Kauri & Puff

His feet press into the earth, and he lets his toes sink into the humus. Waving his shepherd’s staff, he guides his dogs with whistles, clicks of the tongue, or hoots to direct the flock. Then he lies back in the grass and watches the clouds drift above the Screed, just as he used to when they were still home, in Asgartha. But unlike the Shards, here he feels none of the constant tremors that shook the floating isles. The ground is silent. He can let his vigilance melt away and listen to the tinkling of bells, along with the occasional bleat of his beasts. He doesn’t have to stay on edge, doesn’t have to constantly scan for the first hints of a seismic jolt. And that is the paradox: they are deep within the Tumult, and Kauri had expected danger to lurk everywhere. He had heard all the stories of explorers’ mishaps and tragedies, but he himself had been spared from real threats. Perhaps too much so—for lately, boredom had been his fiercest enemy.

Those first months had been hard. Along with a handful of other children, he had been confined inside the Ouroboros for what felt like forever. It was a cramped cell, a narrow world. True, sometimes they were allowed on deck, if the weather was good and the admiralty permitted it, but otherwise they were trapped in their metal prison. So they took refuge in the greenhouse to play. Still, it wasn’t the same—he longed desperately for open air, for solid earth under his feet. Months locked away facing winter, enclosed and isolated… The other children were just as lost and bewildered. Each of them had been granted special permission to accompany the Expeditionary Corps, because at least one parent possessed expertise deemed irreplaceable. For Kauri, it wasn’t his father, a lifelong shepherd, but his mother, whose mastery of hydrosystems and water sciences had been judged absolutely vital to the enterprise. In the end, the three of them had been lucky in their misfortune…

Living in Vanderun meant hearing a constant low rumble, like some beast growling in the distance, or thunder far off on the horizon. Sometimes the ground quivered beneath them. That was why everything in the houses was arranged accordingly: straps, ledges, fastenings… If you wanted to keep your crockery intact, you needed discipline—put everything away immediately, never procrastinate. Leave things lying about, and the first tremor would smash them to the floor. Even in the cramped, shadowed kitchen of their cottage, they ate on a hollowed wooden table, with recessed slots for cups and plates so they couldn’t tip or spill at the slightest lurch. That was why the trays aboard the Ouroboros hadn’t surprised him all that much—the flying city shook with the same vibrations, especially when it was on the move.

The southern part of Enosha was far from the calmest corner of Asgartha. True, people liked to say it was worse on the barren isle of Suspira, though he had never been there, and postcards of hanging pastures could be misleading. In reality, life on the Shards was rough. Every day, aside from the tremors, you had to deal with the whims of fractured ground. The shifting of one block against another sometimes made it impossible to cross between them for days, even weeks, the gap too wide for the rope bridges or folding wooden spans. Kauri never went out without his grappling hook, just in case.

There were also the explosions, small or massive, when veins of aerolith—exposed by the endless grinding of rocks—suddenly ignited. That triggered collapses or landslides, sometimes for miles around. That’s why every building was made of flexible materials, wood and straw, far easier to repair or rebuild. And then there were the true earthquakes, the big ones, when the major Shards collided. The shockwave rippled out, sometimes tearing up trees, especially if it was compounded by an explosion or chain reaction. In the end, the key was to watch the animals. They knew, minutes in advance. They always did.

But the worst part was surely the loneliness. All the farmsteads were scattered, often miles apart. To reach school, he had to walk nearly an hour, leaving the road to follow the stream. Mornings were an easy pastoral descent to the hamlet, but the return climb each afternoon was always grueling. And once back home, after homework, came the chores: tending the barn, fetching wood… a whole cycle of endless, time-consuming tasks. Only when they were done did he have free time. That’s when Kauri would find Arib, Fania, and Tadeu for their second, truant “school.” But in the long winter months, he spent every evening with only his parents for company. In the heart of Caer Esvander, far from Hadera or any city, adrift in the floating peninsula… they might as well have been in the middle of nowhere.

Kauri’s mother, meanwhile, was constantly on the move. On flying isles, water—its collection and distribution—was critical, especially as the landscape could change completely over the years. That was why farmers and communities called on her: to redirect streams, manage reserves, prepare for shortages. Until then, she had always preferred Kauri stay with his father, to help on the farm, but she had promised to take him along when he was older. He didn’t mind too much, though he was curious about what lay beyond the neighboring valleys… He had tended their herds ever since his father’s knee gave out, and the beasts loved him for it. Glyptoyaks were never skittish, but he could tell each apart at a glance. He knew their names, their quirks: Peke the timid, Huka the diva, Kareti the cuddler…

Every year he handled their transhumance, driving them to the high plateau. The journey took weeks, just him, his dogs, and the herd. There was something intoxicating, almost initiatory about it: the careful preparations, making sure nothing was forgotten; the trek itself, demanding, sometimes along cliffsides; and of course the rest at the top, above the clouds, close to the sky. It was there that she came to him one night, under the stars. The fire was crackling low, dying down. He had been daydreaming, wrapped in his blanket. And then he saw her—an Eidolon, seated on a log, watching him. She told him her name was Niavhe. Of course he knew her; he had heard her story many times at school. And for reasons he couldn’t fathom, she chose to remain with him for the duration of the retreat.

She spoke at length of the Katkera, of its rich fauna and flora. She shared with him the fragile, wondrous balance that held the web of life together—from its primal interactions to the role of the Muna. She showed him how to commune with animals and plants through the Skein’s little veins, without words. She even entrusted him with her secret, after making him promise never to tell another soul. Year after year, during the summer drives, she continued to train him, until the desire to become a Muna himself grew irresistible. When Kauri told his parents, they were troubled. There was no question of him leaving for Kirighai—they couldn’t manage the farm without him. Instead, they asked the village Alterer to summon Eru, who came three times a week to teach their son.

And so the spark of the Skein kept growing within him, instead of fading. Niavhe had already confessed that his gift was strong, that he was a budding Sprout in the web, and it would be a shame to let him wither. No one truly knew why or how the Skein awakened in some and not others. Perhaps it was like seeds, needing just the right mix of conditions to bloom? Kauri had been given that gift, and it was up to him to choose what to do with it. For him, the choice had been obvious: he had always been close to animals. To speak with them was an opportunity he could never give up. Still, though he had accepted his calling early, he had never imagined leaving Vanderun. There was already plenty to do nearby, with the constant threats from lynxes, mountain lions, or highland raptors… The local communities needed a Muna’s protection.

The glyptoyaks suddenly raised their heads, and an alarm rang through the Skein. Before the first tremors shook the pastures, they were already twitching in panic inside their pen. Kauri’s eyes turned to the northwest. He freed the herd, letting them scatter south, toward the isle’s center. Then he rushed into the house to warn his father and help him outside. He rang the bells ten times, to alert the other valley dwellers that a quake was imminent. When the shock hit their Shard, Kauri and his father were thrown to the ground by the impact. Protecting each other, unable to rise against the violence of the earth’s convulsions, they watched in horror as a fissure tore open. It slashed across the mountainside, carving through the grassy slopes. Their homestead cracked down the middle… Then the whole section collapsed, tipping toward the Underdeep, breaking apart as it fell…

In the end, the authorities declared the entire zone unstable and uninhabitable. Many families were forced to relocate, sometimes in a rush. And even though the Province provided funds to rebuild elsewhere, something essential had been lost. Their bond was to the place, and to the people who lived there. Tadeu was the first to leave, heading for Svarograd. Then Fania and her family, resolved to try their luck in the city. The scattering of the community, each family split to whatever land was left, was a wrenching uprooting. It was during their relocation paperwork that their file fell into the hands of a recruiter for the Rediscovery Endeavor. His mother’s rare expertise was in high demand to manage the Ouroboros’s water reserves and supply the ground troops.

And that was how he found himself here, beneath unfamiliar skies. Yet when he looked up, they were nearly the same color as at home. The frantic bleat of a lamb jolted him from his thoughts, and he hurried to the fence where it had gotten stuck. With patience and care, Kauri freed its leg from the snarl of rope and smiled as it bounded back to its mother, bleating its misadventure, its cottony cloud-fleece rippling like pure spun sugar. He greeted the other ewes, still unbothered, before freezing, sensing a presence behind him. He turned to see a massive ram glaring at him. Had it been watching all along, to ensure he didn’t mistreat its little charge? The beast turned away, tossing its horns with a haughty air, and Kauri allowed himself to sigh. Strange—no one but him seemed to realize the creature was in fact a Chimera, parading in ovine form…