Freewalker (34 page)

“Haven't spotted any Brothers yet, but the further we go, the more I keep expecting them,” the driver calls out as the truck stops.

“Rest easy. We'll be your escort from this time on,” says a man's voice, cringingly familiar.

“No,
you
rest easy, Sir,” says the driver. Make yourself comfortable.”

The back door opens. She can hear labored breathing as the man shuts the door and draws closer. She senses his mounting excitement at the sight of her. The truck jerks forward and she hears his high, cackling laugh. Her eyes snap open.

We are lost.

Ferrell knows she is too exhausted to attack the man beneath the brilliant feathered gown, the yellow-beaked mask.

“Our Stowe! What a pleasant surprise,” says Raven.

THE FORTRESS OF THE RED-HAIRED WOMAN

AND THE FRIEND BROUGHT THE VISION TO THE BROTHERS AS THEY SLEPT. AND AT EVERY RAISING OF THE SUN, THEY SEARCHED THE HORIZON WAITING FOR THE SIGN.

—ORIN'S HISTORY OF THE FRIEND

R
OAN IS RELISHING THIS EXPERIENCE
. Soon after their drop off the cliff, he discovered braces under the wings to support his arms and legs, so his energy's high even after flying all day. The temptation to experiment is ever present, but he hasn't succumbed to it. Staying focused when the only information he has about where he's going is a dot on a floating map proves enough of a challenge. Time is of the essence, so it's probably more efficient to trust the sensors to optimize the thermals. Still, it would be nice to try a loop or a dive just to see what would happen.

Under a deep billowing cloud, the wings find a perfect updraft, spiraling him and Lumpy higher and higher.

Closing his eyes, Lumpy gasps for breath. “Hey, the air's getting thinner!”

“That's what's supposed to happen.”

“Yeah? So when do we start to suffocate?”

“I think the wings must have oxygen sensors. Soon as it gets hard to breathe, they glide down,” says Roan.

“You mean we've already been up this high?”

“More than once,” Roan grins.

“I guess I shouldn't have looked down!”

But Roan loves looking down from above, has adored it since he started climbing the Big Empty with his friends in Longlight, and being this high is better than he ever imagined. He'd stay up forever if he could.

He can't help but wonder why it's important for him to see Kira. Why did the cricket show him her face, and then Willum, too? Willum knows her. But how? From the City, or before?

Kira, Saint's mate. Roan's sure she knows he's responsible for Saint's death, even if he didn't strike the final blow. Is he being sent to submit to her judgment, as he did with the Hhroxhi? Is this another trial he must face before he can return to Saint? Remembering the skulls on Kira's mantelpiece makes it almost impossible to focus on his destination.

Roan's and Lumpy's wings lower, dipping them in a long downward arc toward a mist of overhanging cloud. As they build tremendous speed, icy wind blasts in their faces. The ground is dangerously close when the next updraft vaults them skyward again.

“How much farther, do you think?” Lumpy gasps, looking a little green. Those near brushes with the earth don't agree with him.

“Soon.”

“Better be. We're losing sun, and that means no more warm air.”

Roan eyes the horizon—in less than an hour, Barren Mountain will swallow the sun. Concentrating his vision, Roan can see fine particles of dust riding a strong, steady stream along the side of a ridge.

“You're thinking something. What are you thinking?” asks Lumpy nervously.

“We could make some time if we caught the wind along that ridge.”

Lumpy peers down at the jagged mountain range. “Okay... but how close do we get to the rocks?”

“As close as the wind.”

“Isn't that dangerous?”

Roan laughs. “A minute ago, we were flying too high.”

Lumpy glares at him but it doesn't diminish Roan's excitement. No harm in a little experiment if it hastens the journey. Taking a steep descent, they gain speed and in moments they are soaring alongside the ridge. The thrill of maneuvering between wind-eroded towers of stone, avoiding sharp overhangs that could rip their wings to shreds, exceeds all of Roan's expectations. And for all his griping, Lumpy has a grin on his face. The constant dipping and swooping to evade disaster isn't nerve-wracking, it's fun. It's flying.

The sun's bottom edge is flaring over the horizon when Roan sees one mountain rising above the others, its peak obscured by clouds. Checking the map, he confirms that this is their destination, then signals to Lumpy. They simultaneously veer away from the ridge at high speed, gliding over a wooded plateau. Roan shivers, realizing that the thermals that keep them aloft have provided a lot of warmth. As the sun vanishes and the mountain air turns cold, they're getting seriously chilled.

“Wh—where's the next thermal?” Lumpy calls out, his teeth chattering.

“Not much further!” Roan yells back. “We've just got to get past these trees.”

As they approach the outer edge of the forest, Roan spots a dark patch of stone radiating heat in the distance. Looking behind, Roan makes his decision. More than a third of the sun has been lost to them; there's too little time not to take things into his own hands. Positioning the wings for a dive, he forces the glide lower and lower. As they accelerate, they come dangerously close to the treetops, but they reach the edge of the forest safely. It'll be clear sailing to the thermal that will give them the warmth and loft they need.

Just past the woods—

Arrows!

Out from the trees, a half dozen Fandor appear on horseback, in close pursuit. An arrow barely misses Lumpy's wing. Urgently scanning ahead, Roan tucks their wings for maximum velocity, and they soar toward it, so close to the ground that Roan can hear whips cracking against horse flanks. The Fandor are gaining on them.

There's only a hundred feet to the black stone, but they're within sword's reach of the Fandor now, and one warrior, weapon raised high, is almost upon them. He takes a swing as they hit the thermal. Though it isn't strong, it's enough to send them spiraling up. Arrows whiz past, but their shifting positions and steady ascent make them difficult targets. The Fandor can do nothing but watch them rise.

“What goes up, comes down,” says Lumpy. “That's a rule even those numbnogs know.”

If they end up on the ground, it won't be arrows they're facing but swords and battle-axes. Roan wouldn't even have time to shuck the wings before they'd run him through. He should have kept in mind the possibility of roving bands of Fandor. So much for experiments.

They hear the Fandor shouting angrily at each other and look down to see them raise their weapons threateningly at five women on horseback, all well-armed, charging down the mountain in their direction. The first female warrior is swiftly upon them, and with one clean sweep she removes the head of a Fandor.

“Did you just see what I just saw?” Lumpy shouts in amazement. “Who
are
those women—are we next?”

“We'll be finding out soon enough!” Roan yells back, as another Fandor topples headless from his horse.

The battle is brief, the Fandors' brute force no match for the women's martial skills. They hardly waste a sword stroke, methodically eliminating each Fandor. The carnage complete, the victors quickly lift the dead back into their empty saddles and tie the reins around the corpses. Once secured, the horses are given a slap and gallop off carrying their lifeless Fandor masters. Roan has seen these techniques used before—by the Brothers.

Roan looks down at the victorious riders, then at the formidable peak before them. “Seems they're headed in the same direction we are.”

“I guess they're the welcoming committee.”

A long, downward arc takes them to the black foothills of the mountain. They swerve abruptly to avoid a geyser heated by hot volcanic rock deep below the surface. The surrounding warm air provides the strongest updraft they've had yet. They ascend higher and higher, over jagged cliffs and jutting outcrops.

Just as the sun slips under the horizon, Lumpy shouts, “Okay, so where's the village?”

Roan tries to hide his discomfort—there are no caves along the sheer rock face, this mountain is uninhabitable. Why would Kira leave her comfortable home for this desolation? Surely the Brothers wouldn't have withdrawn their protection of her village after Saint's death.

The updraft carries them so high, they enter the cloud that covers the peak. The cool mist blurs Roan's vision and he loses sight of his companion.

“Roan!” Lumpy calls out, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice.

“I'm here! Trust the wings!” Roan replies, but he shares Lumpy's concern. How long can they stay airborne, given the cloud's lower temperature?

Having little choice but to entrust the flight to the sensors, he closes his eyes, reaches out with his senses—and is startled by the smell of grass and... yes, he's sure of it... he can hear the laughter of children.

Rising over the apex of the mountain, the mist breaks, revealing that the peak isn't pointed, as Roan expected, but flat. The wings' gentle arc takes him and Lumpy past a high stone lip and down onto a lush green field. As their feet touch ground, they stare open-mouthed at blossoming shrubs and tall bamboo plants, the breeze rustling through their thin green leaves. Dozens of children play in the center of a village hewn directly into the volcanic rock. Roan and Lumpy smile and raise their hands in greeting, but the woman tending the children quietly shoos them away.

Without hesitation, Roan and Lumpy shuck their wings. As elegant as they are aloft, the wings will be no help at all if the situation becomes threatening. Three women, much like the ones who so easily massacred the Fandor, stride toward them. Roan keeps his empty hands in plain view.

The woman in the lead takes their full measure before she speaks. “Nice of you to drop in, Roan of Longlight.”

Not detecting any overt hostility in her voice, he answers respectfully. “Always a pleasure, Kira.”

But Kira is unyielding. “That remains to be seen.”

Roan might not have been the one to kill her lover, but he was fighting Saint to the death when the blow was struck. Will she demand a price?

“Who's your friend?” she asks.

“I'm Lumpy. No Mor-Ticks, but if you'd like, I'm more than happy to go back down.”

“That's alright, as long as you don't mind people staring.”

“Better than being dead and tied to a horse any day.”

Kira laughs. “The Fandor need to respect certain boundaries.”

“What is this place?” asks Roan.

Though her look is amiable, Kira dodges the question. “You must be hungry. Come.”

This whole community is built upon the caldera of the dormant volcano. That's why it feels warm, Roan realizes, and why green things grow here. The village looks to have been here for decades. The black stone is painted in places with bright designs, and toys are littered everywhere. The children they saw certainly seemed healthy and happy. They must be safe up here, far from the gaping maw of the City.

The interior of Kira's house recalls the one in the village he once visited with Saint, and is an unpleasant reminder of those turbulent times. The year Roan spent as an acolyte of the Brothers, a year of tests and trials, has left its mark. Though he had felt the Brothers' faith was genuine, he'd had his doubts about whether Saint really believed in what he preached. Now, looking back, he thinks he may have been wrong: the Friend hadn't been real to Roan, but it's quite possible that He had been very real to Saint.

Lumpy stares at the solar-powered lights and at the huge mural that depicts a warrior bursting out of a stone.

“It's the birth of the Friend,” Lumpy says, “the god of the Brothers.”

“I thought about leaving it behind,” says Kira, “but I had it brought here to remember him.”

“The Friend?”

“No, Saint.”

Lumpy sniffs eagerly. “Is that food?”

“Absolutely. But you might want to use the basins and fresh water at the end of the hall,” Kira says, biting her bottom lip.

Looking closely at each other for the first time since their arrival, Roan and Lumpy burst into laughter. Flying nonstop all day may have felt carefree, but it had given each of them an appearance halfway between mad hermit and pig-boy.

Lumpy devours the vegetable stew with gusto, peppering Kira with questions about her warriors and their attack on the Fandor.

“That's not something we do very often. It's not in our best interest to expose ourselves. But having witnesses to your arrival was unacceptable.”

“Why send back their dead on their horses?”

“It's what the Brothers would do. They're more than happy to let us mimic them. Bolsters their ferocious reputation.”

“Speaking of which, where are all the men, Kira?” asks Lumpy.

The rage emanating from Kira speaks volumes. Eyes fixed on some invisible point uncomfortably close to Lumpy's nose, she whispers, “There aren't any,” and resumes eating her meal. But her breath, deep and measured, warns them off any further enquiries.

The many questions neither of them feel free to ask, and the radical shift in mood, make for a subdued dinner. So by the time it's over and Kira's thanked, Lumpy needs no coaxing to make a quick exit.

“If it's true I won't be stoned, with your permission, I'd love to have a look around.”

“Feel free to go wherever you are welcomed, Lumpy No Mor-Ticks.”

By his smile, it's obvious Lumpy's hoping to have his habitual success as a fact-finding emissary, but if Kira's people are anything like her, Roan thinks Lumpy may have finally met his match.