging solely to sages—and then, after she was quite overburdened, Sanemoro finally rose onto his feet.

  “Thank you,” she told him with a laugh. “But you don’t always need to bring me this many gifts.”

  Sanemoro offered her an unabashed grin, then bowed.

  Colibrí sighed and bowed back in gratitude. She knew that the quirks of a sage’s blood necessitated certain laws; two of those laws forbade them from taking mates and from bearing unsanctioned children. Instead, sages ritually honored anyone they become intimate with as a kind of apology.

  Colibrí found the rite a little silly, but enjoyed the gifts and attention, so she didn’t nip him too hard about it.

  Sanemoro spread his arms. “So, where is little Naru?”

  “Out with his friends, but I suppose he’s ‘little’ no more. Narune earned his Reclaiming a few days ago, and I’m afraid his adulthood won’t be far behind.”

  Sanemoro rose and watched as she stepped out into the sunlight, then dusted off the long sleeveless robe he wore. “Ah, now I understand. You go to hunt and kill the Guardian for daring to let him grow.”

  Colibrí laughed. “No, I’m just hoping to scout a little and ease my worries. We ran into a halja while hunting.”

  Sanemoro frowned. “There is a long way between us and the Primordial Wound. Are you… certain?”

  “I don't know, Sage. Don’t you preach that the only certainty is that there are none?”

  “Colibrí, this is serious.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “And I'm certain enough to go see if the sentinels missed any stray bits of corruption.” It sounded ridiculous even to her—sentinels zealously patrolled the edges of the islands and the outer rings of the forest for corruption every day—but it could happen.

  “Have you told the sentinels that you found and slew a halja?” Sanemoro scratched at his forehead, wiggling fingers beneath the band of dark green cloth pushing up his hair.

  “Eh, it's hard to speak with those who are more interested in finding heavy stones or sharp words to throw your way.”

  “I will mention it and ensure your name earns the glory it deserves, then,” he said with a nod. “I promise.”

  She waved a hand and made to leave, but he followed. She said nothing, and neither did he, all the way to the edge of the forest, which was already long beyond where canopy began to usurp the sky.

  Colibrí glanced at him.

  He smiled back.

  She crossed her arms around her spear and, frowned, waiting.

  Sanemoro continued smiling. He was a little younger than her and somewhat plump. He kept his hair shoulder-length, like Narune, but it arched over the band around his forehead and looked shorter. He dressed like a sage, which meant all of Sanemoro’s body was obscured by the leaf-green robe of his calling. The robe hid his lack of scars, but, even without them, Colibrí still found Sanemoro beautiful in his own way, and absolutely adored the way he traced her own scars.

  “What are you doing?” she finally asked him.

  He cocked his head. “Going with you, of course. I am curious now.”

  “Into the forest? You?” She scoffed. “You're no warrior.”

  “No, which is why I am fortunate to know one as skilled as you.”

  She sighed. “Do what you want, but remember that this isn’t some pleasant stroll.”

  Colibrí went into the forest then, her spear held before her. She wasn't tracking anything or hunting, so instead she prowled to, and around, where they had spotted the halja.

  She listened to gossip of life as they flowed across the forest floor and root-roads, her sandals crunching on dead leaves and sending things skittering away. Birds called out, sometimes to communicate, sometimes to deceive predators and throw them off toward the wrong direction.

  As usual, the coquí were the loudest and most carefree inhabitants of the forest. Colibrí made sure to step around the frogs whenever she saw them, and left them alone when they landed on her in twos and threes.

  You could harm a few by accident without dooming yourself, but it was always better to be safe. If too much pain or death rippled out to the other coquí, which were linked together in some unknowable way, they would begin to glisten with a potent venom and then swarm in search of whatever had made the mistake of harming their kin.

  Sanemoro managed to keep up with her through it all with surprising ease, his smile and wandering gaze free of tension. She didn't want to believe it came from ignorance. Maybe it was his faith in her, but that was its own kind of foolishness, too.

  Eventually, they passed through a tunnel made of spiraling roots, then walked up a ramping root-road to the upper layers. Colibrí looked for a place to rest and found one. She crouched in the shadow of a thin piece of root-road that would be easy to defend and gave her good vision. Sanemoro crouched beside her, knowledgeable enough to mimic warrior discipline and cover the side she wasn’t fully watching, though Colibrí wasn't sure whether she could trust his eyes.

  “So humbling,” he whispered. “Even the danger in the air is beautiful, in a way. Elegant in its raw, wild ferocity. Nothing at all like us humans. We are so awkward and clumsy.”

  “Ssssh,” she said after drinking from her waterskin. She offered it to him.

  “I am sorry,” he said casually, then nodded in gratitude as he took a sip.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “Silently.”

  They resumed their journey through the forest. Colibrí stepped through shadows, pausing every so often to sniff at the air or tilt her head when a cry sounded. Colibrí’s bestial additions proved useful here, because they bolstered her senses beyond those of her fellow warriors.

  Sanemoro watched her, or rather watched her ears, as they perked. “What happened to the ear loops I gave you a while ago?”

  She exhaled slowly and turned to glare at him. He spread his arms and smiled, but saw something in her face when his lips parted an
d found himself swallowing instead.

  Colibrí turned back to the root-road. “They’re not trinkets fit for the forest, or for war. Besides, think back to when I last wore them.”

  Sanemoro’s brow furrowed as he did just that. As a sage, it took him only moments—and then he blushed and laughed. “Oh.”

  “I might have had reason to wear them again, but that’s seeming less likely with every heartbeat.”

  “The ending to the day’s story is yet unspoken. Anything is possible!” He grinned and waggled a finger when she looked at him. “Such as finding ourselves dead if you keep allowing yourself to be distracted.”

  Oh, seas and skies aflame. Colibrí clutched her spear and set off on the root-road. Maybe a little faster than she would have while escorting others, but Sanemoro had no problem keeping the pace, to her annoyance. He held his infuriating smile the entire time.

  They prowled for another few notches of the day, cutting across the forest regions nearest to the village. Actually, they ran into more than a few sentinel patrols, all of them eying her warily, but their faces lit with emotion when Sanemoro told them of the halja she had encountered.

  From the sentinels, they learned that no other sightings had occurred, nor had any corruption been found. The sentinels remained polite during each encounter, but didn’t do much to hide what they thought of her supposed halja sighting.

  But Colibrí was a warrior, and she had made the same oaths as the rest of her people: To war eternally against the halja and to halt the advance of their corruption whether it was at the Primordial Wound or elsewhere.

  The sentinels knew this, so a tiny drop of concern still leaked from their gazes when they eyed her. Colibrí decided that was better than nothing; more than a few of the sentinels would probably volunteer to double their shifts today, so she saluted and bowed to each patrol they came across. She let Sanemoro do all the talking, and when he had nothing left to say, they moved on. The notches passed in this way for most of the day—

  —until they stumbled onto corruption without spectacle.

  It was some distance away from where she and Narune had found the halja, but still close enough to the village to startle her. Too close to make sense.

  Yet here it was, a marring of Creation itself.

  Colibrí came to a slow stop, sandals sweeping across dead leaves, her spear readied. They were back down at the forest’s understory where little sunlight reached. She freed a small coral lantern from the straps securing it to her satchel. It was her second most valuable possession, and one greatly respected among warriors.

  The top and bottom were made of polished wood, but the center was a sturdy, translucent material made from carefully vetted beach sand that was then heated by spiritseer sorcery, treated sap, and who knew what else. Colibrí removed the leather hood from the lantern and dropped a few pinches of polyp feed into the water through a flip-latch. She wasn’t one for fancy lanterns, so the coral gave off its natural watery blue glow as it fed.

  Sanemoro pressed in close behind her, his breath held in awe, as she handed him the lantern.

  The corruption was an expanse of dull gray, its borders jagged like the edges of a festering wound. There wasn’t any movement within the corruption. None at all; everything seemed to have been robbed of the capability for motion. Here and there, plants had stopped mid-sway and a few coquí remained frozen at the apex of their leaps.

  The land was becoming as empty and meaningless as halja; the ground already looked like gray sea sponge, and Colibrí knew the corruption would continue spreading over time until everything became hollow. If things stayed that way long enough for the corruption to root, then another stretch of land would be lost to them forever.

  That wasn’t the case here, but there was still a lot of corruption. Far more than she had expected to ever find, and right now, the only resistance was that of the tree-lords, whose afflicted portions of root and trunk weren’t yet entirely gray.

  “This is...” Sanemoro’s tongue faltered and he instead moistened his lips. Colibrí was sure he knew more about corruption than she did, but sages weren’t risked so far from the village that they would ever see corruption, let alone a halja.

  Usually, anyway.

  Colibrí regarded the sight thoughtfully. There’s still time to cut it out from the forest.

  That was something to be thankful for, but she only trembled and felt her tail go limp; this stretch of the forest was well-patrolled. How had the corruption been missed?

  Well, either way, I’ll have to do as I was shaped to do. Colibrí huffed, then stepped into the corruption and began bashing at the gray mass with her spear. It was slow, laborious work because she had to chip and cut at every little fleck of gray. Most of the corruption wasn't resilient enough to regrow itself yet, so it burst apart into plumes of dust easily enough.

  The corruption at the center was harder to break, however, and this time the holes she made in the smooth, sinew-like material healed almost immediately. Her heart fluttered in panic, but stubborn, frantic movements and a little help from her knife crumbled even the thickest of the stuff into dust too.

  Sanemoro stood watching with uneasy silence as notches passed and the air filled with thick gray clouds. The dust seemed to be what was bothering him, because he eventually asked, “Is that, uh, safe to breathe in?”

  “Eh?” Colibrí looked up from where she was crouched. Her knife was on the ground beside her, her spear in hand. She was already slick with sweat and had to constantly wipe droplets from her eyes.

  “The dust,” Sanemoro said, gesturing. “You are breathing a great deal of it in.”

  Colibrí sighed and went back to work. “It's fine. I’ve breathed it many times before. Everyone who fights the halja and corruption does, and we’re all fine enough.” A little insane, maybe, but that’s because of the nightmares keeping us awake at night.

  “Oh.”

  “You should keep quiet and watch the forest if you’re not going to help.”

  Sanemoro blinked, then slapped his forehead and nodded. “Of course.”

  “Not for me,” she quickly clarified as she struck a gray outline of a coquí. “For yourself. Nothing from the forest will willingly enter corruption.”

  Sanemoro scratched his head for a moment, before nodding. Colibrí returned to her work and spent too many notches of the day cutting, chipping, and scrapping away the infection.

  Normally, she would have had an entire warband helping, but she feared too many things about what she saw here to leave it be. She also didn't feel like arguing with the sentinels; they would outright call her a liar, even with Sanemoro at her side. Her bond with him wasn’t much of a secret.

  Eventually, Colibrí completed her work and stood with a groan, her back and arms aching. She was drenched in sweat and her breath was labored, but she felt content, and even a little proud. Her tail waggled in response, but she didn't clench her teeth and halt it like she normally did.

  The corruption had been reduced to streaks and specs here and there, but these were being overwhelmed by a return of motion to the land; by the Flows of Creation. Wind blew, leaves fell, and insects tested the edges of the reclaimed land.

  What little of the infection remained began to crumble into dust not long after, and after another notch, she could no longer feel any wrongness in the air, just the Flows washing over her like ocean spray.

  Sanemoro bowed when she returned to his side. “You truly are a warrior, Colibrí.”

  She sniffed. “Someone need to be, eh?”

  “Apologies,” he said, spreading his arms and bowing again. “I know beyond a doubt now that I was not shaped for this.” He shuddered. “In fact, you were the only reason I even stayed.”

  She sighed, but took a long drink of water instead of replying. She thought for a moment, swallowed, and then motioned for him to follow. Spear in hand, she glanced around, then set the pace.

  “Wait. Where are we going?” Sanemoro asked in surpris
e.

  “To scout for halja tracks, of course.”

  “Eh?”

  Colibrí paused and turned to face him. She tucked away a strand of hair that had escaped her braid, and pursed her lips. “Corruption this widespread should have birthed a few, at least. Narune and I only found one.”

  “Oh. That… is not good.”

  “No,” Colibrí agreed as she resumed her pace. “None of this is good at all.”

  Chapter 4

  Excitement woke Narune early. It was still dark out, not yet dawn, but he yawned and stretched, knowing he wouldn't be able to return to sleep. His mother slept a short distance away, on her own unrolled futon, and beneath the both of them spanned a wide tatami mat. Hammocks reminded his mother of her youth at the Primordial Wound, she had once told him. So, she had instead learned to craft the sleeping bundles used mostly by spiritseers.

  It seemed to help; his mother woke screaming and drenched in sweat less often these days.

  Narune shuffled to his knees, careful not to wake her, and rolled his futon tight before wrapping cord around it. His mother broke the silence by farting and then rolled to her other side. Narune’s eyebrows rose as he waved a hand in front of his nose, then he went to store his futon out of the way.

  He tugged on his warrior breizo, knife and harness included, and then stepped outside. The sky was a sea of stars glittering down against the water, and the waves sparkled back in answer.

  The village wasn't far. Narune made his way toward it as he had countless times before. It wasn't really in defiance of his mother, because he didn't enter the village proper. Instead, Narune drew as close as he dared and then paused to admire the sight, dreaming of the day he could enter without fear or shame.