Page 122 of The Cradle of Ice
Saekl continued to wind them higher, opening the view wider.
Frell suddenly flinched and dropped his hand next to Kanthe’s. The alchymist leaned on the glass, peering intently below.
“Do you see something?” Kanthe asked.
“Maybe. A pattern.”
“Of what?”
Frell tried to point, but his finger hit the glass. “The cracks,” he blurted out, both frustrated and excited. “All the rifts and fissures. They radiate out from one section of the cliff over there.”
Kanthe scrunched his brows and searched below. Once it was brought to his attention, the pattern was obvious. He followed the spread of cracks to a piece of cliff that had shattered apart, as if the storm god, Tytan, had struck it with His mighty ax.
“You … You’re right,” Kanthe stammered out.
Frell pushed off the glass and rushed to Saekl. He pointed below. “Can you get us down there?”
She frowned at him, plainly insulted that Frell should question her abilities. Still, she turned and barked orders to her crew. The ketch swung around and sailed toward the broken section of the cliff face.
“There’s a clearing near its base,” Frell gushed. “The ground looks solid enough.”
Kanthe stared below. The clearing was no more than a small gap between a dense fringe of thorny forest and a series of bubbling clay pots. All around, geysers spat and sprayed to some rhythm known only to the gods. Ponds steamed, and a small lake burped out a bubble the size of their ship.
“Can you land there?” Frell asked the captain.
This time, Saekl didn’t frown. The descent would prove challenging. She simply grabbed the wheel and spoke quietly to her crew, perhaps afraid Malgard’s resident god—Malkanian—might overhear their plans to trespass. The Quisl circled slowly. A geyser burst under the ship, jolting it hard. Saekl ignored it and continued downward. Once near the tree line, she ordered the ketch’s two wings to be retracted and reefed.
Tense breaths later, the ship landed with a hard bump.
They were greeted by another belch from the lake.
“Well done,” Frell whispered.
Everyone gathered by the windows. They all stared toward the tall cliff. Its face looked fragile, riven by many cracks. Sharp-edged boulders formed a massive rubble pile at its base. Up top, a boiling river spilled over the edge, but its waters turned to steam before ever touching ground.
Still, they all saw it.
Past the boulders and steam, a huge fracture cut into the cliff, its depths vanishing into the darkness.
“You want us to go in there, don’t you?” Kanthe asked Frell.
“We must.”
Kanthe’s gut clenched. “It’s already late. Mayhap we should all get a good night’s sleep and start out in the morning.”
Frell remained silent, clearly considering this option.
Rami dashed it. “We cannot wait. Malgard already knows we’re here.”
Kanthe glanced back at the prince. Rami’s gaze was not on the cliffs, but on the neighboring ponds and lakes. Kanthe swallowed and looked in that direction, too. He saw no threat for several breaths, but when he did, he fell back.
He had first thought they were just pearlescent sprays of water hanging in the air. They had certainly been cast high, forcefully jettisoning from the lakes and ponds by the waters’ blasts and burps. Once airborne, the creatures spread wide luminescent bells, which grew ever brighter as they drifted through the air. From the undersides of the bells, long frills of fine hairs draped and waved, stretching longer than Kanthe’s arms.
Those bells contracted and expanded, propelling the creatures through the air. They spun and danced, casting their frills wider. With each breath, more and more were expelled from the waters surrounding the ship. Clouds of them soon glowed and swam everywhere. A few landed on the hard clay, pulsing like shimmering iridescent hearts. Their frills floated and trembled higher, forming a shining corona around them.
Despite their seemingly aimless paths, their malignant intent was clear. The glimmering cloud inexorably wafted in the direction of the wingketch.
“What are they?” Kanthe whispered.
