A cacophony of cries pierced the air as dense as rain from gulls flocking in numbers Lyrua had never seen. The approaching island of Tree Moss was shadowed under the writhing cloud of seabirds who eagerly awaited the Highest Tide.

She was on deck with Lander, while Ove spent time with Athen in their cabin. Xerarch the spellbreaker—the Inquisitor—was off cowering somewhere under the protection of Captain Wolfram, who insisted on keeping him alive. If he was so desperately needed by Wolfram she would stay Lander’s blade for now, but he would answer for his role in bringing that dracolisk into Manataklos when Highest Tide was done.

At a distance on the starboard side, the ships that had been docked at Flow with the Legendarisk rode the wind on taut sails like a unified fleet. Though varied in design, their ability to pierce the growing waves was one they shared, slicing easily through even when they rose over thirty feet high.

The Legendarisk obliterated every crest in its path, caring less for the waves than Athen did ripples in his bath. The other ships sailed wide of the Iron’s wake, lest it cleave a swell in two and capsize them in the deluge. Only Delibera and her whitewood Underbolge dared draw near, her tall silhouette clear on the deck of her ship even from afar. It all gave Lyrua the impression something massive was going to happen, and she realised she was not well acquainted with the details of Highest Tide.

“Lander?” She looked over her shoulder. Lander was idling near the main mast, watching the storm of gulls with his arms crossed.

His eyes brightened with attention as she neared him. “They’re waiting to feast,” he said solemnly.

“Is that normal? The gulls?” She was tense as a cat hearing a strange noise.

“After we feed the Kraken, the bonesaw gulls will gorge themselves on the remains until the sea is clean.” He adjusted his hat to better shade his eyes as he peered above. “Bit unnerving, isn’t it?”

“What about it unnerves you?” she asked. Lander was many things, but never unsettled. Certainly not by birds; he loved birds. “For me, I think it's just… I’ve never seen so many at once.”

“It’s not the number,” he said. “Every bird on the sea who loves to eat will be ready…” He trailed off. Gripping the rigging with both hands, he leaned forward for a better look. “I’m sure the others have noticed it too. The birds are early.”

“What does that mean?”

“I might think it meant the Kraken woke early, but if she had we would not be guessing. The tide patterns aren’t abnormal enough, so something else must have. It’s like the Krakensea is restless.”

She nodded to him, but Lander had a look about him that said he was done with conversation, so she returned to watching over the rails as they came upon Tree Moss. The island was like the stump of a mighty tree, with its port nestled in the crook between the roots. Except the port was already submerged, only marked by the tip of the wharf poking out above the crashing waves. The town peeked over the cliff above the harbour, amid a soaring forest of slanted pines. Even from a distance the creaking of the woods harmonised with the calling gulls.

A sudden movement on the jagged roots of the island drew her attention. A slithering presence crawled along the stone, lashing out with a whip-like tongue to steal gulls that flew too near. It dragged its body, camouflaged in scales like stone, on two powerful arms tipped with powerful claws. Lyrua watched the creature’s body as it moved, following its curves to the sharp tip of its tail. It bore no wings or hind legs. It was a salt lindworm, and when it pushed off the rocks to take to the skies, it did so through sheer force of its will. It gnashed birds from the air as it flew, the gulls not quick enough to avoid its craving.

She watched it vanish amongst the clouds to the south, towards Morgen. “Are those common?” she asked, turning. Ove and Athen were following Wolfram up from below deck..

“Not really,” Lander replied. “But they do come out around Highest Tide looking for gulls. I wouldn’t worry about them.”

“I do not want Athen on deck.” Lyrua said firmly to Ove. “At worst, something odd is going on with these gulls. At best, he gets droppings in his hair. So keep him low.”

Ove nodded, but her eyes were locked on something beyond Lyrua. There was nothing there but ships. Her beak snapped in the wind, and her feathers began sticking up.

“… We may never know what those birds are thinking,” Wolfram responded to something Lander said, oblivious to Ove’s bristling, “but there’s no need to worry this far from the Pillars.”

“Ove?” Lyrua scanned the sea again, but saw nothing she did not expect among the ships. The Underbolge had pulled ahead, but it was quite fast so that was not unusual. She squinted at the distant folk to make out the crews, and for the first time she did notice something.

Of the whole fleet of ships about half looked alike. They were long and thin maple wood and spread no sails. Between the dozen or so of them, she could make out only one person on deck, shrouded in green cloth. They angled towards the Legendarisk.

“Puppet Master Cyprian,” Ove clacked.

“You know Cyprian?” Wolfram cocked his head towards the veering needle-like vessels. The ships glided easily over the waves. “His fleet of Attention Seekers have been unbelievably helpful the last two years, drawing the Kraken’s eyes while we herd the whales.”

“Steer clear of him or there will be trouble,” Ove said, hiding in her feathers. “He will attack.”

Wolfram’s chest pounded with laughter. “Cyprian’s a bastard, but not even he would try that.”

“He might,” Lander adjusted his hat, hesitant to broach topics of Ove’s past. “The details are not mine to say, but those ships of his are barely more than oversized canoes; they don’t even have anchors. With no way for him to stop at Tree Moss, we can wait there until he passes.”

“If the raven has some quarrel with Cyprian, she should fight it out with him, instead of cowering in town like a baby.” The old Iron rolled his shoulders, dislodging flakes of rust from the plates of his armour. “I’m not taking the Legendarisk off course.”

“What will pecking each other solve?” Ove snapped. “A fight could break his ships and then what will you do when the Kraken turns her eyes your way?”

“We would do as we’ve always done, before he joined the Keepers.” Wolfram froze in thought, for a moment the only sign of life in him was the low rumbling in his chest. “It would be inconvenient.”

“Then anchor at Tree Moss!” Ove stirred the air with her wings, letting herself be taken by distress. Her conflict with the Puppet Masters would never resolve if she hid from Cyprian, but if she was afraid to face him Lyrua could not force her. Ove cawed loudly enough that even Wolfram turned his head away.

The heavy man regarded her with a hint of scorn, his arms crossed against his chest. “Don’t you dare think to command me on my ship.” He grumbled over his options for another moment before conceding and ordering his crew to anchor.

For Wolfram’s swashbuckling flock, that meant furling the sails while he directed the ship with his mind. The Legendarisk glided past the sunken harbour, now a playground for schools of fish, and stopped near the root of the island.

“One hour,” Wolfram said. “If that’s not enough, too bad.”

Lyrua scuttled across the deck, clutching her cloak close to break the wind. Peering over the port side, she watched the other ships passing wide of the island. The Attention Seekers were small and long, and became obstructed from view as larger ships passed before them. The cloud of gulls roared like perpetual thunder above.

Wolfram turned his forging gaze on the side of his ship to craft a bridge to the steep rocks. “As long as we’re here, why don’t you make yourselves useful and get some nectar for my crew?” He waved Lander and Ove towards the ramp. “Wasting time makes them thirsty.” His crew buzzed their wings eagerly.

Lyrua was excited to see a new town and get a closer look at the crooked trees, even if it meant a bit of climbing. In Daggry proper, only the Crooked Kingdom had trees that slanted that way. But then, everything was slanted in the Crooked Kingdom. She was only worried about taking Athen up the rocks. They would need to climb over slick outcrops to reach the part of the path that was not yet drowned.

Ove regarded Lyrua with her deep black eyes as she rummaged in her cloak, as if reading her to discover what she needed. Arm over arm she tugged a long parasol free. Lyrua took it from her gratefully and opened it. It was wide enough to share with Athen if he kept close, and she was relieved not to worry about their cloaks getting dropped on. Preferring to clean his head over his hat, Lander reluctantly removed his tricorne and left it with Ove for safekeeping.

Wolfram grunted disapprovingly as Ove tucked the hat away, but he offered no complaint. He stood stoically watching them as they departed, Lyrua holding the parasol above her son’s head, and Lander holding himself high to counterpoise his naked head. She was not sure where Ove had gone.

At the end of the ramp she put her foot carefully on the damp stone to test its slickness. It was not as treacherous as she expected. She helped Athen down next.

“Don’t step on the black stone unless you want to swim,” Lander warned.

Lyrua nodded, gazing along the side of the great stone root of the island where the stone turned dark. She stepped lightly and deliberately as she led Athen across the rocks, avoiding the darker stone by Lander’s direction. Athen held his hands out as she guided him until the rocks descended sharply towards a snaking stairway sculpted from the rock towards the town above.

Lander slid down to the stairs and spared a moment to watch the tongues of brine lapping up the steps. “Come on, lad.”He held up his hands to catch Athen as he slid down, and then did the same for Lyrua.

She leaned down carefully to peer into the water, searching for the sunken harbour she knew was against the cliffs, then winced as spray splashed across her face and filled her immediately with regret. The trek up the stone-step path tired her legs, but soon they could see Tree Moss before them, framed by irregular trees that stuck out of the ground in odd directions. Their sparse branches were thick with cones and stiff needles as long as spears. Thick furry moss hung on the trunks and branches like tattered cloaks. Ever playful and excited, Athen picked up a fallen pine-spear to play with.

Slant-roofed warehouses squatted along the cliffs, filled with bundles of pine wood planks and pine-spears. The planks were being carted in from the mill deeper in the woods, whose whirring saws cut the screeching of gulls overhead. Every structure had a slanted roof and moss-covered wood. None had any indication of what they were, and the moss draped over them made it difficult to tell one from the next.

All the folk Lyrua saw were mossfolk; a sort of twiggy treefolk whose bodies were covered in downy moss. Their eyes were dark and hollow, expressionless holes in otherwise soft faces. They all dressed alike, in blue linen cloaks segmented vertically with pine-spears. Clipped shut in the front, they bent into a rounded bell-bottom beneath the knees. Unclipped, the pine-spears knocked together so folk who wore the cloaks open rattled as they meandered by.

A brawny rustox stomped past, dragging a wagon of wood, whipping his neck around to dislodge flies. Its iron horns, thicker than Lyrua’s head, were well rusted with age, though she did not believe age to be the reason for its lethargic pace. No one in Tree Moss hurried. They each went about their day as if it would never end. Despite being a sort of florafolk, they were not at all like Fourstaile who was often so impatient she relaxed in a hurry.

Athen suddenly tugged her arm vigorously. “I want to go this way.” He insisted. She sighed, but without knowing where to find nectar, she let him lead her.

“What is this way?” she asked him.

“The air is pulling,” he said, stepping up to a door. “Like when Cyan was watching us.” Her heart skipped at the Provident’s name, but before she could stop him he brazenly knocked.