Chapter 22: Chapter 22 – Core of Creation

 

Retga Sang out at once—a low note which drew abruptly higher at the end. A gust of wind surged upward, slowing Mika’s fall as the orc reached down to catch hold of her.

All of the air went out of her lungs as the prince’s hand enveloped hers, as the sensation of it surged down her body in wave after wave of electric, golden pleasure. She cried out—in shock and dismay and ecstasy all at once—and the next thing she knew she was huddled in Retga’s arms, her entire body trembling as the tide of pleasure fell back.

“Hunters! Eliminate the howler! It drains constructs!” roared the prince to the orcs below.

“Wh-what was that?” Mika panted, drawing her hands deep into her sleeves and peering around pointlessly for the howling beast. The prince’s eyes remained fixed on her.

“I was just about to ask the same,” she said.

But Mika didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Her hand and core had gone hot, twin flames flaring suddenly to life inside her, connected through her veins by threads of liquid heat.

Retga leaned back, trying to catch her gaze.

“What? What’s wrong? We’ll get your construct back when we can, I—”

The orc’s words faded into a blurred backdrop to her thoughts.

No.

No. It can’t be.

But…

But she’d have thought the same, once, of her markings. Her altered eyesight.

Her ability to Fleshsing.

Giving up, Retga turned her face to the sky and unleashed the whooping call which summoned her beast. Mika, too stunned for fear or hesitation, complied automatically when the orc instructed her to cling tight for the jump. But her senses returned just in time for her stomach to drop as Retga leapt from the spire and onto her mount’s back.

Breathless with terror, Mika allowed the orc to assist as she wedged herself upon the saddle behind her. Then she wrapped her arms tight as she could about either side of Retga's waist and proceeded to panic.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

She’d grown accustomed to the idea that she’d probably never be a queen. Accepted it, even. Of all of the Mikanasha iterations, she had been the least satisfactory. A back up, a spare. But as long as the core seed was there, dormant inside her, so too was its potential. So long as it was there, she was still, at least, a princess.

But now it was activated, and if she failed to proceed accordingly, if the seed didn’t quicken…that potential would be forever lost. A possible lifespan of thousands of years…reduced to a certainty of mere centuries.

No. No! I can’t allow it. But…but what choice do I have, really?

As the hopelessness of her situation settled in, tears rose to her cheeks—but the winds swept them away as quickly as they appeared. Mika turned her attention outward as the beast tilted its body, veering sideways. Before they’d turned away completely, she caught sight of another mounted prince in the near distance. The competitors were forbidden from outright killing one another, and a drop from this height would certainly risk that. Regardless, Retga seemed intent on keeping her distance from the other fliers.

They swooped low, the orc concentrating her attention on the places where the mist glowed red. And all the way, she Sang, drawing up gusts from down below, her nostrils flaring as she scented the air.

“There,” she growled as they passed over the third crimson target. Mika squeaked and clutched at her plating as they tilted again, swooping around to fly back the way they had come.

Returning to circle the spire they’d launched from, Retga unleashed a series of trills and barks. Directions to the quarry, Mika assumed, rendered in their thrall’s personal command code.

“Headed for the palace pit now,” called Retga over her shoulder as they swept back upward, only just audible over the winds. “Can’t fly the whole way, though, and we’ll have to stop and wait for guardians to catch up. Top priority for us until then is keeping you safe.”

Mika said nothing, but nodded her head where it pressed against Retga’s backplate. The heat in her hand had subsided, only to grow yet stronger at her core. Their path through the sky swept them toward a region of the Maw circled by spires like a behemoth crown rising from the mists.

Flying for the crown’s center, they spiraled downward, until the fluffy blue foliage of a forest canopy became visible through the haze. The sight confused her mind and nearly made her sick—for the treetops bobbed up and down, reaching to the sky and shrinking back in a churning dance.

“I thought the palace was supposed to be down here,” said Mika, shouting to be heard over the strange humming sound which welled up from beneath them.

“It is,” called the orc over her shoulder, adjusting their course. Ahead of them, a tree which already jutted well above the others rose upward still further. Twisting and reaching behind her, Retga snatched Mika up and clutched her close to her chest. In the next instant she slid from the back of her mount, and the two hurtled through the air—coming to a landing upon a mass of tangled roots.

The orc released her and Mika scuttled back, batting away little silvery fish as she pressed herself to the trunk. The tree dipped downward, and she took in her surroundings. A floating forest, each tree an island unto itself, each one emitting its own ethereal hum. Pearly white eels twined about their branches and trunks, watching the intruders with eyes like moonlight.

“Sky oak,” explained Retga. “But you’ve seen it before.”

“Never,” breathed Mika.

“You have,” insisted the orc. “This is where the wood of our ships comes from.”

Mika scoffed, dragging her eyes from the trees at last to look upward.

“Where are all the other princes?”

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“Incapacitating as much of their opposition as possible before they can make it anywhere near here,” replied Retga.

“Why aren’t they coming after us?”

“Because they want you to make it into the pit. They’re letting me do the work for them.”

Mika’s lip twisted as her thoughts scrabbled to latch onto anything other than the radiating heat in her belly. “Isn’t the Wrym supposed to be really big?” she gestured to the trees. “How is it going to get through all of this?”

“As a snake moves through grass,” said the orc, slitted nostrils flaring as she scented the air.

For a time they fell silent, listening instead to the humming of the trees, the calls of creatures in the drifting canopy.

“I h-have a problem,” said Mika at last. Retga looked sideways at her.

“You mean one I don’t already know about?”

She took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

Retga waited, but Mika struggled to drag up the words.

The orc’s eyes narrowed.

“What is it?”

Warmth flushed her cheeks. “I’ve been….activated.”

“Uh…what?”

“You held my hand,” said Mika.

“I was sav—”

“I know. And I’m grateful. And I never would have thought it possible…but…but…” her mind blurred together in a panicked slurry, and she stopped, taking a few breaths to sort out her words.

“I am a princess. I have a core seed within me.”

Retga just stared at her.

“Usually, if an iteration is chosen to be a queen, she will be matched with a selection of suitable princes. Ulvari princes, of course. If a prince’s essence is a good match, it is absorbed, and the seed is activated. It only takes one. But to quicken the seed, a princess must hold hands with many princes, a range of varied essences. Eight or more. And if the seed isn’t quickened in time…three days or so…it dies, and can never be restored.”

The orc blinked. Mika rushed on.

“Somehow, your essence was compatible. And now the seed is activated, and if…” her voice broke. “If the worst has happened back home, if all of the caverns have been wiped out…this seed might be the last hope for my people. If it dies, I’ll never be a queen.”

She sniffed and rubbed away a tear with her sleeve, and the orc spoke at last.

“And, ah…what is a core seed exactly?”

Mika hiccuped and brushed away more tears.

“It’s—it is a stone. A precious stone. It absorbs essences, and creates new ones. Once quickened, it can turn a barren hole in the ground into a thriving cavern, generate storm crystal and constructs, and eventually…new people. Children. A foundational population.”

Retga’s eyes went wide.

“Are you saying I got you pregnant?”

Mika nearly choked on her own spit as she waved her hands frantically in the air between them.

“Ew! No! Princesses don’t get…that. And for there to ever be children, I’d need at least seven more essences. The more I acquire, the more healthy and varied a population the seed may create.” She paused to huff. “You alone would never be enough.”

The prince gave her a look somewhere between amusement and shock as she opened her lips to respond…but she was stopped short by the sudden strains of Song which pierced the mist. Mika’s ears pricked upward. Retga’s eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, and her head whipped around to peer off and up through the trees.

“Ours or theirs?” whispered Mika.

The orc breathed deeply through her nose.

“Both,” she said. “Get ready.”

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