Windrunner's Daughter (16 page)

Wren stared. “Where’s your biosphere?”

The man who held her upright gave a bitter laugh. “This is temporary-like, Runner. We only use it when the main platform’s out of commission. No ‘sphere out here - just the building. Won’t last past the next mega-storm, but it’ll do for now.”

“So don’t tek yer mask off.” A second voice snapped.

Wren had been about to draw their attention to the approaching storm, which she realised was hidden by the curve of the mons, but she jumped as a man pushed past her, wiping his hands, and her words fled. He opened the exterior door simply by turning a handle, as if the house was one of those inside Elysium. Here there was no sphere to protect the occupants.

Wren put her hand to the mask that nestled on her face, she knew it was secure, had trusted it all this way, but suddenly it seemed flimsy.

“I don’t often take it off anyway,” she muttered. “Except to eat.”

“We’ve some like that here too.” The man nudged her. “We call em argonophobes.”

“How do
you
eat?” Wren’s curiosity stopped her in her tracks.

“You ain’t seen our masks yet have you?” Get inside and take a closer look. The man reached for the door handle. “It’ll be crowded in here. Ready?”

Wren took a breath. Was she? The worry that the day’s events had banished from her mind suddenly reared again. So many strangers - what would they do if they realised that she wasn’t a boy? “Ready,” she whispered.

He opened the door.

Wren stared, unmoving until the man pushed her into the press of people.

“Shut the door, Adler, you’re lettin’ all the heat out.”

Behind her the door slammed shut and Wren jumped, already wistful for the emptiness of the sky.

The air in the small building was fetid with the stench of sweat and a poorly operating latrine. The scent of over-spiced soy-stew wound around the other odours, unappetising, but enough to make her stomach growl. She clutched her mask, holding it onto her face, as her breath shortened. Men crammed around her, so close it took her a moment to see the Sphere-Mistress who had spoken, standing near the oven. She wore her black hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her skin was chapped and her lips pinched.

Adler raised his voice. “These Runner’s need something warm in their bellies, Genna. And one of ‘em needs cold wrap on his ankles.”

The Sphere-Mistress, Genna, nodded and picked up a ladle. She started serving stew into bowls and immediately the men sat on benches set into the walls, clearing a space around Wren so that she could breathe once more. Now she saw Raw, heading purposefully towards her.

Automatically she stepped backwards, almost tripping over outstretched legs, and Raw grabbed her as she swayed. One hand closed around the top of her arm. This was it: he was going to tell them what she was.

“What my partner needs, is to sit down.” His voice was rough and Wren blinked, slow to catch up with what she had heard, still certain he must be outing her to the gathering. But he couldn’t, she reminded herself. If he revealed the truth about her, she’d do the same to him. They were at a stalemate.

Adler gestured and several of the men shifted to reveal a plastic table pushed up against a wall, with two metal stools nestled beneath. Wren and Raw hobbled to the seats.

“Thank you, Sphere-Mistress, for your hospitality.” Wren said, quickly before she could forget. She nudged Raw and he echoed her.

Then her eyes widened. “Where are our wings?” she whispered.

Raw looked around. “I-I don’t know.”

Wren pulled away from him. She knew better than to let their wings out of her sight. Although a Runner would never share his wings and the idea of wearing someone else's, while they still lived, was nauseating, hers were only trainers and the prohibitions didn't apply.

Most Runners would be appalled at the idea of wearing someone else’s wings, but if you had none of your own and a Runner was stupid enough to lose track of his … it had happened before.

“Where are our wings?” Panic raised her voice.

Adler grunted. “We ain’t nabbers Runner. There ain’t room for them in here, they’re outside, under tarps.”

“Sorry.” She sank onto one of the chairs and it wobbled under her, one leg shorter than the others. She grabbed the table with a small inhalation. That too lurched under her hand and she balanced herself gingerly then glowered at Raw until he sat with her, his knees almost touching hers.

Bowls were thumped onto the table in front of them. “Here, you need to eat, but you won’t be able to till yer change those masks.” Adler's teeth gleamed beneath a bristling black moustache.

Then the strange thing that had been tickling the back of her mind came into focus: All this time she had been able to see everyone's full faces.

She surged to her feet. “
Your masks!
”

Adler pointed to his nose. Instead of a full mask, Adler wore a tube that clipped into his nostrils and hooked over his ear, unobtrusive and, as far as Wren was concerned, inadequate.

She shook her head. “I’m not wearing one of those.”

But Adler was already gripping her O
₂
canister. “Hold yer breath.”

Before Wren could protest he had unhooked her mask from her canister, attached another tube, pulled the mask from her face and, as she choked, in one smooth movement he clipped the other end over her nose. Wren lurched backwards, but it was too late, her mask was gone. She pawed at her face but Adler held her hands down.

“Just breathe, I know you don’t like it, but you’ll soon see this is better. You can eat. And people can follow yer lips when you speak, which makes understanding easier. Full masks're good for flying: they keep your face clear of the wind, but here, we use these halfies for everything else.”

Stars were bursting in front her eyes; Wren couldn’t hold on any longer. With her heart pounding, she tried a small inhalation then automatically her lungs fought for air. It flowed into her chest without the plastic taint that usually came through her mask.

Adler held her eyes as her breathing slowed. “There now, that wasn’t so bad.”

Wren grabbed her full mask from him and clutched it in her sweating hand.

Then she looked at Raw and Wren forgot her fear of the halfie as she recognised his expression. He was about to start his obligations. She cleared her throat, trying to get his attention and he looked up. She gave a sharp shake of her head and he paled. The prayers would have given him away as a Grounder. With a shaky exhalation, he leaned to pick up his spoon, ignoring his own ‘halfie’ as though he’d been born to it.

As he raised his left arm, he blanched and changed hands. A wave of sympathy made Wren study his shoulder more carefully; although it was no longer dislocated, the bruising and swelling made it mountainous.

Wren winced at the sight and Raw looked up, his attention caught by the tiny movement. His face tightened and he ducked his head. When he made sure his hair flopped over his cheek to hide his scarring, Wren realised that he thought she’d been flinching at the way he looked with his mask removed.

She opened her mouth then stopped and snapped it closed. What could she say?

Pretending that she hadn’t seen his reaction, she turned her eyes to her own bowl.

Despite its spicy scent, the soy stew was a dirty grey colour, unappetising, but Wren couldn’t remember the last proper meal she had eaten. Still breathing through her nose with great care, she gulped the food down, glad suddenly of the halfie that allowed her to do so.

When she slid her empty bowl slid across the table, Wren felt the eyes of the men on her. Nervously she glanced up, finally able to properly take in the Runners who surrounded her.

Adler remained nearest, his big hands resting on his knees as he watched her become acclimatised to her halfie. Behind him others viewed her, and Raw, with looks that seemed just a little too hungry.

Wren gripped her chair, and edged towards Raw, seeking the comfort of his familiarity.

The Vaikunthans were mainly dark skinned, with black hair and grey eyes. Adler had by far the darkest skin and his eyes were brighter for it. The Sphere-Mistress, Genna, looked almost washed out beside him, as though the colour had been wrung out of her. One man was pale and freckled: baby exchange, Wren thought. The men all had facial hair, like Adler’s. There was a mournful looking one with a long face and beside him a stocky fellow whose frown lines cut deep as knife wounds. By the far wall was a Runner so large he seemed to have been constructed rather than born. Nearest to Raw, the freckled man, whose moustache had ginger streaks and whose smile was sudden and bright.

The flash of his teeth teased a twitch of her own lips and she fidgeted in her chair. Immediately he went down on one knee. “Runner, if you’re done eating, can we hear your messages?”

“Messages?”

Genna reached for a record book and dropped it on the table, making it shake. “We’ve been waiting fer a Runner to land here fer a while.” She glanced in the direction of the main settlement as if she could see it through the walls and Wren’s eyes were drawn to the fingers of her free hand, where they twisted inside her skirt, making small tears in the weave.

Raw dumped his spoon in his bowl. Quickly Wren offered her own answer before he could speak. “We don’t have any messages.”

Shock thickened the hut’s dank air and Genna laid her hand on the book. She frowned. “No messages. Then why come here?”

Wren straightened. She almost had to think to bring her real mission to mind, it seemed so long since she had set off. “I’m looking for my brothers. They were due back a few days ago and they had planned to come this way.”

“Your brothers," Genna murmured. “Still partner-Running?”

Wren nodded tightly, trying to squash that familiar rush of hope that still burned each time it flared. “Have you seen them?”

“Like I said, no Runners at this station fer a while. But they may’ve landed at the main settlement.”

“Where we weren’t able to?” Raw interrupted and Wren bit her lip. Had he forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to speak unless he absolutely had to?

Adler spread his hands. “The flaggers are meant to be out fer all the Runners, but we’ve seen some go in anyway.”

Wren groaned. Colm’s grasp of the flag code was spotty at best. Even if he had seen the red he might have led Jay onto the wall. “How do I find out if they’re there?”

For a moment silence draped the room then Adler nodded. “Go, Saqr.”

The mournful looking man sighed deeply. Then he put his bowl down, opened the door and set out into the darkness.

Genna gestured. “You’re best getting out of those clothes while you wait, or you’ll be too stiff to fly by morning. I’ll give you both a rub.”

Wren spun to look at Raw, panic tasted like acid on her tongue.

Raw’s eyes met Wren’s, and understanding cleared their green depths. Slowly he stood and gave a stretch that cracked his tendons. “As you can hear, Sphere-Mistress, I definitely need that massage you’re offering. Do me, then
I’ll
do my partner.” Genna opened her mouth to protest and Raw shrugged. “He’s a bit shy, is Wren. He’d rather eat more stew and wait for me.”

The second portion of soya sat in Wren’s stomach like clay. She watched Genna rub Raw and blanched each time the woman’s hands teased a crack from his muscles and ligaments.

He lay on the bench by the cook pot, having displaced the big man, and his head was turned from Wren. Half of his body was lit by the low light that flickered over the long lines of his muscles. The other half of him was in darkness. His hair tangled in the deep shadows that pooled beneath his head.

Wren turned towards the door and grimaced as her neck cricked. Genna was right, she desperately needed a rub, but although she felt warmer towards Raw, there was no way she was letting him get his hands on her.

Perhaps Saqr would return soon with her brothers and her own massage would be forgotten. Colm would surely forgive her for using his spare wings if it meant they returned to their mother with the medicine she needed to save her life.

Yet the door remained stubbornly closed and her feet drummed on the floor as she glared at it.

With agonizing inevitability, Genna worked her way down Raw’s body. Finally she lifted his feet from the bench and rubbed the arches while he groaned. Now Raw looked relaxed and Genna exhausted. Even her tight bun had loosened. She dropped his feet and flexed her fingers.

“All done.” She touched his shoulder with gentle hands. “I’m not sure what you did to that shoulder, but you need to rest it as long as you can.”

Raw rolled over and Wren quickly closed her eyes.

“Thanks.”

Wren heard rustling as Raw redressed.

“Your turn."

She opened her eyes to see Raw looking at her, his expression unreadable.

She shook her head. “I’m fine, Sphere-Mistress.”

“Don’t be stupid, Runner.” Adler glowered at her from the place he had taken across the table. “What if yer brothers ain’t here? You’ll want to fly again tomorrow. It’s not like you can trek across the desert.”

As if thinking of the Creatures drew their attention, their eerie cries split the night. Wren shuddered. “Well …” She tried to rub her own shoulders, but could barely lift her arms.

“You’re hurting, Wren, and it’s best if
I
give you the rub.” Raw moved so that he was standing right next to her, almost knee to knee. Wren could hardly bear to look at him, certain he’d be smirking. But when she raised her head he looked serious. He took a step backwards “If you’d rather the Sphere-Mistress do it …”

“No.” Wren jumped to her feet and moaned as her muscles protested the sudden movement. These were her choices: let Raw rub her, or let one of the strange Runners do it. One way would give her away for sure, the other was a nightmare.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Just …” she inhaled suddenly and looked around. The other Runner’s were watching her curiously. What Runner would refuse a massage then berate his partner? It had been easier when they were alone.

Wren bit her tongue and mercilessly thrust back the tears that fought to reach her eyes. “Fine.” She squeezed past her audience to reach the bench.