When Jiro planted his feet on solid ground, it was as if he had found peace again. Five days in the water had caused him to miss the soil, and though he now wore boots, he relished the feel of the unmoving floor beneath him.

Jiro stood on the docks of Kata's water port. The harbor sat at the foot of a tepui, where the holy city of the sun rested atop.

Kata was the oldest and one of the largest settlements in Daracka, lying in the mainland of Kimara. It was one of the southern cities influenced by the cultures of the kingdoms across the Southern Sea.

From where Jiro stood, he could see the part of the mountain's facade where a massive structure made of metal hung from cliff to foot. It leaned on the face of the tepui, crawling upwards like a tower.

Jiro walked toward the structure, keeping his gaze on it. He entered a small trading market near the docks.

When he cleared a line of stalls, he came to the base of the tepui, where a metal crate, large enough to carry twenty people, waited. Its top was connected to chains that looped within the towering structure. It was a machine—a hoist.

Alongside the metal crate was a massive wheel with a mechanism of collected gears. Two full-grown nyxes growled within the ring.

Jiro had heard of hoists before. There was none in Aradack, but in other parts of Daracka where cities were built on top of tepuis, people who couldn't fly used hoists to travel up and down the table-top mountains. They were called sky ports.

Jiro took a long moment to take in the view, uncomprehending how it was possible to build such a structure. When he left Aradack, he had planned to travel straight to Kimracka to find the soldier for the Kahani, but seeing this now, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to experience something new. Fixing his salakot on his head, he moved to the crate where people gathered waiting.

"All aboard the hoist! Don't forget to pay!" a man by the wheel shouted. White lines crawled over the dark skin of his bare arms and on his cheeks—tattoos distinct for a Katan adult.

The people around Jiro started to enter the crate, and he approached the shouting man. "How much?" he asked.

The man with white striped tattoos looked at Jiro and squinted at his silver eyes. "Just a tee," he said.

Jiro hid his face under the wide brim of his hat and tossed the man a copper coin before turning and joining the rest of the passengers.

Those around him carried boxes, sacks, and items of baggage. He was the only one who brought nothing more but his rattan bag. They wore different attires, mostly tunics in dirty white, but some wore more colorful garments—vests, skirts, trousers, and bandanas. None, but Jiro wore a zarok fabric. But despite this, none of them had given him a second glance.

Jiro entered the crate, following the gathered people. The man who collected the fares whipped at the nyxes inside the wheel. The beasts growled and moved, turning the massive metal ring. As the gears groaned and the chains screeched, the hoist lifted, and they rose beyond the tops of the trees where the view of the waters of the strait spread wide on the horizon.

The hot and humid breeze enveloped Jiro, causing him to sweat on his back and under his armpits. The weather in the south was warmer than in Aradack, and in this summer heat, it was almost unbearable, something he had not expected.

When the crate neared the top, the spires of a white tower loomed in the sky. The walls of white houses emerged, and the face of the untinted white wood barrier that surrounded the city, following the curve of the edged cliffs, appeared. Jiro had never seen anything like it before. Everything was bright.

The crate rattled to a stop, and the passengers unboarded. Some of them, like Jiro, drank up the view of the city while some kept their eyes forward to the open gates.

Magnificent, Jiro thought as he entered Kata.

The houses followed the facade of the mountain, each one built on either higher or lower ground. At the center of the city stood a temple with tall pillars, its walls white as pearls. The territories of Kata, surrounding the mountain, were known for producing white wood, the 'puting kahoy'. And so all of the city itself was made from those radiant trees as if everything glowed under the light of the hot sun.

Jiro knew little of Kata's history. It had been a city of worship—a city of the forgotten god of the sun. The Katan were children of the sun. But like the Aradacko, the Katan's religion was dying, replaced by the faith of the modern age—the practice of worshipping the old kings of the old kingdom.

Inside the gates emerged a populated market of various trades—foreign fruits and vegetables, contraptions, metals, wood carvings, and even silk, a product known only to come from Suluna.

Jiro touched a bright red cloth that hung on a stall, feeling its delicate softness on his skin.

Mama would have liked this.

"Hoy!" the merchant of the stall called to him. "Don't touch the silk if you're not buying."

Immediately, Jiro let go and moved on to another stall where he bought some dried herring, getting enough to last his journey to Kimracka. Then he went around some more, observing the culture of the city.

Unlike the Aradacko, the Katan tattooed their skin with white ink. They wore them in swirls, long dashes, or sharp lines on their bodies and faces. Amazed, Jiro passed by many of them, but he tried not to stare.

He walked around, killing half a day, and soon the late afternoon came. He wandered into a corner of the city with a thinner population, coming into a more quiet side of Kata. It was almost sunset when he turned into an empty street where the road grew narrow into an alley.

When he saw nothing in the alleyway but a pile of crates tossed on the side of the road and a high heap of lumber pushed up against a wall, he opted to turn back. But before he could, someone walked into the path.

At first, Jiro thought his eyes had made a mistake, but he blinked into the dimness. Standing before him was Mariko, wearing faded trousers and a zarok vest closed at the front. Her salakot was off her head, hanging behind her from a tie looped over her neck. Her face was exposed. Pins pulled her short hair away from her forehead, and her silver eyes glared at him.

"Mariko?" Jiro said. He sounded surprised. How had she reached Kata the same day he had?

"You should have stayed in Aradack," Mariko said. A strain pulled on her face and neck, tension coiling over her voice.

"I changed my mind," Jiro answered.

"You shouldn't have come. You should have stayed back on the island where you were safe. Go home, Jiro," Mariko ordered.

"I can't," Jiro said. "I'm not going back to Aradack." It was too painful for him to be home. Mariko didn't understand how he felt. No one did.

"I warned you," Mariko snarled, baring her teeth. Her hand moved to the turquoise hilt of her kampit. She pulled it from its sheath and pointed its sharp end at Jiro.

"What are you doing?" Jiro asked, confused, keeping his eyes on the blade. The threat rooted him to his spot, where he could not run.

"If you won't go back home," Mariko answered, "then I'll have to end you." She surged forward, jabbing the knife at him.

Jiro took a clumsy step backward. The tip of the blade glided in front of him, barely missing his chest. He stumbled and fell to the floor on his bottom. His heart hammered as a bead of sweat rolled down from his forehead.

Run! Fly! He urged himself but only managed to crawl, backing away from her. When he stood up, Mariko jabbed at him again, but Jiro caught her wrist. He stopped the knife from plunging into his chest, arm shaking against Mariko's opposing force. If he let go, the blade would sink into him.

They both grunted, and Jiro kicked. His boot landed on her gut with enough strength to push her back. Then he lunged for her, trying to catch the knife in her hand, but he got hold of her waist instead. He shoved her back, driving her into the stack of lumber. The disturbed heap crumbled and fell.

A heavy log hit Mariko on the back of her head, and Jiro jumped back before the collapse could take him too. Wood crashed to the ground, engulfing Mariko as Jiro backed away with arms raised to protect himself.

When things settled, he blinked the dust and wood shards from his eyes and found Mariko unconscious on the floor under the pile.

Jiro trembled. Did I kill her?

He reached out to help her. But before he could touch her, she stirred and murmured in pain. He pulled his hand back and gathered himself to stand.

"What's going on here?" Someone had called at the end of the alleyway. "Hoy! What happened?"

Jiro didn't even turn to look. His legs created a Lift, and he kicked himself off the ground. He flew out of Kata, and again he was running away, but this time it wasn't his mother's memory that pursued him.

Mariko tried to kill me.

.