Sunborn Rising (24 page)

Brace hugged her back fiercely, and thought she’d never let her daughter go again. A Kolalabat dropped down beside them. He said, “The monsters are close. We have to go.” Brace changed in an instant from mother to warrior. She nodded to the Kolalabat and gestured to both the visible and invisible Arboreal forces around them.

Tory and Plicks looked around bewildered, half-expecting their own families to appear out of the woods. They felt like they’d woken up from one crazy dream into another.

Addressing Barra firmly, Brace said, “We’re leaving. Can you run?”

Barra grinned. “We can fly.”

27. Together in the Dark

Barra wasn’t actually sure if they
could
fly, but Red swooped in and grabbed her before her mother had a chance to be shocked. Pride softened Brace’s warlike expression as her daughter lifted off the ground. Brace signaled the group, and they started back toward the campsite. They moved like the crest of a wave through the wood.

The bups were flying, though their movements lacked the elegance they had under water. Barra had been mistaken believing the Nebules would know how to fly perfectly; they’d spent most of their lives underwater. There were bumps and scrapes, and collisions avoided by dizzy-luck, but they all made it back to camp.

The expedition was readying for a quick escape depending on what the scouting group found. Whispers blossomed among the Arboreals. The bups had arrived. Brace ran to her daughter and took her up in her arms again.

Time had stretched from extreme stress: the families hadn’t been separated long, but they reunited as though rings had passed between them unmarked. They held onto each other while they tried to catch up. Were the bups okay? Had they been eating? What happened? Did the fungal-puppets harm them? Each new question was asked before the last was answered.

Barra edged away from the crowd. Brace scooped her up, knowing there was something wrong with her daughter, something more than fatigue. Brace carried her to an area the Weavers had made soft with twists of root hairs. Red followed, a tentacle tethered to Barra so that they were in constant contact. Brace was uncertain of the Nebule, and wished the creature would let her daughter alone, even if just for a short time.

Barra, tired as she was, noticed her mother’s concern. “Don’t worry, she’s licking my wounds.” She smiled wanly, her voice too thick to be convincing.

Brace didn’t understand what her daughter meant, but knew there was something wrong with Barra’s arm beneath the multiple loops of Red’s tether. She laid Barra down, stroked her fur, and sang to her, and all the while Red swayed to the rhythm, but didn’t let go. Sure her daughter was fast asleep, Brace leaned in, half-expecting the Nebule to react in protest. Red pulled away instead, clearing the way for inspection.

The smell wafted into Brace’s nostrils. Even dampened as it was by a residue of sanguine jelly, the pungent scent at close range was enough to make her reel. Covering her nose, she examined the flesh which was open like an eyelet. Several worms of jaundiced fluid were trapped beneath the residue, wriggling and sliding around, bleeding trails in their wakes. Brace couldn’t tell if the residue was helping or hurting. Suspect, she stared at Red.

There were two doctors with them, a Weaver named Searowe who could spin out a suture fast and clean with his eyes closed, and a Muskkat who went by Mareki. Methodical and keen of judgment, Mareki made sure the worst wounds were addressed first. Brace nodded toward nothing in particular at the periphery of the camp. A Listlespur emerged from the darkness, the same who had first reported the location of the towering creature that had broken through the Root.

“Get the doctors please?” she asked the slender, younger version of herself. Jaeden lowered her head in affirmation, and then bounded away.

Brace knew the doctors were busy—the fights against the fungal-puppets rarely ended well for the Arboreals. The diabolical creatures always came with greater numbers, and not being overly concerned with self-preservation, they could fight and keep fighting. Still, Brace needed the doctors to come for Barra. She needed them to tell her that her daughter was going to be okay.

Back at the center of the campsite, the rest of the expedition surrounded Plicks and Tory. They provided food, compassion, and more questions. The short version of the bups’ story was relayed without embellishment—it didn’t need any. The camp cheered, laughed, and cried as the story was told. Afterward, they asked about Argus and his minions; what had Tory seen, what had Plicks? Fizzit’s description inspired confusion, awe, and suspicion. They ventured guesses about him in secretive whispers. Rumors began about the Nebules too. Arboreals familiar with the archives wondered if the jellies were related to the legendary creatures of the same name who had created the Aetherials. There was no way to know for sure.

Standing back, far away from the crowd, Jerrun leaned on his staff and listened. At the mention of Fizzit, he asked the mist, “What game are you playing?”

Behind him, an amber eye opened with no distinguishable head to hold it. “I explain myself to no one,” said the stranger in a way that made his final word stick in Jerrun’s ear like a barbed nettle. Then with a sudden change of tone, he added humorously, “If I explained myself we’d be here forever. I have that kind of time, but I don’t think you do. Do you?”

The Head of Council didn’t respond. He listened in on the expedition awhile longer, and then asked, “Is it already done then? The Creeper is in the water?” He seemed defeated.

“Not yet,” Fizzit said. “We should talk.” Jerrun, already sagging, managed to slump down even more. He turned around, limping around his staff. He joined Fizzit, and they disappeared into the mist.

Not one of the expedition noticed Jerrun’s departure, or his uninvited guest. They were too preoccupied with Tory. The newly bonded minerals caused worry at first, but as his story unfolded, speculation consulted legend for answers. The Rugosics, Tory’s father among them, thought about the ocean and the vast clouds of minerals, and wondered about their ancestors. The audience finally broke up, and Tory was alone with his father.

They had a few false starts, colliding with each other’s words. “Thanks for being here,” Tory said. He threw his arms around his Father and held on tight.

“I’m just so glad we found you.” Tory’s father hugged him back powerfully. He said, “I couldn’t imagine…” The rough-skinned Rugosic held his son by the shoulders, “Let me look at you!” Tears glinted in his eyes. He sniffled, and then he said, “My bup!”

The outpouring of emotion overwhelmed Tory. His legs weakened and he just collapsed into his father’s arms, allowing himself to be held. Char bobbed in, extending and retracting his small spheres in jubilant cascades. The Nebule kept at it until he finally got Tory’s attention.

“Meet Char,” Tory said. It was a personal introduction even though the Nebules had been announced to everyone. “Char, this is my father, Ven Luke Mafic,” he said with pride. And the conversation gained momentum from there, words flowing smoothly, as though there hadn’t been awkward rings of silence between them.

Plicks was bundled up into a ball and tossed around by his family. They hugged him and passed him on. The large collection of Kolalabats expressed their emotions easily, crying and laughing, hugging and petting. The boisterousness of Plicks’ family usually made him anxious and embarrassed, but not now. He was glad for the unending chain of warmth and support. His feet never touched the ground as he went from greeting to greeting. Blue enjoyed it too, flying around behind Plicks, snuggling and being snuggled. He swooped in at times and stole some attention for himself.

While the rest of the camp was busy with Plicks and Tory, Jaeden returned to Brace with the doctors. The wound stumped both of them; they’d never seen anything like it. Red guided them through the examination. She demonstrated the wrap she provided for Barra, the way she wound her tentacle around the wound. Mareki was impressed, but solemn, respecting Brace’s concern. The suds bubbled up on the wound and Red turned muddy. Searowe said he believed the Nebule was cleaning the wound, but not curing the infection. The doctors felt there was little more they could do. The sparse vegetation the Root provided was unfamiliar in terms of the herbs and remedies they knew. The consensus was to get Barra back to the Loft as soon as possible. The doctors were thanked and excused.

Brace became hardened by the news. She stroked her daughter’s hair, and whispered, “Burbur. My sweet Burbur. We’ll be home soon. I promise.”

Jaeden appeared, forming out of seemingly distant branches. She stood, a mere tail’s length away. “You’ll have to tell me sometime how you got so good at that,” Brace nodded, impressed. Stealth wasn’t exactly practiced among Listlespurs anymore, at least not within the polite community of the Loft.

“Sometime,” Jaeden said.

Brace wanted to know about Jaeden’s Thread, too. Jaeden wore woven ropes around her forearms like a Rugosic but no curios had been sewn into them. When the expedition made it home, Brace looked forward to an explanation. In the meantime, she said, “Right. What is it? Did you find Jerrun?”

“He’s not in the camp.” Jaeden’s eyes were vivid orange with ash-gray rims, steady beacons against the dark.

“He was taken?” Brace was stunned.

“He wasn’t ambushed. He left on his own,” Jaeden said with a hint of intrigue, like she knew more but wasn’t telling. She added, “I didn’t follow his trail far, but it was like he knew where he was going.”

“What do you mean?” Brace spoke tightly. She looked at her daughter. Wasn’t there enough already to fear without Jerrun playing mysterious games? She reached down to Barra’s forehead, and found that whatever Red was doing was at least relieving the fever.

“I mean there’s something not right about that old Arboreal,” Jaeden said, but then she shrugged. Disgusted, she went on, “Maybe it’s just me, but this whole place stinks. I’ve got splashes of
them
in my nose. I’m scent-blind. It’s making me twitchy.”

“Well, we’ll just leave him if he doesn’t return before we break camp. I don’t know how the rest will take it, but we’re not waiting around for him.” She spoke like there was acid on her tongue.

Jaeden bowed her head slightly to say farewell and then she vanished into the surrounding wood. Brace noted the glint in her fellow Listlespur’s eye, the nervy twitch of a smile that had appeared when she’d suggested they leave Jerrun behind. Another question for Brace’s list.

Brace nodded so that Jaeden would see, and pointed at Barra. She wanted her daughter guarded. Back in the main area of the camp, Brace began organizing the expedition to go home.