Halla had only been a sky-watcher for a few years when the clouds came down to fight the city. She stood in the wall's northernmost watchtower while her old uncle and watch partner Amot slept. He had the midnight to noon watch, and now drooping orange sunlight glowed on her skin as she inspected distant clouds through her handheld spyglass.
She enjoyed being a sky-watcher. Something about it brought her peace. She ventured into the city every few days, for supplies or to speak with the watch-captain, or to see her family. It took a few months for the teasing to fade away--as if children could understand why someone goes off on their own. Maybe she didn't want to listen to them anymore. Or she had decided a lifetime of watching the sky was a finer future than digging in the dirt. Or some other reason.
So twenty-three year-old sky-watcher Halla sunned herself, sharp eyes taking in every detail as she finished a report about sparrows who had visited past her tower, when a crackling, rushing, charged sound reached her. She scowled, brought up her spyglass, and sent one eye of vision out, finding nothing unordinary.
Then bursts of light, like beings of blue air and gold cloud, smashed against the watchtower, and she lost her balance, hands waving wildly. Her spyglass flew from her grasp and rolled against the wall behind her as she found her feet.
She snatched it up and ran inside. "Amot! Uncle Amot, wake up!" she shouted, bursting through the bedroom door. The old man was already awake and springing up.
"Quickly girl, run!" Amot said. "Contact the Crown!"
"Uncle Amot, I can't let you stay here!"
"No thoughts of me, girl," he said. He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "I fear no clouds." The watchtower, sturdy enough to withstand the fiercest storms, trembled under their feet. "They strike! Flee now! I'll light the signal-mirror if I can!"
Halla ran for the spiral stairs and took them down. A mile of streets separated her and the community—the ground shook, bursts of radiance and smoke created thin, wispy creatures, long-limbed and wide-mouthed.
But the clouds were slow. Strong yes, tough yes, agile yes, but they forgot their speed. Halla leapt away from the closest one and exploded forward, between two others who reached long fingers out to seize her. Her arms pumped and her legs pounded up and down as she flew over a hill.
She froze. Smoke rose from dozens of buildings. Blue-gold figures flashed and surged, and her racing mind created screams. She turned back to the watchtower. "Amot! Uncle Amot!"
One of the skydwellers advanced on her, body taking form. The others surrounded the watchtower and slashed at it. She took a few steps back; the skydweller continued toward her.
Swallowing, pleading forgiveness, she turned and ran toward the community. The skydweller tried to give chase but no wind aided it. Halla's lungs grew hot and her legs turned to stone, yet she ran on as smoke rose over her head and joined growing thunderheads--they dulled the city's silver gleam.
The Crown! Contact the Crown!
She sprinted between buildings until she reached a wide avenue. Unidentifiable bodies--burned, opened up--lay in unnatural positions. Screams came from her right; she turned left. Only the Crown can fight them.
She wound her way through the city, toward the lowest point, the center--the farthest from the sky. She climbed a fence and found three skydwellers awaiting her. Their mouths gaped open as if to scream or swallow her whole. Air sucked from her lungs.
She gasped, turning away and covering her mouth. Her heart pounded, begging to deliver oxygen when there was none, and black spider-webs throbbed in her vision. She sucked down fresh air and blew it out again, then stepped backward.
The skydwellers blinded her. Like drops of sunlight wrapped in white vapor, they shone and advanced on her. She darted to the side, and rolled under one swinging hand. Heat--enough to leave a searing mark on her shoulder, reached her, and she fell to her stomach, pistoning her feet to push herself up. She swung her spyglass at the hand and knocked it away, but a flash of light left a purple bruise across her vision. She rubbed her eyes and backed away until she could see enough to flee.
She stumbled, each step painful, but the moved her in the right direction. The Crown's building waited before her, and a vision of Uncle Amot pushing her away--he might die that she might live--forced steam into her muscles. She flew ahead and slammed the door open.
The Crown's building had an open skylight, wide and circular. Nobody else stood inside. The skydewellers had struck too quickly.
Halla walked across the building, spinning her head on her neck to look out for sky creatures. She reached the Crown contract field.
It would mean no more Halla. It would mean only the Crown. But that was what she wanted, wasn't it? Just like Uncle Amot. The real reason she enjoyed being a sky-watcher.
She might die that others might live.
She stepped into the field. Her body, her clothes, her spyglass lifted and burned away. Her consciousness rose and something else came down, blasting a hole in the clouds.
Her same size, her same shape. Pointed feet and dagger-hands. A slate-gray robe around it, and a white mask, featureless save two black eyes with white pinpoints, and a third eye in the forehead, which telescoped out--it saw the skydwellers as they entered the Crown building, and it divined their weaknesses and lifted a hand to shatter them.
She enjoyed being a sky-watcher. Something about it brought her peace. She ventured into the city every few days, for supplies or to speak with the watch-captain, or to see her family. It took a few months for the teasing to fade away--as if children could understand why someone goes off on their own. Maybe she didn't want to listen to them anymore. Or she had decided a lifetime of watching the sky was a finer future than digging in the dirt. Or some other reason.
So twenty-three year-old sky-watcher Halla sunned herself, sharp eyes taking in every detail as she finished a report about sparrows who had visited past her tower, when a crackling, rushing, charged sound reached her. She scowled, brought up her spyglass, and sent one eye of vision out, finding nothing unordinary.
Then bursts of light, like beings of blue air and gold cloud, smashed against the watchtower, and she lost her balance, hands waving wildly. Her spyglass flew from her grasp and rolled against the wall behind her as she found her feet.
She snatched it up and ran inside. "Amot! Uncle Amot, wake up!" she shouted, bursting through the bedroom door. The old man was already awake and springing up.
"Quickly girl, run!" Amot said. "Contact the Crown!"
"Uncle Amot, I can't let you stay here!"
"No thoughts of me, girl," he said. He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "I fear no clouds." The watchtower, sturdy enough to withstand the fiercest storms, trembled under their feet. "They strike! Flee now! I'll light the signal-mirror if I can!"
Halla ran for the spiral stairs and took them down. A mile of streets separated her and the community—the ground shook, bursts of radiance and smoke created thin, wispy creatures, long-limbed and wide-mouthed.
But the clouds were slow. Strong yes, tough yes, agile yes, but they forgot their speed. Halla leapt away from the closest one and exploded forward, between two others who reached long fingers out to seize her. Her arms pumped and her legs pounded up and down as she flew over a hill.
She froze. Smoke rose from dozens of buildings. Blue-gold figures flashed and surged, and her racing mind created screams. She turned back to the watchtower. "Amot! Uncle Amot!"
One of the skydwellers advanced on her, body taking form. The others surrounded the watchtower and slashed at it. She took a few steps back; the skydweller continued toward her.
Swallowing, pleading forgiveness, she turned and ran toward the community. The skydweller tried to give chase but no wind aided it. Halla's lungs grew hot and her legs turned to stone, yet she ran on as smoke rose over her head and joined growing thunderheads--they dulled the city's silver gleam.
The Crown! Contact the Crown!
She sprinted between buildings until she reached a wide avenue. Unidentifiable bodies--burned, opened up--lay in unnatural positions. Screams came from her right; she turned left. Only the Crown can fight them.
She wound her way through the city, toward the lowest point, the center--the farthest from the sky. She climbed a fence and found three skydwellers awaiting her. Their mouths gaped open as if to scream or swallow her whole. Air sucked from her lungs.
She gasped, turning away and covering her mouth. Her heart pounded, begging to deliver oxygen when there was none, and black spider-webs throbbed in her vision. She sucked down fresh air and blew it out again, then stepped backward.
The skydwellers blinded her. Like drops of sunlight wrapped in white vapor, they shone and advanced on her. She darted to the side, and rolled under one swinging hand. Heat--enough to leave a searing mark on her shoulder, reached her, and she fell to her stomach, pistoning her feet to push herself up. She swung her spyglass at the hand and knocked it away, but a flash of light left a purple bruise across her vision. She rubbed her eyes and backed away until she could see enough to flee.
She stumbled, each step painful, but the moved her in the right direction. The Crown's building waited before her, and a vision of Uncle Amot pushing her away--he might die that she might live--forced steam into her muscles. She flew ahead and slammed the door open.
The Crown's building had an open skylight, wide and circular. Nobody else stood inside. The skydewellers had struck too quickly.
Halla walked across the building, spinning her head on her neck to look out for sky creatures. She reached the Crown contract field.
It would mean no more Halla. It would mean only the Crown. But that was what she wanted, wasn't it? Just like Uncle Amot. The real reason she enjoyed being a sky-watcher.
She might die that others might live.
She stepped into the field. Her body, her clothes, her spyglass lifted and burned away. Her consciousness rose and something else came down, blasting a hole in the clouds.
Her same size, her same shape. Pointed feet and dagger-hands. A slate-gray robe around it, and a white mask, featureless save two black eyes with white pinpoints, and a third eye in the forehead, which telescoped out--it saw the skydwellers as they entered the Crown building, and it divined their weaknesses and lifted a hand to shatter them.