Underlord (Cradle #6)(6)

She raised one black-gloved hand and patted the wall of smoldering shell next to her. “We’ve got everything under control,” she said. “No need to worry!”

Orthos didn't poke his head out. He was tied to the deck by the same strings of shadow that bound Mercy. His voice rumbled out, echoing as though from a cave. “You're the ones who should be worried. Not one of you has a shell.”

Lindon could feel that the huge turtle was barely keeping his fear under control. That made it harder for Lindon to wrestle his own nerves, but there was still a spark of pure joy left in Orthos' soul. He had been practically reborn in Ghostwater, and he hadn't stopped celebrating for the past two weeks. Even now, withdrawn into his shell and preparing for a crash, there was a part of him that exulted in his new, strengthened body. That was enough to help Lindon fight his way free of Orthos’ fear and keep a clear head.

Lindon pushed his way out and along the edge of the ship, keeping a tight grip on the railing. They were definitely descending, though the trees were getting closer at a much faster rate than he was comfortable with. And the green cloud keeping them aloft had faded to a sort of lime-colored haze. Maybe it was better not to look.

Mercy had been controlling the ship until recently, when she ran out of madra, and then Orthos had tried before getting frustrated and threatening to blast a hole in the hull. Finally, Yerin had taken over, determined to land the ship even if it killed her.

Through the creaking of wood and the rush of wind, he heard the soft tinkling of glass. Little Blue scampered up to him a moment later, a tiny spirit in the shape of a woman made of deep blue light. Her flaring dress slid smoothly over the deck. She pulled herself up Lindon's leg, nimble as a monkey, and a moment later she sat on his shoulder. Chimes sounded in his ear as though she were filling him in on everything that had happened since he'd gone below.

Recently, he'd thought he was starting to understand her: she was telling him about the sights she’d seen during their flight. It could have been his imagination giving shape to the Riverseed’s meaningless squeaks, but he responded attentively nonetheless, nodding gravely at her and making responsive noises himself. If she was telling him something, he didn't want to seem rude.

Finally, he made it next to Yerin. “Apologies. I held on as long as I could.”

The ship pitched so far to one side that half the sky was replaced by an ocean of trees before Yerin corrected it. “We’re just a skip from some town. Long as there’s an Arelius family down there, we’re—”

The ship shuddered, and the lights on the control panel shone. Yerin growled with effort, gripping the sides of the panel so hard the wood splintered, her scars standing out brightly against her skin.

She shouted over the wind, sending another flare of madra into the panel. “Everybody hold tight!”

Lindon braced himself, gathering Little Blue in his left hand and holding the railing with his right. It was less than encouraging to know that if he stopped cycling madra to the limb he would immediately fly off and be lost to the wind, but that was all the more reason not to stop cycling.

The wind picked up, the boat shook, and they started to fall. Lindon couldn't tell if they were landing or crashing, and at that point, there might have been little difference.

[Oh look, the owl's still there,] Dross noted.

Lindon was determinedly staring at the deck and not looking over the edge of the railing, but Dross' comment made him realize he could see something at the edge of his vision. An owl—or at least a Remnant that looked like one—perched on the opposite railing. It was made of madra that looked like swirling silver smoke, edged with the occasional flicker of purple light.

The Remnant had been following them for days. Maybe ever since they left the island. It showed itself once or twice a day, as though to remind them that it was still there.

Lindon had tried to point it out to Yerin and Mercy, but the owl always seemed to vanish when they looked for it. Lindon might not have ever noticed it himself if not for Dross, as the thought-construct was far better at using Lindon's senses than Lindon himself was.

He didn't spare another thought for the owl. Some Remnants had strange, almost obsessive behaviors; maybe this one was stuck following cloudships. He certainly wasn't going to deal with it while they were in the middle of a crash.

The deck surged upwards, and Lindon almost thought they'd made a soft landing before he realized Yerin was pushing out the last of their cloud madra. After this surge, they would fall.

For lack of something better to focus on, he kept his eyes fixed on the owl.

Mercy sat up, staring at him. “Is it the owl? Is it here?” She craned herself around in her little nest of black madra, eager to see.

She had been desperate to catch a glimpse of the owl. She hadn't said why, but sometimes people could be superstitious about Remnants.

Silver light flared from the script in front of Yerin, and the console exploded into splinters.

The ship hung in the air for one brief, frozen second.

Yerin sighed.

Then the cloudship fell.

…roughly two feet.

It settled onto the ground with a crunch, rolling slightly on its side, and shuddering for another moment or two before it came to a halt. Lindon released his grip on the railing, sliding over to come to a stop next to Yerin.

He nudged her with his elbow. “Congratulations on your successful landing, captain.”