Rune Seeker

Chapter 8: The Fall

Hiral approached the small group working on checking bags, some of the kites they used to go between islands, and even a few weapons. It consisted of four young men and a young woman who had to be Seena, unless the child playing around the group—she couldn’t have been more than five—was actually the secret leader of the party.

“Hi,” Hiral said as he walked up to them, his hand up. “Anything I can do to help?”

A few turned their heads in his direction, took in his Islander clothes, and then went back to what they were doing.

“Your face is funny-looking,” a small voice said from beside him, and Hiral looked down to find the child standing in front of him, a kite almost as big as she was in her hand.

“I get that a lot,” Hiral said. He crouched down in front of the girl, then scrunched up his nose, squeezed his eyes shut, and stuck out his tongue.

“Hehe, not that kind of funny-looking, silly,” she said. When Hiral opened his eyes again to look at her, she reached out and poked him in the cheek, right where his Meridian Line was. “Did somebody draw on you?”

“Kind of,” Hiral said. “Everybody has these where I’m from. Well, everybody older than ten or twelve.”

“Oooooh,” she said, tilting her head up to look at Fallen Reach high above them, where the sun just glinted over the edge like a horizon. “You’re from up there?”

“I sure am.”

“Is it hot, so close to the sun?”

“We’re not actually that much closer.”

“Yeah, you are,” she said, pointing up. “Way closer.”

“Ah, okay, good point,” he said instead of arguing about it. “But, no, it’s not really hotter. It’s actually cooler the higher up you go, but the magic of the island keeps it comfortable. Same as here.” He then took a good look at the girl’s clothes. And the clothes of the group preparing to go down. They were just as layered up as Hiral was. And they weren’t the only ones. Everybody he saw was dressed for cool weather.

There wasn’t any magic here to keep the temperature constant. How had he never noticed before? Ah, because he was too caught up in himself to think about it, most likely.

“We don’t use magic for that, silly,” the girl said, confirming what Hiral was just figuring out. “It’s for growing stuff!” she added proudly, pointing to a green fence that started about a hundred feet away, then continued off into the distance.

Considering how high up they were, a wall around the edge made sense, except in areas like the port.

“Come on, Favela, don’t bother him,” the woman around Hiral’s age said, coming over and putting her hands on the young girl’s shoulders.

“She’s not bothering me,” Hiral said. “She’s actually teaching me quite a lot. You must be Seena, right? Ah, sorry, I’m Hiral.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed at him, but she gave a single nod. “Go play, Favela, but stay away from the edge or I’ll take your kite away from you.”

“No, it’s mine,” Favela said, clutching the kite closer to her chest. “You said it was.”

“And it will be… as long as you stay away from the edge,” the woman replied, staring at Favela until the younger girl nodded. “Good, now off you go.”

“She really wasn’t bothering me,” Hiral said.

“I know. Now, how do you know my name?”

“So, you are Seena, then?” Hiral asked, then waited until the woman nodded. “I’m here with Arty to trade with Caaven. He said something happened to your sister. I’m sorry…”

“Nothing happened to her. She just decided to stop and look at something shiny. Gets distracted easily,” Seena said defensively.

“You’re probably right,” Hiral said. “But, if that was all you were worried about, would you really be getting ready to go down to the surface yourself?”

Seena glared at him for a moment while chewing on her bottom lip. “She also trips and falls a lot,” she finally said. “I’m just going to help.”

“But, from what I understand, it’s pretty risky. You could miss making it back up.”

“We’ll make it. We’ve done it before in less time,” she said, looking back at the four men quickly getting their equipment in order.

“Are the dungeons really that dangerous?” Hiral asked, his eyes on a pair of spears. “I thought I heard something about you not killing the Quillbacks to get their quills?”

“Quillbacks aren’t the only thing down there,” Seena said, part of the worry over her sister seeping out into her words, but she quickly turned her head toward the edge. “Hey! Favela, what did I say about getting too close to the edge?”

“But the wind is better here for the kite,” Favela whined, the kite a few feet above her and climbing.

“You’ll lose it to that wind,” Seena said.

“No I won’t. I have a good grip. See?” Favela showed the thick kite string looped over and over around her wrist and hand.

“Doesn’t matter—it’s not safe over there. Come back here before you…” Seena started, but cut off as a gust of wind whooshed by her like it had a mind of its own and yanked the kite high into the air with a sound like a whip.

And then everything happened all at once.

“Favela!” Seena screamed. Read lat𝙚st chapters at nov(𝒆)lbin.com Only

Instincts Hiral didn’t know he had kicked in, and he dashed forward. Even with 20 Dex, though, he wasn’t fast enough, and the good grip Favela had on her kite hauled the girl right up into the air with it as it went.

Up… and out over the edge.

Favela’s eyes opened wide in shock as her feet sailed away from solid ground, the kite still pulling her up.

Could he make it? Grab her before she dropped?

The gust of wind faded, and then Favela was gone.

No! No, no, no!

Hiral changed the angle of his dash, just slightly, grabbed one of the kites used to go between islands, then sprinted hard for the edge. A quick glance told him there were straps that looked like they were meant to go around his wrists while he held on to the kite with both hands.

He didn’t have time for those.

Or for both hands.

With one hand wrapped as tight around the main shaft of the large kite as 18 Str would allow, Hiral ignored his mind telling him this was a stupid idea and leapt off the edge of the island.

Already hundreds of feet below him, Favela’s face was a mask of shock and fear as she looked back up at the sky, arms and legs flailing, the ground miles below. Miles that would vanish all too quickly, and that was assuming Hiral wanted to reach the surface, which he certainly did not. Not like this.

“I’m coming!” he shouted, all his focus on the girl below him.

He tucked the kite against his side like a shield as he dove down, cutting the air like a knife. The wind whistled in his ears, slashed at his eyes as tears flew away, and tried to rip the kite from his hand. Body rigid, Hiral hurtled downward, each small shift of his body or gust of wind threatening to take him off course.

The girl screamed, her voice reaching Hiral’s ears in strange, alternating waves as he raced down toward her, the hood over his head snapping back and his hair whipping in the wind. And, somehow, her kite was nowhere to be seen.

Of course she let go of it now.

Squeezing his right hand as tight as he could around his kite’s shaft, Hiral extended his left hand out toward Favela, though she was still more than a hundred feet away. The small shift changed the angle of the kite, and suddenly, Hiral was barreling off to the side, whipping out wide from where he needed to be to catch her.

His fall devoured distance like a starving man, islands coming into view in his peripheral vision and then gone again bare seconds later. He’d closed half the distance to Favela, but was now fifty feet out too wide. Her arms and legs still flailed as she fell, increasing her wind resistance, and if Hiral didn’t do something now, he’d shoot past her.

Muscles in his abdomen tensing, Hiral twisted ever so slightly, the kite at his side cutting the air and dragging him back across to where he needed to be so hard, he almost got whiplash. But at least he’d… No… his momentum took him too far in the wrong direction! He’d overshot where he’d needed to be and cut the vertical distance between them in half.

He needed to change the angle again… but that would only do the same thing he’d just done, whipping him past. He couldn’t get back directly above her—he just didn’t have the practice or control—so he’d need to snag her on the way by.

Yeah, sure, no problem.

…Everfail… a child’s voice seemed to echo on the wind. What was he thinking? He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t even pass a children’s test. What had made him jump off the Fallen’s arse-end of an island in the first place?

“Funny-face!” Favela’s voice somehow broke through the wind whipping past his ears, and Hiral forced himself to look at her. At her wide eyes and face full of fear.

That was why he’d jumped without thinking. She simply didn’t deserve to die like this.

“I’m coming, Favela,” Hiral shouted, though whether she could hear him or not was impossible to tell. So he stretched his hand in her direction, fingers wide like he was reaching for her, and her hand reached toward him.

Maybe he couldn’t do this. Just like he couldn’t pass the test to be a Shaper.

But that had never stopped him from trying before, and it wasn’t going to stop him now

Hiral twisted the kite in his hand, the drag in the air practically flipping him over as it shot him toward Favela. Spinning, once, twice, round and round, Hiral’s eyes never left that small hand reaching for him.

At fifteen feet away, the wind gusted and tried to yank him off course. He pulled the kite closer and snapped back toward Favela.

At ten feet, he was upside-down, hand stretched out and eyes watering from forcing them to stay open.

At five feet, Favela’s lips moved to form Funny-face.

Reeeeeeeeaaaaaach, he pleaded with his hand as the wind swirled around them like a living thing, threatening to pull them apart. His fingers brushed again something—skin, cold from the wind—but then slipped past.

No! He’d missed. He…

Something dragged on his sleeve; Favela’s small hand had somehow found a grip, and Hiral twisted his body around under hers, using the wide side of the kite to slow his descent so that she practically fell into his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he said, snaking his left hand around her wrist and pulling her into him. “Put your arms around my neck. Go on, hurry, I’ve got you,” he coaxed until she let go of his hand and wrapped her small arms around him.

More islands whizzed past the corners of his eyes. How far had they fallen? How many islands were left? Ah, it didn’t matter; he was going to make this happen!

“This is going to be bumpy,” he said. “But no matter what, do not let go. Okay? Can you do that?”

Favela’s small head nodded against his neck, and Hiral made sure he had as good a grip on her with his left hand as he could. With her small body snug to his, he turned his attention to his death-grip on the kite. It all came down to this.

Would his 18 Str be enough to hold on? If he’d had his Meridian Lines, it would be no question. If he’d had a class, no question.

He didn’t have either of those things. All he had was one little girl counting on him to save her life.

“Here we go.” Hiral took a breath and leaned toward the top of the kite so that it tipped forward and they were rocketing straight down, headfirst, again.

Then, before his brain could tell him how colossally stupid this was, Hiral pushed the kite out from his body at the same time he pointed the nose away at an angle.

Pain lanced through his arm as the kite caught the wind under it with a terrifying SNAP. His arm? The kite? All of the above? The questions fled his mind as his legs whipped down and around, Favela screaming against his neck at the sudden jerk and twist. Then came more pain, like his fingers coming out of all their joints at once.

Hiral grunted through the agony, focusing all his effort on those digits despite the pain. Everything hinged on them holding on. He would hold on, even if it meant they’d need to cut his fingers away from the kite later.

His body swung back the other way, Favela’s arms still tight around his neck, the whooshing wind battering against his face, and his legs trailing weakly behind… but …that was it.

That was it!?

Hiral forced his eyes open—when had he closed them?—and looked around. The sky stretched out around him, the distant storm-wall gray and angry, but the rolling landscape beneath him comparatively peaceful.

And far closer than he was comfortable with. They’d already fallen miles.

Tearing his eyes from the scenery, Hiral spotted the trailing islands—several were still below him, but not for long. He wasn’t falling at the same speed he had been before—more gliding now—but they were still moving fast and losing altitude.

“Almost there,” Hiral said, forcing his aching arm to pull on the kite to try and turn it.

Come on, come on. Nothing happened. If he didn’t change the angle of their flight—just a little, that was all it would take—he’d still miss the islands and end up Fallen-knows-where.

“You’ve gotta lean more,” Favela said, and he glanced down to see her small face looking up at him. “My Da always talks about leaning.”

“I’m leaning as much as I can here,” Hiral said, and didn’t mention it was taking everything he had just to hold on.

“I can lean too,” Favela said, shifting her weight in his arm to his left.

Like some kind of magic, it actually worked. The kite gently arched around toward the nearest island, and Favela centered herself as soon as Hiral told her they were on track again.

“You’re a natural,” Hiral said to her, and her tear-streaked face beamed up at him.

He—no, they—had done it. They were going to make it back to the island. All that stood between them and solid ground was a bit of open air and…

Fallen’s balls.

A huge green wall.