The Cradle of Ice (Moonfall #2)

Chapter 31

31

S PRAWLED ON HER back in the sand, Nyx coughed and gasped. Soaked and dizzy, she fought to her feet. Scores of others moaned and picked themselves up from the street as water sluiced away, returning to the sea.

Moments ago, she had caught a glimpse of the Sparrowhawk plummeting out of the mists, riding atop a whirlwind of fire. Standing at the foot of the dais, she had heard its booming crash into the sea. She’d dashed forward to get a better look, only to meet a wall of seawater rushing toward her. The surge carried a tangle of people, a tumbling hide drum. It struck her before she could even turn. The tide spun and cartwheeled her into a confounding blur.

Frantic limbs struck her.

Hands clawed at her.

Salt water burst through her nostrils.

She couldn’t stop from being flooded out of the plaza and up a side street. After a seemingly endless time, the surge finally receded. It had tried to drag her back with it, but she had dug her toes into the wet sand to hold herself in place.

On her feet now, she searched for the others, spinning a full circle. The motion set her head to pounding. Her vision squeezed to a tight knot. Everything sounded muffled, even the nearby cries. She squinted at the surrounding faces, but they were all strangers.

Where is everybody?

She added her own voice to the chorus of pain and panic. “Jace! Fenn!”

The two had been at her side before the flood.

She scanned the roil of people and hollered again, but she could hardly hear her own voice. Especially as the cacophony suddenly escalated with renewed screams, full of terror. The flow of the wounded and half drowned had been aiming for the plaza, calling for help, for loved ones—only now that tide reversed. People began running in the other direction, knocking her aside.

She flattened against a wall.

What is happening?

A hand latched on to her upper arm. She fought the grip. Then a face appeared before her. Ice-blue eyes shone bright with shock. Tight lips were hard with determination.

She stiffened with recognition. “Daal…”

“Krem!” he yelled. “Come!”

He pulled her away from the wall and into the flow of fleeing people. In his other arm, he carried Henna at his shoulder, hugging her tight. She sobbed and covered her face with her small hands. They stumbled along with the panicked crowd.

Nyx glanced over her shoulder. “What about my friends?”

Daal shook his head, looking as clueless as her. His gaze searched the skies as he ran. “Must go! They come!”

She stumbled along with him. “Who?”

Then she felt it.

A storm brewing above her. Pressure built in her ears. Energy danced across her skin. She knew that malignant touch.

A wave of dark menace swept up from the plaza and down the street. When it struck, it drowned her as surely as the flood had. It sopped through her damp clothes, burned her skin, set her blood to boiling.

Daal gave name to the threat. “Raash’ke…”

A dark shadow swept past overhead. The sharper keening struck her, drove her to her knees, addling her senses further. Her limbs grew leaden and heavy. Her breathing strangled.

No…

She tried to raise her voice against that onslaught, but her throat was salt-scoured, her lungs on fire. She could not even gather a breath.

And she was not the only one afflicted.

Ahead, people staggered or sprawled amidst the floodwater’s refuse, succumbing to the malignant bridle-song. Distant screams turned to agonized shrieks. Another shape winged diagonally above the street, sweeping low. A figure writhed in its claws before being whisked skyward, trailing a long wail behind it.

Daal pulled her up, his gaze fixed to the skies. “Need to away. Find mag’nees shelter.”

Nyx struggled to stand, to clear her thoughts. While being hauled to her feet, she managed a sharper intake of breath. She used the air to weave a weak humming melody, discordant but enough to make her skin glow. The song succeeded in casting back the worst of the bridling malaise.

She leaned on Daal, allowing him to lead her while she gathered her energy. In his arms, Henna hung slack, her form too small, too easily overwhelmed by that dread song.

Daal continued down the curve of the street, climbing through debris, around fallen bodies. They passed many homes, but through a doorway, she spotted figures sprawled inside. The stone walls offered no refuge from that dreadful song.

Then where is Daal taking us?

With no way of knowing, she concentrated on collecting herself. As she did, her song grew stronger, but it was still too weak to help others. The glow barely warmed through her wet clothes. She searched around. A few of the afflicted crawled on hands and feet, but only she and Daal were still on their feet and moving.

She frowned at Daal.

Why hasn’t he succumbed? Why is he still standing?

Then she remembered. Back on the beach, when she had first met him, she had tried to weave her golden strands into him, sensing he carried the gift of bridle-song. She pictured those threads evaporating when they neared his skin, as if innately resisting her.

If I couldn’t reach him, maybe the raash’ke can’t either.

Before she could ponder it further, Daal drew her aside. “Ree mag’nees fare.”

He led her to a low archway. Beyond it, sandy steps led down to a stone-roofed chamber packed with people huddled shoulder to shoulder. Others fought to get deeper inside, only to be rebuffed by a lone guardsman armed with a spear. Angry shouts echoed out, supporting their warden’s stance. It was likely already crushingly tight in there.

Nyx didn’t know what was so special about this refuge, but it was clearly important. Those inside had not fallen victim to the bridling menace.

Daal’s feet faltered at the sight of the struggle.

“Is there another shelter?” Nyx asked.

He shook his head. “Too far.”

Shouts drew Nyx’s attention back toward the sea. From this level of the village, she had a partial view of the plaza, where a battle had begun. The village had rallied after the initial shock. Guardsmen had clambered atop rooftops or perched on walls. Two ran past Nyx and Daal with steel-tipped tridents. They were armored in leather and wearing winged helms that bulged at the ears.

Above the streets, barrages of fiery arrows sailed into the sky. A few hit targets, ripping through wings or grazing bodies—but little damage was done. The raash’ke proved to be uncannily swift and agile. Nyx wondered if the bats were using their songs in defense as much as offense. The beasts seemed to anticipate the strikes before they hit, angling away at the last breath.

Her brows bunched. She didn’t understand how the guardsmen resisted that malignant bridle-song. They couldn’t all be like Daal. She wondered if the bulging over their ears somehow protected them, deafened them. She glanced to the shelter behind her. Having lived in the Crèche for millennia, the Pantheans had clearly developed a method of surviving in the shadow of such dread beasts.

Still, the battle remained fraught. Bodies were ripped off the streets. More bats hunted, killing indiscriminately in their fury. They slashed throats, tore off limbs. She watched a bat dig through the reed roof of a home and burrow inside.

Most of the attacks centered on the open plaza, where the creatures’ great wings were not impeded by the narrow streets.

Daal drew her toward one of the homes, likely believing any shelter was better than none. She shook free. Anger had warmed away the last of her dismay. Iskar was being attacked because of her group. The Sparrowhawk had led the horde down here.

It’s our fault.

She couldn’t just hide and cower.

“Krem,” he urged her.

She shook her head. Determined and more clearheaded, she gathered her energies and sang brighter, casting a wider golden shield. Its sudden appearance surprised one of the raash’ke as it dashed past overhead. It shied away with a burst of black wings, like a startled crow.

Daal took a step back, too, his eyes huge upon her.

So, he can see my glow.

Still, that mystery would have to wait. She pointed to the plaza. “I must help my friends.”

She intended to search for the others—Jace, Fenn, Graylin—and, if possible, revive them with her song. She refused to sit idly by when they were at risk, vulnerable to fang and claw.

That’s if they still lived.

Daal continued to gape at the glow surrounding her—unfortunately, he was not the only one to note it.

Another bat, likely drawn by the shine, dove at them. It screamed, washing its malice over her shield. She fought, trying to bridle it and drive it back. But it was far stronger than she expected, especially for a lone raash’ke. As they battled, she understood why. She sensed a larger malevolence within that body, one she recognized from the attack on the Sparrowhawk.

The horde-mind of the raash’ke.

She felt it staring at her, like a massive ice-cold eye, larger than the world. The immensity of that gaze shattered her control. She tried to wrest it back, but the monster was too strong.

With a cry, she fell to a knee.

Daal rushed to her side. “Nyx…”

His concern cost him dearly. Free now, the bat swept down upon them—and went for the easiest prey. Claws snatched the limp form of Henna from her brother’s arms, snagging the back of her festival dress. She was yanked skyward with a beat of wings.

“Henna!” Daal screamed.

Nyx lunged to her feet.

No…

G RAYLIN HUDDLED NEAR the threshold of a dark chamber. His heart pounded in his throat. He stared at the carnage outside, at the war being waged across the plaza and in the skies.

On the sands, guardsmen fought with flaming spears and lances, trying to drive off hordes of bats, which fluttered in the air or crawled among the dead. Other men tried to drag bodies to safety, celebrants who had succumbed to the paralyzing bridle-song of the raash’ke.

Atop rooftops, archers swept the skies with fiery volleys of arrows.

Graylin clutched Heartsthorn in his grip, wanting to join the fray and search for Nyx. But he knew he would not make it more than a few steps before falling prey to the malevolent keening of the raash’ke.

He was not the only one frustrated.

“Nyx must be out there somewhere,” Jace said at his shoulder. The young scholar clutched his ax in both hands, looking ready to charge out the door.

Fenn, armed with his two half-swords, flanked Jace’s other side.

Graylin peered past them into the low-roofed chamber. The Reef Farer and his family crowded near the far wall, guarded over by a pair of men. Earlier, as the raash’ke had attacked, Graylin had wrested Heartsthorn from Berent’s numb hands. Graylin’s neck still bled from where the man had threatened him.

It was lucky Graylin had gotten hold of his blade. Before the dais could be evacuated, a massive bat had struck the stage, crashing through thrones and chairs. A wing knocked one of the Reef Farer’s uncles down to the plaza below. Before more could be harmed, Graylin had dashed forward, coming between Berent’s consort and the monster. He speared the beast through the eye, scraping bone to reach its black brain. The bat screamed and flopped away, wings thrashing wildly, until it tumbled off the platform.

Graylin had scooped up Ularia and run with the others down the steps. A handful of guardsmen surrounded them, shielding the Reef Farer and his family.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jace and Fenn rushed over. Both looked like drowned dogs, sodden and dripping. Jace bled from a deep gouge on his forehead. Fenn limped, wincing with every step. Jace stammered out his panic: Nyx had vanished during the surge from the sea.

They had no time to search. Bridle-song had everyone staggering. Graylin could hardly think, his vision blurring. The guardsmen herded them over to a narrow archway off the plaza and down four steps into this dark chamber. Once inside, the miasma slowly lifted. The stone-roofed chamber proved to be a port in this storm. They had no choice but to weather it out in here, impotent and frustrated.

A shattering boom drew Graylin’s attention back out. The sound rolled from the sea and echoed off the plaza walls. Graylin leaned farther out, enough that he again felt the frisson of that awful keening.

Out on the water, the Sparrowhawk foundered, listing to one side, likely half flooded due to the rent in the hull from the saboteur’s bomb. Still, Darant refused to forsake his ship. From atop the forecastle and middeck, the brigand and his remaining crew fired crossbows. Smoke rose from one of the deck cannons. Another blasted with a swirl of fire. A bat was struck, knocked far, before tumbling into the sea.

With the horde’s attack focused on the village, the Sparrowhawk had been spared enough to rally a defense.

But that would not last.

Graylin drew back into the room, his senses frazzled by the brief brush with that keening outside. He leaned a hand on the wall, waiting for his head to clear.

“What is it about this chamber that protects us?” he mumbled.

The answer came from his other side. Daal’s mother and father stood vigil in here, too. Meryk’s face was a mask of fear. He clutched his wife under one arm. The two had been drawn in here with them.

“Mag’nees,” Meryk said. He touched a black rock imbedded in the sandstone wall. Thousands of the same dotted the space, including the ceiling.

Floraan translated. “You call it lodestone. ”

Jace gasped in surprise, reaching to the wall on his side. “Such rocks have properties that attract iron, that can align compasses to the Urth’s energies. Whatever emanates from those stones must cast a protective pall through this space.”

Floraan cupped an ear. “Seashells packed with ground lodestone do the same. Though, the cry of the raash’ke still hurts.”

Graylin glanced out to a guardsman running past, flinging a spear, then vanishing out of sight. His leather helm had bulged at the ears.

Meryk frowned. “Over the centuries, we’ve mined all the mag’nees we can find. There is no more.”

Floraan nodded. “Each village only has a few such shelters. Even the number of protective helms is limited. Though, most times it is enough.”

Meryk waved toward the cold cliffs. “Our people cut stairs into the ice that lead up. We haul fresh carcasses from the sea and leave them up top for the raash’ke.”

Fenn winced. “You feed those monsters?”

“To keep them from feeding on us,” Meryk explained.

Floraan sighed. “Occasionally, a few will fly down and grab the unwary. Either for fresh blood or simply for sport. We do what we can, but we remain mostly at the harsh mercy of the raash’ke.”

Graylin stared out at the ruins of the plaza, the foundering ship.

Until we stumbled down here and dragged an entire horde with us.

Meryk rubbed his chin and lips, plainly anxious, talking to keep himself from rushing out into the village. He scooped his wife closer. Both their gazes never drifted from the doorway.

Graylin knew their concern.

Nyx isn’t the only one missing.