Dancing in the Clouds

Tsiella stood at the fo’c’sle, one hand on the running line. Scraggly rope pressed into her fingerpads. She took a deep breath of the crisp night air, reaching out her other hand. The wind seemed to take hold of it, squeezing it gently like the grip of a new lover, fingers of the breeze blowing troughs through her long fur. She smiled.

Then she stepped off into the clouds.

Sky-swimming was best done at night. She dove upward, gripping updrafts and pulling them around her. Her eyes were closed, but she felt the wind guide her along. A new world opened around her, free from the constraints of the material. Clouds formed a pillowy blanket below her, stars glittered in a cosmic dance above. It was only her and the sky, the distant creaking of rope, wood, and metal the only reminder she wasn’t alone. And that was fine. She supposed that giving herself entirely to the sky wouldn’t be the smartest of ideas. The sky could be just as cruel and unforgiving as the ground. But for now, it was cool and clear, whispering fickle promises in her ears.

She swirled, the fabric of her skirts billowing as best it could from where she’d tied it securely to her legs. Ñæchiæ, wind magic users, tended to wear a lot of loose layers that could catch the wind as well as keep them warm in the higher altitudes. Hers was dyed a bright purple, so she could be spotted in the yellow of the daytime sky–more to alleviate concern from spectators than for her safety.

Right now, however, there were no spectators. There was no showing off. There was just her and the sky, the ñædhe and the clouds below her and the ocean leagues below that. She smiled to herself.

Ñæchiæ, other wind-magic-users, were a staple of how air travel worked. Most, if not all, of a crew were ñæchiæ. Occasionally one could get a wauchiæ, or light-magic-user, to help supplement the solar panels supplying the engine, but they weren’t always necessary. Particularly on small ferry voyages like this one, to Tsaurre from the southwestern isles. There wasn’t a wauchiæ on this flight, but a crew of nine–the lucky number–ñæchiæ held shifts of two people working on the twenty-seven-hour scale, working three hours at a time to keep the wind sails full and steering in the right direction. It was a good system. The ferry ride was only four hours, but they hauled it back and forth over the course of the day, occasionally not even taking off if no riders arrived by the scheduled time.

It was this circumstance that had resulted in this ferry taking off late. No riders had arrived, but perhaps half an hour after they were due to have lifted off, a very harried-looking Chiñaufan in muddied garb had arrived at the station, relief in their eyes when they’d seen the ferry still in port. They had insisted they needed to get to Tsaurre post-haste, and that they’d pay extra to leave right away. The fee hadn’t been necessary, of course; Tsiella’s mother and captain was very accommodating. So here they were, technically half an hour late, a glimmer of magenta on the horizon signalling the retreat of the sun.

Tsiella was quite happy to be on the proverbial road, though. She couldn’t get enough of the sky over the sea, wind in her whiskers, clouds in her claws. She closed her eyes and soared higher, then let herself flounce downward, the parachute of her skirts cushioning her fall.

Eventually, though, she had to properly come down. So, eyeing the deck far below her, she took a zig-zag path downward, matching the ñædhe’s speed quite easily and landing with the subtle tap of her clawtips upon polished wood.

“You some kind a’ kikifeu?” came a voice, and she looked up, startled.

The passenger strode forward. They were a soul, neither queen nor tom, as evidenced by the forelock of longer fur growing from the crown of their head. It had been matted into dreadlocks and dyed a striking green, then carefully threaded with intricate metal beads. The soul had also cleaned up; they wore the same boots, which were worn by Chiñaufans to be waterproof and airtight against the muddy floors and shallow brooks that spiderwebbed across the rainy forests of their home. The rest of their outfit was different, though still clean, thick and padded–probably just as waterproof. Their hat was mostly conical, sloped in the back, but for a gutter framed around their face so they could see without curtains of rain getting in their eyes. There was no rain here, at the moment, so she supposed right now it was more of a fashion statement.

They smiled at her, a toothy white grin in a mostly dark gray face.

She smiled back. “I could be a kikifeu. They and I share a hobby,” she said, answering their question. “What was your name, again?”

Their smile broadened. “Mah nem? It’s Kemö,” they said. Their accent was thick, almost grounded, but easy enough to understand. “I was just up to thank the naght’s workers. Somethan’ tells me you ain’t up ta work.”

She smiled sheepishly. “Sky swimming, actually. I like to practice my chi like that. I’m Tsiella.”

They grimaced. “Can ah call ya Ella?”

“Of course. Most people do,” she said with a chuckle. “Ts” sounds were hard for people from Chiñaufu. They usually left the sharper “T” sound off, which made it sound a little strange to the trained ear.

They nodded in satisfaction. “Ella tha kikifeu,” they said, amused. “Flahin’ aroun’ the skah on feathers ah cotton. They could wrahte stories about ya.”

“Oh, it’s not that impressive,” she said, wishing she’d brought her scarf to hide her face in. “What about you? What’s your attribute?”

“Hm? Ah.” They winked at her. “’At’s a secret, that ‘tis.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to assume–”

They waved dismissively. “All good, sær. All good.” Their tail swished in the breeze, creating one of its own as they headed to the edge. They sat, dangling their feet over the side between two posts. “Mighty gorgeous at naght. Ah was hopin’ not ta wait eight hours for tha next one.”

“Good thing we were still there,” Tsiella agreed, coming over to sit by them. “If it’s not too bold to ask, why were you late?”

“Crashed mah tsaudhe,” they said regretfully. “Ah had ta lock it up on a tree an’ call someone ta drahve me. But ah couldn’t delay.”

“Getting to Tsaurre so fast is that important?” Tsiella asked. “Most people aren’t so keen on getting there fast, since the Sciftans set up in Waumærr. I guess you’re special.”

They chuckled. “Special? Nah. Mah little neice is, though. She moved ta the desert cycles ago. Ah haven’t seen her for so long…” They chuckled. “She started a band. Said she had a big show this monthend. Ah wanted to surprise her bah bein’ there…almost didn’t make it.”

“I’m glad you did, then,” Tsiella said, smiling warmly. 

They purred for half a breath, then reached out, trailing clawtips in the clouds as they passed. Then they shook the water off their hand.

“Mighty gorgeous,” they repeated, then stood. “Ah need ta get some sleep, ah think. If ya find yahself at the Saurre Chæfö plaza tamarrow evenin’, it’d be nahce ta see ya there.”

She smiled and stood as well. “I’ll see if I can get some time away from the ferry. Sleep well, Kemö.”

They nodded their thanks, and headed belowdecks. Tsiella waited until the door had hissed closed behind them, then flopped onto her back, smiling up at the starry night, at the half-eye of the periwinkle moon.

“Maybe I will go to this band’s show,” she said aloud. She hadn’t gone to a show before; she liked helping run the ferry, but on her days off she usually stayed at home and played around with her chi. If she got permission from Merr…

Rau’s half-obscured eye seemed to wink at her in response as the gently rocking deck of the ship lulled her to sleep.