Meadowcity (9 page)

Flint ran his fingers across his severely short hair, his dark eyes deep in thought. 

“Maybe.  I don’t know,” he shook his head.  “I was pretty panicked when I came out, and that’s the only time I’ve been through it.”

“I think that’s our best chance of getting in,” Sylvia said, and Ven nodded in agreement.

“The Staircase would be pointless—they’d see us coming as soon as we stepped foot on it, plus there’s the gatehouse,” Flint said.  “Scaling down the cliff face wouldn’t be great either—we’d be pretty visible that way too, unless we did it at night.”

Sylvia and Ven both shuddered.  Sylvia did not like the idea of scaling down a cliff face at all.  She would really rather keep her feet on the ground. 

Sylvia reached to the pack at her feet and untied the deerskin blanket from the front of it.  Unrolling it with a practiced movement, she tried to settle her back against the curve of the boulder.  It was relatively comfortable compared to some of the places she had spent nights in the woods.  Ven and Flint mimicked her and both took out their blankets.  Ven scooted a little closer to her and he placed his sheath of arrows at his feet, with his bow in his lap.  Flint ignored the boulders and just lay on the ground, propping his head on his shoulder pack, staring at the stars for a long time until finally his eyes closed.

“What if the tunnel’s blocked?” Ven murmured, his head coming close to her shoulder.

“Then we’ll just have to find another way in” Sylvia said, almost a whisper.

As their fire slowly died down to smoldering red embers, Sylvia tried to think about their mission to Riftcity.  They mustn’t be seen by anyone from Skycity—if they were seen, Skycity could retaliate against Meadowcity faster than they were already planning
.  We might not have time to defend ourselves
. 

Defense of Meadowcity was going to be tricky as it was.  It was hard to pretend that they didn’t live in a city made of wood—Skycity’s firebombs would tear right through it, and destroy it in an instant.  Gero had to know that.  She figured he would have met with the Council today and told them of the parcel he had received from Greyling. She wondered what their reactions were to the news. 

Shock, of course, but would any of them come up with any ideas to actually defend the city?

She reluctantly let herself give in to her tiredness, and felt herself drifting towards sleep.  She was not looking forward to more nightmares about falling through glass floors. 

Eventually though, Sylvia fell into a half-sleep, which was restful nonetheless.  With her eyes closed, she could hear the sounds of the forest around her.  Crickets chirped loudly and the slight wind could be heard in the trees as it wound through the leaves. For several hours Sylvia lay against the boulder, relaxed, almost asleep.  Too nervous to let go of consciousness.

Suddenly, she heard a loud crash—
was she dreaming?
—no, she was awake, and the sound close enough to start her heart hammering against her chest.  She could hear the brush moving, and then an aggressive yowl.  Then her brain registered exactly what was going on. 

She lifted her head from where it had been resting on Ven’s shoulder, but she didn’t quite remember how it got there.  He too, was awake.  His eyes met hers as she slowly sat up from the boulder, keeping her movements precise, and to a minimum.  The fire was down to barely glowing embers, lighting their clearing in dim red.  Sylvia was reaching for her long knife, still sheathed in her boot, when they heard the sound again, but different this time.

She read Ven’s lips as he mouthed
two of them
.  Then they heard another crash in the brush, closer.  They both froze.

At that moment, Flint’s eyes snapped open.  He started to sit up but his eyes met Sylvia’s and he too froze.

They’re fighting
, Sylvia mouthed to Ven, her ears straining for every sound, trying to determine how close they were.  Sylvia could feel her heart pounding, the adrenaline surging through her body.  For a long time, they listened to the lions fighting; crashing through bushes, and making the most terrible sounds.  Eventually the noises drew further off, and began to move away from their campsite. She relaxed her grip on the knife infinitesimally.

After a long time, the sounds grew even further and the danger seemed to wane.  Sylvia’s fingers on her knife were stiff from holding it so tightly, so she flexed them and readjusted her grip.  All three of them remained frozen around their near-dark campsite as their ears sought each sound the predators made in the distance, searching for any sign of them returning this way.  They could still hear the yowling in the distance, sounding more and more fierce, though further away each time. 

If they turned back this way, Sylvia was sure it would end badly.  She did not often encounter lions fighting each other.  She hadn’t seen any signs of lions in this area.  Were they fighting over territory?  She knew that they did not like to share their territory, which is what made the woods so dangerous for people:  the whole forest was their territory.

Sylvia’s ears strained for what felt like hours listening to every sound the two lions made.  She began to picture them fighting in her head: viciously slashing at each other with their strong paws, lunging at each other’s throats with their jaws wide, trying to make that fatal bite.

After what felt like the whole night, Sylvia finally relaxed her grip on the knife and flexed her white fingers.  She didn’t put it back in her boot, but rested it across her lap, her fingers curled around the leather grip.  Ven, too, held his loaded bow across his lap as he sat back into the boulder.  They could no longer hear any sounds of the lions fighting.  They softly agreed to stay put.  It would be more dangerous to go wandering when they knew two lions were about, fighting.

When Sylvia next opened her eyes, she couldn’t even remember closing them.  But the sun was staring her right in the face as it hung above the tree line.  The night had passed, and they were safe.

“Time to get up boys,” she said, hoping to keep the mood light today after such a rough night. 

Tensions could run high with too little sleep and too much fear, something she knew too well from experience.  It was far too early in the journey for them to become exhausted.

Sylvia began to roll up her deerskin blanket as she thought over last night.  If Flint wasn’t scared of the woods before, he sure would be now.

She thought over the route the trail would take them today.  She wasn’t as familiar with it as some others, but she felt safest on this deserted path.  The fact that their night had been interrupted by two fighting lions was not as worrisome as the prospect of running into anyone from Skycity.  Sylvia at least knew how to fight lions.

Sylvia removed her breakfast from her pack, took a sip of water from her canister, and stood, turning towards the west.  As she took her first bite out of the heavy brown bread, this one with apples baked into it, she saw Flint was still sitting against his boulder, applying his cream to the burn on his face.  Ven stood nearby, scanning the area with a keen eye, his bow in hand.  Sylvia kicked her boot up against the boulder in front of her and readjusted her laces, then checked that her knife was in good position.

Flint finished with his burn cream and stood, quickly shutting his pack.  The three of them left the campsite, all very eager to leave this place.

Chapter Ten
 

Sorin awoke on Summer’s End uncomfortably curled up in his office chair, having fallen asleep with the book all but cradled in his hands.  Not seeing the sun yet through his window, he decided to read through the book once more until it was a reasonable hour to visit Onen in the Library.

Once the sun peeked through his wide panel window, he straightened and stretched, going to the hook by the window to retrieve his black leather satchel.  He took a heavy folder off his desk and emptied its contents, slipped the prized novel in, and then placed it in his satchel.  He spared a quick glance at the surrounding mountains, still mostly shaded this side of the sun, and walked out of his office and down the hall.

His footsteps echoed through the corridor on the thick glass floor as he strode down the hallway.  The shaded mountainside beneath his feet blended with the grey stone walls around him. The early sunlight followed him through the small square windows to his right.  The glass panels were set in a checkered pattern with the stone, and they were so thick that only the light passed through.

As the long corridor opened up to the bright foyer, he barely noticed the elaborate red and gold decorations that now adorned the open room.  A great deal of noise was coming from the Great Room just to his left off the foyer, where his aides would be preparing for the feast this afternoon, but he ignored it.

He aimed for the front door, the elaborate glasswork glinting in every direction from the rising sun. 

“Governor Greyling, you’re here early!”

The feminine voice came from just outside the Great Room, where one of his assistants, Savannah stood precariously balanced on a wooden stool, hanging a wide red and gold ribbon above the entryway.  She wore slim fawn colored leggings and a flowing peach silk shirt, elegant enough for the festival; but Sorin knew that she had quite polished taste, and would more likely have an elegant gown to wear for Summer’s End.

He glanced back at the door, and then to Savannah, who was teetering on her stool as she tried to push a small pin into the wooden frame, her silky black hair swinging as she moved.  He made his way over to her.

“Just some last minute prepa—” he shot his arms out to steady her hips just as the stool tipped to the right.

“Oh!”  She flung her arms out to catch her balance and then crouched down to return her feet to the ground.

“Are you alright?” he held her elbow until she stood with her feet flat on the ground.

“Yes, I’m fine, just lost my balance,” she said breathily, sitting down on the stool as her long hair swung forward, her cheeks going slightly pink as she looked down.  Sorin looked up at the ribbon, half draped and hanging sadly down towards the ground.

“Here, let me help,” he gestured for the stool, and she stood, backing away; the dismay on her face turning into a slight smile.  Her face lit up as the smile spread to her grey eyes. 

He lifted his satchel off his shoulder and placed it carefully on the glass floor to lean against the wall.  He placed one foot on the stool, then the other, and stood facing the ribbon.  He reached his hand down to Savannah, who merely looked at him, tilting her head to the side.
“Pin?” he asked.

“Oh!  Here,” she said, extending her arm, its paleness quite striking in the bright light streaming in through the sky lights and windows.

He pinched the small pin from her palm, and turned his attention back to the ribbon.  He took the end; shimmering gold layered over bright red, and held it up to the dark wood frame, as he had seen her do.

“Here?”

“Um, maybe just, down a bit more?”

He moved it down.

“Yes, that’s perfect!”

Sorin pressed the pin into the top edge of the wooden frame, securing the ribbon in place.  He held his balance as he stepped off the stool and hopped down to the floor. 

“Oh, excellent, that looks wonderful, Governor Greyling! Thank you so much.”

She was still smiling at him.  As Savannah reached down to gather up the spool of ribbon and her scissors, he said, “Please, call me Sorin,” taking a step forward and extending his hand.

She straightened and held out her hand to grasp his, her long black hair swinging forward, the short lengths in front almost covering her deep grey eyes.

“Sorin,” she said firmly, placing her cool hand in his, twin pink spots gracing her cheeks again.

He reluctantly let go, taking a half step back and bringing his hands together behind his back.  They looked at each other for a brief moment, until he said, “Well I had better be off,” lurching to pick up his satchel from the floor.  He patted it; to be sure its contents were still safe. 

“Busy day ahead of us,” he said, grinning at her.

He turned towards the door, running his hand over the smooth leather satchel, the feeling of excitement he had felt before leaving his office had grown; and he was anxious to get to the Library.

“Happy Summer’s End,” Savannah called, ribbon spinning idly in her hands.

“And to you,” he said, a smile dashing across his face as he pushed the heavy glasswork door, and he stepped into the sunlight.