spear with a sapphire tip. His fingers moved naturally to the trigger set halfway down the shaft.
‘Hunt well and thorough, my lord,’ said the Gardener-smiths together, bowing low.
Vasin saluted them, pleased with their workmanship, and made his way to the edge of the Chrysalis Chamber, being careful to take small steps so as not to engage his Sky-legs too early.
As he approached, the Gardener-smiths backed away and the glass went with them, sliding aside to allow him onto a balcony overlooking the central courtyard of the palace.
People had gathered below, their adoring faces peering up at him. A block of hunters stood in the centre, their spears and wings glinting proudly in the sunslight. They were armoured in leather, not crystal as he was, and their Sky-legs and wings were lesser, the most their limited skills could handle. It was not their fault, there was simply only so much that could be achieved in a single lifetime. Vasin did not judge his mortal followers for it as some did. In fact, it made him proud how far his people managed to get within so few years. According to his mother, Gada had taken two lifecycles to reach their standard.
About the hunters were their families, and about them a greater crowd of staff and visitors, traders and children. All were dressed in their finest, a shimmering display of silks and crystal, sparkling, joyous.
Vasin raised his spear, and the third and fourth drummers joined in, one deep like the first, and one lighter like the second. The resonance was growing, the faster beats beginning to build, forcing him to lean forward as his wings were pulled back by each wave of sound.
It would not be long now.
‘Who has made the call?’ he said, and it took all of his skill to project his voice high enough and far enough to be heard below.
‘The people of Sagan!’ came the choral reply. Sagan, a sister settlement of Sorn. He wondered if the plight of one had become the plight of the other.
‘And who has answered the call?’
‘We have!’ bellowed the hunters.
‘Then there will be a hunt. And who will lead the hunt?’
‘Vasin,’ replied the crowd as one, ‘Lord Vasin, Lord Vasin of the Sapphire Everlasting, it is he who leads the hunt.’
‘And what will carry him through the Wild places?’
‘We will!’
‘And with what will you carry him?’
‘With song and heart and blade and blood.’
‘Prove it!’
And with that he leaped from the balcony.
The drums paused for the slightest part of a second, long enough for the crowd to take breath, and for Vasin to plunge down. He held his arms out, straight and still, and closed his eyes.
Wind whistled by, hurling back his hair.
Then the drums played again, all seven this time, a frenetic blast of sound, with the higher ones dancing over the lower, and the crowd’s cheer blasting over that.
Each of the sounds came together to form a net, swelling beneath his wings.
There was a moment of utter weightlessness in the gasp that came between falling and soaring, like the moment between one life and the next, and then Vasin was skimming over the heads of the crowd, spear thrust in front, calling for the hunters to join him.
And they did, each step a sailing bound, bobbing beneath him as they raced towards the outer wall. When they reached it, the hunters threw themselves over the edge, trusting to their wings and the essence that rose up from far, far below. For directly beneath them was a great split in the rock, a chasm that led into fathomless depths. The sides of the chasm were grey and so smooth they were almost soft to touch, like stone worked by years of sand and sea. From it, currents of essence rose, oddly coloured wisps of purple and yellow that slowly bled transparent as they mixed with the air. It was these currents that held the castle in the sky, like a giant cork riding gentle, invisible waves.
As the hunters passed over the lip of the wall, the ethereal currents swept them upwards, allowing them to glide in Vasin’s wake.
This was one of his favourite parts of the hunt, before the dive, where the world was spread out below. The floating castle was picked out by the rising red light of Wrath’s Tear, its chain bridge a flopping tongue that reached down to Mount Ragged and the deep path gouged into its side. But the base of the mountain was mist-shrouded, hidden beneath trees that carpeted everything as far as the eye could see and beyond: the Wild. Monsters and nightmares, tricksters and demons lurked beneath that twisted canopy; all desperate to get their hooks into the unwary.
He could feel the lift starting to fade from his wings and banked to the right, making a slow circle on the edge of the castle’s essence currents. The hunters followed his lead, all eyes alert for the signal.
A cry went up from Vasin’s right and he saw Mia, a young hunter, pointing. Following the angle of her arm, he was able to see the glimmer of light winking from the trees far below. It irritated him that the first spot was not his but he let it go. There would be more than enough glory to go round by the time this was done.
He raised his spear high, then let the point fall forward as he started his dive.
Away from the chasm, the essence currents were weaker and harder to manage. Enough to glide down but not enough to give lift. The Wild itself was a web of invisible essence but only the most skilled gliders could navigate it for long. The trick of the hunt was to drive the quarry towards the edge of a Godroad before putting down, otherwise the hunters could easily find themselves lost and overwhelmed.
As they descended on the first tribute, they could see the light was moving quickly through the trees, bouncing and flickering as it flitted under the canopy: something was making them run. This was to be expected, as each tribute was cut before they set off, the combination of blood and light designed to lure any demons from their hiding places as quickly as possible.
Another cry went out from the hunters. The second tribute had been spotted. Vasin frowned as he located them. They had become separated from the first and were moving deeper, their light flickering off to his left. The second tribute was not going as fast as the first, suggesting they were not under immediate threat, but Vasin was sure that would soon change.
He considered his options. The sensible thing to do would be to lead the hunters after the first tribute. They would surely lose the second but would maximize their chance of saving the first and killing the beast that pursued them cleanly.
However, this hunt did not need just to be successful, it needed to be perfect. The second tribute was nearly beyond the reach of his hunters but he could still get to them if he went immediately.
The thought made his wings nudge that way, as if the part of him that had seeped into the armour over the years, the better, bolder part, already knew what had to be done and was just waiting for him to catch up.
‘Mia,’ he called out. Hoping that his voice would carry over the winds. ‘You have the hunt.’ He pointed to the light of the first tribute and the dark shape glimpsed behind it. ‘Go!’
Whether or not she heard his words, she saw the way his
