Sunborn Rising (27 page)

Hanging down from an overhead tangle of roots by two of his three tails, Fizzit lowered himself. At the extent of his tails, he flipped like he only weighed as much as a feather, and landed on his feet. He pulled back his hood and knelt beside Jerrun.

“It’s like I said, old friend. Sacrifices.”

30. Surviving

The campsite was in disarray, but already pulling itself back together. Injured Arboreals were gathered for triage, some limping along while others were carried into the central clearing. There were mutterings about what had happened, and who was missing.

“Where’d all the lights go?” an injured Nectarbadger murmured. Searowe tapped out a small ribbon of gauze from a ball of silk in a pouch that crossed over his shoulder. His nails were long and curved with thin, hollow channels that he used to guide his thread. He was a master, capable of knitting almost anything if the right material was available. The Nectarbadger had a nasty gash in his head. The area of the injury was cleaned and treated, and the hair removed.

“Bite down on this,” Mareki placed a piece of bitter tasting bark in the Nectarbadger’s mouth. “Harder. Come on, now.” The hurt Arboreal’s teeth finally pierced the outer skin of the bark, and an anesthetic sap bled into his mouth. “Don’t spit it out. I know, I know. It tastes terrible. Just hold on.” Pinching the skin together with two long fingernails, Searowe tapped all the nails of his other hand in a flurry of motion. He sutured the gauze directly to his patient’s skin, doubled it and sewed it down again. He scrutinized his work. Mareki stood up, while Searowe finished evaluating, and said, “The bark will dissolve. Chew it until it’s all gone. It’ll help.”

Searowe, satisfied, stood up to join Mareki, but before they could move to the next patient, they heard a loud ruckus. It sounded like they’d found Brace and the bups. Mareki smiled, took a moment to breathe, and went back to work. A kind, compassionate expression softened his face, and he questioned the next patient, “Where does it hurt?”

“Where’s Barra? Where’s Red?” Brace said to no one as she looked over the camp. Some Arboreals were asking her questions, but she wasn’t listening. Luke Mafic gave her a status report, but she didn’t hear it. She grabbed Luke. “Where’s Barra? Have you seen Barra!?” Her body was tense like a coiled spring. Her voice stabbed the crowd and slayed their chatter.

“She’s not in the camp,” Luke said.

Brace’s eyes darted around, searching for the quickest path to Plicks and Tory. Making her own path, she pushed through the crowd.

The sudden quiet alerted Plicks. He kissed his mother, who’d been injured in the fight, and ran toward Barra’s mother. As he closed the distance, he said apologetically, “She was running off in the wrong direction when we left. You didn’t see her?”

Brace’s heart pounded. Not again. Not again.

A wave of voices drowned out her thoughts. Jaeden, Red,
and
Barra had just arrived. Released from her terror, Brace ran toward her daughter.

Tory looked down at Plicks, who was tearing up. Tory said, “It’s not your fault. We didn’t abandon Barra. We thought she was right behind us. Hey, everyone made it.” Tory glanced up and saw Ven Battidash, Plicks’ father, watching from where he sat with his wife. He had an expression of genuine gratitude on his face. Tory smiled, and Blue folded himself around Plicks. The nervous Kolalabat breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and went back to his mother.

Jaeden cradled Barra. Brace didn’t know how to say thank you as she took her daughter. All she could do was cry and hold her close to her chest.

“Her throat is going to be raw, but I got there in time. She’ll be alright.” Jaeden’s words were firm.

Brace shuddered with relief. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and her mettle returned. She spoke to Jaeden, “Spread the word. We break camp, now.”

31. Remembering the Fallen

The Arboreals were unsure how to care for their dead. They were at the Root. The tradition of committing loved ones to the Fall wasn’t possible. The usual downy rope used to cocoon the body could not be found, and wouldn’t have worked in the ocean. But they found delicate metallic threads in beautiful silvery sprays near the fissures into the sea, and braided them into heavy bands to bind and anchor the bodies. They spoke few words and cast the lost, one by one, into the sea. The effect on the gathered survivors was profound; they saw their loves carried into the light. But there was no time to dwell on the implications. They broke camp.

The company moved slowly over the Root. Barra slept, but not well, until she finally woke, screaming. More of a strangled “erp” than a scream, now that she was conscious. Looking around, testing her limbs, Barra discovered she was strapped to her mother’s back. She felt like the scruffs on a Kolalabat. Her head was heavy and thick with fog, and her muscles were sick-sore.

Closing her eyes, Barra remembered the dream, her nightmare.

There were thousands of Nebules drifting together, lost in the ocean. Then they were caught in the Creepervine, the fungus strung between them like thick, dark webbing. Some of the Nebules were free, shooting through the water leaving trails. But black vine-fingers formed out of nothing and snatched them too. Barra was overcome with a terrible sadness, incapable of helping her entangled friends. They needed to be set free or they would dissolve into nothing. They needed to be free to survive. The webbing sucked the light from them in spirals of sparkling dust. There was an ache deep in her chest, but then—in only the way a dream can—everything changed without changing. Barra hovered above the Boil. The fungal webbing was gone. A vivid, multicolored fleet of Nebules circled happily. They churned like clouds of ink in a whirlpool. Then suddenly the fleet flew toward the Boil, a million heads of light burning trails of fire into the ocean. The hot streaks cooled but never caught up. The Nebules hit the Boil and became distorted. They rearranged into bursts and arcs. And the ache returned, sadness as vast as the ocean, and as heavy. But the dream changed. Barra stood with Red, stoking her fondly. They held each other, but faltered. Red withered in Barra’s arms. One tentacle was only a blackened stub, but it gripped Barra’s wounded arm like binding wire. Even as the rest of Red wilted, she squeezed the poisoned arm harder. Red grew thorns and bit into Barra’s flesh. Dragging Barra behind her like a toy, Red flew. Through the Boil and into the void, they joined the other Nebules headed for the Sun. Barra couldn’t breathe. She struggled against Red, begging for help. And then Red let her go. Alone and suffocating, Barra screamed.

She’d come back from the dream with the feeling—no, she thought, the
knowing
—that the sacrifices hadn’t been enough. Despairingly, Barra dropped her head down to her mother’s back, and let her body hang limply. Her dangling limbs were lazy, swaying to the rhythm of the walk.

Barra passed in and out of sleep. Her dreams blurred with memories into an incoherent mess of destiny. There was a need, something she knew she must do, something desperate she couldn’t quite identify, consuming her thoughts. She was rushing toward fate—or fate was rushing toward her—and she felt powerless to do anything about it.

Barra shook the confusion from her head vigorously enough to call the attention of her mother. “You awake back there, baby?” she asked her daughter.

“Umph. Yeah. Sorta…” Barra’s throat was raw, and her lungs heavy. She didn’t feel ill anymore, but she didn’t feel good either. Also, there was an inexplicable change in her vision. The Root seemed sharper and clearer. She thought the seeping radiant scars were emitting more light.

“Where’s Red?” she asked, but right then, she found the Nebule coiled around her arm. Red wasn’t very red anymore. She was muddy brown with dirty green streaks staining her from the inside out. Barra stroked her and Red loosened some. She stretched, and pushed her bell-shaped body into Barra’s hand.

“She’s been with you the whole time. Didn’t leave your side even when we all stopped to rest,” Brace spoke over her shoulder in a low voice. “Do you remember Tory and Plicks stopping to check on you?”

“Nah.” Barra tried to think back, but everything was a blur. She remembered something about… “Jerrun!” She reached for her throat and touched it gingerly, testing it to see what was only a dream and what was real. She found pain and bruising.

“Jerrun? What about him?” Barra’s mother was suspicious. “We haven’t seen him since before the attack.”

It was difficult for Barra to piece the memories together into a coherent picture. Jerrun, the head of the Council of Elders, had tried to kill her. She was positive. But what had happened next, she couldn’t say with any certainty. There was Jerrun strangling her, a haunting image—she could still smell his rank breath—and then he was gone. Someone familiar took his place. It didn’t make any sense. And there was something Jerrun had said, something about her father, something cruel. She couldn’t remember. Barra clenched her jaw and snarled. She didn’t know how she would do it, but she wanted to hurt Jerrun.

“What is it, dear? What about Jerrun?” Brace asked. She heard the snarling and was ready to hurt the scheming Elder if he’d done anything to harm her daughter.

Barra seethed. Pushing her words through gritted teeth, she said, “I hate him.”

Brace stumbled a bit, startled by her daughter’s tone. So much hatred. So absolute. It was no secret that Brace disliked Jerrun intensely, and no one trusted him anymore, but what had he done to her daughter? “Barra, sweetheart, what’s going on?” Beneath her compassionate tone beat a war drum. Plicks swooped down, startling them. Brace reflexively prepared to strike, revved up to kill anything that threatened her daughter.

“A little warning next time?” Brace said as she shook her head at Plicks.

“Sorry, Venress Swiftspur.” Plicks rushed past the apology, “My dad sent me. There’s a problem up ahead. We’re going to have to take another route.”

Tory loped in, Char close at his side, a constant, elastic extension of Tory’s movements. Char seemed innocuous enough, but after the attack the Arboreals of the expedition knew better. Brace felt better with them watching over Barra, Plicks and Blue too.

Brace stopped the caravan with a brief, rapid, percussion of her tail against the Root. She said to Plicks, “I guess I needed a break anyway.” She released Barra from the straps and swung her around. Gently, she set her down.

After testing her limbs, Barra decided she was indeed feeling better. A few Arboreals arrived, jumping to Barra’s mother with reports about the path ahead. Fast words and gestures indicated that the obstacles were serious. Barra tried to excuse herself without disrupting them, but her mother stopped her.

“How’s the arm?” Brace asked, kneeling beside her daughter.

Red uncoiled to expose the wound. “It’s okay, I guess,” Barra said. She stared at it, more disappointment than in pain, and added, “I feel bad for what it’s doing to Red.”

Brace acknowledged the Nebule with a tentative pat, and then held Barra’s hand. Barra’s arm was bald from the wrist to the elbow. Some thinning had started above the elbow too. Her skin was scarred with ropey, viny, green lines that radiated from the open cut. It looked awful. Brace did her best to hide the thought. “It doesn’t hurt?” she asked.

“Not really,” Barra said, shrugging.

Brace said, “Well, whatever Red is doing, she wants to do it for you. I wish
I
could hug myself around you to make you feel better.” She added as positively as she could, “I think it’s helping. We just have to get you home.” Indicating the other adults, she said, “We’re going to be a little while. Will you be okay with your friends? Promise me you won’t wander off.”

Barra nodded. She seemed to have aged unnaturally. A terrible sense of loss tugged at Brace’s heart; she hadn’t been able to rescue her bup after all. She was gone. Brace had always known her daughter would grow up someday, even wanted her to grow up, but this was too soon, too fast.

Barra said, “We’ll stay close. Don’t worry. We know how dangerous it is.”

Brace believed her. She nodded, stood up, and stepped away. But she didn’t resume the meeting until she found Jaeden and asked for her to watch the bups.

Sitting with her friends, Barra said, “I’m so happy to see you! I don’t remember everything from the fight, but I know you came to save us. Thank you.” They passed hugs around, and she asked, “So, what’s going on? I mean, why are we stopped?”

“The Root is grown together with thorny bushes and tangles of vine,” Plicks said. “Some Creeper, some not. The scouts are trying to find a way around, or up and over.”

Tory leaned in. “Your arm’s getting worse,” he said somberly.

“Yeah,” Barra admitted. “But I
feel
better, thanks to Red.”

Blue and Char inspected the sickly-looking Nebule. They cozied up to her, caressed her, and tried to cheer her up with little bobbing playful motions. It seemed to help.

Plicks looked down at his feet. “What’re we gonna do?”

“What
can
we do?” Barra’s hopelessness broke her words. The hiccup in her voice might have been mistaken for adolescence, but Tory knew better.

“Well, look at that. The hopelessly hopeful is admitting defeat. Giving in pretty easily, don’t you think?” Tory said.

Barra shot Tory a look that she hoped would melt him. And then he clicked his tongue and added, “If I’d known it was this easy, I would have done it myself.”

“Tory Mafic, when I get better I’m going to seriously hurt you,” Barra said, trying to sound angry. But as she mimicked her mother—invoking Tory’s whole name as though that somehow gave her power over him—she only sounded ridiculous. She felt embarrassed and in her stubborn way, she became petulant and cuffed Tory on the back of the head with her tail.

Tory yelped, acting hurt. He saw deep emotions behind Barra’s emerald eyes. He hadn’t annoyed her into being herself again on purpose; he’d just sort of stumbled into it, the way friends sometimes do. He flashed her a patronizing smile, one that said,
Gotcha!
And
that
was on purpose. Barra pounced on him—claws mostly retracted—and he soon regretted teasing her.

Then, the beating turned from playful to sincere. Barra let go of her frustration and gave into the moment. She roped the Rugosic to the ground with her tail around his throat, and unleashed a flurry of punches. Tory tried to call her off, “Okay, okay! Okay, already! I’m sorry!” The beating continued, and he growled at her.

Plicks had seen them fight before. He was waiting it out, patient until the growling started. He jumped up. He took a cautious step toward them, meaning to intervene if they kept going.

Barra held her punches for a moment, looking bewildered, and Tory took advantage of the lull. He yanked her tail from his throat and threw her off. He stood up and pushed her, a touch harder than he intended, and they squared off.

Barra’s tail snapped in the air over her head. Bitter, she said, “I didn’t give up.”

“Good,” Tory said. He checked his panoply for cracks. She’d done some damage, but nothing too severe.

“I’m not giving up.” Her tail warnings became half-hearted, and her face turned grim. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Plicks told her, “You don’t have to know what to do. This isn’t your fault.” The Nebules, who had cleared to the side when the fight started, were hovering close again.

Barra slumped down and said, “It’s at least my fault that we’re all stuck down here. If you hadn’t followed—”

“Followed?” Tory interrupted. “We went with you to be with you, because we like you. Not because we think you’re a good leader, and definitely not because you make the best decisions.” He smiled.

A weight lifted from Barra’s shoulders. She loved Plicks and Tory like brothers, but sometimes she treated them like subordinates. It had never occurred to her that each decision she’d made, they made
with
her, not
because
of her. They were in this together. Suggesting otherwise was an insult to them. She laughed at herself, and sighed.