The sea was rough all the way to the floating cities. At first, drinking less seed and silk, Djola’s mind got more muddled. He lost days, weeks to shakes and delirium. One morning, clouds dissolved to clear blue sky, clear blue sea. Orca and Vandana joined him in the rigging. He’d spent the night, staring at black sky, black water, slowing his heart when it raced. He let it pound now.

A mountain range broke the seam between sea and sky, like the ridged back of a half-submerged beast. The floating cities were strewn around this island-beast in concentric circles. A beautiful sight. Coral reefs provided protection from storms, high waves, and enemy vessels. Pezarrat’s ships crawled in shallow waters. The floating-city peace patrol—fast, well-armed boats—escorted them to harbor, setting an excruciating pace. Cottony clouds fluttered around library towers at the mountain’s peak. Djola’s heart fluttered as he took a deep breath. If Samina and the children were dead, high priest Ernold, Money, and Water would have made a spectacle of their bodies. Djola broke into a smile and climbed down the ropes.

Orca and Vandana followed. “What? What?”

“My family still lives!” He waved at stern faces on the peace patrol, thrilled.

“Another letter came?” Orca took Djola’s arm.

“No,” Djola said. “But no terror-tales means they’re alive.” He would have realized this sooner if he hadn’t been addled.

This morning, no drug stupor, no useless regret or rage. His family was under house arrest. Soon, he’d free them. Floating-city wise men would help solve the void-storm and poison desert mystery. Last time, he’d been addled, unprepared. Today he had detailed reports and maps. Librarians would know what book or griot to consult for Xhalan Xhala and they’d arrange an audience with Urzula.

Azizi’s pirate queen was more powerful than anybody at the stone-wood table. She’d help rescue Samina and the children from mortal danger. “The last months were difficult. Today the weather changes.” He hugged Vandana and Orca and kissed their cheeks. Orca took out a blade and shaved Djola’s scruffy beard. He rubbed the stubble with pumice stones and massaged perfumed oil into smooth skin.

“Lahesh call this mountain Yidohwedo”—Vandana pointed at the peak—“after the rainbow serpent who made the world from dung and water and taught the Lahesh to weave light and fold space.”

“I see the rainbow.” Orca clutched Djola. “Two rainbows.”

Docking twenty-one boats took forever. Orca danced around the deck in fancy pants and tunic made from Lahesh flame cloth, a gift from Vandana. His mouth hung open as they approached a bamboo walkway circling the cities. Triangular towers anchored the walkway and marked the hours on sundials inlaid with crystals.

“Rainbow gods in the crystals are tricksters,” Orca said. “We should step lightly.” Sweetgrass bridges connected inner and outer walkways and swayed in the wind. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”