The Cloud Roost (Jekua Book 5), page 19
“It doesn’t even look cool,” Wasaaru complained, tapping his finger on the drawing. “It just looks like a normal bird.”
That was true. The Simmerthrush outwardly looked like a typical bird, only standing half a foot tall on skinny legs with a short, pointed beak. Their coloring was pretty, though, with a majority of their feathers being a vibrant orange. Black streaks ran up and down their backs and around their necks, and there were black speckles on their chests.
Balt said, “Not everything can be some big, wild creature. What happened to strategy and shit being the most important thing? Who cares if it looks all monsterly and cool or not?”
“But it’s still not even a good Jekua,” Wasaaru argued. He pointed at the admittedly short list of common abilities written in the bestiary. Probably its most powerful attack was the same Featherdance ability that basically every bird Jekua could do, so there wasn’t much to differentiate it from most other Wind-Types. “You won’t be winning any tournaments with this thing, I can tell you that much.”
“That’s fine,” Balt groaned, exasperated. All of a sudden he was reminded of that conversation he had so long ago, near the beginning of this journey, when he lost his battle against the Wind-Type Summoner named Kori. The man had told him he needed to relax and have fun with his Jekuas, that everything didn’t need to be so serious all the time. Was this what he was like back then? That was so annoying. And embarrassing. He said, “Can’t we just have a fun afternoon imprinting a Jekua for the sake of it?”
Wasaaru gave him a look like he was crazy for suggesting such a thing, but said, “Sure, let’s go.”
On their way out of the house, they asked Niona if she wanted to accompany them, but she declined saying she had some other stuff she needed to do. Balt had no idea what it was, but that was alright. Even if Wasaaru was kind of annoying him, he was actually somewhat excited to spend an afternoon with his cousin. They also passed by Wasaaru’s grandmother, who asked if they had any dinner requests. Balt didn’t really care, but Wasaaru asked if she could cook up a good stir fry. Now that he mentioned it, that did sound pretty tasty. Mrs. Jonwo said it would be no problem, so now they had that to look forward to upon their return.
The duo stepped out of the house and headed in a generally northwesterly direction, toward the edge of town. While Vettenestiq Forest proper didn’t quite reach this far north, there were random patches of trees all over the island, and that would be where they could find some Simmerthrushes. Hopefully, anyway.
As they walked, they gabbed about nothing in particular. At one point, Balt brought up the new Zawé album he’d learned about that morning, but Wasaaru wasn’t a fan of her. That was what nearly forced Balt over the edge to slap his cousin, but he restrained himself. He wanted to know what music Wasaaru did like nowadays, if the beautiful and talented Zawé wasn’t good enough for him. Aside from Tarrick Yon who, in Balt’s opinion, should be called Tarrick Yawn because his shit was so boring.
When he made that joke out loud (having to explain the spelling difference), Wasaaru huffed and told him that he simply couldn’t appreciate nuance and depth. “No wonder you prefer Zawé,” he said.
“Pop music is high art,” Balt said. “Let’s not disparage the genre just because you don’t understand it.”
“High art my ass. It offers nothing of artistic value to the world at large.”
That made Balt laugh. It was such a ridiculous statement, he couldn’t even be mad at it. “You sound like a jackass,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? Defend it, then. Let’s hear it.”
“You’re just making the same exact argument as you were with the Jekuas,” said Balt. “To you, if something isn’t super deep and emotional then it’s not worth a shit. It’s so reductive.”
“Yeah, of course. Art is supposed to make you feel something. Good art is, anyway.”
Balt said, “But Zawé and Basker Owens and so many other artists do make me feel something! Their catchy melodies and fun instrumentals make me feel happy. They’re fun. That’s really what it boils down to for music with me: I wanna have fun singin’ along to it. There’s value in that.”
“Tarrick Yon’s music has good melodies too,” said Wasaaru. “And the instrumentation is gorgeous.”
“Sure, but his stuff is so depressing. So, so depressing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve listened to one or two of his albums and they’re, like, technically good. He’s not bad at all. But they also made me feel like shit listening to them. He has an entire album that’s solely about his parents’ divorce.”
“Beautiful album. One of his best.”
“Yeah, it was good! Sure! On a lyrical and musical level, it was great. But man, that was the saddest shit I’ve ever heard! I don’t understand how a person could listen to that album more than one time without wanting to hang themselves by the end of it because it’s so depressing.”
Wasaaru chuckled. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“But not untrue.” Balt could confidently claim that nothing Zawé ever did made him want to hang himself. Not a high bar to clear, he thought. “Look, I’m not gonna try to argue that the music Zawé makes is anything groundbreaking or super deep or whatever. But it’s fun to sing and it makes me feel good. I think bringing something into the world that has no other purpose than to make people feel good definitely has value, artistic or otherwise.”
“Fine, alright,” Wasaaru conceded. “I get your point. I still think Tarrick is better, though.”
“I feel so sorry for you,” said Balt. “Please reach out to me if you listen to that divorce album again and start to have dark thoughts.”
Wasaaru laughed at that. They talked more about the recent albums and movies they’d enjoyed, catching up on how each other’s interests had developed over the past several years. Their tastes had evolved a bit since they’d last spoken at length, but it was easy for Balt to understand the things Wasaaru said he liked. They tracked with the younger version of his cousin he knew. He wondered if Wasaaru felt the same way about him, or if he had grown into an unrecognizable new version of himself.
Soon they were officially outside of Sonosoik, and they could see the patch of trees in the distance on the other side of the road. Trucks rattled down the road, blasting music that neither of the boys enjoyed, and they waited to cross. Once the opportunity came, they darted across the expanse then slowed their pace to approach the trees. To their left, they could easily spy the Vetteteo Mountains reaching skyward. The tallest peaks were subsumed by white clouds that drifted lazily across the sky, hiding Sawarestao away.
“Hey, if the Simmerthrush isn’t a cool enough bird for you, at least we’ll be imprinting Sawarestao soon,” Balt joked.
They ventured past the tree line, with dry fallen leaves crunching underfoot as they sought out a Simmerthrush. Neither of them spoke, not wanting to scare off the birds, but their loud footsteps gave them away regardless of their efforts.
Wasaaru asked, “Can your Mitsip deafen?”
That was a good idea, one that Balt should have thought of. They could use a Sonic-Type Jekua to eliminate the soundwaves in the area so that the Simmerthrushes wouldn’t hear them approaching.
“Uh…maybe,” he answered, “I don’t know. But if so, I don’t know how to do it.”
“Damn.”
“What about your Koutix?” Balt asked. Wasaaru’s bipedal beetle was a much stronger Sonic-Type than Clacker, and he was also more skilled with it.
But Wasaaru shook his head. “Koutixes can’t do that,” he replied. “Not naturally, anyway, and I haven’t really tried to force it yet.”
Oh well. They would just have to hope that Simmerthrushes didn’t frighten easily.
They continued walking, scanning the ground for any signs of the tiny birds. Balt spotted what appeared to be a Simmerthrush nest, which looked like a misshapen bowl constructed of twigs. Part of it was snapped off, though, and there were also blue shards of broken egg shell scattered around it. Not the prettiest scene to stumble upon.
“What do you think happened there?” he asked, pointing at the nest.
“Something else got to them,” said Wasaaru.
“No shit. I meant what do you think it was?”
His cousin shrugged. “Some kind of snake, maybe?”
Balt blinked. “You think there are snakes out here?”
“We’re in the middle of the woods. Yes, I think there are snakes out here.”
After that, Balt began looking out for sneaking snakes in addition to Simmerthrushes.
A few minutes later, they stumbled upon something else that Balt hadn’t been expecting. He pointed through the trees and asked Wasaaru, “Did you know these were out here?”
Wasaaru followed his finger and said, “Nope. I’ve never come out here.”
What Balt was pointing at was a pair of green crystal spires, similar to the ones he and Niona had practiced their mud-and-fire technique on when they were on Yuluhu. It had been difficult training to fight against crystal Jekuas without any actual crystals to lay into, but as Balt looked more closely, he could see more of the spires hidden amongst the trees. He made note of that and would suggest that the three of them go out there tomorrow to train.
Nearly an hour went by without any discoveries aside from the spires. Multiple times Wasaaru whined that they should go back home and quit wasting the afternoon, but Balt ignored him and kept looking. Even if they weren’t finding anything, the act of Jekua hunting in itself was fun to him. That was half of what being a Summoner was all about, after all. Why not take pleasure in it?
But eventually they did find another Simmerthrush nest, and this one was intact, with five tiny blue eggs resting peacefully inside. The mother was nowhere to be seen, however—until Wasaaru knelt down beside the nest.
And then suddenly he was pelted by a flaming object the size of Balt’s fist, which he quickly realized was the Simmerthrush itself. Upon hearing them, it had retreated into the branches above, and when it seemed like Wasaaru was encroaching on its eggs it lit up its body in flames and assaulted him. He wasn’t seriously hurt, but there was a scorch mark on the back of his shirt and he stumbled away from the nest cursing at the Jekua. Balt couldn’t stop laughing.
He looked up and, sure enough, he saw the little orange-and-black bird sitting high on a branch, starkly contrasting with the green leaves and blue sky behind it. Balt pointed at the Jekua, and Wasaaru eyed it as well.
“Little bastard,” he muttered bitterly.
“She was just protecting her babies,” Balt said. “Don’t be mad just ’cause the ‘useless’ Jekua got the upper hand on you.”
“It ruined my shirt,” said Wasaaru.
“It’s an ugly shirt anyway.”
Wasaaru’s response was expletive-filled, but Balt ignored him and loaded a blank memory card into his kayet. Simmerthrushes were relatively weak and small Jekuas, so all he needed was an L1 card. He could save his two L2s and two L3s for the nasty beasts they would certainly encounter in the mountains.
He then began the imprinting spell, watching his soulclay rise out of the kayet and drift upward toward the Simmerthrush sitting among the leaves. Before his soulclay was even halfway there, the bird started hopping further down the branch. Balt adjusted the trajectory of his magic, but the Simmerthrush continued moving, eventually flying to a higher branch and settling in there. It was still within reach of his soulclay, but the bird simply relocated to other branches every time Balt grew close.
“Looks like it got the upper hand on you, too,” Wasaaru chuckled as Balt ceased the spell.
“At least she didn’t destroy my property in the process.”
Balt momentarily pondered how he could calm the Simmerthrush down long enough for him to complete the imprinting spell. Their grandmother had kindly left a note in the bestiary about how Simmerthrushes seemed to love singing songs to each other, particularly during mating season.
“We might be able to calm her down or distract her or something if we play some music,” Balt said.
“Like what?”
“I dunno. I’m not sure what genre of music Simmerthrushes enjoy.”
Wasaaru chuckled. “My guess would be that we should pull up some audio of another Simmerthrush singing.”
“We could,” said Balt, “or we could put our music to the test. Let the Simmerthrush decide who’s the better artist, Zawé or Tarrick.”
Once more, his cousin looked at him like he was a crazy person, but this time Balt couldn’t really blame him. He said, “Are you serious?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because it’s a stupid idea and it might scare her away completely,” said Wasaaru.
Balt crossed his arms, thinking a moment. Then he said, “I don’t think she’ll abandon the nest, but also even if she does, who cares? It’ll be fun.”
Wasaaru considered his proposal. “I really don’t think it’s a smart move,” he said.
“You’re just worried that the bird’s gonna hate your shitty music,” Balt smirked. “I can see right through you.”
That riled him up, just as Balt knew it would. “Alright,” Wasaaru said with a scowl, taking out his linkpad. “You’re on. Another rule, though: you can only try to imprint it while your music is playing. You don’t get to coast on my tunes.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m goin’ first, though.” Balt took out his linkpad and pulled up a stream of Simmer by Zawé, which was one of her most popular songs to date, in addition to being one of the best songs in her discography. Plus, its title was thematically appropriate. There was no way the Simmerthrush wouldn’t like it.
He pressed play.
Nothing happened for a second, and he realized his speakers were on mute. He bumped the volume up while Wasaaru stifled a laugh, and the glorious sounds of Zawé filled the woods.
Balt cast a quick glance at the Simmerthrush to gauge her reaction. She sat idly, tilting her head at the new, unfamiliar noises coming from below. Not a negative reaction, which was great, in Balt’s book.
Next, he started casting the imprinting spell again. His soulclay reached for the Simmerthrush, who had positioned herself on one of the lower branches by the end of their previous chase. He hesitated a moment, letting the soulclay hang in the air, as he watched the bird continue tilting her head from side to side. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was enjoying the music.
Here we go, he thought, edging his soulclay closer.
That was when the chorus kicked in and the beat dropped.
Zawé was belting out those heavy-hitting vocals of hers while the drums went into overdrive, accompanied by glitchy sound effects throughout the rest of the beat. The Simmerthrush’s reverie was broken and she conjured her fiery wings to carry her away from Balt’s soulclay.
“Dammit,” he whispered, giving chase once again, but she was too small and fast for him to catch her. Wasaaru was laughing at him all the while, and Balt had to admit defeat when the song ended.
“Now who looks like a jackass?” Wasaaru taunted him.
“Don’t speak too soon,” said Balt. “She at least started out liking my song. Tarrick Yon’s gonna put her to sleep.”
“I mean, that’s the ideal scenario.”
“Shut up, that’s not what I meant. You know what I meant. He sucks.”
“We’ll see,” Wasaaru said, pressing his thumb to his linkpad screen. Slow, sad guitars strummed from his speakers, and Balt recognized the song from Tarrick Yon’s parental divorce album, although he couldn’t name it. It was the only one of the guy’s albums he’d listened to in its entirety.
Soulclay drifted from his cousin’s kayet, rising slowly through the air toward the Simmerthrush. The bird seemed interested in the quiet guitars, and then Tarrick Yon’s soft, lilting voice emerged, singing in his trademark falsetto.
Balt was sure the crooner’s voice would ward off the bird, but she appeared to be in a trance. She was swaying side to side in sync with the guitar’s rhythm. Wasaaru’s soulclay was growing nearer and nearer, while Balt’s heart rate steadily increased.
Do not let this work, he silently urged the gods.
Unfortunately for Balt, the dark orange soulclay enveloped the dazed Simmerthrush and shrunk down to cling tightly to her body. His cousin’s soulclay pulsed as Tarrick Yon continued singing, and Balt felt compelled to let out a wild scream to scare the bird off for good.
Why the hell is it enjoying this? he asked himself. It was beyond comprehension why any living being would find enjoyment in such a ridiculously depressing song.
It didn’t take long for Wasaaru to complete the imprinting. The Simmerthrush was a very small Jekua, and he was fairly experienced with the spell. The song wasn’t even over by the time he retracted his soulclay, although that was partially due to how unbelievably long the damn songs on that album droned on.
When he was finished, Wasaaru turned off the music and placed his hands on his hips, beaming proudly.
“Don’t even say it,” Balt warned him.
“I don’t even need to,” said Wasaaru smugly.
“This is bullshit!” Balt then shouted, causing the Simmerthrush to retreat to a higher branch. “You didn’t even want to imprint one of these in the first place!”
Wasaaru laughed. “I know, right? That’s funny. Hell, I might just toss this memory card when we get home.”
Balt glowered at him, balling his hands into fists. “I hate you,” he said.
His declaration made Wasaaru laugh even harder. “You were right about one thing,” he said. “That was fun.”
20
A Yearning for Explosions
The next day, the trio of Summoners headed back into the woods to practice their techniques on the green crystal spires.
Balt had spent a portion of the previous night reading the bestiary entry for the Kloptokarut he’d imprinted, since he was starting to feel guilty about not having made use of the Jekua yet. Something interesting he learned about the wispy purple creature was that its Radiant abilities were pretty malleable; while most Summoners typically used shadow-based attacks with it, it was easy to invert those powers to be light-based instead. It was similar to how Balt had taken Dipper’s Petal Shower attack and altered it to become the Fungal Spore, but apparently much less of a headache to accomplish.
