I do not look down, trying to avoid further aggravating my uneasy gut. “What if you find out midflight that you cannot manage?”
Rohan grins. “You don’t do well when you aren’t in command, do you, Captain Naik?”
“I try not to let that happen.”
On a laugh, Rohan pushes us higher, wings wobbling like a spin-top toy. I grip the bar in a stranglehold. Who thought flying was a good idea? People don’t have wings for a reason.
We reach a calmer altitude, and Rohan summons a gale that flings us forward. Air rushes at us, expanding my lungs. My turban flies off my head. The wind slicks back my hair over my ears. Brac hoots in pleasure. My mother smiles, her long dark hair streaming behind her. Natesa and Yatin beam at each other.
I swallow to keep my supper down. I wish I hadn’t eaten the last of the toasted nuts. With my gaze planted on the dim horizon, I promise never to grumble about boats again.
4
KALINDA
Hours later, after flying over the seemingly endless eastern rice fields and marshlands, the road twists south, but Opal stays her course southeast over an endless expanse of trees. We fly above the jungle while I watch the treetops rippling beneath us like emerald waves.
“I need to rest,” Opal says an hour or so later. “Be ready to descend.”
The wind lessens, and we dip. I grip the navigation bar as the greenery comes nearer. The emergent trees, tualang and kapok, rise above the rest of the canopy. We dip past one, still coasting downward.
“Um, Opal? Where are we going to land?”
“Ever see a myna perch in a tree?”
I groan. Oh no.
Opal decreases the wind again, and we drop. I turn my face away from the incoming leaves. Branches snap and slap my face and legs. Opal’s wind dwindles off, and foliage surrounds the wing flyer, slowing us to a jolting halt.
Our legs dangle behind us, our bodies held up by the passengers’ plank. The wing flyer suspends high above the ground in a giant banyan tree. We are not mynas relaxing in the sun, more like floating lanterns tangled in a maze of branches.
Opal swings down off the flyer onto a sturdy bough and waves for me to go next. I lower myself beside her, sending the tree limb swaying, and grip another offshoot for balance. The abundant leafage veils the sun. Strange, discordant birdcalls echo across the treetops, and buzzing insects flit about, large as butterflies but with menacing pinchers and iridescent wings. Mists obscure the far-off trees and skulk across the hidden jungle floor.
“Sorry for the height,” Opal says. “Any lower and the wing flyer couldn’t take off again.”
“Where are we?”
“The Morass.”