Skyfire by Skye Melki-Wegner Page A

unsettled.
    The kitchen squats near the centre of the village, its walls lined with pipes and cooking fires. There are racks of spices and alchemical juices used to scorch different tastes into the food. Back in Rourton, I heard rumours of richie chefs hiring alchemists to achieve such effects, but the food was deemed too unstable for public consumption. It’s strange to think that here, in Víndurn, even the poorest villagers can afford such alchemy.
    I watch the cook pour a vial of bronze smoke into the flame. It spits up a waft of warm scents, like freshly roasted apples – the same flavour that enhanced our porridge this morning. These people might be poor, but they’re not starving. Their diet seems mostly limited to grains and beans, perhaps with wild nuts and berries if they can find them, but a whiff of alchemical smoke turns even the plainest fare into a feast. Compared to an alleyway in downtown Rourton, this is a life of luxury.
    Next, we venture into the stable. It’s a massive wooden treehouse with Bastian’s foxhawk roped inside. When I peer around the doorway, I’m met with the glare of a beady yellow eye.
    â€˜Each clan is entitled to two sólfoxes,’ Bastian says. ‘One for work, you see, and one for urgent communication with the city.’
    Sólfox. It takes me a moment to realise this must be the Víndurnic word for ‘foxhawk’. I roll the word over in my mind, determined to remember it. If we’re going to settle here, we need to fit in – and that means getting the details right.
    â€˜Where’s your second one, then?’ Teddy says.
    Bastian’s face tightens. With a lurch, I remember Tindra’s fatal flight above the rocks. That must have been the clan’s second sólfox – as dead and broken as the girl who rode it.
    As we explore the treetop village, I keep an eye on the passing locals. Most are native Víndurnics, with the same pale skin and black hair as Tindra. But others share Bastian’s dark colouring, and a few heads sprout hair of pale white or scruffy ginger. People from a dozen lands, drawn here by Lord Farran’s stories.
    â€˜There are many villages like this on the mountainside,’ Bastian says. ‘And countless more down in the fields behind us. The lower villagers build their houses upon stilts, see? To save them from the curseof midnight.’ He pauses. ‘When Lord Farran came to Víndurn, this land had very few citizens. Most people had left, I’d say, because of the dangers of the earth. But thanks to Lord Farran, we have enough workers to make this nation great. Some folk are farmers, growing grain and fruit to trade. Some are hunters. And some …’ He shrugs. ‘Some of us trade firestones.’
    â€˜Firestones?’ I say.
    Bastian nods. ‘We find them in the fields and forests, beneath the rocks and the soil. A decent stone is worth enough to feed the clan for a fortnight.’
    â€˜Who buys them?’ Teddy says.
    â€˜Stonetraders,’ Bastian says. ‘They work for Lord Farran, up in the city market. Selling firestones is one of the few times we’re permitted to enter the city. Lord Farran uses them in his experiments, see? Up on Skyfire Peak, to save us from the boiling earth.’
    â€˜Could we come with you, sir?’ I say. ‘To see the city, I mean?’
    Bastian turns, a hard look in his eyes. ‘Changed your mind already, lass? Fancy going to live in the spires?’
    â€˜What? No!’ I shake my head. ‘I’m curious, that’s all. We’ve landed in the middle of this whole new culture, and we don’t know a lot about it.’
    Bastian stares at me for a moment longer, thennods. ‘I’m heading up to the city tomorrow to trade the firestone that you found yesterday. It’s only low grade, but it’s the best we’ve found in weeks.’
    â€˜And we can come? Sir?’ I add