As they flew on a lightweight gliderbike over the ruins of the worldforest, Celli wrapped her arms tightly around the green priest’s waist. She had flown with Solimar numerous times now and had long since gotten over her fear of the unsteady vehicle with its furiously flapping condorfly wings. However, she didn’t mind having an excuse to press herself against the young man’s brawny back. She didn’t think Solimar minded, either.
The self-contained engine thrummed as the green priest accelerated and circled over a new burn area. “It just goes on and on,” Solimar said. “We’ve flown for hours, and the scar extends as far as my gliderbike can take us.”
Celli sensed her friend’s gloom and felt it in her own heart. She wanted to console him, to tell Solimar that everything would be all right, that the worldforest would recover—and though she believed that to be true, the task of restoration seemed nearly impossible.
“The worldforest has been hurt enough,” she said. “Maybe the most important thing we can do is to believe. Let the trees draw optimism from you, Solimar. You’re a green priest. Maybe they need to have hope as much as they need time to heal.”
She felt the young green priest’s shoulders relax. He looked back at her over his shoulder. “You’re right, Celli. During the first war with the hydrogues, long ago, the worldforest suffered an even greater defeat, and they still recovered—”
“Hey, watch where you’re flying!”
Solimar swerved, barely avoiding an upthrust claw of dark branches. “I wouldn’t let you get hurt, Celli—it was too much trouble rescuing you the first time.” She playfully slapped him on the arm and continued to hold on. He had always been there for her, when she most needed him.
During the hydrogue attack on the forest, Celli had found herself stranded in the burning fungus-reef city. She had waited too long before trying to escape, not willing to admit her own danger. Then, with as much grace as she could manage, she had worked her way from the core of the blaze by edging out along lumps on the fungus city and using acrobatic skills and treedancer moves to get from one precarious perch to another. But the fire had spread rapidly, cutting off all escape paths. She had been trapped, frightened and helpless, scolding herself for getting into such a problem—until she’d heard the buzzing engine of a gliderbike. She had looked up and raised her arms, full of desperate hope, and Solimar had swooped in to snatch her from the jaws of death. Fear had melted into relief as they flew away to dubious safety.
Celli had never really noticed him before he’d rescued her. Had she been so aloof, so self-centered? Estarra would probably have said yes, but Celli had changed a great deal since the hydrogue attack.
Now, every day in the aftermath, they took Solimar’s gliderbike to survey the damage, while landbound green priests moved through the burned thickets, clearing debris, salvaging treelings. Children and acolytes sifted through the ashes, searching for armored black seedpods; others cleared greenhouse plots, lovingly planting the seeds to bring back tiny treelings.
“I just wish we had more help,” Solimar said.
As Celli had expected, the Hansa military was very interested in the broken warglobe she’d discovered. Their scientists and weapons engineers had come here, delivering a shipload of relief supplies to Theroc like a consolation prize in exchange for the alien wreckage. Instead of staying to help with the important labor, though, the EDF specialists had taken the pieces away for analysis on Earth. It was all they wanted.
Now, the gliderbike sputtered, and one of the condorfly wings froze. Solimar calmly adjusted the jammed wing and fiddled with the controls. The gliderbike quickly restabilized, and they rose higher, continuing their outward spiral.
Oddly for a green priest, Solimar loved to tinker with gadgets and equipment, from leftover machinery and instruments from the Caillié to new items brought in by Hansa merchants. He enjoyed chasing large butterflies above the forest canopy in gliderbikes of his own construction. Once, he’d even been pursued by a voracious wyvern, from which he’d barely escaped.
The worldtrees found the mechanics fascinating. Since the forest used only biological powers, the calm organic sentience had limited knowledge of gears and pistons and pulleys, and the acolyte Solimar had diligently described specs and designs for engine after engine, vehicle after vehicle. Now the worldforest retained that data, able to share it back with him. Whenever he needed information to fix a piece of equipment, Solimar could tap into the trees through telink and access any reference material he wanted.
Solimar expanded their search spiral again, but there seemed no end to the burned areas. “I don’t suppose we’ll be treedancing together anytime soon.” The two of them had talked about their mutual passion for the sport, and discussed the moves they knew. But now such joyful diversions seemed impossible.
“Not for a little while yet,” Celli said. “But I look forward to when we can.”
Where a stream was blocked by fallen trees, the water had backed up and flooded a meadow, drowning any plants that had survived the fire. “We’ll have to send workers to clear that blockage. The water needs to flow downstream and irrigate other land.”
Celli traced the line of water with her eyes. “Isn’t that one of the sources for the Looking Glass Lakes? There was a village—”
“The village is completely destroyed. I’ve been there.” His broad shoulders heaved. “The hiveworm nests were shattered, turned to powder. I didn’t see a single living person.”
Celli hugged him tightly. The air smelled burnt. The clouds were thick in the skies, and she hoped it would rain and wash away the smell, make the forests feel fresh and clean again.
But that would take a long, long time.
“Enough for today,” Solimar said. “We’d better get back and make our report.” He unerringly guided them back toward the distant fungus-reef city, beyond the hazy horizon.