Page 4 of Across the Stars (Cosmic Threads of Fate #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

WATAI

“Iskzo, could you ask Enizo where my father is?” Watai pathed, steadying himself after the snap of their cosmic thread—the cord’s tether to the tribe’s weavetree they’d used to recall home. “We can’t alert the others until I’ve reported what we saw.”

He raised a hand to shield his eyes and searched the sky where the shadow had been. Against Father’s Eye’s marbled surface, no casual glance would notice that dark fleck. Only a deliberate search would.

But the oddly shaped shadow had shifted. If he’d studied it longer before returning, he would’ve seen it moving—closing the distance. Alive. Hunting.

Worse than he’d feared. He had to warn his parents and the tribe, give them a chance to prepare for contact.

And yet he prayed to Z’myu—silent, desperate—that this wouldn’t end in blood, not here, not in the shadow of their weavetree.

No more lives thrown away because some wandering beast chose violence.

“Your parents are in their chambers, waiting for you,” Iskzo replied, snapping out of a hover and surging toward the uppermost reaches of the weavetree where their chambers perched. “Your mother’s sent for your morning meal—she hopes you’ll take the chance to eat.”

Watai nodded, leaned forward, and pressed against Iskzo’s back in silent thanks.

He tightened his grip on the straps as they dipped through a gap in the crown and threaded between massive limbs toward a wide hut—the Lake Trinity Weavetree’s Mind Hall, home to his parents.

The Mind Hall rose in three tiers, its floors crafted from fallen logs, cured and shaped by master carpenters to endure generations, sat in the middle of a split in the trunk.

Living reeds and vines braided into its walls gave it a heartbeat—just like his own hut, which hung among the others in the lower foliage far below in the lower crown.

Bright tapestries framed its windows, fluttering in welcome and spilling color and natural light into the hall.

The lower tier boasted a broad balcony for threadmounts to land, loading or unloading their riders. Every other wall panel opened into a doorway veiled by vine curtains, letting tribesfolk slip in and out during disputes or council gatherings.

The middle tier held the leaders’ council chambers, where decisions about the weavetree’s welfare and dealings with the other five Z’myuxi tribes were made.

Only three entrances—two outside, one via the inner stairway—broke its walls.

Half-shuttered reed blinds guarded the windows, shielding delicate discussions from curious eyes.

The top floor belonged solely to Watai’s parents, the Lake Trinity Tribe’s leaders.

Few ever stepped beyond its vine curtains, affording the pair a rare slice of privacy despite constant demand for their attention.

It mirrored the middle tier’s layout, but its second entrance opened onto a private balcony—a quiet place where even leaders could breathe.

Lifestones dangled around the rim between the first and second floors and traced the double spiral staircase climbing to the third, illuminating a soft glow along the wooden floor.

Wisps of smoke drifted past the uppermost windows as Iskzo slowed his glide and pulled up to land—a sign his mother was seeking Z’myu’s guidance for reasons she kept to herself.

Watai had never truly understood how his mother, the Z’Aymo, or the other spiritual healers, the Kylu’Aymo, communed with Z’myu, the Mother Tree of Z’Mynua.

They could read the cosmic threads as if they were strands in a vast tapestry, seeing how each was woven into the six tribal patterns—Z’myu’s great designs.

When someone struggled to find their threadmate, his mother could trace a thread’s path to the tapestry where it belonged, guiding them toward the right tribe.

Iskzo landed beside the stairwell, folding his six wings and lowering himself so Watai could dismount with ease.

Watai unlatched the saddle belt, swung a leg over Iskzo’s back, and dropped onto the wooden porch. He stepped forward, tucking his ring blade behind him, and cradled Iskzo’s head between his palms, their foreheads meeting.

“Thank you for the flight,” he pathed, closing his eyes as he sent every ounce of love and gratitude through their bond. “I’ve missed you. It meant everything—you filled the hollow that’s been gnawing at me since the rainy season began.”

“I’ll always be with you,” Iskzo vowed, the promise thrumming along their cosmic thread. “We’ll face this together. Always.”

Watai scratched the center of Iskzo’s scaled head, then stepped back, releasing him. Iskzo’s gaze locked on him—an intense kaleidoscope swirl of emerald and sapphire joy. Watai nodded to his threadmount, flashed a quick smile, and turned toward the stairs.

His parents would have heard Iskzo land; they’d be expecting him. He pushed through the cloth curtain and stepped into their quarters without knocking.

At the floor table’s end sat his father, the Z’Awnu, Protector of Z’myu—casual for once, dressed casually without his status adornments. The ornate headdress of Sacred Heart vines and Z’myuzo scales from past leaders rested on its mount nearby, silent testimony to his authority.

His father’s perceptive gaze fixed on him, narrowing as he read Watai’s tension. A small nod. A motion for him to sit.

His mother, the Z’Aymo, Voice of Z’myu, stood near the indoor stairway, accepting a basket of food from a Gathering Hall worker. She nodded her thanks; the girl bowed, murmured something Watai couldn’t catch, and slipped back down the stairs.

“Xa’me Xa’noke.” Watai bowed to his mother, fingertips touching his forehead, then the space between his hearts, before repeating the gesture toward his father. “Xa’me Xe’pule.”

“Xa’me ’ytan.” His mother smiled warmly as she carried the basket of food to the floor table and gestured for him to join them. “I’ve been expecting your return.”

Something in her tone—and the way golden speckles danced in her white, all-seeing eyes—made Watai’s tail still. She only spoke like this when she’d glimpsed something beyond or when Z’myu had whispered to her.

“You have… in what way?” Watai lowered himself onto the mat across from his father, legs folding beneath him, his gaze never leaving his mother’s. “Did you foresee what I’ve seen?”

“Your cosmic thread has found its end,” she said, kneeling beside his father as she unpacked the basket, arranging nuts, fruit, berries, and leaf-wrapped fish on the table. “Soon your cord will be complete.”

“Is that what I felt?” Watai’s brow furrowed as reassurance pulsed from Iskzo through their bond—his threadmount had been listening. “Was my threadmate out there?”

He stared at his mother, one of Z’Mynua’s most powerful Kylu’Aymos, disbelief flickering across his face.

“How did we miss my threadmate?” he pathed to Iskzo, stunned. They’d swept the skies for Z’myuzo and found nothing… yet they had overlooked someone.

“What did you see, my ’ytan?” His father wrapped his tail around his mother’s, their xa’mylu—the neural connectors at each tip—twining together.

He offered her a slice of fum’li, the orange-yellow, marbled-skinned fruit with its juicy, rich red flesh.

“How has the land changed now that the rainy season has ended?”

“No damage worth noting,” Watai replied, grabbing a handful of nuts.

He made a mental note to save any leftover fish for Iskzo—his threadmount had been craving it earlier.

“But I found something troubling in the skies. We need to send a wing to investigate, for the safety of the untethered Z’myuzo at Protectors Peak. ”

His father clicked his tongue dismissively and gave him a puzzled look. “The wild Z’myuzo can defend themselves. It is Z’myu’s way.”

“You’re mistaken, Xe’pule.” Watai’s fists clenched as a growl threatened, his tail jerking despite his effort to control it.

“You didn’t see what I saw. Look at the sky—a great sky hunter is coming, far larger than anything we’ve faced.

It could wipe out the untethered Z’myuzo, leaving future tribe members without threadmounts. ”

The two parents exchanged glances—an unspoken conversation flickering between them. His father closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as though dreading what he must do, then rose to his feet.

“Z’myu would never allow such a tragedy to befall her children,” Watai’s mother said wistfully, her tone firm and knowing—the Voice of Z’myu speaking now.

“The Kutsiu prey on Z’myuzo, yes, but they would never ambush the untethered at Protectors Peak.

If a Kutsiu were swarmed, it would crash into the ocean and drown. ”

“They may have gone hungry during the rainy season,” Watai countered, pushing himself to his feet to meet his father’s gaze head-on.

“Desperation could drive one to hunt at Protectors Peak.” He straightened his shoulders.

“I may not have Z’myu’s blessing to replace you as Z’Awnu.

I’ve made peace with my path and will support my sister when she and her threadmate are lifted to lead.

But what I saw wasn’t normal. I’ve never witnessed anything that large or that high in the sky. ”

“I would never accuse you of challenging your sister or Z’myu’s will,” his father said, sighing as his shoulders slumped. His gaze drifted out the window at the tribe’s huts below. “But if you insist this Kutsiu poses a threat, I would be remiss not to take note and investigate.”

“Go to the top of the weavetree,” Watai urged, pointing upward. “You’ll see it for yourself—high enough to clear the mountains. Look for the dark blemish on Father’s Eye.”

The tribe’s leaders glanced at one another and nodded, unhooking their tails.

“Never have I seen you so persistent,” his mother murmured. She stepped closer, clasped his hand, and peered deep into his eyes as if reading his soul. “Are you certain this isn’t about the echo you felt on your cosmic thread? Something reaching for your cord?”

“I can’t lie to you, Xa’noke,” Watai said, choosing each word with care.

“You know how desperate I am to find my threadmate. On the flight to Protectors Peak, I felt something stir inside me—something I haven’t felt since I found my threadmount during my trials.

If there’s even a chance that one of the untethered Z’myuzo could lead me to my threadmate, I have to stay vigilant.

I’ll protect them until I’m sure there’s no threat. ”

“You’d abandon your co-leader duties to chase a stray Kutsiu?” His father’s voice carried disbelief and a touch of scorn. “Who will lead in your absence?”

“You don’t understand the danger,” Watai bit out. “Grant me permission to lead my wing to scout it—for all our sakes.”

“Let’s see this Kutsiu before tempers flare further,” the Z’Aymo soothed, gently squeezing his hand. “We love you, Watai. We want you to find your threadmate—I ask Z’myu about completing your cord every day. But we can’t let emotion overrule duty.”

Watai managed a soft smile for her, knowing she meant well. They had honored him by giving their private time to hear him out, balancing their family life and dynamics with leading their tribe fairly.

Without another word, the three moved to the lower balcony. Watai offered the saved fish to Iskzo as his parents’ Z’myuzo arrived. Once all three were mounted and secured, his parents nodded to him. Together, they launched.

Iskzo dove through the branches, slipping through a gap in the canopy. Watai held tight as they shot upward, skimming the crown’s dense foliage before climbing to the highest branch that could bear their weight.

Shielding his eyes from the late-morning sun, Watai searched Father’s Eye—and there it was. The Kutsiu loomed larger and nearer than before, drifting away from Protectors Peak toward the Shimmering Sands. A shudder rippled from the tip of his tail up his spine.

“You were right,” his mother whispered, barely audible. “Something about it is…”

“I’m sorry we doubted you,” his father said, turning in his saddle with brows drawn low. “Something that size is dangerous. We can’t let it reach the weavetree.”

“Will you allow me to scout it?”

“Authorization granted” The tribe’s Z’Awnu nodded, his eyes sharp with resolve, focused on the battle that was about to come.

“Tail it, but do not engage until I command. Your mother and I will speak with the leaders of the other tribes to learn if they’ve seen anything similar, and whether they can help us take care of the Kutsiu. ”

Watai felt no triumph—only dread. He wished he’d been wrong. Their future had just grown uncertain.

“Your will is mine.”