The Cradle of Ice (Moonfall #2)

Chapter 64

64

T HROUGH THE SMALL windows of the sailraft, Graylin watched the deck of the Sparrowhawk fall away under him.

Despite his trepidation, it was not a bad plan.

Next to him, Brayl sat behind the wheel, her feet manipulating the pedals, firing the small forge sparingly. She guided them away from the neighboring cliff of ice and out to sea. She barely seemed to pay attention, concentrating more on a pipe the size of his thumb.

“This dried weed that the Pantheans smoke is shite compared to Klashean tabak,” she commented. “Though it does make your tongue pleasantly tingle.”

“Mind the skies,” Graylin rumbled.

She cast him a sidelong glance and spooled a dismissive curl of smoke his way. “Do you know how many times I’ve made this trek?” She glanced to a small hashing of marks on a paper pinned next to the wheel. “Twenty-three times. Nope, missed one. Twenty-four times if you tally this one, which might not count as we’re straying from my usual route.”

Graylin knew she flew regularly to the Fyredragon, to aid in ferrying heavier supplies from Noor’s old ship to the Sparrowhawk.

It’s that routine that we’re all counting on.

The small group accompanying Nyx had snuck aboard the raft after it landed briefly on the Hawk ’s deck. To stay out of sight, they kept the bulk of the ship between them and the guards on the beach below. The plan was to make off into the mists overhead, pretending to be on another supply run to the Fyredragon —then, once lost in the mists, they’d set off for the western Fangs.

Graylin looked over his shoulder and studied their small group.

Jace sat on a thin bench, balancing his Guld’guhlian ax across his knees. He had insisted on coming along, maybe to make up for his failed attempt to sway Nyx from this course, but more likely simply because he feared for her safety. His white-knuckled grip on the ax was testament to that determination, and maybe some measure of fear.

Besides Nyx, two others were aboard.

Quartermaster Vikas would be continuing her duty as Nyx’s guardian. The woman was so tall, she had to keep her head ducked from the raft’s low roof, even while seated. She massed twice Graylin’s weight, all of it muscle encased in leather. Graylin planned on leaning on every stone of that bulk and every fiber of that strength to keep Nyx safe.

The last member of their group, Shiya, stood at the back, anchoring all that bronze to keep the raft’s flight even. She would not only act as a defender during this trek, using her speed and considerable power, but she would also work in tandem with Nyx to bolster her bridle-song.

Still, Graylin wished their numbers were far greater.

Nyx must have read this desire as he sized up each member of the party. “We must trust we’re enough,” she said. “We dared not take any more with us, or Ularia might note we’re missing. It’s risky enough with the five of us leaving. Plus, once we get to the Fangs, Daal’s skiff can only hold a few people. Especially with Shiya aboard. And we’ll still need room for Bashaliia when we sail back.”

Graylin frowned at her optimism. For him, their best hope was to reach the Mouth, for Nyx to recognize the futility of a rescue, then quickly duck back into the icy labyrinth of the Fangs before the raash’ke were any the wiser. Still, he had to begrudgingly concede that a smaller, less conspicuous party offered the best chance for that outcome.

Brayl also supported their fewer numbers, but for a more practical reason. “Nyx is right. I’m not sure this sailraft could handle any more weight. We’re low on flashburn as it is. My father hasn’t gotten around to tinkering with my raft’s little forge. He’s been focusing on the Sparrowhawk ’s big engines, retooling them to handle that Panthean flitch. I heard the forges are already provin’ more powerful. Can’t wait to try ’em out.”

Graylin noted her spark of envious excitement.

“I also heard they’ll be testing the new balloon in a bit,” she added. “Seeing if hot air alone will lift the Hawk. I hope I’m back in time to watch.”

Graylin doubted it. Once Brayl dropped them off, she would sail straight to the Fyredragon before returning to the beached swyftship. She had to maintain their story that this was just another supply run.

Everyone back at the beach would also cover for the missing members: diverting any inquiries, muddying and misdirecting, anything to keep their disappearance from Ularia and the Reef Farer.

As the raft reached the mists, the sea below vanished. Nyx rose from her bench and crossed over to the window opposite Brayl. Her gaze remained fixed ahead, likely picturing the young man waiting for her.

Silence settled over the raft, all lost in their own thoughts and worries. Traveling through the mists, it was difficult to judge the distance they’d crossed. Brayl kept her focus between a compass and the skies, watching for any threats. Though she looked calm, sweat pebbled her brow. Still, she kept puffing on her pipe and sailed them onward, only firing the forges periodically, mostly letting them drift.

Slowly, the mists grew brighter ahead of them.

“The island of Kefta,” Nyx whispered, as if fearing the townspeople below might hear her.

Graylin touched Brayl’s shoulder. “Best circle clear. We don’t want the flash of our forge to be seen by anyone down there.”

Brayl didn’t acknowledge him, but the raft tilted and angled away, giving that patch of glowing mists a wide berth.

Once past it, they continued their quiet passage across the Crèche. Time stretched. Graylin’s eyes strained from staring into the featureless fog. Overhead, the radiant glow of the day dimmed to the eerie pale blue of eventide. With less light, the mists drew closer.

Brayl swore and jerked hard on the wheel. She pounded a pedal. The small forge roared, turning the mists fiery behind them. The raft heaved high to the starboard side.

Only then did Graylin spot the danger.

Ahead, a spear of ice cut through the mists.

The raft rolled to the side of it. But just barely. Their gasbag bumped against the frozen lance. A loud scraping trembled the hull on that side. A thunderous snap of ice reverberated through the hold. Graylin pictured that spear breaking away and slicing through the mists to stab the sea.

Everyone held their breath. The only signal that they were truly safe was a spool of smoke from Brayl’s sigh of relief.

“I’d say that’s enough of this soupy clag,” Brayl muttered. “We should be beyond any prying eyes by now. I’m taking us down.”

As she lowered the raft, Jace came up to join them. His face looked paler after the collision. He likely intended to help watch for any additional threats.

Once they dropped out of the mists, the dark green of the sea appeared under them. It was far closer than anyone expected, suggesting that the roof overhead had been slowly lowering the farther west they traveled. Below, they could discern the stripes of whitecapped swells. Something large humped through the waves, showing a flash of a wide tail before vanishing deep.

“A kefta,” Nyx mumbled.

Graylin frowned, not understanding.

She motioned to the sea. “The island town is named after those massive beasts.”

Jace searched where she pointed. “How did you recognize it?”

“Daal… I remembered when…” She gave a small shake of her head, as if trying to dislodge a memory. “Never mind.”

Graylin’s frown deepened. She had told them—though her account was sketchy—how she had briefly shared some of Daal’s life while merged with the Dreamers. He suspected her recognition of the kefta came from a memory that was not her own. But he didn’t press her on it.

“We’re getting pinched,” Brayl warned.

Graylin’s attention returned to the window. The seas kept rising under them as the bank of mists above forced them downward.

“The cavern roof keeps dropping on us,” Jace said, craning his neck to look up. “We must be nearing the western edge of the sea.”

“Not nearing it,” Nyx declared. “We’ve reached it. Look ahead!”

The end of the world pushed out of the fog. A jagged ice cliff cut across their path. It climbed from the sea to the mists. Cascades of luminous growth spilled down its side in shining blue cataracts. The glow revealed deep fissures and hollow-mouthed cavern openings. Shallow grottoes shone with brighter hues of crimson and yellow, as if eventide had not yet reached this western edge.

Across the breadth of it, one detail was prominent.

The cracks and broken slabs of ice did indeed look like the fangs of a monstrous beast—a giant leviathan rising out of the sea, waiting to devour them.

“There!” Nyx yelled, startling them all, pointing near the base of the cliffs.

Graylin searched for a breath, then spotted a spat of flame floating in the seas off that jagged coast. A tiny skiff bobbed in the dark water. It looked like a flake of fiery ash drifting before an icy colossus.

He glanced over to Nyx, picturing that tiny skiff sailing into those towering Fangs.

I should’ve tried harder to dissuade her.

Still, he saw how bright her eyes shone as she stared down at the skiff, at Daal and his two orksos. But he knew there was another who drew her even more.

Graylin had to accept the inevitable.

I could never have stopped her.

N YX CLIMBED FROM the stern of the hovering sailraft to the bobbling skiff. Daal helped her down, grabbing her hand. Upon his touch, she felt a flash of his inner fire, a lash of power that drew a sharp breath from her.

“I’ve got you,” Daal said in Panthean, but she understood him. That piece of his memory remained with her.

Once she gained her balance aboard the skiff, she forced herself to let go of Daal and shift to the bow where Jace waited. He sat to the right of where Daal’s reins were draped across the curve of the prow. She took a seat on the left. In the waters ahead, the horns of Neffa and Mattis pierced the waves, knocking playfully against one another. Nyx knew from Daal’s memories that Mattis was Neffa’s father. Their loving antics drew a small smile, helping to calm her, to stifle some of her anxiety.

Behind her, Graylin and Vikas dropped into the skiff, swaying the boat. When Shiya followed next, the stern dipped deep under her weight. Water washed over the rails before the skiff settled into a rocky bobbing.

Daal expertly crossed the deck toward the prow, balancing with little effort, and took up the skiff’s reins.

Shiya remained standing at the back. Overhead, the open door of the skiff hung near her head. Brayl crouched there and passed down additional supplies. They all had their own packs, but with so much unknown ahead, everyone else had contributed as best they could.

“Careful,” Brayl warned as she handed down a large basket. “Rhaif packed enough tack to last you all a good week. Plus, four bottles of sweet wine and a tiny cask of ale to wash it all down. Clearly, he had his own idea about essentials. ”

Shiya took the basket and stored it in a small fish pen at the stern.

Brayl lowered more satchels and tools. Krysh had sent an oilskin-wrapped parcel of ink, pens, and parchment, to help them chart their route. The Hawk ’s engineer, Hyck, shared a small farscope to help them survey the Mouth’s ravine, should they ever reach it.

“Fenn sent this for you!” Brayl called out, and heaved a pack at Jace, who fumbled but caught it. “There’s a compass, star charts, and a sextant. And other navigational tools that he thought you’d know how to use.”

Jace secured the satchel under his bench. “Once clear of the ice, we should get our first look at the open skies again.”

Last, Brayl rolled away and returned with a big crate. Straining, she held it toward Shiya. “Careful with this one. My father scavenged through the Hawk ’s dwindling armaments. It’s packed full of our last hand-bombs and two folded crossbows and a score of bolts.”

Shiya added the weapons to the fish pen.

In their own way, everyone had contributed something. While they couldn’t be here, they intended to be a part of this expedition in spirit. Their generosity warmed Nyx. Still, as she watched Shiya settle the large crate of bombs into the stern, a twinge of unease trickled through her.

What are we about to face?

She turned to the towering cliffs.

From this vantage, the Fangs looked as if they climbed forever. The seas washed against their flanks with a shushing that felt like a warning. Caves looked like dark dens. The glowing blue drapes of foliage cast the ice in an eerie sheen. Breezes flowed in and out of those fissures and grottoes, carrying with them the scent of damp mold, stagnant algae, and salt-encrusted ice.

She stared up at the frozen titan before her.

What will we find in there—and beyond it?

Daal shook his reins and whistled to his two orksos. The beasts humped higher in their harnesses, then dove their horns deep. The skiff pulled forward, sliding from under the shadow of the sailraft. The raft was already skimming higher as Brayl headed back.

The blast of its forge made Nyx cringe. The flash of its flames turned the ice cliffs fiery for a breath—then went dark.

Daal drove them toward a wide crack in the ice, one among many. But he knew where to go, which path to take. He had the same map blazing inside his skull and had already searched the Fangs while waiting for them to arrive.

“Nyx…” Graylin whispered behind her, offering her one last chance to change her mind.

She simply shook her head as the skiff was swallowed by the icy Fangs.

There’s no turning back now.