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Chapter 17: The Seedwind
Part 6
She took an uncertain step back, then flew backwards as a pink wave thrummed out from behind Frix. Yells and shouts rang out as those surrounding them went stumbling backwards as well. Then: three loud cracks, as the shots from the slingers above curved wide and splintered the wooden floor.
Atrocity and Turner bolted, dropping a pair of hammers for Frix. Roddem followed them, his own hammer and sharp out.
There was a strange wail, unlike any beast—it started soft then ramped up in an even tone. Red light filled the bay, boiling out from under the transport disc. Frix grabbed the weapons and followed his group, moving backwards, giving Mossa a wide berth.
Those who had fallen picked themselves back up, but they were sluggish and distracted by the calamity. Frix saw Mossa leaning up on her elbows, lucid and staring hard at the source of light. His shadow was long and dark and seemed to be getting more intense.
He heard the slingers up top fire again, but the stones shot over his head and out of reach of his hammers. He heard them strike wood and not flesh, and kept his attention on the ground-level threat. Two of the men had gotten their crossdarts back out. It would be a tough shot into the light, but they tried anyway, this time aiming at Frix. Both shots went wide, then a third came closer but he was able to deflect it with the hammerhead.
“Charge, charge them! Stop shooting and charge!” cried Mossa. She made to get to her feet, but stumbled sideways.
Frix took the cue to turn and sprint. He could barely see what was going on in front of them, the light from the transport was like staring into the sun. Then someone, Turner by the sound, said, “Watch it! Watch it! Duck!”
The light dropped away, and in the splotchy afterglow he saw his companions dive. The transport floated and spun toward them like a demonic tossing-disc, its spiky appendages whipping all around. Frix slid, feet first, as it passed over him. A weird pressure glued him to the ground as it cruised overhead and towards the unit.
“Pulled it too far!” Turner said. He and Atrocity had come back up to their knees, and strained against some invisible force. Roddem stood over them, eyes scanning the catwalks. A stone blasted down and he swatted it aside.
Frix pushed back up and ran, chasing the retreating disc. Its spin and speed slowed as the siblings pulled it back. The top of it was level to his collarbone, so he dashed and vaulted onto it, sliding on the smooth surface, still gripping his hammers. A stone slammed off the spot right in front of him.
Then the rushers jumped the disc. One mistimed his jump and thudded off the side. Two others fared better and hit the surface, log rolling. Frix got to his feet, ran against the disc’s spin, and put his shoulder into one, catching her square as she stood up. The rusher bounced off him and landed hard on the floor. Then Frix swung to parry the attack from the other one, who had made it to his feet and came at him with a longsharp and cudgel.
He blocked the blade, but the cudgel nailed him in the upper leg and he fell sideways onto the smooth, cool surface of the transport. He crossed his hammers, shielding a second bash from the cudgel, then Roddem was there. He grabbed the attacker’s face and shoved him off. Then a bolt appeared in Roddem’s shoulder with a firm thap!
He shrieked and clutched at it as Frix sat up and saw that the fourth rusher hadn’t tried to jump the transport, and instead had switched back to his crossdart. Frix righted himself, positioning his weight on his uninjured leg and hurled one of his handhammers. It flew flat in the air, right at the guy’s heart. The attacker saw it coming and raised the crossdart. The hammer exploded into it, and he fell backwards in a hail of splinters.
The disc stilled, dropped its height, and started moving back in the other direction.
“Moving,” said Turner. “We’re going! We’re going!”
The siblings made it up onto the disc. It started to slide toward the exit with increasing speed. The spinning had ceased as well. He looked up, gripping his remaining hammer, ready to help fend off incoming stones. But he didn’t see anyone.
The transport glided towards the middle of the bay, aligning itself with the rear entrance as it picked up even more speed. Its bone-shaking thrum continued to grow. The figures of the fallen rushers shrunk in the distance. Mossa crawled towards one of them.
Frix turned to Roddem, trying to see how bad the injury was, when he saw the shadows. Three of them. He looked up in time to see the catwalk crew drop with trained precision towards them.
All Frix could focus on was Dreff’s big black hat, tied onto his back. Three attackers hit the transport together, driving it into the ground. The thrum pitched to a sharp whine and it rebounded, bobbing up like a hollow log that was pushed underwater. All seven of them flipped off of it like beans on a sheet. Frix’s world tumbled, he saw a jumble of flailing arms and legs, then the hard wood floor slapped him on the hip and he went rolling, losing his other hammer in the process.
He ended up on his stomach. The transport veered and bashed into a wall, bouncing off and coming to a floating stop. Turner and Atrocity had landed neatly, probably using their witchy powers to control their landing.
“Frix, Frix!” Atrocity came over to help him up. He let her, hurting everywhere. She used that tingle again, this time to help him move. It sparked into his nerves, dulling the pain enough so he could shuffle.
“C’mon, get back to the transport, I don’t think we should be using it as a trampoline anymore, just a suggestion, just a thought,” she said, half holding, half dragging him along as he limped his way towards it. Turner pulled a bloody, semi-conscious Roddem up onto it.
He looked around and spotted Swinn, flat on his back and groaning. The other catwalk attacker laid in a crumpled heap against the wall. But where—
“Hold up, lovebirds.”
They stopped and turned. Dreff was up on one knee, swaying, the side of his face torn and bloody from the fall. But his slinger was steady, the stone pulled back deep.
“Why’d she let you go?” Dreff growled.
“What?” rasped Frix. It hurt to talk. Atrocity edged them away, backing towards the transport.
“Mossalea. What did you two say to each other? Why’d she let you go?”
“She didn’t, oof, let me do anything.” They backed up farther. Frix looked in the distance. Backup units had arrived in force near the front. Twenty seconds to crossdart range. An urgent bleat of horn blasts sounded from outside.
“Mossa doesn’t lose like this. You know that. Tell me, Bit.”
“She’s never fought a witch. Are you gonna shoot or keep talking?” They had gotten closer, and Frix heard Turner coming up behind them. The transport was back to humming.
Dreff toyed with the angle of the rubber, looking as if he was testing different shots on each of them. Then he laughed and lowered the weapon. He rose to stand, wobbling, letting the slinger hang loose. He drew his shortsharp and pointed it. “You and me ain’t done.”
“Can you tell Swinn I’m sorry, at least?” Frix’s lower back bumped against the transport.
Dreff swayed and spat.
Turner and Atrocity got onto the transport and hoisted Frix up by his armpits. Then they were moving again, leaving Dreff standing there, watching. Some stones and bolts came whizzing their way from the front as reinforcements closed in. The siblings deflected them with ease.
Frix sat and braced on his elbows as the speed picked up. They flew out of the back of the bay, into the tree farm, down a narrow path. Tree columns flickered by. Frix found at this speed the effect made him feel sick. He closed his eyes and laid back.
“How’s Roddem?” he asked.
“He’ll live,” said Turner. “We cycled some restorative Artwork into him. When he’s stable you can have some.”
“Yes,” said Atrocity. “And there should be enough cycles in the transport’s crystal to get us to the next town.”
A rough hand gripped Frix’s shoulder. He winced and opened his eyes to find Turner staring over him. “Will they hurt her?” he asked.
“Her? Who? Mossa?” Frix sat up, keeping his gaze away from the trees.
“No, Zoey-Lee, our sister,” Atrocity said. “She’s still back there somewhere.”
“Oh. Oh, I hope not. I don’t see why they would. She’s not dangerous is she?”
“Troublemaker. Not a danger…” Turner let go of Frix and sat back, hugging his knees.
“I’m going back for her. As soon as possible.” Atrocity said.
“Me too,” said Turner.
“We all have to go back,” Frix said. The words came fast, and certain. Bettine would be talking to his family. To Callum. He thought of Point Starfire. His little brother always broke under pressure.
Frix found his breath had become short and shaky. Atrocity’s hand crawled into his, and he looked into her gold-green eyes.
“Three times we’ve met, and with each you’ve gone and gotten me into tremendous trouble, Frix of Bit,” she said.
“I didn’t—”
She squeezed his hand. “And three times you made it right.”
He wasn’t sure what to say, so he kept looking at her, trying to enjoy the feeling and hoping that his palm wasn’t too sweaty. The pain in his leg felt far away.
“Do you have a plan, ‘City?” Turner said after a moment. “What do we do?”
“We first must scoot this little guy to Wood Ribbon North,” she said. “Tell them what happened, and alert the surrounding area. But they can only do so much. So long as the Chillcrafter has the stone, we will not be able to hold her back.”
“The campwitch?” asked Frix.
“Yes,” said Atrocity, looking up. The late morning sun poked through some spots in the fog. Her face flashed with the natural light, it sparkled in her eyes. “Yes, she’s the crux. This runs much deeper than Falsesparker conquest. The Ghost Tide has never so openly washed over the lands of Callipsus. She’s either desperate or insane.”
“A desperate or insane Wraith,” said Turner. “How do you hope to stop that?”
“I don’t know, Turner. But she’s after someone… and that someone might know.”
“Who?” asked Frix.
“Never met xem,” said Atrocity. “But I’ve spoken to a little boy who has.”
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