The Hanging City (79)

More difficult will be hiding the elation that I’m sure radiates from every inch of my skin, because despite all the fear tied to this promise, I have never been happier.



“They won’t mobilize all of you?” I ask Unach as we take the sloping road down between military storage and food storage. It’s the third hour, time for the shift change, and bodies crowd the way.

“Not until further threat.” She shifts her jaw to one side and pops it. She has a gruff edge to her voice, like she’s still angry, but getting tired of being angry. At this rate, she’ll be on speaking terms with Azmar again by next week. “Until then, we go by ticket, and mine’s up soon. I’m looking forward to fighting something on level ground for once.”

“But you haven’t found the attackers.” I think of Tayler. If he comes scouting again, his band might be put to blame. I fear for him. Our meeting time nears, and I have no way to warn him of the extra trollis scouts. If it’s only him, hopefully he can pass under their watch, just as I’ll have to. I promised him I would come alone, without even Azmar, and I am still working out how to accomplish that.

Unach sticks out her broad chest. “And what if I do?”

I shrug. “Of course I don’t want war, Unach. But if you have to defend yourself, it doesn’t matter if they’re humans, aerolass, or merdans, in the end.”

My answer pleases her.

A passing trollis shoves into my side, sending me sprawling into Unach. She rights me with one strong arm. Then swings around so quickly I question if I ever fell.

She grabs the trollis by the collar and shoves him against the stone wall. “You’d better watch where you’re going, Intra.”

The Intra gapes, confused, his charcoal eyes flicking between Unach and myself. “She’s human!”

“She’s my human.” Unach jerks the trollis forward and releases his collar. Frowning, he adjusts his clothes and merges back into the crowd.

I can’t help but smile as Unach continues down to the dock as though she didn’t just blatantly defend my honor. I don’t say anything, of course. If Unach hates anything, it’s feelings.

We’re coming upon the tribunal when the horn sounds, loud and sharp, two times over. All the trollis slow at its call.

Two times over. Monster attack.

Unach and I bolt down the lane, hurrying to the dock. Others quicken their steps, rushing to their designated stations to wait out the attack. I think of the leckers’ prior breach and push my legs faster.

Two slayers, Kub and Troff, have already set up at the dock when we arrive, Troff holding a rope that must lead to Kesta, already on the city’s exterior.

“Hurry!” Kub says.

Troff blurts at me, “I can hold two!”

We rush for the trunk of harnesses. Unach grabs one and shoves her legs into it. I help her buckle and adjust.

Troff says, “It’s a spreener. A big one. Came up to check out the waterworks—” He grunts and pulls back on the rope as it changes directions.

Unach fastens a rope to her harness before throwing the other end to Kub. I untangle my own small harness, which I usually shove in the bottom right corner of the trunk for easy finding. Once Unach’s rope coils up through the pulleys, she climbs out.

I hear her curse at the same time the horn blows again, loud and teeth shaking.

Seconds later I understand why, after a stip! stip! stip! of sharp legs shakes the rock and an immense shadow falls over the dock, punctuated by half a dozen acidic eyes.

My breath dissolves. The spreener spider is massive, its exoskeleton hard and faceted as a carved gem, its beak gleaming, sufficiently large to take a trollis—or a human—in a single bite. Kub and Troff both jerk back, retreating, ropes under their arms. In unison they reach for the heavy swords on their belts. My heart pulses hard and heavy. Chills spiral down my arm.

I’ve never been this close to a monster, even the leckers.

The spreener hisses, revealing two sets of slimy fangs.

Peering into its gaping mouth, I shove my fear down its gullet.

But the spreener doesn’t react as the leckers did. It starts, it rears, and it fights. The entire dock quakes as it lunges, legs grappling with the stone, beak snapping for me. I rush for the chest of swords, hardly able to keep my balance on the shaking floor. Each chomp clacks louder than thunder and echoes against the wall as if an invisible army surrounds us.

Troff slashes at its armor with his sword, striking a joint. The spreener’s many eyes shift as it wheels around to face him. In doing so, its curling legs sweep out and strike me in the side, whipping me across the dock floor and out—

I’m falling.

Wild fear bursts through my body, cold and slick and sharp. Everything slows as terror spurs my brain to work faster.

My harness isn’t buckled.

I don’t have a rope.

The dock looms above me. The canyon below.

I scramble, limbs flying. My nails scrape across the stony side of the city as I plummet, searching for a handle, but there aren’t any. The rock skims my knee, rips up my hands—

I catch a sliver of a ledge and cling to it with all the strength in my right hand, crying out when my weight jerks on my shoulder. A shout echoes above me. I barely register it as Unach as I try to find another handhold, but there’s no space for another grip. My feet dangle. I flail, my left hand glazing over too-smooth rock. I’m holding myself up by just four fingers now.