Night Shine Page 6

  It took Nothing a moment to realize Sky meant she was Heia. She ducked her head and nodded. Nothing was hardly a name to share. Especially if rumors about the imposter prince had reached ahead of them on the road thanks to witches sending news through the aether or army scouts.

  The rain forest, by now, had changed: King-Trees no longer towered over everything, and the canopy had lowered, thickened, with delicious-smelling cedar and spruce trees whose red limbs spread like perfect umbrellas. Clinging balls of sura decorated the lower branches, their heavy hearts dragging their vines into nests of flowers with beautiful pink petals. River birches marked the streams that tucked into the rocky ground, and the moss was striped in every variation of green and blue. Ferns as tall as Nothing unfurled beside the trail; yellow and vivid green birds darted between the moss-patched alders. The woman pilgrim, Sits in Sunlight, pointed out a deer path and the tiny grooves their hooves made in the moss.

  While Nothing remained silent, she listened and watched, guessing that Sunlight and Gali were sister and brother, having the same almond-shaped eyes and light-copper skin, and the second young man, Ginger, sand white like Nothing, was courting one of them. Or trying to. Perhaps, she thought, the pilgrimage to the Shrine of All Gods was a quest to determine which sibling would have him.

  That night they made camp in a mossy clearing of alders, surrounded by several large boulders streaked with golden veins. They shared food, and Nothing made a quick fire with crisp fallen alder branches, their gray bark a glorious contrast to the vibrant red wood. She pretended to strike flint as she whispered to the spirits, for the pilgrims’ sakes—and Sky’s peace of mind. After they’d settled and eaten, Gali brought out a ceramic flask and passed it around. His sister and their friend sipped, then breathed heavily out over their tongue as if to give a taste of the vapors to the forest spirits. Sky thanked Ginger as the flask was handed over, then did the same. He turned to Nothing. “It’s a smooth liquor, with bite.”

  “Dreams of  Wheatseeds,” Gali said, “distilled from the golden wheat we grow down in the south.”

  Nothing saluted with the flask and carefully sipped. It tasted of nothing, and that made her smile a little. But her gasping breath turned more to a cough, and tears sprang to her eyes. After she hurriedly passed it to Gali, Sky rubbed her back in circles.

  “Will you sing?” Sits in Sunlight asked.

  Nervously, Nothing glanced at Sky and nodded. She swallowed once or twice, until her throat felt recovered, then sang a serenade the Second Consort often crooned to herself. Its rhythm and dialect were old, with odd stop-starts lending it a melancholic quality. And it suited Nothing’s soft, high voice.

  When the song faded, the three pilgrims brushed their hands together in appreciation.

  Nothing slept curled beside Sky that night, her back against his side and his arm as a pillow. In the morning, for the first time in a while, Sky smeared blue paint over his eyes and dotted it in an arc on Nothing’s forehead. The pilgrims reapplied their black stripes, and Nothing, for the sake of friendliness, quietly offered to rebraid Ginger’s straggling hair. He accepted gratefully, and she made quick work of the thick, dark-brown waves, pinning it atop his head in a knot. She plucked a flower from a root cluster to tie against the base of his fanned hat so that its stem bent over his head and the petals caressed his forehead and temple like gentle kisses as he walked. It was charming, and she hoped whichever sibling he favored liked it too.

  They parted ways with the pilgrims two hours before sunset, when they reached the Crossroads of Heaven.

  These crossroads were marked with four shrines shaped like the Four Living Mountains, and Nothing felt a bite of annoyance that the Fifth Mountain would be so ignored just because it had a demon instead of a spirit. She scowled as the rest paid their respects and knelt in the center of the crossed dirt roads. She dug a shallow hole and spat into it, whispered, “I have not forgotten the Fifth Mountain,” then quickly patted the earth back into place.

  All four of her companions were staring at her, though they could not have heard what she said.

  “Heia,” Sky said, hauling her up.

  Sits in Sunlight said, wide-eyed, “Best luck, both of you,” reaching to take the sleeves of her brother and friend.

  Ginger blew Nothing a kiss, shaking his head in amused worry, and Gali nodded to Sky before going off east.

  Sky didn’t release her for several long moments, until she jerked free. “What?”

  “I told you. Normal people don’t spit into the center of crossroads, especially when surrounded by four perfectly good shrines.”

  “They were leaving. We don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

  “You’re still a nuisance,” he grumbled.

  Nothing crossed her arms over her chest and stomped angrily down the Cedar Pilgrimage trail. The day was warm, the sun pressing against the back of her neck. She wanted to stop already to camp and be just herself—Nothing! Not Heia the girl running off to be some demon-kissed’s consort against her family’s wishes!

  Sky strode behind her and stopped at her side, keeping to her pace. They didn’t speak until the sun had dipped below the canopy and Sky chose a bent tree to mark their shelter. The sky was clear, purple with emerging stars, and they spread the oilcloth over the ground. “I’ll hunt again in the morning,” Sky said. “We need fresh meat.”

  “We need to get there.”

  “If you have wings you haven’t told me about, Nothing, we can get there faster.”

  She glanced sharply at him.

  He was not smiling but scowling as he handed her a piece of hard cookie he’d traded for with the pilgrims. As she munched on a corner, enjoying the slight sweetness, she tried to relax. It didn’t work, and she sighed, then started to sing again.

  This time she chose a hopeful maiden’s chant, filled with rhymes for silk and descriptions of suitors. She forgot a few of the words, and Sky murmured them for her. It was good to sing, even something that never would describe her life. When the song ended, Sky sang a low working song. His forefingers tapped in the off-rhythm, and she wondered if it was because he’d learned the song with a weapon in hand.

  The stars gleamed in the sky, along the narrow strip of it visible exactly over the road, like a seam in the rain-forest canopy.

  Just then Nothing heard a shuffle of leaves, a loud shush of ferns that could not be ascribed to the wind. She stood slowly, peering into the dark rain forest. Shadows played across the waist-high sea of curling ferns, and the gray-moon-pale trunks of alders were like thin spirits.

  “Oh,” said Sky, resigned. Nothing glanced to see him turned toward the north approach of the road. Down it lumbered a huge creature.

  But Sky seemed unafraid, so Nothing quashed the thrill of panic, despite the creature’s size: it was bigger than a grizzled bear! Bigger than a small family’s barn.

  Nothing smoothed her hands down her hips, wishing she had armor instead of tunic and trousers. Sky did not stand, and he reached over to tug at the hem of Nothing’s jacket. “Sit. Be welcoming. This is no threat to us.”

  “What is it?” Nothing whispered, reluctantly allowing herself to be pulled down into a crouch.

  “It’s a great alder spirit.”

  “A great spirit of this forest!” Nothing whispered, glad to finally meet one. Greater spirits were stronger from linking their power with smaller spirits, or becoming the focal spirit for a large community of spirits. They held not only their own connection to the aether, but those of their flock as well.

  The spirit walked slowly, having no need to be nimble or quick. It was bulbous with fat and muscle, its skin gray-white and patched with vivid white lichen and moss in spirals and teardrop shapes. Huge red catkins dangled from its belly and down its wide thighs, while smaller upright catkins grew like tiny cones off its shoulders. Green oval leaves fell like hair down its head and neck, and its eyes were gashes of red wood, its mouth the same. “Hello, The Day the Sky Opened,” it said in
a creaking, windy voice. “I thought I recognized your singing.”

  “Alder spirit,” Sky replied firmly. “Join us, if you like.”

  “I like!” The alder spirit stretched its gash-mouth wide in what Nothing supposed was a smile. Then it bent its knees and sank down to its haunches across the fire.

  “Hello,” Nothing whispered, eyes wide. She offered it a tentative smile.

  “Ah! Sky, my friend! Your wife looks ill tonight—lost a bit of vitality, has she?”

  Nothing gasped.

  Before she could answer, Sky put his hand on her shoulder. “I travel with a different woman now, alder spirit.”

  The spirit clapped a mossy hand on its knee. “Another consort so soon? I have seven, but gathered over a hundred years or more. And two of mine have two of their own.”

  “I am not anyone’s consort,” Nothing said. “How powerful are you, alder spirit? Can you bend the rain forest to your will or whisper in the language of the wind? Can you hear the Queens of Heaven making love in their cloud castles?”

  Sky frowned at her, but she ignored him. This spirit had no name, and Nothing was full of ideas.

  It puffed its lichen-covered cheeks. “Quite powerful! I can bring all the alder catkins to seed at once and wake up butterflies before their season!”

  “Hmm.” Nothing shrugged.

  “I can talk to thunder!” it argued.

  “I see. If you’re so powerful, it must be that you’re very stupid, to mistake me for a prince.”

  For a moment silence engulfed them.

  Sky snapped his teeth shut hard enough Nothing heard it, and the alder spirit threw itself to its feet. “What?” it demanded, thrusting the word into the nighttime like a roar.

  Nothing held her ground, despite the tremble of her stomach. “I said, you must be stupid to mistake me for the Heir to the Moon.”

  “By what power do you say such things, little girl?”

  “My own power.”

  “Alder spirit,” Sky said, moving to put himself between Nothing and it. “My friend is—”

  Nothing interrupted. “Can you answer a riddle, then, if you are smart?”

  The alder spirit stomped once, then said, “If I answer your riddle, you will give me a piece of your flesh.”

  “And if you do not, you will guide The Day the Sky Opened and myself safely through the rain forest to the foot of the Fifth Mountain.”

  Sky grabbed her wrist. She did not shake him off, but held her gaze on the spirit.

  It hesitated, all its catkins and leaves shivering in the night wind. “The Fifth Mountain.”

  “Yes.” Nothing nodded encouragingly. “And I will give you a name.”

  “Bah! You are wild!” the alder spirit cried, throwing up its huge arms. The gesture released a damp mossy smell that wafted around their fire. “Nothing can give a spirit a name but a wife or a sorcerer or a unicorn or a Queen of Heaven!”

  Nothing allowed her triumph to gleam in her smile. Sky’s grip loosened, and he let out a soft sigh of surprise. She said, “Do you accept the bargain?”

  “What is your riddle?” it asked, resigned. And perhaps desperately curious, for its red-gashed eyes blinked and narrowed eagerly.

  “Your name is Moss Tear on Red Alder. Now it is yours. Here is my riddle: Why could I give it to you?”

  The spirit fell still and slowly sank back onto its haunches. “My name is Moss Tear on Red Alder,” it murmured, testing the sounds and taste of it. “Yes. It is. You…”

  “Why could I give it to you? Tell me, or take us through the rain forest to the Fifth Mountain.”

  Moss Tear on Red Alder chewed on a lace of moss that fell over the top of its mouth like half a mustache. “You are—you are not a Queen of Heaven. I can smell unicorns. And you are not his wife, so perhaps pledged to be mine?”

  “That would be a good life,” Nothing answered, “but no. I am Nothing, and by your own word, nothing can give a spirit a name.”

  “Nothing is not a name!”

  “It is what I am,” she said, and shrugged again. “Are you hungry, Moss Tear? We have a small bit of hard cookie to share.”

  When she sat again, her hands shook.

  Sky gave the great alder spirit a cookie and crouched beside Nothing. “You’re a nuisance,” he said, “but you’re going to get me into that mountain.”

  TWELVE

  FROM THEN ON, NOTHING and Sky traveled fast, passed through the rain forest from spirit to spirit.

  Their friend Moss Tear on Red Alder took them directly north into the dense forest. Ferns and small trees shifted out of their way, not quite enough to shape a path, but only for the two to pass easily. Within the wildest parts of the rain forest, Nothing’s boots left tracks on the moss and she touched everything she could: shelf lichen that climbed spirals around the trunks of cedars; fallen trees half-rotted to become magnificent damp cities for brilliant moss, blue beetles, and ground squirrels with bushy red-gray tails; vines with heart-shaped leaves and furry cones that spilled off branches like curtains. She saw orange foxes sunning on rocky outcrops and ravens with wings that gleamed blue and green and silver.

  The alder spirit handed them to a trio of spotted owl spirits next, who insisted on traveling at night. The light of their wings drew the light of the moon, and Nothing could see well by the glow. The rain forest at night shone with blinking diamond flies, floating pink spores, and certain iridescent moss. Nothing went too slowly from gazing around at the dreamlike beauty. The owl spirits flew silently, and by the time dawn arrived, Sky said he believed they’d been given wings at their backs themselves and done the work of three days’ walking just by a single arc of the moon.

  From the owls, they met an eagle spirit named Sleek Eye who walked like a woman in a dress made of light-brown feathers. Its fingers curled like talons and were just as sharp. Together the eagle spirit and Sky caught a half-dozen fish. Nothing ate one, Sky two, and the spirit the remaining three: it tore into the flesh and crunched the bones, swallowing every scale. Then it picked Nothing and Sky up, growing huge, and took off into the air. They burst out of the canopy, and Nothing’s surprise and fear melted into wonder at the glorious rolling green landscape of leaves and occasional spearing evergreen. Flocks of birds joined them, wheeling all around like living clouds.

  They curved northwest over the rain forest. Nothing, secure in the eagle spirit’s arm, reached for Sky and touched his cheek. When their eyes met, she smiled, and he let himself return it.

  In the far distance, hazy with clouds, they could see the outlines of the mountains.

  Though exhausted by the time they landed, Sky and Nothing did not sleep that night, for the eagle spirit brought them to a stagnant pool inhabited by a water demon. It slicked out of the still water, dripping with pond scum and rotten grass, and smiled.

  Nothing bowed low and gave it a hair from her head, explaining they’d been granted passage through the rain forest to the foot of the Fifth Mountain by a powerful red alder spirit. The demon said, “I will grant you passage through my trees on behalf of the red alder, but if you want to stay alive for such passing, give me bone and blood.”

  Sky took a small bag out of his pack and withdrew a tiny, sharp fishbone. He cut his hand with it, and while bleeding removed more salmon bones, then tossed them all into the pond.

  “Tasty purple blood,” the demon said, dragging filthy surface water as it climbed out of the pond. The scum lifted away with it like a cape. “This way,” it said.

  They had to walk far behind the demon, because of the smell, and still Nothing picked around dead fish and rotten roots and rivulets of stinking water. She wanted to ask this demon about the Sorceress Who Eats Girls but sensed that it would extract a further price that she could not spare. Still, she was tempted. So very tempted. Her throat went dry imagining the bargain, imagining what it might be like to face the demon head-on.

  It was a rough day, and yet again the hours seemed to fold and the rain forest contract
so that by the time the demon left them, it said, “Only another two days to the great lava break, where the Selegan was crushed when the Fifth Mountain died.”

  Nothing and Sky collapsed and slept against each other. This mode of travel drained them as if they’d sprinted the whole time, with boulders on their backs.

  A roar woke them.

  Nothing scrambled away from the noise while Sky got to his feet and brandished his sword.

  It was a bear spirit with two heads. As large as a grizzled bear, its fur was black as night and strewn with stars. “Come,” it said, mouths both open but neither moving to form the words.

  “Thank you, bear spirit,” Nothing said, and Sky sheathed his sword.

  The spirit sighed and touched each of them. They no longer were hungry or sleepy. And all day they walked fast, never lagging.

  When they stopped at sunset, the bear spirit patted Nothing on the head and said, “Blessings on you and your master.”

  “I’m not—” Sky said, perturbed.

  Nothing smiled, knowing the spirit meant Kirin.

  “Go,” the spirit said, pointing with both hairy paws along a narrow deer path directly west. “Tomorrow afternoon you will arrive at the lava field and the Selegan. There is the end of our rain-forest territory, and the beginning of hers.”

  “The Sorceress Who Eats Girls,” Nothing said.

  “So,” the spirit confirmed.

  Nothing began to ask more, but the spirit dissipated into the twilight, becoming stars and shadows.

  Sky sighed. “We should rest and take up the path at dawn.”

  Nothing agreed. Best to be fresh when they reached the riverside.

  In the morning they ate and packed up and walked under no power but their own. The sky rolled with friendly clouds, and the wind kissed their cheeks and shuffled the canopy enough that sunlight flashed constantly. The air was thinner in Nothing’s chest, and she worked harder to breathe the cold. Finally she was grateful for every layer of bright clothing Sky had made her bring.