Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

And there it was, shining bright. Straight ahead, less than five kilometers distant, he opened his good eye and saw the mighty mushroom-cap spread of one of the ancient giants of the forest, the kind of tree that could shade a goodly-sized town. Heat glowed at the base of it. He said nothing to the vultures for fear that they would flee the moment he announced it. He wanted to get closer, to be sure.

He kept his gaze pinned on the site but could see no movement this far away. He cursed the shortcomings of his false eye. For all the fine detail it gave him up close and the heat sense it provided, it was terrible at long-distance vision. Beyond that, his depth perception was never quite right. In a flash of insight, he knew he could not tolerate its presence much longer. He was reawakening to himself as a Beast Rider. He needed no Weaver-forged crutch to get through life.

See them, I see them! I win, I am the best at seeing! crowed the headmost vulture happily. I found the nest, I find everything!

Masking a smile, Kest mustered up confusion and anger at losing. Where? I see nothing!

You see nothing, agreed the boastful bird. They angled down closer to the water and sped toward the great tree. Take you close to see. And there it was: a large island rising in a gentle slope from the water, its surface pocked with openings that led into the heart of the earth, and others that led into the tree itself. Naga moved purposefully about the surface as multiple centuries of soldiers bivouacked on the shore and filed into one of the great openings as they returned home.

Too close, complained the bird at his hips. They’ll see. Even the prideful vulture up front had to concede that this was good sense, and they once again ascended to the sky.

Back to where we started, Kest suggested. I give food.

Food! Food! chorused the birds with enthusiasm, and within minutes they were descending into the clearing. His friends were sitting in the shade of the trees and stood well clear as they saw him descending. The bird at his heels let him go first, and his feet dropped earthward. Then the middle bird let go of his waist band, and he swung to the vertical, gasping at the puncturing force of the talons in his shoulders. Wings beat powerfully about his head, and the last vulture lowered him gently until his feet touched the ground. It released him and shot skyward, and his weight settled on him once more. It felt strange after soaring through the sky.

He lurched toward the zephyrs, motioning his friends back. His mount snapped at him as he reached for the saddlebags, and he slapped its nose. In moments he had the bag of dried frogs slung over his shoulder. He trotted back into the clearing. Thank you, friends. I have meat. He dumped the bag’s contents on the ground, and the vultures swarmed in, quorking and flapping their wings.

Frogs? snorted the lead bird disdainfully. Small meat. No stink. It tore one apart even as it complained. The others snatched their own greedily. The leader cocked its head at him, a second frog hanging from its beak. We go eat dead men instead. Taste better.

Thank you forever, Kest said, and the birds rose into the air, gabbling and squawking at each other.

His friends approached him, seeming almost wary. “I found it,” he announced, and Gamarron’s stoic expression transformed into one of panic, of need, and of hope.

“From here on we go on foot and take only what we can carry,” Gamarron said, pulling items from his pack. “If it can’t get wet, don’t bring it.” He paused, looking to Nira. “I know you don’t want to come,” he said quietly, “but I don’t know if we’ll be returning this way. We need to stay together. We’ll try to keep you out of sight.”

“What?” Kest said. “She’s not coming.”

“I’m not coming!” Nira echoed, panicked. “We talked about this.”

“You and I go on, and the rest stay here,” Kest insisted. “That was the plan.”

“Plans change,” Gamarron said.

The cold response set Kest’s hackles to rising. Something isn’t right about this. “I don’t see why she can’t stay here,” he pressed. “We don’t know what direction we’ll run when we leave, I get that. But wherever we end up, we can always circle back. The others shouldn’t be there. It will be hard enough for just you and me to sneak in.” Gamarron wouldn’t meet his eye, and a bad feeling was creeping over him.

“She has to come. They all have to come,” said the old monk shortly.

“Why?” demanded Kest. The old man said nothing and busied himself by rolling his few supplies in an extra shirt. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“Guyrin isn’t safe alone,” he said, looking at no one. “He’d tell you that himself. And Renna is always useful.”

“And Nira?” Kest said. “What stupid excuse do you have to drag her along when she specifically said this is the one thing she wouldn’t do?” He was yelling, and he didn’t care.

Gamarron turned on him with a snarl, fists balled. “She’s the only one that can touch the Shard,” he hissed.

Kest tensed, fearing the old man would attack. He’d never seen Gamarron look so feral.

Nira stepped between them. “What are you talking about, old man?”

The rage in Gamarron’s eyes flickered and died when he glanced at Nira, and he lowered his hands, looking guilty. “Kojan told me. It’s something about Mainlanders. You’re different than those of us from the islands, and for some reason… it would kill any of the rest of us. You have to come.”

“But I saw it,” Renna rasped. She had been silent for so long that Kest had almost forgotten her. The old woman seemed haggard, but her gaze was rock-hard. “In the vision… you held the Shard. You conquered. I saw