Sett’s tinkering recourses were far vaster than I’d expected.
Over the years the free Jadans had acquired every material I could think of, whether through the Coldmarch gifts, spoils from the Dagon or returning with raiding parties who’d pillaged the nearest caravan posts. Langrian steel was stout, their waxy fabric strong and their hamsa wood free of scarab damage.
Sett’s tinkerers had been working with skill and passion for hours now, trying to match the dimensions of my original Matty and succeeding. We’d set up another open-air workspace, the sky at our disposal, and each time one of the pieces came together my heart sang a bit louder, calling out to my friends.
Four half-formed dome-sails now swayed in the hard Langrian wind. The expanse looking over the alder flowers was wide and empty, and Sett told me that Great Gale chose to dance across these lands all night, twirling sand and dust like the hem of a dress. I was glad to see the Crier’s Sister here, bringing sweet memories on her breath. I wasn’t as far away from home as I thought. Here was the same lovely wind, playing in the same lovely starlight.
Sett had sent a few of her stronger warriors to retrieve the original Matty down from the Cry Patch earlier in the night, and I was surprised that none of the sail had ripped on its way down. It was ready again to conquer the sky. It was also ready to be copied.
The Langrian workers tinkered in unison by my side. I barely had to repeat any requests, and some I don’t remember giving at all. They were precise, fluid and together in their making. Sett averred that I was a natural leader, keeping everyone focused and moving, but I didn’t feel like I had much to do with the momentum. It was almost as if some unseen force was guided them onwards.
I thought my biggest problem was going to be getting a strong enough Cold Charge for all of the new glider blades, but the free Jadans had more Cold than expected. Sett brought out a stockpile of Drafts and Shivers they’d gathered from their enemies over the years. The sieging Asham often carried big Cold with them, to keep alive during their extended time in the Dagon. Funny that they ended up bringing life to their enemies, gifting them the kind of Cold that Langrians would normally be without.
Sett only had two Chills in the chest, but I didn’t worry too much. A lesser Charge meant we’d travel to Paphos slower than what was ideal, but with all the Frosts we’d find in the Pyramid, I’d be able to return to my friends in Jadans’ Rise with speed and salvation.
Just a little longer.
I smiled as I took an empty urn and started the new batch of Cold Charge. I took the leftover solution from the original Matty – the liquid still crackled with pain when I dipped in my finger – and then I added all the salt and Cold that the Langrians could afford.
Although most Jadans on the rock face were there to tinker and cheer us on, a handful of onlookers mourned the loss of their big Cold. They paced the outskirts of the plain with dread on their faces. I couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other, but I knew it wasn’t complimentary.
I was experienced enough to know I couldn’t convince everyone of my dream; still I wanted to tread lightly. These brave Langrians had been defending their homeland with blood and lives for eight hundred years. It was expected they should be wary of an outsider, especially after what happened with the spy. Their rejection was disheartening, but their grumbling would soon end. They just needed to see me fly.
I looked up at the night sky, ready to be up there once again.
When the Cold Charge was ready, I took one of the Asham tear vials that Sinniah had supplied. She’d managed to fill six vials to the brim. I didn’t ask her methods for extraction and she didn’t tell me.
This was war.
I quickly went to work on a small addition to the original Matty, adding a sliding cover over the Desert. This would hopefully allow me to descend without having to wait for the tear effect to wear out. If Sett and I were going to raid the Pyramid with any sort of secrecy, we’d need precision.
Then I put on a boilweed mask and stepped into the craft. But before I rose, I decided to test the glider blades. They started up as I flipped the lever, and though the new Charge was clearly weaker than the original, still the blades turned fast and strong. This elicited impressed looks from the Langrians at the fringe.
And then, heart in my throat, I let a single Asham tear fall.
The Desert fumed to life.
The metal bucket spat up terrible heat and hate and fumes. The dome-sail was ready, catching it all and billowing outward. I tried to keep a stoic face as my Matty rose, showing the free Jadans that I wasn’t scared.
There was a collective gasp from below. I smiled beneath my mask.
It felt wonderful to shoot in the air once again. I didn’t realize how much I missed flying. My chest rang out with freedom.
Rising a decent distance from the ground – so I wouldn’t knock into any buildings or statues – I lowered the copper rod deeper into the Cold Charge, spinning the blades and speeding across the sky. The directional lever was a bit tight, creaking with sand as I swung it around, but it still turned the Matty back and forth. I did a loop over the crowd and then spun the tiller the other way.
I wanted to give the Langrians a show. To give them a story.
I let another few tears fall and raced upwards towards the stars. I threw my head back and howled into the boilweed mask. I told myself I’d only allow a few minutes of bliss, and then I’d have to return to land. The other Mattys had to be finished. It was good for Sett’s tinkerers to see what we were building, but I couldn’t indulge my senses.
My friends were still in terrible danger.
If they were still alive at all.
I nudged the new steel covering slightly over the Desert holder and I began to descend. Then I removed the Cold Charge from the fan blades, and the Matty calmed. I looked over the side railing to see how far I’d risen.
I was already past the top of the valley. I could see the entirety of Langria, and the Dagon, brushed in shadow. The land was silvery and dark, with small pricks of light from place to place reminding me of dying Adaam Grass. There was too little life smeared over too much rock.
The Great Divide was vast, making me feel insignificant, continuing as far as I could see. It only seemed to get more dangerous and deeper the further it went along. It was so large that it might have encircled the entire World Cried. It echoed with secrets and whispering of things much bigger and more ancient than myself.
I leaned over the railing so I could see past the dome-sail above me. The night sky was gorgeous and clear. Cold swirled between the stars above, and now I finally knew the way to call them down. To plant a Khol in the ground. The Crier had always been up there, blind and bound, yet desperate to help.
What a glorious revelation.
All I had to do was get into the Khat’s Pyramid.
I pushed the steel cap tighter over the Desert. The fumes weren’t so terrible with the cap on, and so I took off my mask, breathing the night air as I drifted downward. The Matty struck the rockface below harder than I would have liked, but nothing important jarred loose, most of the rattles coming from my teeth.
The Langrians cheered as I landed, every one of them.
Sett raced over to the Matty, putting her hands on the railing.
‘What do you think?’ I asked.
‘Is good,’ she whispered, her expression full of awe. ‘Is very good.’
‘Are you ready to go up with me?’ I asked. ‘I need to see how these things fly with two bodies.’
Sinniah called something from behind, but Sett waved her off, stepping over the railing and onto the craft. I handed Sett one of the boilweed masks, and she strapped it over her mouth. I hooked an anchoring rope around her belt.
Her eyes were flush with excitement.
I let a tear fall.
Soon we had four Mattys built and ready to fly.
My craft was the only one with a feather painted on the side, but other than that, all four were nearly identical. Because of the Langrian workers’ skill, the crafts had come together more swiftly than I had thought possible.
The Asham would probably be able to spot our crafts from their side of the Dagon, and I could only imagine what they would think as we soared past, but I didn’t care. Even if they sent word back to Paphos by the fastest camel in the Khatdom, we’d beat them by days.
I put down my hammer and let out a long breath. ‘And now to pick the riders.’
Sett laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘I having them picked out before we start.’
I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. ‘How’d you know we’d run out of materials after four Mattys?’
She gave me an obvious sort of look. ‘Because I Melekah. I know how much in Langria.’ She squeezed my shoulder. ‘And who in Langria.’
I tried to give a cool nod, but I was rather impressed. She’d been able to pick out exactly what went into the original Matty just by looking at it, and then match those figures against her own materials. That’s something even Leroi wouldn’t have been able to do.
‘Who’d you have in mind?’ I asked.
Sett turned to the crowd and barked something throaty. Warriors began lining up in front of the crafts. All of them were women.
The first to step up to me was Rivvy, the short, bald woman from earlier. She bowed, her head going as low as my knee.
‘Rivvy you having met,’ Sett said. ‘Fierce as can be. Baboon in Meesh-Dahm.’
Rivvy pounded her chest and showed her teeth, which were large and well taken care of. She said something in Langrian and then went away to pick at the chests of weapons that were fully stocked. She went for a large, spiked hammer which was almost as tall as she was.
‘What’s a baboon?’ I asked Sett.
Sett shrugged. ‘None idea. Rivvy says name coming in dream.’
The next woman to step up had frayed hair and a round face. There was a nervous look about her, her movements twitchy and quick. Her eyes had a bulging, constantly surprised expression. She bowed, not nearly as low as Rivvy, keeping her eyes trained on my face.
‘This Zeekah,’ Sett said. ‘Zeekah having best ears in Langria. She hear Asham even move as slow as stone.’
‘Meshua,’ Zeekah said, the word coming out as a nasally spurt.
I bowed back. ‘What animal do you have in your Meesh-Dahm, Zeekah?’
Zeekah shot a fearful look to Sett, who translated my words into Langrian. Zeekah listened intently, and then spread her hands on the sides of her head, wiggling her fingers and sticking out her tongue.
‘Loonchin,’ Sett explained.
‘Ah,’ I said and then shrugged. ‘No idea.’
Lop cleared her throat from the side of us. ‘Loonchin were furry creatures with split tongues that lived in the tallest grasses. They would lick fallen Wisps and then wrap their tongue around the grass, moving up and down. Apparently the Cold friction would make lovely mating songs.’
I smiled. I would have liked to have seen a Loonchin.
The next warrior didn’t have much bulk to her, but her forearms were like cudgels, dark and frightfully hard. She moved with all the grace of a broken piece of pottery, the anger in her eyes just as loud. She wasn’t any taller than I was, but she commanded attention.
‘Bear,’ the warrior said, introducing herself and bowing. ‘I be your blade, Meshua.’
There was a grunt from a select group within the crowd, beating fists against their chest and stomping their feet. Bear turned, and with her fingers shaped like claws slapped her forearms together, her wrists making a fierce knocking sound.
‘They all having bear inside them,’ Sett explained, gesturing.
‘Your name is just Bear?’ I asked.
‘Is Meesh-Dahm,’ Bear said, turning around with a snarl and going for the weapons chest. ‘I needing no other name.’
Sett beckoned me closer and whispered in my ear. She was trying to hold back a laugh but not doing a very good job. ‘Bear is named “Anyuzzeh’leqquk” when born. This mean “gentle kiss of wind”. Bear change name as fast as being allowed.’
Then came a stunning woman. One of the loveliest I’d ever seen. Her stride alone made me want to melt. She had long, dark hair – even thicker than Leah’s – and lips that could have commanded all the Taskmasters in Paphos to jump straight into the Singe.
‘This Gullesh,’ Sett said. ‘She best arrow shot in—’
Sett cut herself off, stepping up to Gullesh and grabbing her by the neck. Gullesh squirmed, but Sett held her tightly, adjusting her fingers and looking deep into Gullesh’s eyes. After a few breaths Sett eventually let the warrior go, spitting on the ground at her feet. They exchanged a few harsh words. Gullesh slunk away, head hung low.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘Droughtweed in eyes,’ Sett said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. ‘We take other instead.’
Sett pointed to one of the tinkerers instead of a warrior. This woman gave a slow nod and made her way into the line. Her robes were full of stains and grease, and she had a sadness in her eyes that made me look away.
‘Is good meet,’ the tinkerer said with a bow. Her voice dripped with melancholy.
I bowed back. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Ellora’.
‘She one of finest makers in Langria,’ Sett said.
I nodded as Ellora gave a second bow and excused herself, going to a Matty instead of the weapon box. She ran a hand over the railing, her face despondent.
‘Does she not want to go?’ I whispered.
‘She not want do anything much,’ Sett said. ‘Is okay. Is good for her.’
‘What’s her Meesh-Dahm animal?’ I asked.
Sett shook her head, giving me a look that said to leave it alone.
The last warrior to come up introduced herself as Tully. She was all elbows and knees, but her face sang of mischief. Tully claimed to have ‘fox’ in her Meesh-Dahm. I didn’t know what a fox was, but I liked her immediately.
And so the warriors were decided.
We practised flying for a few hours. Two riders to a Matty. I examined the dome-sails and tear mechanisms after each short rise, and found everything stable. Surprisingly, the Langrians weren’t nearly as intimidated by flying as I would have thought, proficient almost on the first rise. The only one who was squeamish about flying was Zeekah, but I was getting a feeling that squeamish was her natural state. The Langrians took to the sky like they belonged there, like they’d been flying for years. A small part of me was jealous, but mostly I was just grateful to have extraordinary warriors to fight by my side. They quickly proved they didn’t need much practice, which was good, because we didn’t have time to waste.
We paired up, each standing in front of our crafts, stocked up with weapons and rations.
Sett and I.
Sinniah and Bear.
Zeekah and Ellora.
Rivvy and Tully.
The Langrians left in the crowd gathered around the Mattys. They cheered and waved and cried with one another.
Sett turned to them and sang with all of her heart.
I couldn’t understand the words, but instinctively I knew it was a freedom song. It made me miss home more than ever, and by the end there was more than one kind of tear in my eye.
Sinniah came over and gave Sett a passionate kiss, digging her hands into Sett’s gray hair. The clamouring from the crowd grew louder. The other chosen warriors said goodbye to their families – some with kisses, some with playful punches on the arm – and we climbed into our Mattys.
There was barely space for Sett and I in our Matty, between all of the weapons and supplies we’d packed, and I hoped we hadn’t weighed down the craft too much. I strapped on my boilweed mask and carefully opened the lips of the Coldmaker bag. I put my hands on the bronze eye, and then touched each of my friends’ names.
‘You can do the honours,’ I said to Sett, taking my hand out and gesturing to the tear lever.
Sett shook her head, putting on her boilweed mask and eyewear. ‘No. As one.’
Sett took my fingers and we dropped a tear together. The Matty struggled at first, the dome-sail groaning, but finally the craft took off. Sett laughed, the orange glow of the Desert reflected in the glass over her eyes.
The other Mattys rose as well, three spots of light appearing below. I heard distant cries of excitement. Heat spilled through the small holes in the top of their sails. Even though Sun was gone for the night, the heat still went up, trying to find its maker. The bond between fire and Sun must have been nearly unbreakable, the same being true of the Crier and his Cold.
Sett let out another Asham tear from the vial and wrenched us higher, the Matty climbing high above the Divide. I looked North and my jaw dropped.
The Crying.
Cold was falling into the Langrian’s Cry Patch.
The Wisps were barely apparent, their streaks dull and nearly indiscernible, but the fact that they existed at all made me want to follow them down and kiss the red sands upon which they landed. If we had more time, I might have done just that.
‘Is beautiful,’ Sett said through her mask, coming to my side. ‘Is so beautiful.’
The Wisps caught just a hint of starlight as they fell. They were real. Tangible. Adaam had put the Khol in the ground, and now the Cold knew where to fall.
‘Do you believe in the Crier?’ I asked.
‘Hmm?’
I took off my mask, deciding to deal with a few fumes for the moment. The questions in my heart burned brighter than any Desert.
‘Do you believe in the Crier?’ I asked Sett again.
Sett looked away from the other Mattys, swinging her attention back to me. Her eyebrow had raised.
‘Believe?’ she asked. She took off her mask and cleared her throat.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do you think he’s real?’
Sett shivered. ‘Sorry. I being very excited. Why you ask such thing?’
I pointed out at the falling Wisps. There were only a handful of brown streaks falling to the land, barely discernible. I tried to make my words as simple and clear for her to understand. Considering the subject, this was both impossibly difficult and surprisingly easy.
‘Desert takes away Meesh-dahm in the land,’ I said. ‘Khol puts Meesh-Dahm back in. The Cold from the sky is attracted to Meesh-Dahm, and that’s how it knows where to fall.’
Sett nodded.
‘So couldn’t it all be just a natural effect?’
‘Natural. Effect,’ Sett repeated slowly.
I felt frustrated, trying to think of how I could use my hands to explain. ‘Natural effect means, when—’
She waved me off. ‘I understand. Go on. Speaking slowly please.’
I felt rather emotional. Speaking slow was going to be a challenge. Lonely thoughts scraped at a foundation I wasn’t ready to lose.
‘So if there is a clear cause and effect with Khol,’ I blathered, ‘it could all just be natural. Like how magnets find metal. How fire turns things to ash. How Golemstone reacts with the Milk of the Dunai. It would even make more sense that way. Because if the Crier was real, then why was he unable to stop the First Khat? If he was real, couldn’t he have protected us from all of this pain and suffering? The truth could be that the world is simply a combination of materials and that we’re all Sun-damn tinkering alone.’
As I finished, my throat burned with fear and indignation.
The Desert fumes didn’t help. My whole face was on fire.
Sett blinked for a while, saying nothing. I realized I hadn’t spoken slowly enough, and passion had certainly distorted my words. I took a deep breath, turning away from the Desert. ‘Let me try again—’
Sett held up a finger. ‘I understand.’
And then she went quiet. She gave me another blank stare for a while, like she went somewhere and left her body behind. It quickly became uncomfortable, and I coughed, both from the heat and impatience.
Sett moved, her hand going straight on top of the Coldmaker bag.
‘You make this,’ she said.
I nodded.
She cleared out a space next to the machine, pushing it aside, along with some weapons and food.
‘You sit,’ she said.
I pointed to the glider blades. ‘But we need to go South.’
‘We have small more time to rise,’ she said. ‘Sit. This important.’
I glanced over the railing, making sure the other Mattys were still on course. Then I sat. It was much cooler in the bottom of the craft, the Desert fumes absent, and the edge was taken from my mood.
Sett opened the lips of the bag. ‘You are maker, yes?’
I nodded. ‘We say “Inventor” in the common tongue, but yes.’
Sett snorted. ‘Is maker. You maker.’ She tapped the bronze lid. ‘This Cold-maker.’
‘It is.’
‘And it no work now.’ She smiled. ‘Missing Khol.’
I nodded.
‘Is natural effect.’
‘Yes.’
‘But you sitting right there!’ she exclaimed with a laugh, opening her palms towards me. ‘If just natural effect, you fix! Fix now, please.’
‘I’m trying. We’re headed to the Pyramid to get—’
She grabbed my wrist and brought my bronze fingers to the lid. ‘Look you same colour. Very connect. You fix. Now.’
‘I’m trying—’
‘Fix!’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not! You maker!’
‘I’m not all-powerful or divine. I’m just a Jadan.’
‘So why World Crier must be all-powerful and divine?’
‘Because he made the world.’
She tapped the box. ‘You make this. You can’t fix by only you. But you still love Coldmaker? You proud of make.’
The bronze lid felt wonderful against my palm. ‘I do. I am.’
‘And you want with whole heart to fix Coldmaker.’ She laughed. ‘You fly to Langria for finding answer you need. Very big adventure. And still Coldmaker not work. Does that mean you not real?’
I pressed my teeth together tightly, trying to hold back. Tears stung my eyes.
‘And now you fly to Paphos,’ she said. ‘With free Jadans. To break in Pyramid and find Khol, which being a very difficult idea. Deadly also. This show you very much want bring life to Coldmaker.’ Sett placed her hand flat on lid next to mine. ‘But machine still broken. For now.’
‘For now,’ I whispered.
She stood up and helped me up to the railing beside her. We’d risen high enough that the air had begun to grow Cold. I dipped the copper wire from the glider blade into the charge and started them turning. The Matty picked up pace and after a moment we began making our way South.
‘This why I know Crier is being real,’ Sett called over the rumble of blades. ‘Even if He make Jadans, make whole world and sky and stars and Khol, it not meaning that he get to do any power he wanting. There always being rules we can’t breaking. Especially biggest rule for makers.’
‘What’s the biggest rule?’
She gestured over the railing to the other Mattys, they too now pushing South. The three crafts followed in our wake, defying the winds and pull of the ground. They were a splendid sight, especially with the Wisps falling at their backs.
‘When you maker, you always needing help,’ Sett called. ‘But when you maker, you never being alone.’