The Curse of Besti Bori

By Simon Fairbanks

The jungle cloud of Besti Bori is in quarantine. An infection has consumed the cloud, turning its peaceful people into monstrous splicers. Now a team of archers watch over its borders, ensuring nothing enters and nothing leaves.

That is until Sheriff Baran visits for a routine inspection. His sky-horse is mysteriously drugged and he plummets into the darkness of the cursed jungle.

Now, Sheriff Shaula must return from her self-inflicted exile to lead a rescue mission into the most dangerous place in Nephos. Armed only with a team of warrior fairies, Shaula must battle her way through hordes of splicers to retrieve the stranded Baran.

However, Shaula soon learns that splicers are not the only danger lurking in Besti Bori.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Fairbanks
• Release date: Oct 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311435743

Simon Fairbanks

Simon is the author of the Nephos novels, an ongoing fantasy series, which currently consists of The Sheriff and The Curse of Besti Bori.He has written three short story collections, Breadcrumbs, Boomsticks and Belljars. Each contains a novella set within his Nephos fantasy world.Simon is also the author of Treat or Trick, a multiple-pathway novel, with twenty-six different endings.Simon studied MA English Literature at the University of Birmingham, and has been a member of the Birmingham Writers' Group since 2011.When he is not writing, he enjoys films, television, and running. He even finds time for a little reading.

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The Curse of Besti Bori

A Nephos Novel

Simon Fairbanks

Smashwords edition

Copyright Simon Fairbanks 2015

The right of Simon Fairbanks to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods) without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations and certain commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, the views of the characters and narrator do not necessarily reflect those of the author.

For my parents, Jane and Gordon, who let me watch Power Rangers as a kid.

The hornets might not exist had it not been for the rangers.

Contents

The First Story of Nephos

The Curse of Besti Bori

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Acknowledgements

A quick favour

About the author

Also by Simon Fairbanks

The First Story of Nephos

In the Beginning, there was the Clown and He was sad.

The world had moved on. The human race had multiplied, expanded, conquered and taken ownership over the world. They were a non-magical race but they had the numbers, the determination and the fear to purge the world of magic. Witches were burned and Dragons were slain. The world moved on and magic was left behind.

The Clown said NO MORE and summoned those with magic to hear Him.

The Twelve Magical Races heeded the call: the Dragons, the Witches, the Sorcerers, the Fairies, the Featherfolk, the Nightmares, the Nymphs, the Skinchangers, the Ghosts, the Mome Raths, the Elementals and those few humans born with the Gift.

The Clown promised them a new world above the Clouds. They were all welcome but there were Two Rules.

ONE: they were never allowed to go back to the world they knew. Not for vengeance, not for nostalgia, not for anything.

TWO: they must put their differences aside and live in everlasting peace above the Clouds.

Two Rules. That was all.

The Twelve Magical Races accepted these terms so the Clown rolled up His sleeves and clapped His hands. The Clouds opened and their new world beckoned.

Walking together, side by side, the Twelve Magical Races – so unlike one another but united by their magic – followed the Clown into the sky.

The magic moved on and the world was left behind.

The Curse of Besti Bori

There once was a cloud called Besti Bori,

Skinchangers dwelled there in all its glory.

A beautiful jungle, lush and green,

They lived happily together, peaceful and serene.

But there is a tragic end to this story,

Because a curse fell over Besti Bori.

The skinchangers grew ill, a sickness spread,

Those infected became creatures of dread.

Feverish for flesh, a hunger without end,

They feasted on those they once called friend.

The screams were terrible, the carnage gory,

The jungle dripped with blood in Besti Bori.

Those not infected did their best to fight,

But the sickness spread with every bite.

So the cloud was abandoned, survivors fled,

Besti Bori was left for the monsters and dead.

Only one stayed behind to watch over the cloud,

Chief Tunde Tonga, ever loyal and proud.

The Chief was leader, loved his people the most,

Now a single custodian standing lone at his post.

And even though the cloud stank of death and decay,

Amidst monsters and madness, Tunde did stay.

Many years have passed since Besti Bori fell,

Most think Tunde must have fallen as well.

But there are those who claim to still hear his horn,

Blown long and loud each morning at dawn.

Or perhaps the sound is just an infected beast,

One of the abominations left behind to feast.

Only one thing is certain about this tragic story,

Nephos now has a Hell: the cloud of Besti Bori.

Part One

1

Captain Thacker galloped down on his sky-horse and swiftly dismounted on the Naywa coast. His second-in-command, a nymph called Cordyline, was waiting for him and saluted with her one remaining hand.

‘Lieutenant Cordyline,’ said Thacker, marching towards the protesters. ‘Report.’

‘Captain, the skinchangers have been at each other’s throats all morning.’

‘Curers and burners,’ grumbled Thacker. ‘Every bloody year.’

‘There are too many to hold back.’

‘We’ll see about that.’

‘Sir?’

‘Let’s teach them some manners.’

This was the last thing he needed on the day of the monthly Sheriff inspection. It was bad enough that the Maverick felt Besti Bori needed checking each month, as if Thacker and his deputies did not have it under control. It would certainly appear that way if a Sheriff showed up now.

‘Stop this now! Who is –‘

The half who listened pelted him with rubbish – they had come prepared – whilst those already engaged in a scrap continued to fight. Thacker sheltered himself from the barrage and asked again.

‘Who is in charge here?’

‘So now you want to listen,’ said a skinchanger in the form of an elk. The elk pulled away from the panda it had been wrestling – antlers shoving against paws – and turned its full attention to Thacker. The panda did the same. Thacker noticed the other skinchangers quietened to watch these two animals address him.

These two are the leaders, thought Thacker.

‘We have a message for the Maverick,’ continued the elk.

‘Go tell him yourself,’ said Thacker. ‘We’ve got a job to do.’

‘A job?’ the panda cut in with a deep baritone voice. ‘You keep our people trapped in a world of torment.’

Thacker had heard it all before. ‘We serve at the pleasure of the Maverick.’

The elk shook its sharp antlers in disgust. ‘Your inactivity is an extension of his. Why don’t you do something? Cross over to the cloud and get our people back from the jungle.’

So the elk is the curer, noted Thacker. Which means the panda must be –

‘Occupation?’ The panda turned its attention back to the elk. ‘They are beyond saving and you know it. Burn the cloud! Set our people free!’

‘Kill them you mean?’ the elk snapped. ‘You wish to murder them?’

‘We wish to save them!’

‘The only way to save them is to cure them!’

‘Burn them!’

‘Cure them!’

The elk drove its antlers up towards the panda’s midriff. The panda grabbed an antler with each paw and the two stood at a stand-still, shoving back and forth but not getting anywhere, an arm wrestle between two strong and stubborn opponents. Their fellow protesters were incensed by this struggle and charged at each other, a stampede meeting a stampede. It was a mess of men and menagerie, fists and feet, teeth and talons, horns and head butts.

‘Cease this nonsense!’ demanded Thacker over the screams and squawks. He ran in to pull apart the two ringleaders but the elk and panda knocked him back without even sparing him a glance and their tussle continued. Thacker fell on his backside, as did many of his other deputies who tried to stop the brawling. There was little they could do to diffuse the heated fray. Not unless they started notching arrows but who knew where that would end.

But then –

‘Enough!’ boomed a voice like a thunderclap.

Oh great, thought Thacker. Why now?

* * *

Captain Thacker had been having a bad day.

The protesters had grown more and more agitated all morning. A moat of empty sky separated Besti Bori from the Naywa coast but the bickering of the skinchangers still carried across to Thacker and his deputies. He could even hear them up on the Crow’s Nest, the highest of all the cloud stations overlooking Besti Bori.

It was the same every year on the anniversary of Besti Bori’s outbreak, back when the cloud had succumbed to its mysterious infection. The crowds grew bigger, the rhetoric became more passionate and the chanting more intolerable.

Besti Bori was a controversial subject, one which divided the skinchangers into two camps. There were the curers, who fiercely petitioned for the Maverick, the ruler of Nephos, to send in the troops, occupy Besti Bori, restrain the sick creatures and find a cure. Then there were the burners, who knew that all hope was lost and demanded that the cloud be torched, gassed, bombed and generally annihilated, thereby wiping out its population of monsters and setting the former skinchangers free of their torment.

Naturally, the Maverick remained in a difficult position: one group wanted him to risk lives and potentially cause an outbreak of the infection, in order to find a cure that might not exist. The other group wanted him to commit genocide. So instead, the Maverick did neither. Besti Bori remained in a quarantined state of limbo, policed by a dedicated patrol of deputies under Thacker’s command, each armed with a bow and stationed on smaller clouds positioned around Besti Bori like a net.

The deputies’ sole duty was simple – nothing enters or leaves – to ensure the rabid sickness would stay on the cursed cloud. The illness was terrifying when contracted by skinchangers. It messed with their ability so they could no longer change between their human form and their animal form. Instead, their two shapes got merged together into an abominable mixture, which is why the infected skinchangers became known as skinsplicers and, eventually, just splicers. That was why the quarantine was so important. After all, if just one bird flew out of Besti Bori carrying the disease then it could spread across all of Nephos. It was bad enough when contracted by a skinchanger. Imagine what effect it might have on a dragon.

So Thacker watched over Besti Bori with his team of deputies. They had done so since the beginning, five years ago, when the cloud was evacuated. It would stay contained until the Maverick decided how to address the situation. In the meantime, the protesters were just a nuisance.

As always, the deputies around Besti Bori were instructed to ignore the protesters. That was no easy task. The Naywa coast opposite Besti Bori contained the second-largest group of curer and burner protesters in Nephos. The largest gatherings would be at the capital, outside the Wind Chime, where the Maverick lived. Sheriff Zu would have his hands full keeping them in line. Thacker could certainly sympathise.

Skinchangers made for particularly volatile demonstrators, flitting back and forth between their human and animal selves in heats of indignation. They also knew how to make a racket. Their protests were not simply restricted to shouting and chanting. If only! No, these were skinchangers so their objections were reinforced with roaring, trumpeting, barking, mooing and bloody cock-a-doodle-doing. The deputies’ concentration on Besti Bori was put to the test, Thacker included, but they were well-trained and kept their bows focussed on the looming jungle cloud in front of them.

However, once it was clear that the protesters, whether curers or burners, would not get a rise out of the deputies, they began to turn on each other. Whatever animosity the curers and burners felt about the indecision of the Maverick, it was nothing compared to what they felt towards each other. Pro-cure versus pro-burn: both groups adamant they were acting in the best interest of their abandoned brethren. Naturally, the debate between the two groups would always turn vicious.

Listening to protesters was not part of the deputies’ job description but keeping the peace was. Just like the Sheriffs, the deputies ensured the Two Rules were protected, as they had done since the Clown proclaimed the rules almost three hundred years ago.

Therefore, as soon as the protesters started butting horns, in some cases literally, Thacker had to send down whichever deputies were not on duty to keep the peace. It made him anxious. His deputies were archers, not crowd control. They were chosen for precision, for resilience, for their keen eyes. They were not handpicked to break up fights between people, let alone wild animals. Unsurprisingly, his deputies were brushed aside and largely went unnoticed by the scuffling protesters.

Thacker cursed. He couldn’t even fight fire with fire because he had no skinchangers under his command. There were plenty of deputies in Nephos who were skinchangers but none had ever been assigned to Besti Bori. It was thought they would lack impartiality and suffer emotional fatigue when they heard their own kin howling deranged noises from the deep jungle. Instead, the deputies assigned to Besti Bori were largely human, some with the Gift, some without, as well as fairies, nymphs and witches. All had their talents but none were built for pulling apart feuding skinchangers.

Which is why Thacker had ridden down himself, much good that it did anyone. He was pelted with rubbish, mocked by the elk and panda, and barged to the ground. Lying on his back, he told himself that he would deal with this mess. Besti Bori was under his command and he would not tolerate such behaviour. His archers had a more important job to get back to. Thacker leapt to his feet and resolved to get the crowds in order before the inspection.

But it was too late.

‘Enough!’

2

The brawling skinchangers ceased immediately at the sound of the command and all heads turned towards the new arrival. What they saw was a monstrous apparition, silently surveying the disorder laid before it.

Those gathered on the coast firstly beheld the sky-horse, the largest any of them had ever seen, at least five hands taller than any sky-horse tethered on the stations surrounding Besti Bori. He was pitch black, as if perpetually bathed in shadow, even though the sun shone overhead. The horse looked built for war and bore the souvenirs you might expect from relentless conflict. Scars marked his coat, pale lines cutting across the blackness like shooting stars across the night-sky.

His face was uneven. One eye was a white marble with a scar slicing through it like a scythe, whilst the other was a deep glassy black. Both stared vehemently at the crowds before them. His mane was coarse and straggled, sticking up into a mohawk like the plume of a centurion’s helmet. All the while he slavered at the mouth, white spittle coating his snaggle-toothed grinders.

Yet, as terrifying as the sky-horse was, he was nothing compared to his rider which loomed even higher, the like of which the skinchangers had never seen. Thacker had though. This was the Sheriff. Sheriff Baran.

Baran was a minotaur, towering at a height of seven feet, cased in the traditional black and silver armour of the Sheriffs. His armour bore the Maverick insignia, a letter M, emblazoned on the chest plate. Thacker often wondered why the Clown’s descendants changed their title to Maverick rather than continue with Clown. Perhaps the M simply looked better on a chest plate than the letter C. It was certainly more symmetrical.

Baran snorted and climbed down from his nightmarish sky-horse. Thacker knew its name to be Obsidian. They were a good match. Thacker doubted there was another sky-horse in Nephos who could bear the weight of an armoured minotaur, though equally, there would be few riders who could tame such a steed.

As the Sheriff’s boots hit the sand covering the cloud, the skinchangers all took a step back, their former animosity now replaced with a united sense of self-preservation. Baran took his time scrutinising the crowd, moving his horns back and forth as he looked left and right. The sunlight bathed the smooth curves of those horns and glinted on their sharp points. The skinchangers watched those points carefully, nervously flitting back and forth between their animal and human forms.

The Sheriff grunted, a sound which carried across the silent crowd, and returned to his horse. He was retrieving something from his pack. The skinchangers gasped and took a few more steps back when they saw what Baran held. It was a giant morning-star. The thick metal pole was crowned with a ball the size of cannonball. This ball was adorned with three-inch spikes, as sharp as its owner’s horns. Baran strode forward to the crowd, gripping this brutal weapon in both hands.

The entire crowd, both skinchangers and deputies, scrambled to either side to get out of the Sheriff’s way, not caring if they mixed with their own protesters or their rivals. Baran marched straight down the middle and raised the mighty weapon high above his head as if it were no lighter than an axe. The skinchangers trumpeted, howled and oinked in panic.

Thacker knew a Sheriff would never hurt any of them, especially during this time of peace. Instead, Baran sank the spiked morning-star into the sand, where it crashed with a cloud-shaking thud. He then dragged the weapon backwards through the sand. A clear line was drawn between the masses, with both types of protesters and deputies on either side.

The Sheriff stood with one foot planted on either side of the line. His hands rested on top of his morning-star, which stood upright with the business end still lodged in the sand. Baran bellowed his orders.

‘Curers on my left. Burners on my right.’

There was a moment when the skinchangers all looked confused, scared, hesitant, so the Sheriff followed his first command with a much shorter second instruction. ‘Move!’

The protesters scurried in panic, running across to their designated side and then, once that was resolved, dissolving into nervous silence once more.

Baran continued.

‘Nothing crosses this line and that includes your words. Protest all you want but you have nothing to say to each other. Is that understood?’

There was nodding and murmuring. Thacker noted the Sheriff did not ask them to speak up. Why bother? It was clear from their shrivelled stature that they had gotten the message. There would be no more protests today.

Now the Sheriff marched towards Thacker, his juggernaut sky-horse stomping alongside. Thacker swallowed hard but was nonplussed. He had met Sheriffs before, including this one. He would not shrivel so easily.

‘I was handling it,’ said Thacker.

‘Consider it handled,’ said Baran. ‘Let’s begin.’

‘As you wish.’

Thacker reluctantly hoisted himself up onto his horse and the Sheriff mounted his own. Their sky-horses stepped off the edge of the cloud and walked into the sky, climbing towards the Crow’s Nest.

* * *

Riding a sky-horse between clouds was a strange sensation, which still made Thacker uneasy. The creatures essentially walked on thin air. It was not flying – it was barely magic. It was more like a peculiar talent that some creatures developed and less confident creatures did not. If a creature developed the ability to walk across the sky then they were given the prefix ‘sky’, allowing a simple horse to become a sky-horse.

There did seem to be some rules to their mysterious ability. For instance, both clouds that the sky-horse was walking between must always stay in sight during the crossing. Furthermore, their ability to walk on air ceased once they arrived on a cloud, so if that cloud contained a canyon then they would have to look for a bridge like a regular horse. Most worryingly, if the sky-horse suffered an injury from a stray arrow whilst walking between clouds then its concentration would be broken and it would fall through the sky until it landed in the Undercurrent below.

‘You don’t think much of these visits, do you?’ said the Sheriff.

Thacker scowled. ‘Besti Bori has remained in quarantine for five years under my watch. These inspections are demeaning.’

‘Well, I will not dispute that. Let’s get this over with, for both our sakes.’

‘Agreed.’

The Maverick had instigated the quarantine after Besti Bori was evacuated five years ago. He rolled up his sleeves like the Clown did all those many years ago, worked his hands like a maestro and placed a series of small clouds around the cursed jungle cloud to serve as stations.

It was Sheriff Nunki who had established the watch in the days when Besti Bori was being evacuated. He was the best archer in all of Nephos and shot many of the escaping infected creatures himself. Nunki handpicked the first archers, including Captain Thacker, who was left in charge when the initial infected skinchangers had been contained.

Thacker seemed destined for the role considering the Gift he was born with. He had superhuman vision and could focus on minute details across vast distances. It made him an excellent archer and the perfect guardian of Besti Bori once Nunki had left. The only hint of Thacker’s Gift was his irises. He had three rings circling his pupils in each eye: one green, one brown and one gold. They rotated in different directions and at various speeds depending on what he was bringing into focus. Thacker saw everything – and he saw the Sheriffs as an interference.

And now for the usual questions, thought Thacker.

‘Any peculiar activity?’ asked Baran.

‘No, Sheriff. Just the protesters. It is the anniversary of the evacuation. The crowds get a little bigger.’

The Sheriff nodded. ‘They are in the capital too. Are they causing you trouble?’

‘Not directly. But they turned on each other and we had to intervene.’

‘And Besti Bori itself?’

‘As ever. Nothing enters, nothing leaves. A few birds fly by every so often but the deputies shoot them down before they reach the jungle. Nothing ever flies out these days.’

‘So the disease remains quarantined?’

‘Yes,’ said Thacker. ‘I say this every month. We don’t need an inspection and we don’t need a Sheriff.’

Baran nodded sombrely, as their steeds continued to walk skywards. ‘Few do nowadays.’

3

The truth was, Baran shared Thacker’s disdain for these inspections. He was a Sheriff, built for conflict, yet now he was reduced to auditing Besti Bori, delivering motivational campaigns, helping with conservation projects and sometimes babysitting the Maverick’s children.

Baran was restless. It was not that he longed for war but he was born during the Ragozine Rebellion, landing fully-formed and armoured in the midst of battle. His earliest memory was swinging his morning star at incensed Ragozine troops. Baran was built to smash through enemy lines, turn the tide in a battle and leave the opposition shattered.

Yet, there had not been a war for fifteen years, not since they had broken the Ragozine Rebellion. Baran did not desire another war but he did long to feel useful again. It was terrible to feel like a spare part, a tool for a job that no longer needed doing, a trained professional in a field that has expired.

The other Sheriffs seemed to have found their place in the world. Sheriff Zu was policing the capital, walking the streets and upholding the law. Sheriff Denebola was out West, keeping peace between the settlements and turning his mind to whatever curiosities he discovered. Sheriffs Castor and Polly were always happy, trying their hand at everything, locating mischief as only a mischievous pair could. Sheriff Nunki spent more and more time in the Wind Chime with the Maverick’s children, evidently enjoying the babysitting more than the other Sheriffs. Meanwhile, Sheriff Ancha remained on special assignment, whatever that meant.

Baran often wondered whether he should have joined Sheriff Shaula. She was out there roaming the outskirts of Nephos for remnants of Ragozine’s followers, ensuring they kept their rebellious thoughts to themselves now that the Maverick had issued a full pardon. But that would never work. Shaula would not be able to look Baran in the eye after what happened to his predecessor.

* * *

Baran’s inspection would usually take a few days. Fifty-one stations stretched around the circumference of Besti Bori, which had been large enough to accommodate thousands of skinchangers in the days before the infection. Each station was a small cloud manned by two deputies who would rotate every twenty-four hours to the next cloud. This kept them fresh and ensured they didn’t get overly familiar with the view, which might cause them to lower their guard.

The rotation was tried and tested. Two new deputies would head out from the Barracks to start their shift. They would relieve the two deputies stationed at the Crow’s Nest, who would then ride on their sky-horses to Station Alpha. The Alpha deputies would then ride to Beta, Beta to Gamma and so on. This would repeat down all four levels, across all fifty-one cloud stations until they reached Station Z. After this, their fifty-one day shift would be over and they would return to the Barracks for a week of rest.

Baran would therefore start his inspection at the Crow’s Nest, just as the first two deputies were about to rotate. He would then accompany the deputies as they rode over to the next cloud, meet the next two deputies, ride with them to their next cloud and so on. This would allow him to see all fifty-one stations and spend a good amount of time with each pair of deputies whilst they rode between the stations. All told, there was a lot of sky separating the stations so the whole inspection would take three days of continuous riding with the odd break here and there.

Tried and tested, thought Baran sadly. He stifled a yawn.

* * *

Thacker left Baran to his own devices as soon as they reached the Crow’s Nest to their mutual relief. The captain headed straight to the Barracks to ensure the next two deputies were ready to begin their shift, leaving Baran to meet the deputies currently manning the Crow's Nest.

Sheriffs were always met with a mixed reception upon greeting deputies. Some deputies worshipped the Sheriffs, as if they were gods who had dropped out of the sky – half true – whilst others regarded them as an arrogant, dogmatic force who stomped around Nephos like they owned the place. Some deputies were indebted to the Sheriffs for how valiantly they fought in the Ragozine Rebellion but others felt the Sheriffs did not end the war soon enough. There were those who found the Sheriff’s presence inspiring, as was intended, but plenty considered them a distraction, like Thacker, and would rather keep their eyes on the clouds. A few saw the Sheriffs as an extension of the Maverick, for better or worse, but some saw the Sheriffs as a shield between the deputies and the Maverick, again, for better or worse.

Thankfully, the general feeling on Besti Bori was that the Sheriff inspections were simply something to do, a break in routine after weeks of watching an empty sky and a never-changing jungle.

Baran found the two deputies at the Crow’s Nest twiddling their thumbs, as appeared to be the norm around Besti Bori these days. Both were young, barely sixteen, and dressed in red and green outfits. These colours were as synonymous with deputies as black and silver armour was with the Sheriffs. Baran suspected they were new recruits on account of their age.

The girl was on watch, looking down at the green expanse of jungle below them. It was still, as ever. Baran was surprised to see her bow resting idly by her side whilst her hands were preoccupied sharpening a dagger, of all things, on a whetstone. The boy was on a break of sorts, tending to the sky-horses who would soon be required to take the deputies over to Station Alpha. He stroked their muzzles as they busily worked their way through a bucket of apples floating in water.

‘Evening deputies,’ said Baran. The boy jumped up at the Sheriff’s arrival and saluted.

‘Morning Sheriff!’ he licked his lips nervously, as Baran returned the salute.

‘Relax deputy,’ said Baran, dismounting Obsidian. ‘This is just an informal visit.’

‘Of course, sorry Sheriff.’

‘You can call me Baran. What are your names?’

‘I am Kato and my partner is Adaeze.’

The boy gestured towards the girl. She raised her hand in brief acknowledgment then swiftly returned to sharpening her dagger. Her eyes never left the skies.

‘Can I offer you anything?’ said Kato, perhaps hoping to compensate for his partner’s less welcoming manner. ‘They keep us well-stocked here.’

‘Nothing for me, thank you. This is your first day on shift?’

The boy nodded. ‘Yes, we have been here at the Crow’s Nest for the past day. Two new starters will relieve us shortly and then we will begin our rotation, spending a day on each cloud. We will not be back at the Barracks for fifty-one days.’

Baran knew there were fifty-one stations in total. Twenty-six around the lower perimeter of Besti Bori, all of which were designated a letter. Moving upwards, there was a second layer of clouds, level with the treetops. These were numbered one to twenty. Right at the top, looking down on Besti Bori, were four more clouds named Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Omega. And finally, above even these, was the largest cloud, known as the Crow’s Nest. The Crow’s Nest always had two deputies on duty at its edge and it was also where the Barracks were housed. The Barracks were a place for deputies to rest their eyes and replenish their strength once they had completed their shift rotation.

‘How many full rotations have you done?’ asked Baran. ‘I have not seen your faces before.’

‘Just two rotations,’ said Kato. ‘This is our third.’

‘How are you finding Besti Bori?’

‘Quieter than we expected. But we are both archers. There is no better place to prove your ability.’

Baran turned his gaze to the silent girl, sharpening the dagger. ‘Your partner doesn’t say much.’

‘She is very focussed,’ admitted Kato.

‘She is certainly focussed on that dagger of hers.’

‘We keep our hands busy. Some deputies busy their fingers with needle and thread, others have puzzle cubes. Each to their own. It keeps us awake. Otherwise you can drift off staring into the jungle below.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Baran, considering the skies. ‘It has been a while since I was here but the place seems more desolate each time I visit. Perhaps that is a good thing. Are you looked after here?’

‘Yes, each station has a shack and stables, both comfortable and well-stocked.’

The shack contained food, extra arrows and hammocks in case one of the deputies needed to sleep. The stable was for the sky-horses, who had a pretty easy life around Besti Bori, considering they were only needed to walk between stations during rotation.

Baran walked over to the shack. ‘I remember this,’ said the Sheriff, indicating the graffiti on the front of the shack. ‘The tally.’

The graffiti told Baran that it had been quite some time since they had fired at anything other than a bird. The drawings were presumably in chronological order from top to bottom because the lower half of the shed contained only sketches of birds. However, the earlier sketches towards the top of the shed caught Baran’s eye. These were the creatures who tried to flee Besti Bori five years ago and were definitely not birds. The drawings showed many abominations: bats with human heads, men with the jaws of a wolf, children with snouts and trotters. The drawings were crude, drawn by the archers, so it was hard to be sure but Baran suspected the real-life counterparts were even cruder representations of life. Splicers were rudimentary echoes of their former skinchanger selves. Baran had heard the sight of a splicer was enough to break a mind.

‘Not much has been added since I was here a year ago,’ noted Baran.