K’THAR

I do not waste breath asking my mate if she can climb down from the cliffs. There is no time. The ground beneath our feet shudders and shakes, and overhead, the skyclaw head away from the jungle in great numbers. They know something we do not, and like my L’ren has been trying to warn us, the Great Smoking Mountain is not dead.

I think of the time seasons ago, the way the world burned and the skies filled with smoke and the air clogged with ash. I remember it was so thick that we spit and wept gray for several turns of the moons, and it covered us like a second skin. I remember my camouflage was the color of ash for so long that when I turned blue once more, it surprised me. I remember the trees withering and dying and a season of starvation.

But mostly I remember the deaths. So many died. My parents. My father’s brother and his kits. Our clan went from seven hands of people to just one in a mere heartbeat. The same with Shadowed Cat and Tall Horn. I remember the clan of the Long Tail, who chose not to send anyone on the hunter’s challenge that day. None survived.

We must leave here before that happens again.

I fling my L’ren over my shoulder and climb down the side of the cliff with all the speed I have in my arms. For once she makes no protest and does not demand to go on her own. I make it down and then we race forward, meeting the others on the beach.

“We should not wait any longer,” R’jaal tells me, rushing to meet me. He holds a pack in his hands and waves M’tok forward. I see the Shadowed Cat clan dragging the rafts toward the water, and J’shel races past, bundles of supplies in his arms. Somewhere in one of the huts, Z’hren wails, upset. It is all chaos.

I nod to R’jaal, who seems to be the only calm one other than myself. “I will help those unable to get to the rafts on their own. Make sure the supplies are evenly distributed between all three tribes.”

He looks as if he will protest my order—R’jaal does not like to take direction from me—but bites back his protest and nods.

My mate slides out of my arms. “Z’hren,” she tells me. “Bb ndzsus.”

I nod at her. “You retrieve Z’hren, my mate. I will get T’chai.”

“Yes, T’chai,” she tells me, then grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. She gives me a nod and a smile, then dashes toward the hut that N’dek and Z’hren have temporarily made their own. Even in this madness, she thinks of me. It warms my heart and my khui sings a gentle song of happiness. There will be more time for that later, though.

For now, we must all escape.

I move to the hut and see M’rsl there. She jumps to her feet, her cheeks wet with tears, and babbles something in her strange language. Unlike my mate, she has made no attempt to learn our words. I cannot judge her, though. She has tirelessly waited on T’chai both day and night. She will have time to speak our words when he is better. “Come,” I tell her, moving to T’chai’s side. “We will go now.”

“Wt! Cntmvim!” She grabs my arm. “S’woondid!”

“We must go,” I tell her again calmly and pull her hand from my forearm. “Before the Great Smoking Mountain dies once more.” I move to T’chai’s side and kneel next to him. The male’s abdomen is bloated and looks discolored underneath the crisscross of angry wounds. His face is pale but covered in sweat, and his camouflage seems to have bled out of him entirely. He is not long for this world, and I hesitate at moving him.

Then again, none of us are long for this world if we stay.

I ignore M’rsl and her unhappy protests as I gently take him in my arms and carry him out to the rafts. She stops screaming at me when she sees the others, and races to his side, clasping his hand even as I haul him toward the nearest raft. Perhaps she has realized what is happening.

R’jaal meets me at the edge of the rafts. “Strong Arm will take the lead raft,” he tells me. “Since this is your journey.” His smile is thin. “And you have more arms than us to paddle with.”

Does he think we will lead them to their death? “My L’ren knows the way,” I reassure him, and set T’chai down gently on the second raft in the small group of three. Nearby, S’bren tests the ropes and A’tam lashes the supply packs down so they will not fall overboard.

I hear an angry squawk, and when I turn, I see my mate with Fat One perched on one shoulder, Z’hren in her arms. She keeps a protective hand over the kit’s head and scans the skies, as if she is afraid something will harm him from above. Behind her, N’dek limps out, leaning heavily on O’jek of Shadowed Cat.

If it were any other day, there would be much teasing of the three rival clans working together. But today, no one is laughing.

M’rsl points at the sky behind us and says something. My mate gasps.

I turn and look. On the far end of the island, where the smoke pours endlessly into the sea, black clouds of ash boil and billow into the skies as if someone has lit a great fire. I remember this. It is dangerous.

Lives will be lost if we stay. It is decided, then.

“We go,” I tell the group sharply, pointing M’rsl to the raft with her mate and then gently easing my mate toward the first one. “Let us waste no more time here.”

* * *

We paddle out, silent. For once, there is no bickering amongst our clans. Everyone is silent and gets to work. Since we are at the front of the raft chain, we have the toughest work ahead of us. Our paddles dig into the water and we head away from the shore as quickly as we can. Even N’dek, who has not put effort into anything since his injury, paddles with grim determination. My mate holds Z’hren in her arms and shushes him when he cries, causing Fat One to squawk angrily. I did not realize the flyer was coming with us, but when the animal settles on my shoulder with a flap of his wings, I cannot resist giving him an affectionate scratch. I am glad for his presence. It will remind me of home even as we leave it behind.

The current fights against us for a time, but once we get farther out, it eases a bit and then we are carried along as if on a breeze. We rest for a moment and I scan the water. Never have I been this far out. The things that dwell in the water are fierce and hungry, but today they seem silent. Perhaps we are lucky, or perhaps they do not know what to make of our large wooden crafts. Either way, I will gladly take whatever luck we get. Time passes. No one speaks. The kit falls asleep in L’ren’s lap and she shades his face with a leather blanket. The air grows cooler as we get farther and farther out into the water.

“Look,” J’shel says after a time. His voice is low, frightened. “Behind us.”

I turn, my paddle resting on my thigh, and glance behind us. I immediately scan the rafts of the others, but nothing seems amiss. Then I see it. Massive clouds of smoke, twice the size they were before, billowing out from the island. Not just in one spot, either. The gray of it stretches in a long line, and I realize the trees our burning.

Our home. It is being destroyed. The trees we carved into our new clan home will be gone, along with the kaari and all the nightflyers that live in their branches. The huts of our ancestors that make up the Tall Horn home will be gone next. The Shadowed Cat caves will be likely destroyed as well. Nothing will be left.

There is nowhere to go but forward. Grimly, I turn ahead once more and dig my paddle into the waters. My mate and my kit need safety. If that means the cold place on the far end of the water, that is where we will go.