Sparrow Rising

by Jessica Khoury

  Mother Rosemarie’s hand closed on empty air.

  The morning wind rippled over Ellie’s feathers as her wings pumped. She’d had a good start, her smaller size an advantage over the others when it came to takeoff. They were stronger, but she was lighter.

  However, once they reached soaring height, the odds shifted out of her favor. Tauna took the lead, her striped wings soundlessly caressing the air.

  The sky was clear in all directions, with no sign of the storm that had rocked Linden the night before. Ellie focused on reaching the first of the five checkpoints they were supposed to pass through before they could cross the finish line. She focused on why she needed to reach that line first, the reason she’d spent her whole life preparing for this day, the answer to Zain’s question: Why are you doing this?

  Why race, why risk her clan’s wrath, why push herself to heights no Sparrow had ever flown?

  Because Ellie knew what dangers waited in the sky above.

  She knew how easy it was to lose everything in a moment.

  Ellie had been six years old when it happened. She’d just learned how to fly and was always running off to soar over the fields, relishing her newfound wings. But that day, she’d gone too far and hadn’t noticed the cloud rolling in.

  It didn’t look threatening, like a storm cloud might. It was simply an errant puff of wool in the sky, drifting lazily and peacefully along. But Ellie knew the things that hid in the clouds were far from lazy or peaceful, just as she knew the rigid law: Nobody ever, ever flew when the sky was cloudy. This law had been ingrained in Ellie even before the alphabet: Spread your wings in skies of blue, but skies of gray are death to you.

  But this was just one innocent-looking cloud.

  Still, Ellie’s parents had come winging toward her as fast as they could fly. Her father caught Ellie, held her close, and together he and her mother turned back for the Sparrows’ great barn.

  They wouldn’t make it.

  Instead, they heard a terrible sound, a sound that Ellie would never forget as long as she lived.

  The screech of a gargol.

  No one knew for sure where the monsters came from, why they attacked without mercy, or even how creatures made entirely of stone could fly at all, but it was known that they often hid in clouds—and if they saw you, they wouldn’t hesitate to tear you in half.

  That terrible day, the monster had dropped out of the sky before Ellie and her parents, blocking the way to the barn. It had a long ratlike face, a gaping mouth slatted with fangs, grasping talons, gray wings. Every movement of its stone body screeched with the spine-chilling grind of rock against rock. The thing was easily ten times the size of Ellie. In its face gleamed two brilliant blue eyes, hard as diamonds and shining as if lit from within.

  Ellie remembered those eyes most of all, bright as stars and jarringly beautiful in such a twisted, ugly beast.

  The gargol struck down her mother first, but Ellie didn’t see because her father was pressing her face into his chest. When the creature then turned on him, its claws raking down his back and tearing his wings, he still struggled to protect Ellie. But then the creature pulled him away, and he dropped her. She fell, screaming, trying to find her wings but unable.

  In the end, though, the monster never laid a talon on her. For out of nowhere, a shining figure in white armor appeared, swooping to intercept the gargol—a Goldwing knight. Ellie gasped as the woman turned the creature aside with one mighty swing of her spear. Her golden hair streamed around her as she yelled, “Get out of here, little Sparrow!”

  Ellie found her wings then, but instead of flying away, she watched as the knight battled the gargol. The woman was vastly outsized, but she was swift and dodged the creature’s terrible claws. Her armor shone, her spear flashed, and Ellie saw it all. She saw the gargol finally turn and flee. She saw the too-still forms of her parents lying on beds of crushed sunflowers below. She saw the sweat on the Goldwing’s brow as the woman gathered her into her arms and carried her back to the barn and the shelter of her clan.

  Ellie hadn’t died that day. But a part of her had—the part of her that would have been content to pick seeds and spend the evenings in the great barn with her clan, dancing and shelling and hiding, while monsters lurked in the skies above.

  That day, Ellie had decided that the next time she faced a gargol, the monster would fear her.

  Now, six years later, the image of the gargol still burned in her memory. While she usually tried to push it away, today she remembered every stony feature—tooth and talon, claw and maw, those cruel blue eyes. She let her old terror spur her wings, using it to make herself stronger.

  This is for you, Mama and Papa.

  For every one wing beat of her larger opponents’, Ellie had to flap her wings thrice. But she had known this would be the case, so she’d been practicing for years, studying Zain when he flew, strengthening her muscles and endurance so she could keep up with him. She’d volunteered for all the hardest tasks on the farms, hauling heavy pails of seeds and hoeing the soil with a ferocity that had left the other Sparrows rows behind.

  Today, there would be no mercy, no allies, no friends. Ellie would have to fight for every inch of sky.

  It was a beautiful day to challenge fate.

  They shot out over the sunflower fields, each aiming for the same spot: an arch made of sticks in the middle of the western field. Tauna reached it first and dove. A race monitor—a Hawk clan member Ellie didn’t know—stood by the arch with a piece of parchment. He marked off their names as each sped through.

  Ellie had been practicing the course for as long as she could remember. She knew the route as well as she knew the way from her bed to the front door of the orphanage.

  The arches were numbered so that the contestants had to fly in a zigzag, looping back and forth in a test of maneuverability as well as speed. After completing the second arch near the Sparrow clan barn, Ellie’s small form helped her again. She dove through and executed a tight flip that turned her in the other direction, sending her blazing past Zain. She was in second place now. Tauna was far ahead, probably already securing her position as the first-place finisher, but that was all right. Ellie didn’t need to be first. She could be second or third and still qualify for the Race of Ascension.

  She glanced back once, to see Zain’s expression. He looked confused and embarrassed as he fought to catch up. Ellie pressed on, her stomach souring. She’d hoped he might cheer or grin, or do anything to show he was still on her side. That was what a true friend would do.

  We can win this together, she wished she could tell him. Just like we’d planned.

  But now she knew Zain had never intended to become a Goldwing with her. All along, he’d thought he would leave her behind at that starting line.

  Ellie couldn’t let him get in her head. She needed every thought to stay in this race. She could do this.

  The group sped over the town square again; below, the clans cheered and clapped. Ellie was flying too fast to make out any faces, though she could imagine the fury in Mother Rosemarie’s eyes. Oh, Ellie would be in big trouble tonight, that was for sure. All the lectures and punishments she’d gotten in the past would pale in comparison.

  Zain pulled alongside her, then began to inch ahead. She beat her wings harder, struggling to match him, but fell behind anyway. He gave her one look—rueful, apologetic—before he rushed forward.

  Third place. She was still in a good position, if she could hold on to it.

  The next arch was set far from town, across the sunflower fields by the forest’s edge. The trees of Bluebriar tangled together, ancient oaks and maples and beeches, their leaves rippling in the wind. Tauna reached the arch first, turned, and sped back, the breeze in her wake washing over Ellie, for whom the Falcon girl spared not a glance. Her face was fiercely focused.

  Zain reached it next, five wing beats before Ellie, and on any other day, she’d have cheered for the cleanness of his dive, the crispness of his turn. B
ut now she just scowled as he flew past her, and dove with her wings pinned. Slinging herself into a tight bank, she barely made it through the arch without wiping out, the tip of her wing knocking the hat off the race monitor posted there.

  Wheeling around, she began the long stretch back to town and the last two arches. But where the land dipped into a small valley of sunflowers, she crossed paths with Ordo. The Hawk boy was panting, his wing beats clumsy as he struggled along.

  “YOU!” he snapped. “I am not losing this to some nutbrained Sparrow!”

  By the time Ellie realized what he intended to do, he’d already cut toward her and was reaching for her wing. She gasped and tried to perform an evasive barrel roll, but he’d caught her by surprise. His hand closed on her alula, the delicate joint at the tip of her wing’s skeletal structure. With a vicious tug, he wrenched, and Ellie spun out of control. She plummeted toward the ground, too shocked to even scream. Ordo flew on.

  Unable to untangle her wings in time, Ellie crashed into the sunflowers, their tough stalks breaking her fall, but still the wind was knocked from her lungs. She skidded across the dirt, rolled, and finally came to a halt, gasping.

  Furious, Ellie punched the ground.

  Pain lanced through her body, and she knew she’d be covered in bruises tomorrow. But there was no time to nurse wounds. Overhead, the Osprey twins soared toward the second arch, not noticing Ellie on the ground below. Ordo couldn’t have chosen a better spot for his attack; in this dip in the land, they’d been hidden from both the town and the race monitor at the last arch. No one had seen him grab her wing, violating the first rule of the race—no physical contact.

  But she could still finish. She could still place third, if she gave it everything she had. She was bruised but nothing was broken, and already her breath was returning. She had a lead on Ordo and the twins, but it was disappearing fast.

  Ellie crouched, spread her wings, and prepared to push off the ground—when she heard a soft voice call out, “Help.”

  She froze.

  Had she imagined it? She must have imagined it. She’d hit her head pretty hard when she’d fallen.

  But then she heard it again.

  “Help. Please.”

  Ellie’s stomach twisted. She had to return to the race or it would all be over. She’d lose and face Mother Rosemarie’s wrath all for nothing. Worse, she’d fail her parents. The world would go on as it always had: sparrows farming, high clans protecting, gargols hunting. Everything caught in the same relentless cycle. It would be like their deaths had meant nothing at all, leaving no mark on the world.

  Ellie couldn’t let that happen. She had to make their sacrifice count. She had to become stronger, faster, better, and make the world safer. For other kids. For her own clan. For her parents’ sakes.

  She had to become a Goldwing knight.

  But then she saw the blood on the ground, and the drag marks, as if some wounded animal had limped through the field. There were feathers too, coal black, scattered along the trail. Someone else had fallen here, and they were hurt far worse than she was. There was an awful lot of blood.

  For a moment, Ellie reeled, nearly blacking out. It was all too familiar—the crushed flowers, the blood. She saw them again, her mother and father, crumpled and broken. For all she knew, this could be the very spot in which they had fallen.

  Focus, Ellie. Breathe.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  There was no reply. Whoever it was, they must have passed out or been too weak to answer.

  Ellie let out a cry of frustration. “I’m coming! Just … just hang on!”

  She looked up as Ordo sped overhead. The Ospreys were right behind him, closing in. In moments, they all vanished in the direction of Linden, and Ellie’s lead was lost.

  There would be no catching up now.

  Fighting back tears, Ellie thrashed through the sunflowers, following the trail of blood, upturned dirt, and dark feathers. She could feel the future draining through her fingers like melting snow. She could hear the taunts of the clans, only this time, it sounded like her own voice shouting in her head.

  Go home, Sparrow.

  Stupid girl.

  Too small. Too weak. Too foolish.

  Then Ellie parted a thick patch of sunflower stalks, and the words evaporated. The race dropped to the bottom of her mind as she gasped at the sight before her.

  A strange boy lay curled on the ground, deathly pale and unconscious, his obsidian-black wings tangled around him. Blood ran from his shoulder, darkening the soil, and in his hand he clenched the broken, bloodied shaft of an arrow.

  When the boy opened his eyes, he saw a blur of yellow in every direction.

  He blinked a few times, and slowly the world sharpened into focus.

  Sunflowers. Thousands of them, swaying gently all around, their bright, sunny petals framing dark centers heavy with seeds. Above them spanned a crisp blue sky.

  Gradually, he became aware of the pain in his shoulder, and it made him wish he could pass out again. But something was jabbing him, keeping him awake, sending sharp flashes of red-hot pain through his chest.

  He tried to say stop that, but it only came out as “Grrrj.”

  “You’re awake!” said a voice. Then a face popped into view, a girl with enormous brown eyes and a face covered in freckles. Her hair, spiky brown, had mostly escaped the two stubby pigtails tied below her ears.

  Groaning, he tried to sit up.

  “Don’t,” said the girl, gently pressing his sternum so that he was lying flat again. “You’re in bad shape. I’m going to get help.”

  “No,” he whispered, grabbing her wrist. “Please … no one … can know …”

  “Who are you?” she asked. “And who did this to you? Was it gargols?”

  “Bandits,” he groaned.

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Mother Rosemarie always said thieves hid out in Bluebriar Forest. I thought she was just trying to scare me away from the place.”

  The boy’s head swam. He shut his eyes again. He remembered the night in flashes—the thunder crashing around him, lightning spiking the air, the wing beats of his pursuers closing in. Then the bright, scarlet burst of pain when the arrow had struck.

  “Don’t tell,” he whispered. “No adults.”

  “You could die!”

  He managed a half-hearted snort. “It’s not that bad. Anyway … I’m on a mission …” His mind raced, trying to feel its way through the pain. “Top secret. No one can know …”

  “Hmm,” said the girl, who didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Fine, then. I’ll go get some proper bandages. Don’t go anywhere till I get back.”

  He laughed hoarsely. He wasn’t going anywhere in this much pain.

  “I’ve wrapped your shoulder with my sash,” she said. “It’ll stop the bleeding for now. The healer’s cottage isn’t far, and it’ll be empty, since … everyone’s in town. No one will see me.”

  He nodded and listened as she flew off, cracking his eyes open just enough to see her tawny reddish wings with their freckled primary feathers. Sparrow clan. He really was in the middle of nowhere if he’d reached the Sparrow Clandom. They were the most rural of the farming clans, living way out west in the great plains. He’d flown farther than he thought during the storm.

  He must have passed out again, because when he next opened his eyes, it was to find the girl applying a poultice to his shoulder. It smelled strongly of honey mixed with garlic. She seemed to know what she was doing. Her tongue poked out of her lips as she concentrated.

  “Who are you?” he murmured.

  She glanced at his face. “I’m Ellidee. Ellie, for short. You?”

  “Uh … Nox. Nox Hatcher. Crow clan.”

  “Well, Nox, the good news is that your wound isn’t as bad as it looks. You should mend quickly if you keep it clean.”

  “You’re a healer?” He looked at his shoulder and the tidy bandaging she’d done with her orange sash. The cloth smelled like s
unflower seeds and hay.

  “Not really,” she said. “I just know some basic stuff. I apprenticed for the local healer last summer, because according to The King’s Ladder—that’s my favorite book—every knight in training should know how to …” Her voice faded away, and a look so sorrowful came into her eyes that he almost expected her to start crying. But then she tightened her lips and shook her head.

  “So you’re a knight.” Nox lifted an eyebrow.

  “I might have been.” She glanced at the sky and heaved a sigh. “What’s done is done. I should get back to town, before they come looking for me and find you instead. Can you walk?”

  “I think so.” The poultice she’d used must have had some numbing herb in it, because the edge had dulled from his pain.

  “Good. Then go northwest. You’re about a fifteen-minute walk from the barn. Hide in the hay behind it, and I’ll find you as soon as I can. I’ll bring food, water …” She glanced at his torn, bloodied tunic. “And a shirt.”

  “Thanks,” he said, studying her curiously. “Not many people would help a stranger like this.”

  She nodded. Her face still wore a mask of sorrow, as if something bad had recently happened to her. He wondered what it was. That, plus her kindness, almost made him regret the lies he’d just told her.

  Almost.

  He heard a sudden, distant cheer, as if from a big crowd, and frowned. “What’s going on? Where am I, anyway?”

  Ellie lowered her gaze. “Linden, the seat of the Sparrow clan. That sound is … the Goldwing Trials. They must have finished.”

  Understanding dawned on Nox. “You were racing. That’s how you found me. You quit the race to help some kid you don’t even know?”

  “Well,” she said. “I was sort of pushed into it. Doesn’t matter anyway. It’s done and over and I lost.”

  “Right, I remember how it works. The top three from each local trial make it to the Race of Ascension in Thelantis.”

  “Yeah. And you only get to try out once, so …” She shrugged. “It was a stupid dream anyway. I’ll never make it into the race now.”