must descend.”
“I’d hoped to land in a city,” Haytham said mournfully, “a place with inns, baths, bazaars. Nevertheless I’ve begun the descent.”
“Actually,” the efrit Haboob began, “I’ve begun the descent. And you’re welcome—”
Lightning strokes lit the sky to the northwest. Thunder cracked a few seconds later.
A terrifying night commenced.
From sunset to midnight, Haytham and Northwing guided them away from the mad lightning as the others labored to steer them safely through the mountains. At last the bolts diminished and receded, and the ger was once again safe after a fashion, though a frigid wind whistled all around.
“I do not know where we are,” Haytham said.
“At least,” Katta said, “I perceive no evil.”
Northwing said, “With the lightning where it is, I think we’re still headed southwest. We may not need to land after all. Though it might be a good idea.”
“Not like this, my friend,” Haytham said. “Not in the dark.”
Gaunt looked down upon a moonlit sheen, broken by lines of waves. “I think we’re somewhere over water. We may have reached the archipelago of little islands in the middle of these lands. The Splintrevej. I doubt there’d be good places to land there. But past these is the biggest island, Svardmark. There they have nations, towns, farmland.”
“And lightning-wielders?” Bone said.
“Not that I’ve heard.”
They rested as they could, though whenever Gaunt shut her eyes she was startled out of sleep by a dream of falling. Bone squeezed her hand each time; still, it was all she could do simply to doze.
Dawn found them entering another region of mountains. Northwing had circles under bloodshot eyes. “We need to land,” Gaunt told them all by way of good morning. “Northwing can’t go on like this.”
“No,” Northwing muttered, “Northwing can’t. But there is no good place.”
“Then let go,” Katta said. “You’ve done much.”
“Those mountains look close . . .” Northwing murmured.
Gaunt tried to listen, but another voice tugged at her ears. Impossibly, it seemed to be coming from the wind outside. She leaned against the felt, straining to hear.
Mother . . .
“Gaunt? Persimmon?” Bone was beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you not hear?”
“No.”
Mother . . . Mother . . .
“It’s Innocence, Imago. I hear him somehow. Perhaps the power he carries is letting him reach out to us. Innocence, it’s me! We’re looking for you. We’ll be there soon. Do you hear me?”
The only response was a blast of wind.
Northwing shouted, “They found us! Whoever attacked in Spydbanen, this is their wind. They’re going to slam us against those mountains.”
Gaunt yelled, “Haboob, we need altitude!”
“Descend, Haboob! Altitude, Haboob!” the efrit scoffed. “Mortals. You creatures simply don’t live long enough to justify all this changing of your minds—”
“Heat, O Haboob!” Haytham yelled. “In the All-One’s name, heat! We need lift!”
“Yes, O imperious, regal, resplendent—”
“Not enough!” Gaunt said.
“Do we throw things out?” Bone asked, checking that his loot from Amberhorn was still in his pockets.
“Yes!” Haytham said. “There are fiery equations that govern the behavior of balloons. At the moment, lightness equals survival. Toss everything that isn’t essential. Food! Weapons!”
“Thieves?” said Gaunt as she threw a crate of vegetables out the front of the ger.
“Poets?” Bone answered, tossing a huge soup kettle.
“Stop flirting, you two,” Snow Pine said. She threw a pot and pan, narrowly missing Bone’s head.
A bolt of blue lightning shattered the morning, turning the interior of the ger into an azure shadow play. Somehow the discharge of energy had the audacity to look cold. Ordinary daylight returned, but thunder rent the air and shook the balloon, and even the efrit twisted violently as the ger careened and the humans fell.
“The
“I’d hoped to land in a city,” Haytham said mournfully, “a place with inns, baths, bazaars. Nevertheless I’ve begun the descent.”
“Actually,” the efrit Haboob began, “I’ve begun the descent. And you’re welcome—”
Lightning strokes lit the sky to the northwest. Thunder cracked a few seconds later.
A terrifying night commenced.
From sunset to midnight, Haytham and Northwing guided them away from the mad lightning as the others labored to steer them safely through the mountains. At last the bolts diminished and receded, and the ger was once again safe after a fashion, though a frigid wind whistled all around.
“I do not know where we are,” Haytham said.
“At least,” Katta said, “I perceive no evil.”
Northwing said, “With the lightning where it is, I think we’re still headed southwest. We may not need to land after all. Though it might be a good idea.”
“Not like this, my friend,” Haytham said. “Not in the dark.”
Gaunt looked down upon a moonlit sheen, broken by lines of waves. “I think we’re somewhere over water. We may have reached the archipelago of little islands in the middle of these lands. The Splintrevej. I doubt there’d be good places to land there. But past these is the biggest island, Svardmark. There they have nations, towns, farmland.”
“And lightning-wielders?” Bone said.
“Not that I’ve heard.”
They rested as they could, though whenever Gaunt shut her eyes she was startled out of sleep by a dream of falling. Bone squeezed her hand each time; still, it was all she could do simply to doze.
Dawn found them entering another region of mountains. Northwing had circles under bloodshot eyes. “We need to land,” Gaunt told them all by way of good morning. “Northwing can’t go on like this.”
“No,” Northwing muttered, “Northwing can’t. But there is no good place.”
“Then let go,” Katta said. “You’ve done much.”
“Those mountains look close . . .” Northwing murmured.
Gaunt tried to listen, but another voice tugged at her ears. Impossibly, it seemed to be coming from the wind outside. She leaned against the felt, straining to hear.
Mother . . .
“Gaunt? Persimmon?” Bone was beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you not hear?”
“No.”
Mother . . . Mother . . .
“It’s Innocence, Imago. I hear him somehow. Perhaps the power he carries is letting him reach out to us. Innocence, it’s me! We’re looking for you. We’ll be there soon. Do you hear me?”
The only response was a blast of wind.
Northwing shouted, “They found us! Whoever attacked in Spydbanen, this is their wind. They’re going to slam us against those mountains.”
Gaunt yelled, “Haboob, we need altitude!”
“Descend, Haboob! Altitude, Haboob!” the efrit scoffed. “Mortals. You creatures simply don’t live long enough to justify all this changing of your minds—”
“Heat, O Haboob!” Haytham yelled. “In the All-One’s name, heat! We need lift!”
“Yes, O imperious, regal, resplendent—”
“Not enough!” Gaunt said.
“Do we throw things out?” Bone asked, checking that his loot from Amberhorn was still in his pockets.
“Yes!” Haytham said. “There are fiery equations that govern the behavior of balloons. At the moment, lightness equals survival. Toss everything that isn’t essential. Food! Weapons!”
“Thieves?” said Gaunt as she threw a crate of vegetables out the front of the ger.
“Poets?” Bone answered, tossing a huge soup kettle.
“Stop flirting, you two,” Snow Pine said. She threw a pot and pan, narrowly missing Bone’s head.
A bolt of blue lightning shattered the morning, turning the interior of the ger into an azure shadow play. Somehow the discharge of energy had the audacity to look cold. Ordinary daylight returned, but thunder rent the air and shook the balloon, and even the efrit twisted violently as the ger careened and the humans fell.
“The
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