Chapter Four
There came the sound of hard nails on wood as the two spirals on top of the gondola braced themselves. They held tight onto the ropes that held the great big swath of fabric in front of them and inhaled. Then, using the magical gifts granted them by the patronage of the Windsinger, they blew out. The air gained momentum until it became faster and bigger than anything the spirals could contain in their puny lungs, pushing the fabric up and out like a parachute. However, when it carried them up the rope toward Cloudsong, Arco thought it was more like a kite or a hot air balloon. Truthfully, it was an uncanny combination of all three, and as they rose higher and higher into the air, he began to appreciate it all the more.
The crowd and the wide green world of the Plateau fell away as clouds dove down to meet them. If Cloudsong had looked incredible and enormous from the ground, it was absolutely mind boggling up close. The platforms bobbed up and down as dragons and beastclan moved around them. Most of the balloons were clustered together and on top of each other, with strings tapering off like tentacles. Werd pointed to the far end of the city, and Arco saw a formation made to look like an enormous, sinuous serpent. "That's where I'm going!" Werd shouted over the rush of the wind as the gondola pushed ever higher. "The Windsinger's temple!" He picked up his scroll case and said, "I'm on a very important mission!"
"I know!" Arco shouted back in reply as the cloud-crowned temple disappeared behind a mass of kites. The gondola slowed and reached the top of the rope, secured to the bottom of a floating platform. Another hovered just a few feet below them, and the passengers disembarked. The spirals on top of it collapsed, knotted around each other with exhaustion.
"Wouldn't want their job," Werd said as he and Arco stepped away from the gondola. The younger dragon looked around, his red eyes wide with wonder. The platform they stood on was attached to its neighbors by plank and rope bridges used by those visitors who could not fly. After taking a moment to mentally prepare himself, Arco peered over the platform's edge. However, instead of seeing the far-off ground, he watched a hot food vendor ride the air currents up to meet them. A middle aged harpy, she used her wings to propel her balloon-strung wooden cart while her sharp claws attended her wares. She clucked over barbecued rodents of all shapes and sizes as she spied potential customers.
"Fresh field rat!" She squawked. "Deep fried ferret! Are you hungry, laddie? A seared sparrowmouse or three will put the meat on your—oh my!" She shrieked in alarm as she came close enough to see Arco's face. Her friendly and maternal manner disappeared. "Don't you touch my cart!" She backwinged hurriedly to another platform.
Sighing dejectedly, Arco turned to Werd. The spiral dragon hummed thoughtfully. Handing over his precious scroll case for a moment, he zipped up to one of the many strings of wing socks that clung to the sides of Cloudsong's balloons. He plucked a black and tattered one from the end, then shot back down to rejoin his companion. He shoved it unceremoniously over the younger dragon's head, fashioning it into a simple hood.
"Ta-da!" He declared triumphantly.
Arco shook his head, disoriented by how the hood made everything look—and sound. He peered out of its dark depths at Werd. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
Werd shrugged. "I can't do anything about the smell, but this should keep folks from screaming in fear at the sight of you." He barrel rolled through the air in front of Arco. "Well, it's been fun, but I really should get going! Very important, y'know, I'm on a miss-"
"—Mission for the Arcanist, yeah," Arco had begun to doubt the importance of Werd's so-called mission. After all, if whatever you needed to send was safe in the claws of a fast talking, sharp, nosed, narcoleptic noodle, it couldn't be that crucial. "Well, thanks for everything!"
"Anytime, Archie!" Werd somersaulted away, leaving Arco alone on the platform. As the younger dragon left the landing pad and entered the stream of foot traffic on the city's unorthodox walkways, he realized had never been among other dragons without Setta before. Arco felt exposed and more than a little foolish. Dergs and beastclan alike rushed around Cloudsong, ignoring him; and instead of feeling relieved, he felt insecure and small. The sight of so many dragons flying carelessly, either in play or with purpose, filled him with feelings of envy and inadequacy. Maybe his mother had been right, and he wasn't prepared to take on the whole world after all.
Arco turned around and used his long legs to leap and weave through the crowd until he reached the gondola's platform. The spirals, rested after a fifteen minute owlcat nap, began to push the carriage along its rope until it dangled just at the edge—and then went over. Crying out, Arco skidded to a stop and watched the gondola plummet, convinced it was going to be smashed into splinters. Then the spirals unrolled their parachute and the gondola floated down to the earth as gently as a dandelion seed.
The plague dragon closed his eyes and sighed, half relieved, half resigned. Well, he wouldn't be going home that way. And Werd was long gone, so Arco would need to find another way out of Cloudsong. Careful of the platforms' edges and the very empty miles of air between him and gruesome death, he rejoined the throng.
Werd was so excited to finally see the Windsinger famed flying temple that he almost crashed right into it. He zoomed around Cloudsong, not paying any mind to other fliers, wind direction, or even the laws of physics as he careened through the air and stopped just short from the great wooden effigy of the wind god's face that served as the temple's entrance. His face was bright with delight as he took in the sight of prayer wheels and pennants dangling from the Windsinger's horns and the silvery clink of wind chimes hidden deep in the effigy's nostrils. Even though their ruling deity was incorporeal, the creatures loyal to the Wind flight still appealed to them the only ways they knew how.
Dropping to his feet and entering the temple through the wide-open mouth, Werd squinted against the relative darkness inside the elaborate kite's sturdy walls. It was also shockingly quiet; the ever-present rush of wind that filled his ears outside was now almost undetectable, as were the perky notes of the wind chimes. If Werd had anyone around to tell, he'd say it was almost too quiet.
Venturing in farther, he found the temple's lone attendant, a snapper. The presence of a notoriously land-bound dragon species surprised Werd, but not so much that he forgot his reason for being there. "Good afternoon!" He said cheerfully, presenting his scroll case to the snapper, who stood at a lone podium reading the augurs in a fistful of bird bones. Whatever they had to say must have been incredibly interesting, because the snapper didn't budge when Werd greeted him. The spiral waited a moment more before raising himself up on his rear legs and shouting in the other dragon's face, "I said, GOOD! AFTER! NOON!"
The snapper's eyes flew open and he made a sound between a gasp and a deep-chested wheeze. He dropped the bones and they tumbled out of sight. What Werd had mistaken as an expression of deep concentration had actually been one of deep sleep—but, being prone to sudden onsets of unconsciousness himself, he couldn't even be angry. Instead, he waited as the snapper collected his wits and adjusted the comically small glasses perched on the edge of his snout. "Can I help you?" He finally asked hoarsely, and Werd understood instantly. Of course the snapper was asleep. He was old.
As old as the Windsinger themself, from the looks of it. "Mission. Important. Arcanist." Werd practically vibrated with agitation, but the snapper didn't seem to notice.
"A messenger from the Arcanist?" The snapper asked, painfully slowly.
"Yes!" Werd tore open the scroll case and pulled out the lengthy ribbons of paper contained within. He thrust them out toward the elderly dragon. "Urgent message! World at stake!" He didn't actually know if that was what the paper said, but he couldn't stand to go slow. If he went slow, heart might stop and then he would die, and then he'd never get his list of chores done.
Stars were born and then burned out in the time it took for the snapper to step down from his podium and come around to take the scroll. He adjusted his glasses again and began to read the Arcanist's crabbed handwriting. "Oh," he said thoughtfully. Then, a little livelier, "Oh! This is an urgent message indeed. It must be passed along post haste."
The snapper then headed deeper into the temple at glacial speeds. Just like the city outside, there were many platforms here, all connected one to the other by rope bridges in a straight line inside the kite. They groaned under the snapper's weight as he led Werd toward a pinpoint of light far in the distance. As they climbed on, the spiral dragon realized it was the far end of the Windsinger float, where a small opening at the end of the tail allowed air to pass through like an impossibly large wind sock. They did no go that far, however; they reached a platform that must have been somewhere in the middle. Something tall was hidden beneath a tall protective tarp in the center of the stage. Asleep in front of it was a coatl, affirming Werd's growing belief that this was probably the single most boring place he'd ever been in his whole life.
"Mamoru!" The snapper bellowed sluggishly. He approached the coatl, who snapped awake with an astonished humming. "Wake up!" Said the snapper. "We have an important message here from the Arcanist! The Windsinger must be alerted immediately!"
Mamoru made a rattling sound in his throat. Though Werd was not familiar with the subtleties of coatl language, he guessed that the Windsinger's acolyte was not pleased.
"No it's not like last time," the old snapper retorted. He lifted the pages of the scroll close to his shortsighted eyes and added, "Listen to this. Mmmmmm, mmmm, mmmm…" He began to hum passionately.
The sound was so offensive to Mamoru's ears that he hissed and snatched the scroll right out of his superior's claws. Reading it himself, the coatl quickly scanned the message before sharply tweeting and hopping back toward the pan flute.
Maybe the world really was at stake.
Werd watched as Mamoru whipped the tarp off of the world's biggest and most improbable pan flute. Innumerable metal pipes stood almost on their ends, whistling faintly as wind passed through them. Then Mamoru moved back the wooden slats of the floor and the spiral could see a set of pedals, revealing that this instrument was not a flute, but a pipe organ. Thankfully, too, because the coatl would probably kill himself if he tried to blow into them all.
Mamoru secured the sheets of paper to a music rack affixed to the front of the pipes where he could see them. Then, he began to play.
The first few notes were raspy and muted as dust was pushed out of the disused pipes. Then the coatl began to hop between the pedals with increasing urgency. The song he made of the Arcanist's words certainly wasn't a masterpiece, but as Werd listened he heard the tune go from plaintive to robust, from unsteady to shrill, and then finally calm and repetitive. What it all meant, he couldn't say, and as Mamoru took a short break before starting over from the top.
Werd tapped on the snapper's shoulder. "What's he saying, Gramps?" He asked.
Still obviously shaken by what he had just read, the snapper replied, "Dire news indeed, my son. The Arcanist's letter foretold the coming of a great disaster, one that even the Windsinger in all their infinite wisdom may be powerless to stop."
"Oh." Werd waited for the old wyrm to expand on that grave pronouncement. When he didn't, Werd nudged him again. "What kind of great disaster are we talking about here?"
"Cataclysmic," said the snapper. Mamoru punctuated him with a dramatic series of deep, sorrowful tones. "You were right, the world is in peril. The Arcanist has observed a subtle change in the balance of the world that, if left unchecked, will send us tumbling into the jaws of oblivion itself!"
Werd had to agree, that didn't sound good. It wasn't terribly specific, either. "So does my boss think your boss can find him a giant seesaw, or what?"
"A seesaw!" The snapper reeled. "This is no time for games! Even now, a creature of great evil is making his way across the land, sowing discord and destruction wherever he goes, in thrall to his dark mistress! He cannot be allowed to reach her, or else we'll all be doomed."
That was more like it. "Creature of great evil? Really? And what's the Arcanist expect—that you and twinkletoes over there go out and stop him?" As Werd returned his attention to the organ-playing coatl, Mamoru finished converting the Arcane god's letter to song and fell to the floor in a heap. His legs kicked halfheartedly into the air, sore from so much jumping around.
"Don't be a fool," the snapper was saying. "This is far too much for mortal dragons to handle. We must listen and serve the Eleven as they work to defend us from this terrific foe, as they always have."
"Hmmm," Werd answered, feeling that something had been lost in translation. 'Sit back and let the Gods take care of it' didn't seem like something the Arcanist would say. But he hadn't read the letter and played the giant spooky organ, so he'd better take their word for it. "So what do we do now?"
The excess of emotion that gripped the old derg had faded. He settled back on his haunches and adjusted his glasses. "And now, my son, we wait."
It hadn't taken Arco long to find his way toward the high platforms that served as landing and take-off zones for balloons that travelled to and from the Cloudsong. Booths had been set up at the ends of long wooden piers where captains and crews all crowed the sky worthiness of their vessels or the speed with which they could cross great distances. Though he heard names of far-off places he'd only ever dreamed of seeing, like the Sunbeam Ruins and the Cloudscrape Crags, none sounded like what Werd had told him should be his true home…
"Cheapest flight to the Greatwyrm Breach, guaranteed," said the hard, gravelly voice of a Longneck leaning against the sign beside one pier immediately to Arco's right. He looked up but couldn't read the inscription, since it was in the beastclan's alphabet.
The dark centaur Arco had seen on the gondola approached the pier. Now that he wasn't terrified of her, he could see that she seemed equipped for a long journey, carrying a pack over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows at her side. The red varnish roan pattern of her fur did not continue on her torso, though a thick patch of freckles over the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. She had braided the black hair on her head and tail so that it would be manageable, not stylish, and her manners were coarse when she demanded, "Is it a direct flight to the Greatwyrm Breach?"
The Longneck looked uncomfortable. "Stopover in the north-east sector of the Wandering Contagion, on the border of the Tangled Wood," he replied. "Delivery needs be made. Can't be avoided. Is that a problem?"
The centaur wrinkled her nose and looked sharply at Arco, who hadn't realized until then that he'd been watching their conversation openly from just a few feet away, gaping like a hatchling. But when she spoke, it was to the Longneck, not him. "Well, if it can't be avoided." She reached into a bag hanging from a belt on her waist, handed the Longneck something, then clip-clopped past him to his ship. It was more of a raft than anything else, with a single small cabin in the middle and held up by a single enormous balloon. A few other passengers already milled around on board, including a pair of serthis and a particularly hungry looking Mirror dragon. Well as far as company on a life changing journey was concerned, Arco figured he could do much worse. He shrugged and stepped onto the gangplank.
"Where do you think you're going, dreggie?" The Longneck asked him gruffly.
"The Wandering Contagion," Arco answered brightly. "That's where you're going, isn't it? That's a part of the Scarred Wasteland—"
"It sure is," the Longneck grabbed the end of Arco's tail and gave it a rough jerk. The dragon yelped and tottered backwards. "Now are you gonna pay for your ticket or are you gonna try and pilot this boat all by yourself?"
Oh. Well. Arco found himself in a bit of a bind. "Pay for my ticket? With what?"
"Treasure is usually the acceptable currency, but I wouldn't say no to a new purse." The Longneck stood with his cloven-hoofed hands on his hips, drawing Arco's attention to a sturdy leather bag hanging alongside his furry thigh. The thickness of the material and the pattern of its design struck him as familiar. Didn't he see a similar pattern on a dragon not too long ago? Yes, the pale color was almost exactly like Setta's. It even had the same underlying blue sheen as it was hit different ways by the light. Maybe he should ask this Longneck where he'd gotten his bag so he could get her one as a peace offering for being such a pain in her backside lately. For a moment, Arco thought that maybe if he reached out and touched the purse, he would feel the same warmth and life he did when he leaned up against his mother.
Then he recoiled in horror, realizing why the Longneck grinned cruelly down at him, and why the centaur sneered so mockingly from her post aboard his ship. Screeching like a newborn, Arco sank his claws deep into the wooden platform as he scrambled to get away. They let him go, laughing uproariously as he knocked over several more travelers in his terrified state. He ran until he could hide behind a tall pile of luggage stacked beside a pier several rows away and catch his breath.
Of course that Longneck hadn't gone and made a fashion statement out of his mother, that would be ridiculous. Setta was far too tough to be turned into something so tacky. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised to see her appear right now and teach them a thing or two, just like she had those Talonok. Peering out from behind the luggage as he gathered the courage to go back to the Longneck and tell him so, Arco saw something else that made his blood run cold. As if summoned by his mere memory, a trio of Raptorik warriors landed on the pier he had just fled from, their cruel beaks sniffing the clear upper air. One of them asked a question of the Longneck in their shrieking Talonok tongue, and was answered by a hoof pointed in Arco's direction. The sharp eyed fighters spotted him and crowed.
Fear returning stronger than ever, Arco bolted. He lunged through the gathered visitors and ran dangerously quickly over one of the plank bridges, startling a small family of faes into flight. He left behind the bustle of the departure deck and found himself in the even more chaotic market. He was overwhelmed with sights, sounds, and smells—but he could hear the rasp of Raptorik voices shouting "Out of the way!" and "Move your scaley ass!" to those not quick enough to do just that. Four more had appeared to support the three he had already seen, including a pair of dark-plumed Corven that advanced on him from the opposite end of the marketplace. He could see the twisted tools of their dark arts clutched in their talons.
The adrenaline rushing through Arco's system made his heart race as he looked about for an escape route. The Corven were getting closer, and they'd be on him in a second. Without thinking, he jumped right over the edge of the platform.
Though they weren't any good for flying, Arco pushed his wings open instinctively and let them slow his fall. He glided uncertainly down to another level of staging. Above him, the flightless Corvens shook their fists and lobbed cheeky but ineffective insults. Arco only had a moment to grin at them from within the depths of his dark hood before the Raptorik, still in hot pursuit, zipped down after him with their spear points gleaming.
Dragon and beast clan alike dove out of the plague dragon's way now as he fought to stay an inch ahead of his hunters. But instead of waiting for him to run out of city to hide in, the apparent leader of the Raptorik sliced neatly through the ropes that held the platform aloft. The world dropped out from beneath Arco and several other critters, but fortunately, most of them could fly. Unfortunately there were a few—himself included—that could not.
A sinuous serthis male cursed at Arco between screams for help as they both plummeted toward the ground. Several rotund Snapper babies tumbled through the air around them, some of them even laughing at this strange new adventure. A couple of spirals fell, too, after they had fallen asleep in exactly the wrong place at exactly the right time to be turned into gourmet noodle paste on the unforgiving earth below.
There was a rush of air and a deafening clap as a red Imperial dragon dove beneath them and opened her wings to catch the hatchlings on the rolling expanse of her back. A toothy coatl swooped in to snatch up the serthis, who awarded his savior with renewed screams of terror. Then at last a heroic ridgeback rescued the still snoring spirals by snagging them all on his long, narrow nose and letting them wrap about it tightly.
Arco would have felt happy for them, if he wasn't so busy hurtling to his own messy demise. Then a balloon, carried on an errant breeze, appeared below him and he sank into it with a startled oof! He rolled down its side and onto another platform. This one was a dead end, a segueing stage that had led to other parts of the floating city that had long since been moved. Now he stood on it, alone, as the Talonok approached him on all sides.
He couldn't fly away, but there was no way he could take them on. He could not ask for others to risk their lives to defend him, either, since it wasn't their fight. What the beast clan birds would want with him was another mystery altogether.
Without realizing it, Arco had started to back away from the advancing Raptorik. The leader had landed on the bridge that connected Arco's stage with the main mass of Cloudsong. The dragon watched him point with the head of his spear and shout something to him, probably "don't move or I'll stab you," but he couldn't be sure. The wind had begun to pick up and it drowned out the warrior's words.
Werd could feel another nap coming on when Mamoru began to stir. The coatl sat up from his spot on the floor in front of the pipe organ, the feathers on the side of his head rigid as they read vibrations in the air. The old snapper sat up too.
"What is it?" He asked. "Does the Windsinger answer our prayers?"
Something definitely was happening, but Werd wasn't sure what. An ill wind had begun to blow, making the pipes hum and bump together. It only grew louder, like the Twisting Crescendo on an especially blustery day.
Mamoru stood poised in front of the pipe organ, ready to receive the Windsinger's sacred missives. Then the noise and the wind began to fade and he looked as close as any coatl could get to tears.
"What is it? What is happening? Windsinger!" The snapper began to totter about. "Windsinger! Please, let us hear your wisdom, grace us with your—"
The wind blasted back into existence with a raw vengeance. It shot out of the pipes so ferociously that the force of the noise knocked Mamoru off of his feet. Werd felt it hit like a wall and throw him nearly all the way to the temple's entrance. It did not seem to lose strength the farther it went; in fact, it only grew stronger, gushing out of the mouth of the great kite like a hurricane.
It bowled over dragon and beast clan member alike, carrying that wretchedly cacophonous song. Far at the end of the aerial city, Arco had nearly finished chewing through the last tough and sour rope that held his platform in place. A buffeting wind kept the Raptorik from getting too close, but it also kept threatening to knock the young plague derg off balance. Then a final, unstoppable gust snapped the rope tether and pushed Arco's balloon up, up and away.