Page 235 of The Cradle of Ice

“What now?” Jace asked. “Do we drop the Sparrowhawk through there?”

Darant spoke from the wheel. “That hot air will make it treacherous. And as it is, it’s a tight fit through that hole. We lose the Hawk, and none of us are leaving.”

“Then how’re we getting down?” Rhaif asked.

“You know as well as I do,” Nyx said, repeating Daal’s words from two days ago. “We’ve done it before.”

Jace closed his eyes and groaned.

* * *

ATOP NYFKA, DAAL swept a circle around the Sparrowhawk, waiting for the others. The cold was brutal. It felt as if the air had turned brittle, too hard to even inhale. He didn’t know if it was due to their flight deeper into the Wastes or some strange property of the massive copper Oshkapeer below, as if the structure were sucking heat from the air around it, maybe from the Urth itself.

He skimmed high above one of those fiery chasms that lined the copper’s edges. The rift glowed from molten rock hidden in its depths. But what wasn’t hidden, but still far down, was a massive tangle of heavy, twisted metal beams—not copper, maybe iron or steel, but clearly ancient, older than the complex above, marking the skeletal ruins of another age buried under this one.

Nyx had told Daal about the site they sought in the Brackenlands. She described it as a large village, what she called a city, but nothing lay out in these barren lands except the copper structure. Was the wreckage below the remains of a lost city? Was the copper Oshkapeer its grave marker?

He shuddered and turned away. He scanned the skies to the east, searching for any sign of the enemy who had attacked the Crèche. But the fires of the Sparrowhawk and the reflected fiery glow of the copper only made the surrounding Brackenlands darker. The warm mists still rising through the open door further hazed the view.

Still, he searched for several more breaths. With no danger in sight, he swung back to the ship and waggled his wingtips, letting the others know that all looked clear for now.

On his signal, Nyx took flight. She burst low under the ship’s balloon, then swept high. Behind the pair, more wings spread into the sky. Tiny figures dangled under them before being drawn closer to keep warm.

Daal leaned over his saddle and tucked his knees tighter, signaling Nyfka, but his mount seemed to know his intent and dove. He remembered a similar harmony whenever he rode Neffa, those moments when two became one. He knew now such a deep bond was due to his innate bridle-song. Though he couldn’t bridge to another heart as intimately as Nyx could, he still felt that gifted connection, that bond between rider and mount. In moments like this, he felt closer to Neffa, as if she rode these skies with him; his memories of hunting with her had helped forge his bond with Nyfka, as if the orkso had been preparing him for this all along.

Thank you, Neffa.

Daal swept down to the others and drew alongside Nyx, riding wingtip to wingtip. Hugging her saddle, she glanced across to him. She glowed with bridle-song, trailing wisps of golden fire in her wake. Her eyes shone with the same blaze.

The sight of her stole his breath—then they were into the warm mists.

After the frigid cold, the warm air scorched. He gasped at the sudden heat. But after a few breaths, the burn tempered to a steamy balminess. He dove steeper, taking the lead, protecting Nyx.

Once through the huge doorway, the air cleared. The shock of the sight below and around him bobbled his flight. He clutched harder to his saddle and urged his mount into a smoother arc across the interior of the dome. The vast space looked even bigger from the inside.

Nyx drew alongside again.

She nodded to him, broke away, and guided the others toward the copper floor.

He let her go, making a final sweep above them.

What wonders have we opened to the world?

* * *

NYX SPIRALED TOWARD the dome’s floor, her gaze sweeping dizzily in all directions. The copper of the inner walls was coated by a dense labyrinth of crystalline tubing, steel joinery, and great windowed tanks bubbling with golden potions. It all glowed softly, with occasional brighter energies coursing over sections, like tamed lightning.

She had to blink away some of the sharper dazzles as she wound cautiously below. Seven huge tunnels led off down those tentacles. From them, giant rubbery cables—as tall as lumbering martoks—snaked out and dove under the copper floor, vanishing away. But Nyx knew where all seven were headed, what they were meant to power.

Before landing, she circled the wonder at the center of the dome.

Cradled in bronze and suspended by a rigging of archways was a perfect sphere of crystal. It was the size of a warship and felt as threatening. The upper hemisphere rose above the floor, while its lower half hung over a huge hole, wider by half than the orb itself.

The crystal’s surface was circumscribed by crisscrossing bands of bright copper, while smaller wires etched a complicated pattern between them, like the arcane scribblings of a mad alchymist.

Still, none of it hid what lay at the heart of the crystal.

A huge pool of golden fluid pulsed and writhed, churning and swirling.