CHAPTER 1

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   Galia was sure it would work this time. She’d run all the calculations multiple times and had no doubts. Well, almost none.

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   “Here we go.” Galia took a deep breath, increasing the heat. The balloon, almost at its fullest, reminded her of her progress.

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   On her first try, Galia had used low-quality materials instead of the good fabric she now had. During the next attempt, most of the knots came loose, so she learned to tie sturdy knots and tried again. On that subsequent attempt, multiple seams tore from the pressure. After learning how to sew the material properly, she realized she needed to create more heat for the balloon to lift.

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   The basket shifted a little at first and a bit more. Galia whooped, increasing the heat. This is it.

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   An old portable furnace from the blacksmith had solved the heating problem. She learned the real meaning of fire and heat when an attempt almost burned the balloon and half the valley. The young girl shook off the memories. Failures taught her how not to do something, and Galia had learned how not to do many things in her sixteen years. By now, she considered herself an expert on how not to do almost everything concerning this balloon.

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   “It’s going to work,” she said aloud then murmured, “this time.”

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   After another small shift, Galia was ready again and triple-checked the seams, ropes, knots, and heater, which was working at a steady temperature. She would lift today. Galia inspected the clearing around the balloon, away from the village—the result of having learned another lesson on how not to do things. She was alone with her balloon, the way she preferred. Although they were caring people, her aunts and uncles didn’t understand her. Galia sighed, looking up.

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   The tension of the ropes told her the balloon was ready.

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   Earlier attempts had also taught her the importance of personal protective gear. She covered her night-eye with a bandanna to protect it from the brightness and heat of the fire. The bright-colored material complemented her furry olive skin. Galia wanted to give a great first impression to whomever she met in the City above the Lake of Clouds.

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   At another shift, Galia squealed, “Let’s go!”

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   The balloon pulled up, increasing the rope tension, but the basket didn’t rise. Going through her mental checklist again, she remained calm. Everything was normal. She sensed the strain on the ropes when three snapped, whipping back and forcing her to duck inside the basket. The balloon pulled to one side, toppling the basket with her inside.

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   Galia fell, holding onto the basket with one hand while shutting down the heater with the other. The rapidly cooling air let the balloon deflate and fall. Once everything settled, Galia examined the balloon. The material had held, and the heater obviously worked. Puzzling over the snapped ropes, she struggled to turn the basket upright. The basket was too heavy.

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   With arms on hips, Galia sighed. The basket’s weight mattered.

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   “Well”—she sighed again—”at least I know how not to do something else.”

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CHAPTER 2

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   Galia walked back to the village, humming. In truth, the balloon hadn’t risen again, but she was close. The girl contemplated the cloud cover that was the Lake of Clouds. She meant to reach the Lake, past the clouds, and onto the majestic City above the Lake. Everything would be better there. Her mother's death birthing her brother wouldn't matter, nor her baby brother's death a week later. Her father losing his mind after their deaths and disappearing when she was ten years old wouldn’t matter. Galia slowed, looking at the ground. Only she would matter, then.

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   Her mood darkened at those thoughts. “It’s not fair,” Galia whispered. Why was she alone? She looked up at the Lake of Clouds again. She would go to the City above the clouds, where no one would judge her or feel bad for her. Her past wouldn't matter. Once she figured out how to make the basket lighter, she would try again. She wouldn't quit. Everyone could doubt her or pity her until the clouds vanished. Galia wouldn’t stop.

She forced herself to focus on the weight dilemma. As she neared the town from the south, the broad trees on either side of the road made a natural portico. Although they were pretty, Galia didn’t enjoy the green tunnel blocking the view to the Lake of Clouds. As she entered the tree cover, something to her left jumped. With her mind still occupied with the basket’s weight, she almost missed it. Something else jumped a little closer to her. Galia frowned. That was odd. Whatever it was, it was small.

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   “For lightning's sake, you are dumb,” the village bully called in his nasal voice between bouts of laughter.

Galia turned toward the bully. “What do you want, Johnah?”

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   The large young man leaned on a tree, tossing a rock in the air, snatching it without looking.

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   “Am I supposed to be impressed by that?” Galia stood her ground. Although everyone feared Johnah, including Galia, she was in no mood.

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   “What were you doing?” The small giant continued tossing the rock.

 

   “Nothing you would care for.”

 

   “Looking for your father?” He laughed. “How long ago was it that he went crazy?”

 

   “Six years,” Galia blurted out and gritted her teeth.

 

   The memory remained clear. Her father had been acting stranger than usual in the days leading to his disappearance. On that day, her father stopped his regular mumbling, a constant since her little brother died. She remembered feeling hope at seeing her father quiet for the first time. That night, he disappeared. No one knew what happened or found any signs of him.

 

   The young giant kept mocking her. “You think he's still out there?”

She knew not to take the bait but couldn't help herself. “He probably went looking for your mom,” Galia pushed back. “Didn't she leave you behind to join a caravan?”

 

   “Watch it.” Johnah looked daggers at her.

 

   “What?”

 

   She knew she was pushing a sore spot. Johnah's mother had left him and his father years ago too. Based on his reaction, she was entering dangerous ground, but her mood pushed her forward.

 

   “Do you think it was your smell? Maybe your voice?” She pretended to ponder the answer. “Yes. I think your voice did it.”

 

   “Shut your thundering mouth.” He threw the rock at her.

The projectile missed her as she threw herself to the ground, landing face-first in mud. Coughing, she rolled, her face dirty. She heard his nasal laughter as he leaned on the tree, arms crossed. She grabbed a rock and flung it with all her might, hitting Johnah on the forehead. The surprise attack made him lose his balance, and a high-pitched yelp escaped him as he floundered for something to hold. Seeing the giant bully flap his arms like a little bird learning to fly made her chuckle. He regained his balance and growled with murder in his eyes.

 

   She stopped laughing. The survival part of her brain pushed her to run. Johnah was bigger, faster, and stronger, but with a head start, Galia might reach town before he caught her. She could hide at the seamstress shop until the bully tired of looking for her.

 

   Galia heard his running feet over her own heavy breathing. He was going to catch her before she reached the seamstress's shop. A colossal hand grabbed her jacket. She spun, tried to get free, tripped on her feet, and fell. The bully, unable to stop, jumped over and past her. Galia expected a kick, so she balled into the smallest target possible and waited. Nothing happened.

 

   “Get up, girl. Why are you on the ground like a grub waiting to be eaten?” Auntie Jaylee snapped in her low, no-nonsense tone.

 

   Galia uncoiled from her cocoon.

 

   “And you, what were you going to do to this girl? Huh?” Auntie Jaylee was holding Johnah by the ear, making the bully, a head taller than her, seem like a child.

 

   “Nothing. We were just playing. Right, Galia?”

 

   “Yes, Auntie. We were playing catch the brog.” Galia stood and dusted her clothes. “I was the brog this time.” She smiled.

 

   “Suit yourself.” Shrugging, the seamstress raised an eyebrow and let go of Johnah.

 

   “I'll see you later.” Johnah gave her a you-win-this-time look and jogged away.

 

   “Girl, why do you push him?” The woman turned, fists on wide hips.

 

   “Me? We were playing.”

 

   “Sure, girl, sure. Be careful, though.” The seamstress returned to her shop.

 

   “I will, Auntie. Thank you.” Galia waved and ran home.

 

◆◆◆

 

   Galia stood at the bottom of the trees that held her home. She’d run all the way in case big, dumb Johnah changed his mind. He would have hurt her if not for Auntie Jaylee. Maybe Galia should’ve gotten him in trouble with the seamstress. Sighing, she was glad she hadn't, though. She would stay away from the bully until he picked on someone else. All the kids stayed away from him until their time came to become his prey.

 

   She didn’t like Johnah but didn’t hate him either. They had played in the valley under the Lake when they were both little. They got along until his mother’s disappearance, and everything changed. Life with just his father wasn’t great. Galia shook herself out of the memory. She didn't need to go where those thoughts led her. Like Uncle Lestol always said, “Tomorrow, the river will be there again.”

 

   Thinking of the next day, she realized she needed more fuel for the balloon's burner. Understanding the inner workings of that portable heater was on her mental to-do list. She didn't like accepting that things worked without knowing how they worked. Perhaps when she asked Uncle Geet for more fuel, she could ask the kind blacksmith for an explanation.

 

   Galia considered her house in the trees. Three trees served as a triad of columns. She loved living alone where no one bothered her, and the height gave her a clear view of the Lake of Clouds above.

Her parents had built the house before she was born. Once they were gone, the house remained empty. The people of Treebran were nothing if not superstitious. Two deaths and one crazed man were enough to keep everyone away. Not Galia, however—she moved back as soon as she could. Since she kept running away to this place, everyone agreed to let her stay. Most likely, the adults had given up on the young girl. They still checked on her from time to time, though.

 

   A while back, Galia had dismantled the stairs and used the materials for other projects. She climbed up the tree trunk using hidden carved handholds and steps. Visitors never came. If they did, she had a rope ladder for those rare occasions. The last visit had been almost a year ago, but to be fair, she didn’t visit anyone either. About once a month, traders came down the mountain on their way south. The townsfolk gathered to welcome the traders, and she did go into town then, looking forward to the caravans.

 

   When darkness engulfed the valley, conversations concentrated on tales of other communities farther up the mountain beyond Jardin with strange customs and exotic, sometimes dangerous, animals. The people shared drinks and listened to stories of the few brave souls who traveled the Storm King’s Road. Her aunts would refer to the same people as idiots with “no sense to them.”

 

   She reached the balcony looking over the valley. Galia wondered if her father had been one of those brave idiots who’d attempted the climb. She held a little hope that he made it to the City above the Lake of Clouds and wondered if he waited there for her. Looking up at the Lake again, Galia suppressed a sob and went inside.

 

◆◆◆

 

   “Now, run before I change my thundering mind!” Johnah released the boy, who bolted away, crying.

He took the boy's apple and few coins. Johnah didn't care for any of it. He was doing it out of anger at the seamstress, Galia, and the whole village. No one liked him. Fine! He had no friends. That was fine too. He didn't need them. Johnah took a bite of the apple then launched it at a group of kids across the road, avoiding him. The bitten apple sailed true and hit one as they pretended not to notice him. Johnah smiled at the direct hit. He had skills, skills no one cared to recognize. His mood soured again. Fine! Who needs friends?

 

   He stared at the group of scared kids running away, one crying. “They better not tell on me.” He rolled his massive shoulders, making the leather vest, worn shirtless, strain to contain his bulk. The clouds showed to be brightest-day, and he wasn’t going home, that was for sure. So, he headed to the blacksmith instead. Geet was the only one who didn’t mind having Johnah around and always had odd jobs for him. Besides his father, Geet was the village’s strongest, biggest man. However, unlike his father, the blacksmith was not violent.

 

   When he arrived at the smithy, his ears pricked up at the sound of iron being molded. He rolled his shoulders once more. Johnah almost liked the blacksmith although his father didn’t. Then again, his father didn’t like anyone. Perhaps that was the reason Geet welcomed Johnah—well, tolerated. Rolling his boulder-sized shoulders one last time, he walked into the shop.

 

   Once he was inside, the whole cacophony hit him. Several apprentices worked at stoking fires or prepping tools. Johnah measured them and ranked them by height and size. He was good at that. Geet called it spatial awareness. He was the largest person of everyone there, second only to the blacksmith himself.

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   Johnah thought he could apprentice, learn the trade, and work hard. He was strong and liked the details. Why not? Johnah’s father had laughed at the idea, and the topic only came up once. His father made sure of that. Johnah could be more if the village weren’t so hateful. They didn’t like him because he was stronger, that was all. They were jealous of him, so they made fun of him. When he fought back, they called him a bully. Fine, then. He didn’t care. He would be the bully.

 

   “You!” Johnah pointed at an apprentice. “Where’s the blacksmith?”

 

   “What?” The apprentice almost dropped the pincers holding a red-hot piece of iron.

 

   “Where is Geet?” Johnah lumbered toward the apprentice, towering over him by at least one head span.

 

   “In the back... I think.” The apprentice’s fur ruffled at the proximity.

Johnah left him, walking into the back.

 

   “You’re here, Johnah.” Geet’s voice boomed over the chaotic sounds.

 

   “I was hoping you’d come around.” The blacksmith put down his hammer and wiped his large, scarred hands on his leather apron. “You are just in time, my boy.”

 

   “Is there any work for me?” Johnah always marveled at the patches of missing or discolored fur on Geet’s massive arms.

 

   “Bring the molds from the back.” Geet wiped his sweat. “We are ready to pour.”

 

   “Sure.”

 

   The furnace’s heat increased as he got closer, but it was bearable. Reaching the molds, he grabbed two from the group of six and brought them to Geet. The blacksmith stared at him with an expression Johnah didn’t recognize. The big man seemed satisfied with something that Johnah didn’t know or care about. The younger man brought the rest of the molds, two at a time, while apprentices struggled to put them in place to capture the molten iron. Once all the molds were in place, the apprentices followed the instructions from the master blacksmith. The man stood in the middle of the shop, orchestrating the smith’s symphony of workers.

 

   “Come here, boy.” Geet waved over to Johnah. “Why don’t you come work for me?” The blacksmith smiled.

 

   “What? Thunder and lightning! Is this a joke?” Johnah asked in challenge while silently hoping.

 

   “Watch your language, boy, and it’s not a joke. You seem capable and definitely strong enough.” Geet continued, “Why not? What else do you have planned?”

 

   Johnah didn’t answer. He’d wanted to apprentice since he was a boy. Apprenticing at the shop would get him out from under his father. His father—for lightning’s sake, the man would never allow it. Johnah’s father had opinions about everyone in the village. None were positive.

 

   The older man read Johnah’s thoughts. “Don’t worry about your father. I will talk to him.”

 

   “Whatever,” Johnah snapped. “You just want someone to do the heavy lifting while you teach these others the craft.” He shrugged off the hand the blacksmith had laid on him. “Then what? You all laugh at me!”

 

   “Son—” Geet started.

 

   “I’m not your son, you blind, overcast goat!” Johnah yelled words that weren’t his. He was preemptively saying what his father would say.

 

   “Johnah, I will forgive the language.” Geet stepped back with a dour expression. “Think about it.”

On his way out, Johnah punched two apprentices not smart enough to give him space.