Irritation ran from Lapis’s chest to her crossed leg to her foot, making it bounce about with agitated vigor. Her gloved fingers thrummed on her upper arms as she glared at the carpeted flooring. Patch had his chin smashed into his palm as he looked out the window of the Pretty Bit, glowering into the mid-morning mist, as put-out as she, but he staunchly refused to remove his arm from around her shoulders.
Caitria covered her lips, as if that could keep her laughter deep inside. Her eyes sparkled as merrily as her reddened cheeks. Mairin glanced at them, also amused they fumed at each other while squished so close. Lapis did not think it funny, but she supposed it did look odd, even if it was typical for them.
Yes, she would forgive Patch for his thoughtless sneaking out to find his sister. Eventually. And he could fume back at her all he wanted, because that would not hasten her decision as to when.
The Swift rocked and her gaze snaked over to Tamor. He remained curled into a ball, clutching a paper sack, his eyes squeezed shut, looking greener by the moment. How would he manage the longer flight to Ragehill in Abastion, if he could not fly to Ambercaast without vomiting?
She still did not know what to think about Faelan sending her on such an important mission. Patch, yes; he completed them often, and with exceptional results. But she rarely helped on the more dangerous ones, and facing Bov Caardinva, a runaway markweza and his Dentherion friend, and perhaps more hostile khentauree, was beyond her comfort zone.
Her partner knew that, and even though he still glared fire because he resented them hunting him down in the tunnels, he wanted to provide some reassurance to keep her from swimming in freezing trepidation.
And, perhaps, to soften the emotional sludge wumbling through her after the heated words she and Rin spat at each other during the last week, after he realized she planned to leave him in Jiy. Stupid rat, this was not his affair. This was not his concern—even if he was her apprentice.
“Prepare for landing,” Rodas called. Tamor gagged and Lapis buried her head in Patch’s shoulder. Poor man. She thanked the non-existent gods she did not have a similar debilitating condition.
“Woah, is that a Class 6?” Caitria asked, startled.
“I think it is,” Rodas said, as impressed as Lapis had ever heard him. Frowning, she glanced out the window as the Swift flew over the workstation.
The round, dusty grey concrete platform on top of the building contained another Swift sitting in the center of the red landing circle. It had a sleek, metallic-shimmery brown metal body with a blocky back end and a square dome, with silver beams outlining window-looking areas, creating a stylized mask across the black glass. The craft sloped to a blunt nose, where a red light raced back and forth on the flat end. Six spider-like legs jutted from the body, rising high before bending and narrowing to pointed feet that held the body off the platform. A ramp with red running lights led to the ground. Judging from the size, it would hold twelve people in comfort.
Lapis studied what she could before the curve of the Swift hid the craft from view; if it flew, where were the wings?
“That must be Maurojay’s vehicle.” Caitria’s wishful tone washed through the interior. “A Class 6 can make it from here to Trave in an hour.”
Trave? Lapis had never visited the largest city in Dentheria, though she knew Patch had gone several times to visit Sils. From humble roots as a trade and military hub for the Taangis Empire, it grew into a metropolitan area after Dentheria began its conquests. Oddly, it had an immense amount of rebel and syndicate activity because the sprawling population hid underhanded dealings right under Dentheria’s nose.
Rodas maneuvered the Bit to a concrete landing pad on the other side of the building. Another, plain triangular Swift already sat there, employees rolling carts stacked with crates down its lit ramp. The square was large enough to hold four smaller Swifts and had a wide yellow grass boundary between it and the tall wooden fence that sectioned the space off from the closest employee cottages.
The vehicle settled with relatively little bouncing, though Tamor’s rush out proved even that affected his poor tummy.
“I wonder if the workstation has Naus-away,” Caitria murmured as she snagged one of her overladen bags.
“Naus-away?” Lapis asked.
“It’s motion sickness medicine. People take it who have difficulty flying or riding in a boat. It’s not common in Jilvayna, but Abastion sells it everywhere, and it seems like something the workstation would have.”
“I’m certain Cassa will know.” Lapis grabbed her heavy pack. She typically only brought medical supplies and tools, but considering the time the rebels expected to remain out of Jilvayna, she, Patch and Brander combined their clothing and necessities in one big, wheeled bag. That was already on the second Swift, the one still at Midir’s ranch and that would fly them to Abastion by taking a Minq-protected route.
She nearly laughed. ‘Big’ meant it stood her height and bulged in unattractive places. At least she did not have to worry about Caitria’s things, which overflowed with knickknacks. Mairin took one look at the pile and retrieved the nearest stablehands, paying them silver to haul the bulky items up the cargoswift’s ramp.
Lapis’s care over the cold morning aches, the too-early start, and her extraneous luggage being squished between supply crates, ended when she beheld the horses. Patch had to drag her away from the fence and the mares who trotted across the field for treats and pets. Neither Midir nor Varr appeared surprised at her interest, and her uncle grinned while they gossiped about her childhood self sneaking out of the house and to the stables at night so she could spend time with the animals.
The number of Minq tech vehicles in Midir’s storage barns astounded her. The number Faelan housed with him shocked her even more. Rebels were far better equipped than she realized, and she pondered how much of Gall’s diverted attention prompted the growth.
No wonder so many shanks now used tech. Hangings and beheadings had dwindled to nothing while Gall searched for a new tech source, a tacit acceptance that he could not contain the flood now pouring into the undermarkets. Undershanks would leap to take advantage of such an opportunity—and so would sly, ambitious nobles like Diros.
The thought of the man turning a new toy on the puppet in a bid to replace him churned her stomach. She much doubted the guard under Seeza held any loyalty to Gall and his crumbling throne.
Patch adjusted his pack, rolled his shoulders, then slipped his hand into hers. She looked up at him and squeezed his fingers. Did she look that nervous?
Honjora met them, hands behind her back, her thin frame so fluffed up in a warm coat with fake fur at the neck, the tips reached the bottoms of her fogged, round glasses. Loose strands from her messy brunette bun played with the breeze, fire-like in their franticness.
“Welcome back,” she said, her voice muffled. “I hope the wind wasn’t too bad. The snow breezes are starting, and they’re a bit rough.”
“It was fine,” Rodas assured her. He pointed at the roof of the workstation. “A Class 6?”
She chuckled. “Yes. Maurojay’s. It’s soooo nice to ride in. Comfy, warm, quiet.” She nodded to the rest of them and turned. “Everyone’s in the wallow we made for Cuddlebear except for Cassa and Nathala. They’re talking to Faelan because Nathala wants to send Mint and Tia with you.”
“Is she sure?” Lapis asked. “I’m under the impression the Depths doesn’t have a large terron population, and even one or two missing members is a strain.”
“She’s sure. She thinks the reason birthrates have dwindled in the Depths but not the Hollow is that Ghinka kept everyone sequestered in a joyless home environment. She’s encouraging the terrons to explore, get out, do something other than wallow in their wallows—and asked Cassa about bringing in settlers from other terron communities. New blood and all that.” She nodded emphatically. “They’re taking quick advantage of the relaxed rules. We’ve had a number visiting the workstation, asking questions about energy sources and the like. We’re learning claw talk as fast as we can, but we still need Cassa to translate.”
Lapis raised an eyebrow at that. “Hmm. You know, we should get the rats up here to translate for you. It’ll be good for them to breathe some fresh mountain air and have some adventures outside of Jiy streets.”
“It’ll be good for Tovi, too,” Honjora said. “He loved Fools and Ghouls, and he’s been a little down now that it’s all over and he needs to return to his studies.”
Since the rats had yet to stop talking about him, Lahna, and the khentauree, the feeling was mutual. She had not kept the strictest eye on them during the two-day celebration—and she adamantly did not admit rushing after Patch effectively kept her away from the second day’s jokester merriment—but as far as she could tell, everyone had a joyous and fun time, made new friends, and held memories that would warm them for years.
“Maybe Wrethe can visit, too,” Caitria said. “Fawn would love it up here and expanding Jerin’s world can only help.”
“Has he decided to live with Wrethe?” Lapis asked.
“I think he realizes he doesn’t have much choice,” the rebel said. “The rebel house is in typical flux, which he doesn’t like, and Wrethe provides a stable environment. He and Fawn get along well, and he’s enchanted with modding and coding. It’s not going to be the education he expected, but I think he’ll be a fine modder when Wrethe and Jhor finish with him.”
A small warning tickle coursed up her neck at the admittance, and she tamped down on the concern. Times were different in Jiy, and modder did not automatically carry a death sentence with it.
Honjora cleared her throat. “Ghost asked Jhor to go with you, because he understands Gedaavik’s code and if other khentauree suffer with the warped mods the Meergevens created, he can help them. So Sanna said she’s going, and no one, including Jhor, has convinced her to stay.”
“I keep trying to think of the khentauree as machines, but it’s really hard when they act like that,” Caitria said. “I don’t want to ascribe human emotions and actions to them, but Gedaavik coded them well.”
“I’m a roboticist, and they are nothing like I’ve encountered,” Honjora said. “And I’ve worked with descendant machines. I understand Jhor’s fascination and his frustration.”
They stopped by Cassa’s cool, uncluttered office to set their bags down. They waited for Patch to check on poor Tamor, who, he said, remained in the bathroom, refusing to raise his head from the toilet, then headed to Cuddlebear’s wallow. The workstation had built a humongous, silver-painted barn for him on their property, which encompassed the house-sized khentauree and provided a nice roof above his head. The wooden walls did not look warm, but once inside, the place vibrated with heat. Thick brown carpet helped with that, and Lapis swore warmth wafted up from it.
Tech terminals lined one wall, blinking lights and low whirrs indicating they chugged away on some task or other. Human-sized tables had various materials and tools on them, waiting for someone to resume work. Across from them lay a giant horse chassis, the body half-finished, the legs only metal outlines and a tangle of wires and interior workings. A scientist sat at one knee, a clump of wires in his hand as he prodded some bulgy blue thing with the other.
Cuddle Bear sat towards the back, his lower half absent his damaged horse end. His torso fit snuggly in a wide metal drum with wheels that had switches to keep them stationary when he needed to stop. Metal plates reinforced his long arms, dark blots against his silver sheen, though his chest looked fine. Had the Meergevens put the green globe in him? Or had they modded his code and not bothered with more?
As with the other khentauree, he possessed a humanoid dummy face devoid of defining features, though his size made him unmistakable. A cloth wrapped around his head, like a bandana, with the ends trailing down to his shoulders; she thought she recognized the blue crisscrossed band pattern as one sold in Jiy stores. Someone must have purchased the fabric for him on a visit to the city.
She needed to remember, that khentauree seemed fond of bright colors and patterns. She could purchase knickknacks for them like bracelets or fabrics, something to brighten their metallic casing.
Kathandra and Maurojay stood with Ghost, Sanna and Jhor, nodding to something Cuddle Bear rumbled. Kathandra wore a large, warm sweater and loose slacks, her hair bound back in a haphazard tail, at odds with her mother’s pristine appearance. Maurojay had her white shirt tucked into waist-high black pants, which brushed the tops of her black, pointy ankle boots. She had immaculate, shadowy makeup, large gold hoops dangling from her ears, and a thick chain around her neck. All sparkled along with the faint sheen of gold glitter in her sleek hair. Sophisticated, elegant, and Lapis distrusted her based on it.
Drawing her thoughts away from the depressing realization, she put a hand to her chest and bowed her head as the large khentauree’s attention diverted to them.
“It’s nice to see you again, Cuddle Bear,” she said. He dipped his head back.
“Ah, you’re here,” Kathandra said, smiling. “Hopefully the winds weren’t too bad. We’re starting to get into the dangerous time of year.”
“They were fine,” Rodas assured her.
“Good. It won’t be too much longer before we need to restrict air access for safety reasons. The Minq and Lord Adrastos already have plans to make a ski run to Ambercaast, so we won’t be as cut off as we normally are. Which is a good thing, considering we’re going to need their help with the khentauree.”
Lapis frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The group of fighting khentauree,” Ghost said, and she had a strong impression of sadness. “I have tried to speak with them, but they do not listen. They still travel the forest, making it unsafe for humans and terrons and khentauree. But sponoil becomes thick in cold weather, and they will slow down. They may become stiff and unable to move. And then we will find them and fill them with Jhor’s code and undo what the Meergevens did to them.”
“Good.”
“It is,” Honjora said. “The Black Hats have been busy keeping them from the Ambercaast tunnels. We have people working down there, and we’re not certain how the ones infected with the virus codes will react to other beings—and whether they can pass that virus to the uninfected khentauree.”
“It should be a quick download and run,” Jhor said. “But, as with everything else the markweza’s people tampered with, what should happen may not.”
Ghost motioned to the giant, who patiently regarded them. “Cuddle Bear crushed the noom kisc,” he said, diverting attention to the more immediate issue.
“I did,” the larger khentauree agreed. He set his knuckles on the ground and leaned over to them. “It was dull work. The miners took small brushes and brushed the powder into containers, to make certain none remained on our fingertips. When we crushed the crystals, it produced a tingle. Gedaavik did not like this, and he created pads for us. We only crushed the crystals with our padded fingers. There was no more tingle.” He held up one hand, palm out; the forefinger and thumb looked thicker than the other fingers.
“Did the tingle cause anything bad?” Caitria asked.
“Small crystals caused nothing bad, no. But larger crystals, the smaller khentauree shuddered and shut down. They no longer woke. Gedaavik spent long hours reviving them. Some remained in silence. They did not want to return.”
“Did you ever shut down?”
“No. But the mine owners did not want to lose me to a crystal tingle. I was large and strong, and too expensive to replace.”
Lucky him.
“Were there ever explosions?”
“No. Just static charge.” He paused, then rumbled. “My memory is fragmented, but something is there, in pieces. One time, when dust hung in the air after crushing, a miner brought in an air purifier to suck in the dust so they could retrieve it from the filter fibers. It caught fire and exploded. But I do not know if the dust caused the explosion, or if the purifier was broken. The miner who brought it into the room is not in my memory banks after that.”
“Is it easy to crush?” Rodas asked, rubbing at his stubbled chin with his forefinger and thumb.
“For small khentauree, no. It is too hard. But for me, yes. The crystals have fracture lines. If I press the ends of the fracture lines together, the crystals crumble and I can crush the smaller pieces into dust.”
“So if our enemy has awoken small khentauree from silence and expected them to crush the crystals, they won’t be able to?” Lapis asked.
“No.”
“Did you crush anything else?”
“Yes. There was kette-noom kisc. It is a red crystal, and it did not like to become powder. It broke into long thin bits that stuck in our fingers and palms like splinters. It did not seem useful to me, but we crushed more kette-noom kisc than noom kisc.”
“Sanna, do you know what the modern name of kette-noom kisc is?” Jhor asked.
The khentauree buzzed. “No.”
“Well, it’s another mineral to look for when we delve into the mines.” He stretched his elbows above his head and bent his lower arms down so his hands met at the back of his neck. “Is there anything about noom kisc you think we need to know, Cuddle Bear?”
“Do not breathe the dust. It is dangerous for humans to breathe the dust,” he said. “If it is broken, the edges are sharp and will cut skin, even khentauree skin.”
“Good to know.”
Lapis marveled that Cuddle Bear spoke of events that happened thousands of years ago. When she spoke with the khentauree, with the terrons, she spoke with history. Listening to an older human tell stories was not the same as hearing what a being who witnessed things one thousand, two thousand years ago, had to say.
Sanna hopped over and wrapped her arms as far around Cuddle Bear’s torso as she could. He settled a hand as large as she over her back, and both buzzed in contentment.
