These storms would mean death for any cloudwalker crew, Guild or not. What madness drove them up here over and over again?
The wind was a pack of snarling wolves, howls of thunder and teeth of frost. Sleep came in fitful moments—no sooner would she doze off than it would snatch her like a child’s toy, fear flooding her insides as she clung to Buruu for dear life. Lightning intensifying as they flew farther north; dazzling, carpet-bomb barrages that left her comatose, black streaks in her vision, ears ringing in the aftershocks. The rain was a numbing deluge, soaking her lips blue.
On the morning of the fourth day she’d woken from dreams of falling to the sight of islands in the distance. Some were towers, higher than any building, twisting at impossible angles like fingers broken back and forth at every knuckle. Others were flat, squat, as if beheaded by the sword of an angry god. They were made of what seemed to be black glass, glittering like razors as the lightning kissed their edges, veiled in rain and mist.
Buruu, can you hear me? Are these the Razor Isles?
No reply, save the swell of the lust in his mind, the poison of weariness mirroring her own desperate fatigue. The female was close—so close he could taste her. But he could feel her mating time was almost done, scent fading like flowers at the end of spring, and the desperation to find her before she cooled filled every vein, every muscle, every corner of his mind.
Long, cold hours swept by, flying low through the salt-spray sting. At first she thought them a mirage; a fever vision brought on by sleep deprivation and the storm’s relentless assault. But as Yukiko squinted into the blood-red water beneath them, she realized things were pursuing them below the ocean’s surface. Serpentine tails slicing the swell, mouths full of needles gnashing at the waves, spines down their backs like the dorsal fins of deep tuna. Eyes as big as her fist, yellow and slitted like a cat’s.
She’d seen their pictures painted on drinking-house walls, the backs of playing cards, tattooed down the arms of her countrymen. She’d thought them long dead and gone. But then, she’d thought the same of thunder tigers.
Sea dragons.
The beasts were infants by the look, only twice as long as a man was tall. Bright scales, rolling eyes and serrated grins. And though they couldn’t keep pace with Buruu, falling behind and whipping the ocean into angry foam, the very sight of them filled Yukiko with cold terror, enough for her to open up the Kenning and scream into his mind until her nose bled and her whole body shook. And in the end, when he ignored her, when every cry fell on deaf ears, she found herself taking hold of him and squeezing tight, chin and lips slicked with blood at the effort, eyes screwed shut, heart hammering, skull creaking, forcing him to pull away from the surface and the monstrosities lurking beneath it.
Shaking with fear and exhaustion. Sick to her stomach, wind clawing her skin. Obsidian hands reached toward them, looming out of the mist like shadows of the hungry dead. Her throat was parched, teeth chattering as she opened her mouth to the rain. Closing her eyes, she saw lightning flash beyond her skin. And beneath the roaring storm, wind howling between jagged black glass, she heard it.
The faint thunder of beating wings.
Buruu whined; a long, grating ululation, like no sound she’d ever heard him make. Yukiko opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of pearlescence between spires of black glass, off through the lightning-flecked gloom. And for a second all the fear and fatigue and sadness melted away, and all she felt was wonder that the world could make something so magnificent.
Arashitora.
She was like Buruu, but not like him at all. Smaller, sleeker, like an edge of folded steel. A hooked beak, black as the stone around them, eyes of molten honey, ringed with charcoal. Her head was the white of Iishi snow, plumage like a fan of knives running down her throat, wings as broad as houses. They cut the air, blade-sharp, feathers spread like vast, white hands, cupping the tempest as if a summer breeze. She was muscle and fur, light and hard, razored talons as black as night, hindquarters and long tail slashed with thick bands of ebony.
My gods, she’s beautiful.
Buruu roared, but the female seemed already aware of his presence, spiraling up through a thicket of glass. He followed like an iron filing drawn to starmetal, mind alight with her scent, so overpowering Yukiko broke off the tenuous link between them, thrust herself out into cold air and clean rain, her insides shivering with the strength of his desire.
They twisted through the stone forest, diving and rolling across fangs of gleaming obsidian. She was smaller, faster, and Buruu struggled to keep pace or follow her through the impossible gaps between broken black towers. She led them west, west toward the muted sunset, and Yukiko reached between the rain with the smallest sliver of herself, narrowing her eyes with the effort, almost blinded by the female’s spark.
Hello?
A flash of aggression. Confusion.
Can you hear me?
—WHO?—
Her voice was loud as a thunderclap, honey-warm, edged with a softness like wreaths of blue-black smoke from her father’s pipe.
—WHAT ARE YOU?—
I’m the yōkai-kin on the back of the sex-crazed thunder tiger behind you.
The female banked right, swooping up between two fangs of stone. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder, and Yukiko felt curiosity swell inside her. Beneath it, contempt. Anger. Something approaching hatred.
—YOU RIDE THE KINSLAYER?—
Kinslayer?
—FALSE WINGS?—
Yukiko shrieked and pressed herself to Buruu’s neck as he banked 90 degrees, streaking between two obsidian knuckles. She felt the stone pass inches from her spine, gravity clutching her, praying the knotted obi around Buruu’s neck would hold. She was seconds from slipping off his back when he righted himself, swooped beneath a crooked overhang.
The female was a flash of white through the rain ahead.
Listen, I know it’s probably expected of you to make him work for his supper, but if you could skip the foreplay and let him catch you, I’d really appreciate it. We’ve been flying for four days and he’s about to have a heart attack.
—DID NOT COME HERE TO FIND MALE, MONKEY-CHILD. LEAST OF ALL HIM.—
What’s so bad about him?
—FOOL. KNOW NOTHING. GO HOME.—
Izanagi’s balls, that’s what I’m trying to do!
—TRY HARDER.—
They raced amongst the islands, still weaving west. Yukiko could have sworn the female was toying with Buruu, slowing her pace, letting him creep closer before putting on a burst of speed or maneuvering where he couldn’t follow. She could sense grim amusement flickering across the female’s mind, screeching as they fell behind yet again, but Yukiko worried about Buruu’s metal wings—if Kin’s workmanship would hold up under this kind of punishment.