Cradle of Sea and Soil Read online

  “Look,” he said to Ixchel. “We can rest there.”

  She nodded tiredly, and together they made their way over to the cay. There were only a handful of the other youths ahead of them; the rest straggled behind while more than a few still stood staring from the beach with indecision.

  The water began churning and surged up against him. He frowned, wondering if he had drifted too close to Ixchel, then cried out in surprise when something caressed his thigh.

  For a moment he thought it might have been his imagination, but then Ixchel glanced down in panic and someone ahead of them cried out—

  The umoth exploded up from the sea.

  It was an island of slick bruised flesh and the island was littered with jagged-toothed maws. Tentacles rose from those openings, lined by suckers, and they searched for the meals the umoth had sensed. A deep bellow rang across the waves.

  Narune slipped and skidded across it, nails clawing uselessly against its leathery hide, as the umoth trembled. Some of the other things it had caught while breaking the surface, like fish and other creatures of the sea, skidded by the gaping mouths. Some fell right in. The rest were snatched up by the forest of tentacles.

  One of those tentacles looped down and wrapped itself around his ankle. His mother’s training—meant to be remembered by his muscles, his bones and flesh—saved his life. Narune’s long bone knife sprang free from its harness and jabbed at the other tentacles that darted forward in an attempt to fully restrain him.

  Green watery ichor splattered over him and another deep cry filled the air. The fleshy island shifted and Narune slid in one direction before being jerked in another by the tentacle still around his ankle. Pain lanced through him, but it was quickly overwhelmed by panic—he knew he was being pulled toward one of the maws.

  Ixchel threw herself on him, grinning fiercely, and they slipped across the fleshy island together. Her own knife flashed out, stabbing over and over again at the tentacle around his ankle while Narune continued lashing at the others creeping toward them. The umoth refused to give him up, though, so she instead began sawing at the tentacle. Narune squirmed over onto his belly and stabbed his nails and knife deep into the umoth, trying to help Ixchel by fighting against the jerky, swaying motions of the leviathan.

  He left jagged lines that oozed green ichor.

  The tension around his ankle suddenly loosed and he was able to tear his leg free. Ixchel rose onto her hands and knees beside him, gasping, her hair torn from its braid. “We need to get off!”

  Back into the water? The umoth wouldn’t care; it could reach them there just as easily. Narune already heard the cries of the other youths as they were caught by the appendages in the water.

  Narune realized that they were about to die. All his hopes and dreams pulled into one of the digestion sacs of an umoth.

  Ixchel didn’t wait for a response and dragged him with her as more tentacles reached for them. One wrapped around her neck, and Narune gasped as she reached up to claw and cut at it, He leaped forward to help her, his own knife plunging into the bruise-colored flesh.

  There were fewer screams now. Narune knew what that meant, and that, in turn, would mean more appendages being left free to hunt.

  Then Tessouat and other spiritseers of the Unbound Flow, the Flow of water and blood and similar things, suddenly appeared above them.

  They surfed through the air using the crystalline spheres of water that orbited them, but Narune knew they could skid across the sea just as easily. They looked like stormdancers, stepping and hopping from orb to orb with practiced grace, each orb bursting into an infinite wave as the spiritseer settled onto them. Their Flowing Blades stretched out ahead of them, everything but the hilt made of raw sorcery, and the actual Blades themselves were thin and ever slightly curved, appearing like the first wet stroke of a brush.

  In the case of Tessouat and those with him, their Blades were a deep rich cerulean. Tails made of Flow chased after the tips, then dissipated into nothingness more than an arm’s length away.

  Tessouat’s Flowing Blade sliced through a tentacle as it were no more solid than the air. His face hardened as the others followed and set to butchering the umoth with terrible efficiency.

  The umoth screeched in pain and fought back against this new threat, thankfully now ignoring Narune, Ixchel, and the other youths. Ixchel didn’t waste a single heartbeat when she noticed this, and shoved herself onto him. Their momentum sent them across the slick flesh and into the water.

  “Swim!” she shouted, spitting water, and frantically made her way to the cay. Narune followed after her and the entire way he felt as a tentacle would suddenly grab him and force him under, never to be seen again.

  But they made it. He dragged himself up and sprawled on the island. Ixchel continued on, crawling desperately, her breath ragged. She returned sometime later and her trembling hands set one of the tokens of proof into his. Narune found that he was shivering too, though both the water and the air were warm. He sat up, clutching the token, and nodded to her gratefully.

  Narune stayed there panting for a moment, water and ichor dripping from his face, and watched the spiritseers fight the umoth.

  The leviathan eventually gave a final wail laced with fear and then tried to submerge. The spiritseers hurried to drag away those they had freed from the tentacles and upper digestion sacs, but their faces told Narune that they hadn’t saved everyone. The island of flesh sank back into the ocean with the same suddenness it had appeared, sinking deep and then deeper; beyond the reach of even spiritseers like Tessouat.

  Ixchel wrapped an arm around his shoulder, hair wet around her face. She laughed hysterically and pressed her head against his, then looked out across the surface of the water at Tessouat.

  The spiritseer stood on the waves, bobbing with them, his beautiful orbs of water orbiting more slowly now. There was a thoughtful, somber look carved onto his face.

  “Oi!” Ixchel said rudely. “Tessouat, how about giving all of us a ride back?”

  Shock numbed Narune’s tongue for a heartbeat, but then he elbowed her and said, “Ixchel! Seas aflame.”

  Tessouat frowned at her, then glanced over at the other youths; some were just now dragging themselves out of the water while others were being set down onto the cay by Tessouat’s fellow spiritseers.

  Ixchel only shrugged and spat out a dark laugh.

  “A wise warrior knows when to turn to her companions for aid,” she said. “Or am I wrong?”

  A smile devoid of humor blossomed on Tessouat’s lips, then, to Narune’s absolute surprise, the spiritseer held out his hand.

  Chapter 9

  Colibrí lay on her back in her bohío, alone, and debated what she would do next. Yabisi’s words burned in her mind. We are losing the war.

  No one knew what cruelty had inflicted the Primordial Wound, but the land’s cry of pain after bearing it had also been the cry of its birth. If the tales recited by the stormdancers could be believed, then the Islandborn had stood against the Stillness for just as long. This was obviously the purpose for which they had been shaped, yet all they had ever been able to do was fight as best as they could.

  That had been enough for so long, but now it seemed like the corruption was finally spreading beyond the reach of their oaths.

  Somehow, the Stillness and maybe even halja were escaping detection from the many warriors sent to hunt them… but not from her. Why that was remained a mystery, but Colibrí decided it was the reason she had been attacked. The corruption her assailant had left behind suggested it was a halja, or at least something similar to one. Maybe a new breed that spawned with the reasoning ability of humans—and the capability for speech.

  A halja capable of thinking and talking like a human. That was the only sane answer despite also being the very definition of absurd. And chilling beyond imagination.

  It also left too many questions. How had a halja wielded so much Flow—which was venomous and corrosive to them—without des
troying itself?

  Colibrí closed her eyes and let out a long breath, arms and legs flopping. She had removed her sarong to lie down and nap for a little while, but hadn’t done a very good job of it. Her mind was just too restless, which was ironic considering how the swirling screams were leaving her alone.

  Someone stopped at her doorway and coughed dramatically. Colibrí groaned and waited a little while before huffing and picking herself up. She was healing well, but her wounds and muscles ached, and moving was anything but pleasant.

  “Sea and soil,” Sanemoro said as she pushed aside the nut and seashell curtain.

  Colibrí placed a hand on her hip.

  They went through their usual rite of gifting and Colibrí found herself glad for the distraction. She accepted each gift with indifference as was proper—the person and the reasons behind the act were supposed to be the greater pleasures—but inside felt a spark of eagerness after she saw what they were.

  Sanemoro had brought her food, most of them her favorite treats, many of them likely hard to come by. He had even brought her some cheese and drink from beyond the archipelago!

  “Thank you,” she said, struggling to hold back her excitement and spare herself a little embarrassment—sages never forgot anything and Sanemoro would nip her about it forever.

  Sanemoro waggled his eyebrows knowingly. “Narune told me you were not eating.” He rose, woven baskets in his arms. “And I told him I knew just how to solve that problem.”

  She rolled her eyes, but the reflexive swishing of her tail gave her away. He followed her with a grin as she retreated back to her mat and sat to sort through the food.

  “How are you feeling?” Sanemoro asked as he placed the baskets down and looked around.

  “Bruised. Frustrated. Conflicted.”

  The sage laughed. “Well, I might be able to help with one of those.”

  Colibrí eyed him as he knelt next to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Sanemoro’s soft fingers then began massaging her flesh with intense precision, pressing against hills of hardened muscle and the valleys between them made by a lifetime of training and strife.

  A soft breath escaped her lips, and for a moment there wasn't anything else in the world; just Sanemoro’s touch, the aches dying beneath his hands, and a companionable silence.

  But silence never lasted and she found new thoughts invading her mind. A pang of longing, thwarted by the twists of life, by oaths and the demands born from them. Just as it had been with Yabisi. The dreaming soon became dangerous, so she hastily turned back to what was real.

  “Thank you yet again,” Colibrí said awkwardly. “This is a wonderful gift.”

  Sanemoro laughed. “This is not one of my gifts for you; this is me just trying to help. Pleasant?”

  “Very. You're good at this.”

  “I should hope so. I spent a long while studying the more uncommon skills found among the menders,” Sanemoro said as he shifted over and stretched out one of her legs. His fingers soon began pressing into her bare thighs and down toward her calves and feet. His voice shifted to the now familiar rhythm and tone every sage seemed to be able to summon at will. “I am trying to encourage a review of how our menders choose to pass down their lore. We benefit from these ‘lesser’ skills more than we think, or so I hypothesize, as is my duty, and—”

  “Sanemoro, please. Not right now.”

  He paused and grimaced “I am sorry.”

  “You can keep going with your hands though.”

  The sage laughed and did so, and there they remained quiet for a little while, but it was no longer just pleasant silence. This time, she thought with purpose, and as the aches faded came to a decision. It was wild and desperate, but Sanemoro had given her an idea…

  She pressed a hand against his back and he paused. Colibrí then leaned forward to touch her nose alongside his in gratitude, then caressed his jaw as she stood. She stretched, tail and ears and all. “Ah, I feel much better.” She paused, then glanced at him thoughtfully. “Could I ask you for another favor?”

  Sanemoro laughed as he rose and smoothed his sleeveless robe. “That depends on what it is.”

  “I need you to come with me into the forest again.”

  The sage said nothing for a long time.

  “Excuse me?” he eventually asked.

  “I’m going into the forest,” Colibrí repeated, decided with certainty now. “And I need you to come with me.”

  Sanemoro should have outright refused her, called her insane, used his knowledge of her to twist her away from whatever was in her thoughts. Instead, he tilted his head, let out a long breath, and waited for her to explain.

  Colibrí’s tail curved behind her like a frond. I don’t deserve you, Sanemoro. “Yabisi has sent many into the forest because of the warning you passed on.”

  “Yes? It is the talk of the village. What of it, Colibrí?”

  “She told me they found nothing.”

  His frown deepened. “You spoke with her?”

  She made a dismissive gesture. “Yabisi pointed out that I should be worried that this thing was hunting me specifically. Well, I’m also the only one finding corruption and halja despite all the warriors and sentinels in the forest.”

  Sanemoro rubbed his chin while staring off into the gloom of the bohío. “This is true.”

  “Then?”

  “Then what? What are you planning on doing?”

  “I’m going to go test and prod at all this, Sanemoro. Like you and your hypotheses. Isn’t this the sage’s way? You can sort everything we learn in your mind and blood and hopefully make something out of it.”

  “Again, true…” he said, hesitant. “But you are injured. Even if we find corruption, you would not be able to clear it in your condition.”

  “I know,” she said sweetly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Yet you will remember the path and place and can guide other warriors to it, which will not only prove my words, but also let us know if this is more than the others simply being unable to find corruption.”

  “And if your hunter reappears?” Sanemoro asked, throwing his hands up. “Or any number of things goes wrong?”

  “I’m wounded, not dead, and my predator no longer has the advantage of surprise. I can also sense their sorcery, Sanemoro.”

  He shook his head. “What? I know you said they wielded the Flows of Creation—and let us stroll right on by how ridiculously troublesome that is—but you are talking about the difference between being able to pick out the entire sea, and being able to pick out a specific droplet from within it. Not even spiritseers can do that.”

  She nodded. “It felt more like a splashing rock than a droplet to me. Thick, heavy, clumsy.”

  “And… we are sure this thing is a halja?”

  Colibrí laughed. “No. I’m not sure of anything.” She spread her arms. “There are many shadows here, Sanemoro. I’m asking you to help me poke a spear at them so we can see what scurries out.”

  “And expose ourselves in the process,” he muttered, but then sighed in resignation. “How about another day, then? The Duels will begin in a few notches and, useless as I was yesterday during that terrible mess with the umoth, I still feel like I should watch over Narune.”

  Colibrí frowned. Her son had come home, eaten himself sick, and then had told her about the Feats just as it was named—one of the first in what would hopefully be a long story for him. She had tried to listen without allowing the signs of her shock and trembling heart to show. After all, the sea was no less dangerous than the forest and, seas aflame, Colibrí knew her own story was filled with many similar moments—but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  Sanemoro frowned at what he saw in her face. “Oi, I am sure he will do just—”

  “—No, he will fail horribly,” Colibrí interrupted. She looked away from him. “They’re going to find a way to break Narune, and I’m still figuring out how I'll help him put the pieces back together afterwards. I wouldn’t go
even if Yabisi allowed it, and if you care about his pride, then you won’t go either. It’s not something he’s going to want his loved ones to see.”

  Sanemoro’s frown melted away and anger thundered across his face to her absolute surprise and delight. It brought a slight smile to her lips.

  “Colibrí!” Sanemoro snapped. “You are underestimating him. Narune is made from the same soil as you and carries the warrior lore you gave him, but thankfully has someone else’s cleverness.”

  “Oi.”

  “He will fight beautifully,” Sanemoro insisted. “Just as you taught him.”

  But she shook her head and, after biting her lip for a while, tail limp, told him of Narune’s oath and what Yabisi had said to Colibrí.

  “And you let him go?” Sanemoro now said with alarm, his tone different in every way. “Seas aflame, Colibrí! Why did you not force him to stay with your Halfborn bond, then?”

  “I could have,” she said. And almost did. “Trust me, I’ve spent a long time thinking about this. For a while, I couldn’t think of anything else.”

  “Why did you not stop him, then?”

  “Because it’s the only way Narune will give up—or lose, I suppose—the desire to become a spiritseer on his own. If I made him do it, then I’d only be keeping him from the path in his mind.” She shrugged. “This will also teach him what I’ve only ever been able to tell him; we’re Halfborn and the Trueborn only tolerate us so long as we stay out of the way.”

  “I do not just tolerate you,” Sanemoro snapped.

  She paused, then smiled sadly and lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “I know. It’s a kindness I don’t deserve, but nonetheless, it’s also a rarity. Besides us, he has only Kisari and Ixchel and maybe not Ixchel forever. She’s still young and boastful of her disobedience, but she’ll grow to be like them someday, I fear.”

  Sanemoro shook his head. “Imagine how Narune will feel, Colibrí!”

  “I have. He’ll come home in tears and his heart will be broken for a very long time. But this will only need to happen once.” She shrugged and bit her lip. “I remember when I used to have to tell him to leave the stinging crabs alone. I could have touched him and forced him to avoid them, but what would he have learned? It took being stung by one before he learned why I was always at him about them—and then he obeyed every other time I voiced caution. Sometimes raising a sproutling is just that hard, Sanemoro.”