Chapter 11 · The Island Falls

"Tell me that was the wind."

Rowan didn't answer. The island groaned beneath them—not wood, not metal. Deeper. The kind of sound that climbed through your boots and into your ribs and made your teeth ache.

Lyra tightened her grip on Pip. The storm-beast cub's antlers flickered once. Blue-white electricity crawled over his wet fur and vanished beneath the bandages wrapped around his chest.

"Rowan."

"I heard it."

The farm stretched across the upper deck in crooked terraces of dark soil and trembling rows of vegetables. Beyond them, the Brineveil Basin had disappeared behind curtains of rain. Lightning stitched the clouds together. The royal hunters' airships moved through the storm like black insects, their lanterns glowing red beneath armored hulls.

Then the ground split.

A jagged crack tore across the western field. Soil slumped into darkness. Three rows of bean stalks tilted, roots exposed, and vanished with a wet roar.

Pip whimpered.

"Inside," Rowan said. "Both of you. Now."

Lyra stared at him. "Inside where?"

Another impact struck from below. The entire island lurched sideways. A rain barrel broke loose and shot across the deck, smashing into the greenhouse wall.