NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7: Nomads
The platform pulled away from the pier without even a shudder, and then arched out slightly from the island to avoid clipping any of the other piers. Hiral, meanwhile, stepped up to the edge of the platform so the crates didn’t obscure his view, and simply enjoyed his favorite part of going down to the Nomads.
Up in the city of Fallen Reach itself, the scale of the island floating in the sky was completely lost, and Hiral’s eyes traced down along the rock underneath. Like something had reached into the ground and scooped an upside-down mountain out, then tossed it into the air, the image of the floating island still defied reason, no matter how many times he’d seen it.
Even though the city occupied about half of the island’s thirty-mile surface diameter, the mile-deep bottom completely filled Hiral’s sight as the platform gently descended. Dropping below the outer edge, his eyes naturally turned to the spiraling mist that stretched from the island all the way to the river nine miles below. Hundreds and hundreds of feet across, the source of all water on the island, it looked like a thick wall of almost impenetrable fog even from fifteen miles away.
Then, there, trailing near the back-most point of the island, the numerous smaller Nomad islands followed like some kind of comet’s tail, though the highest of their islands was only about three-quarters of the way up.
That highest island, where the elders of the Nomads resided, was also the only Nomad island directly under Fallen Reach. Dozens of other islands of varying smaller sizes followed behind, connected by huge roots that lashed them to the largest island in the front of the pack.
“Looks like they lost one of the smaller islands from the back,” Arty said, coming up to stand beside Hiral.
Hiral did some quick math in his head, then nodded. “It’s been almost a full rotation since they lost the last one. Good thing we’re coming up on the Needle Mountains soon. They should be able to find another one there.”
Arty’s mouth made a thin line in response.
“You don’t agree?” Hiral asked.
“Huh, hadn’t thought of that,” Hiral said. “You know, now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever been down to the Nomads with you while we’re passing over the Needles. Why is that?”
“No quills while we’re in the Needles,” Arty said. “If there are even any dungeons down there, the Nomads don’t go. Too hard to get back up to their own islands since they can’t reliably climb the Needles.”
Hiral looked from Arty back to the Needles. Fallen Reach moved at a constant, never-changing three miles per hour, and the edge of the Needles was just visible outside the storm wall, which meant about one hundred miles away. Three cycles and they’d be there. “So, you’re saying that if Caaven doesn’t have any quills for us, we won’t have a chance to get more before we come out the other side of the mountains?”
“Longer than that,” Arty said. “The Sea of White is on the other side. It’ll be at least thirty cycles until the next dungeon. And after the last short shipment, well, we’re running out of stock as it is.”
“So, why’d we load so much onto the platform?” Shaper Jenno asked.
“Caaven is good for it,” Arty said, shivering and rubbing his arms. “We’ve been trading for years, and they rely on what we’re bringing down just as much as we rely on the quills they provide. And why in the Fallen’s names is it so cold?”
“Ah, sorry,” Shaper Fual said, running his hand across one of the crystals on the pillar in the center of the platform. “There, I turned up the protection magic to keep the cold out a bit more.”
Hiral looked, only slightly enviously, at the control pillar. The disc on his left calf would take care of environmental conditions automatically, as well as move much faster than the platform. If only he could shape it. On the whole island, there were only a dozen people or so who had the disc and could activate it. Being in that crowd… well, that’d show everybody. Prove them all wrong.
Though, technically, they weren’t wrong… yet.
“Looks like Caaven is already waiting for us,” Arty said, gesturing with his chin to the third island, his hands still rubbing up and down his arms despite the cold being held back. “Watch out for the kites on our right, Fual.”
“See them,” Shaper Fual said, shifting the direction of the platform to avoid the kites transporting Nomads between islands. “Why don’t they just walk like normal people?”
Hiral raised his eyebrow at the Shaper. “We’re not walking, and it would take forever to follow the roots from one island to another.”
“Those kites are dangerous,” Shaper Fual went on. “How do they even control where they’re going without magic?”
“You complain about the same thing every time,” Shaper Jenno piped up. “Why don’t you just ask one of them this time?”
“Me, an Islander, talk to one of those filthy Buggers? No, thank you. I might catch something.” Shaper Fual’s chin rose higher with each word. “Uh, no offense, Arty.”
“It’s fine,” Arty said. “Thinking like that is why I can trade with the Nomads without much competition. Keep the Bugger talk to yourself while we’re down there. The hives they farm are important to them.”
“I know, I know,” Shaper Fual said. “But seriously, how can they spend so much time around bugs almost as big as Hiral? And eating them? Just… yuck.”
“They’re just livestock, like our cattle,” Arty said without turning, his hand going up into the air to wave at somebody on the nearby island. “Now, really, enough. Time to get down to business.”
“I don’t see a lot of crates there waiting for us,” Hiral said, looking from Caaven waving back to the cleared-off area for the platform.
“Depending on the wind, they get spray from the mist,” Arty said. “Probably have the crates inside to keep the goods dry. Probably.”
“Probably,” Hiral agreed, but he scrolled his gaze along the edge of the island.
There seemed to be a bit a commotion further down, half a dozen people with… Wait… weren’t those the suits they used to go down to the surface? If what he knew about dungeon runs was true, they’d barely have time to get down and back before the last island reached the Needles.
“Caaven, my friend,” Arty shouted as the platform gently settled down on the island. “How’ve you been?”
“Arty, it’s good to see you,” Caaven replied, but the hand he held up in greeting was the only open part about his body language. His other hand was held in a fist, and there was an unusual tightness to his shoulders. The man didn’t have good news.
And from the way Arty’s hand dropped to his side, he saw it too.
“Things haven’t improved?” Arty asked.
Caaven shook his head, his other hand balling into a fist at his side as well. “I am afraid not. We are still waiting for the harvesting party to return.”
“To return?” Arty asked. “Shouldn’t they have been back a cycle ago?”
“Two,” Caaven said.
“Any idea what happened?” Arty asked, genuine concern in his voice as he stepped off the platform and walked up to Caaven.
Hiral quickly joined him, though the three Shapers stayed firmly in place on the platform.
“None. It should’ve been an easy trip,” Caaven said, his voice cracking with the words.
“Your niece is part of the party, isn’t she?” Arty reached out to put a hand on the other man’s shoulder.
“One of them,” Caaven said, his head turning briefly to look at the group of people preparing the kite-like suits further down the edge of the island. “The other is planning something stupid.”
“But, just because they aren’t back yet, that could mean a few things, right? Maybe they just had to make for another jump point?”
“That’s one of the possibilities,” Caaven said. “The one we’re hoping for. The other possibility is that they’re…”
“Where’s the dungeon they went to?” Hiral asked as the man trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.
“Almost directly below us,” Caaven said, and it was a testament to just how worried he was that he answered Hiral’s question so quickly.
“So, there’s still time for them to get back to the islands before we’ve passed,” Hiral said. “There’s still hope.”
“Thank you,” Caaven said with a grateful nod. “Now if I could just convince Seena of that. Fool girl is insisting to go looking for her sister. I’ve tried to stop her and the others, but they’ll be ready to go within the hour.”
“If they go…” Arty started.
“They risk not making it back in time, I know. It’s cutting it too close, and that’s if things go perfectly.”
“The party that went to the dungeon, what Rank were they?” Arty asked.
“All High-E-Rank. Close to breaking through to D.”
“Why didn’t you send anybody of a higher Rank?” Hiral asked. “Somebody with more experience?”
“It’s only an E-Rank area—this is how we do things,” Caaven answered. Then his eyes widened, like he realized he shouldn’t have spoken so frankly.
“What classes did they have?” Arty pressed on.
Caaven looked off to the side, then back to Arty. “You know I can’t talk about that. I’ve already said more than I should in my worry. Please forget most of what you’ve heard.”
Hiral glanced at Arty, then back at Caaven. In those few sentences, they’d learned more about these so-called dungeons than the Nomads had revealed in years.
“Arty, I know this is a lot to ask,” Caaven said, but his eyes went to the platform behind the merchant. “I can’t stop Seena and the others from going down, so I was hoping you could perhaps take them on your…”
But Arty was already shaking his head. “Afraid not. The Platforms of Movement don’t have the range to make the trip. It can go maybe four miles before it needs to stop. We’d get halfway to the ground, then fall the rest of the way. It wouldn’t help anybody. If we had a Disc of Passage, maybe we could talk about it.” Arty then coughed, apparently remembering what Hiral had tattooed on his leg.
“I… I see,” Caaven said, not even looking in Hiral’s direction.
With the layers he wore down to see the Nomads every time, they didn’t even know he was trying to be a Shaper. They thought he was an Artist like Arty, which was fine by Hiral. All Makers—or Islanders, as the Nomads called them—had the Meridian Lines, so it wasn’t possible to tell Artists apart from Shapers by their faces alone.
“So, there’s nothing you can do to help?” Caaven asked, a hint of desperation clear in his voice. The look on his face told it all; he was terrified of not losing just one niece, but two.
Arty shook his head again. “I wish I could,” the merchant said, not even mentioning the quills that were supposed to be part of the deal.
“I see,” Caaven said, slightly deflating. “Thank you for at least entertaining my offer.”
“Of course.”
Caaven looked at the girl who had to be his niece further along the edge, then back toward a house near the small warehouse. “About… the other reason I asked you to come today,” he said with a sigh of resignation, his face lowered. “Did you bring your tools?”
Tools? What tools would Arty need? He was an Artist…
“Uh, why don’t we talk about it in your home?” Arty said, throwing quick glances from Hiral to the Shapers on the platform. “Talk… about… the quills you were referring to,” he said again, throwing a painfully obvious wink in Caaven’s direction.
Caaven’s eyebrows bunched up, and his mouth made a little O shape as he looked at Hiral. “Right, the quills,” he said. “I’ll just be inside with Evenyn… so she can talk to you about the… quills,” he finished, giving his own version of the painfully obvious wink.
Arty winced and nodded. “Right, right. I’ll be along in a few minutes.” He watched as Caaven retreated back to his home. “Let’s you and me go for a walk,” Arty said, putting his arm over Hiral’s shoulder and leading him in the direction of the party getting ready to go to the surface.
“What was that all about?” Hiral asked.
“Well,” he started, but then looked back at the Shapers again. “Should be far enough, even with their stupid hearing,” he muttered.
“Far enough for what? What do you need your tools for? You can’t tattoo Nomads.”
“Tattoo… no. More of a… glyph. Something much simpler than a tattoo,” Arty said sheepishly.
“A glyph?” Hiral asked. “Wait, Evenyn is Caaven’s wife. You’re not doing a Glyph of Fertility, are you? Those are illegal!”
“Shhhh,” Arty said, throwing more looks back at the Shapers, though none of them seemed to have heard Hiral. “They’re illegal in Fallen Reach because of the side effects they have on Makers. On our race. Nomads are a different race—Growers, they call themselves. The glyph doesn’t have the same risks to them. It’s safe.”
“You’re sure? How?” Hiral asked, but the look on Arty’s face told it all. “Oh, this isn’t your first time.”
“It’s how I got the trade contracts in the first place,” Arty admitted. “Look, you’ve got to keep this to yourself. Even if it’s safe for Growers, the Council in Fallen Reach won’t think the same. I’d lose more than my merchant’s license, if you catch my drift. Might get to see the surface after all… while falling the nine miles to get there.”
Hiral rubbed the bridge of his nose, but nodded. Arty wasn’t exaggerating. Council law wasn’t often invoked… mainly because of how seriously they took it. “I won’t rat you out. But I’m not going to go in with you and watch you do it.”
“Good, because you’re not invited. Besides, I’ve got something better for you to do,” Arty said, a small wave of relief washing over him.
“Oh? Am I going to like it?” He suspected he knew the answer.
“Depends how much you like talking to girls your own age,” Arty said. “Go talk to that Seena girl, see if you can’t find out a bit more about the dungeons. We may not be back here for a year, but the more we know…”
“Fine,” Hiral said. If he was honest with himself, he was pretty curious about the dungeons.
“Good, I’ll come find you when I’m done. Try to stay out of trouble.”
“Out of the pair of us, I’m not the one who gets into trouble,” Hiral said before spinning on his heel and starting over toward the small group getting their equipment ready to jump off the island.