Wingborn

by Becca Lusher

  Twelve

  Taming the Hurricane

  28th Fledgling

  A COOL BREEZE washed over the mountain as Cumulo soared in widening circles. Mhysra lay against his back, enjoying the sun. It was a beautiful morning, made all the more special by the news three days ago that she’d passed her exams, along with all her friends.

  “It’s nearly ready,” Cumulo called, dipping a wing and banking sideways.

  Mhysra’s knees tightened as the world tipped, giving her an excellent – if unusual – view of the activity below. A quarter of the flying field was covered in scaffolding, explaining why she and the rest of the students had been given a half-moon break.

  “Glad I don’t have to stay there.”

  Chuckling, Mhysra smoothed Cumulo’s wind-ruffled feathers. “If you weren’t already bonded you’d be too excited about the Choice to care about the accommodation.”

  Cumulo snorted. “Hardly. Humans get excited about the Choice. Miryhls don’t. All the Choice does is bind us to a lifetime of work.”

  “Charming,” she replied. “Are you saying miryhls don’t gain anything from the bond?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Riders get to fly, so that’s the only reason they care about their miryhls?”

  “Something like that,” he agreed, flapping away from the city-side of the mountain.

  “So the fact you roost in the best eyries and get fresh meat regularly, whether you work or not, is not worth having?”

  Cumulo didn’t answer, taking them on a skin-tingling dive down a gully instead. Clinging tightly, Mhysra gasped, heart racing with the exhilaration of being at one with her miryhl. It was true, Riders did gain a lot through the bond, and the gift of flying wasn’t something she would ever willingly give up, but miryhls were more than just mounts. They were partners, protectors, friends. Even family.

  The base of the gully broke over the mountainside and Cumulo drifted down to the Cloud Sea, its turbulent winds making Mhysra’s teeth chatter. Skimming over a low outcrop, Cumulo kicked off the frozen rocks and took them back up to where the air was warm and clear.

  Passing a Rider patrol, Mhysra waved. “Are you sorry?”

  Swooping under the other flyers, Cumulo tilted his head and eyed her curiously. “About?”

  “Being bonded to me. I know neither of us had a choice, but do you mind?” She’d never considered it before, but his comments worried her. He was the one constant in her life, as important as home or friends. It wasn’t quite breathing, but with Cumulo life was worth living. She’d always assumed he felt the same, but what if he didn’t? If he’d been free to accept another Rider, would he have jumped at the chance, even if it meant leaving her behind? Was their Wingborn status a hindrance to him, where it had always been a gift to her?

  Cumulo tucked his wings in and dropped several feet, before catching them again – an airborne sigh. “You think too much.” His voice was a reassuring vibration against her.

  “It was a fair question, after what you said.”

  He clucked reproachfully. “I was joking. Since you started training you’ve lost all sense of humour. Not that you had much to begin with.”

  She smiled into his feathers, loving the clean smell of him touched with a sweet hint of dust. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re not funny?”

  “Of course not. The fault has always been yours.”

  “Naturally.”

  “But even without a true appreciation for my genius, I’d rather have you than anyone. I can’t imagine a better flight partner. You’re my Wingborn. Even though I can’t live without you, I don’t wish to either. I’m yours as you are mine. If I made disparaging remarks about the Choice it’s because I pity all other miryhls. They’ll never have what we have, nor comprehend what they’re missing. You are like flight to me.”

  Stunned to hear such words from her proud and often irreverent Wingborn, Mhysra couldn’t speak. Instead she reached forward as far as she could and hugged him tightly. Tears stung her eyes, from the cold and the wind as well as emotion, and she buried her face in his feathers.

  “Are you crying?” he rumbled. “You’d better not be crying. Your nose always runs when you cry and it ruins my feathers. I am not a handkerchief.”

  Chuckling, she sat up and wiped her face. “I’m not crying.”

  “Good. It would damage my reputation should anyone catch you being so unashamedly sentimental. There is no room for maudlin emotion in the Riders.”

  “Yes, sir,” she chirped, saluting cheekily.

  “Are you mocking me, student?” he growled, in a perfect impersonation of Sergeant Rees.

  “Never, sir.”

  “Because if you were, student, I would have to take severe action.”

  “I would never dare mock you, most gracious and brilliant sir.”

  “Good. I should hate, for example, to have to do this!” Wings tucking in tight, he clamped her legs against his sides and plummeted into freefall. Had Mhysra been a little less familiar with her miryhl it would have been terrifying, especially when the world turned and the clouds rushed up to meet them, but after years of flying together she knew him almost as well as she knew herself. Which was why when she felt his wings twitch, she gripped his neck feathers, tightened her thighs and held on.

  She still screamed, though, when Cumulo began to spin. Her heart thundered, her chest felt squeezed and her eyes closed. The wind roared in her ears, slapping her face and pulling at her hair as it raced over them while they tumbled down and around. With a final roll, Cumulo righted himself, swooping across the clouds and scattered rocks below.

  Mhysra laughed breathlessly, face buried against his neck. “You’ll kill me one day.”

  He didn’t answer. Fresh tension shivered through him and he powered upwards with heavy beats of his wings, lifting them higher with each hard pull. “Ship,” he growled.

  She sat up in surprise. A skyship was drifting over the Cloud Sea towards them. Specks circled the unfamiliar vessel, swooping in and out of the hatch doors on the bottom of the ship’s five tiers. Thinner than the broad hulls her family favoured, the dark craft was sleek and slender, perfect for cutting through the air. The gasbag was red and black, the insignia unknown.

  She was intrigued. “I’m game, if you are.”

  He chuckled. “Far be it for me to deny you your pleasure, my lady.”

  As they approached, the specks retreated to the hull until only a pair of horsats and some pyrefly patrollers were left. They had been sighted.

  “Behave,” she warned as the horsats approached, and Cumulo gave a contemptuous snort.

  “Ho, Rider!” the foremost flyer called in a heavy accent. “From Nimbys?”

  “Yes,” she shouted back, unsure what more to add.

  “Our captain invites you aboard Thorncrest. You will honour us?”

  Thinking they would be disappointed when they discovered that she was only a student, she nevertheless accepted the invitation. Cumulo needed a rest and if they could catch a lift back to Nimbys that would be even better. “We would be delighted.”

  With a nod, one of the horsat fliers reined his mount around and galloped back to the ship. The second waited patiently for them to join him, before showing them the best approach.

  “Welcome, welcome!” A tall, dark-skinned man dressed in buff leathers and a deep blue coat, strode across the deck as Cumulo glided over the rail and hopped to a neat halt. “Welcome, Rider and fine miryhl.” He bowed respectfully to Cumulo and grinned at Mhysra. His smile faltered as she pulled off her flying hat, untucked her braid and slid from the saddle. The crew drew back in confusion.

  Mhysra smiled nervously and rested a hand on Cumulo’s wing for reassurance. “Thank you for the invitation, captain. You have a wonderful ship.”

  The flattery smoothed over the awkwardness and the captain’s bright smile sprang back. “True,” he agreed, reaching for her hand. After a hearty shake, he raised it for a kiss. “You grace it so beautif
ully, fair lady. Tell me, have things changed so swiftly in Nimbys? I heard they allowed women Riders again, but did not know they already had such fine jewels in their midst.”

  Slightly overwhelmed, Mhysra freed her hand while Cumulo tucked her protectively against his chest. “You heard correctly, sir,” she said, gathering her composure. “I am a new student.”

  “But you fly so beautifully. Have we missed the Choice? Do you learn to fly before Aquila now?” The captain acted confused, though his dark eyes glimmered. He was a fine-looking man who clearly knew how to use his charms to disarm unwary women.

  Determined not to fall under his spell, Mhysra stiffened. “I am Wingborn, sir.”

  An excited whisper spread across the deck and the captain straightened to his full, impressive height. “Wingborn, you say? Then we truly are honoured. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Captain Khene Torven of Thorncrest, out of Zvenera. We have sailed across the lonely sea from the edge of the Stormsurge, bringing students and miryhls out of the far south for the Choice.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Captain Torven. I am Mhysra Kilpapan, student Rift Rider, and this is my Wingborn, Cumulo.”

  “Ah.” The amusement sprang back into his eyes. “A Kilpapan. I would be delighted, were your family not so adept at cutting out my trade. You have the look of your mother, Lady Mhysra. Were you not so tall I would have noticed sooner. Still, be welcome aboard Thorncrest, such as she is.”

  “Thank you, captain. Perhaps it will ease your mind to know that until this summer I have lived with my aunt and know nothing about the Kilpapan business.”

  “A little.” He smiled again. “A very little, but I’d be honoured if you would bide a while and share your story, while we return you and your fine friend to Nimbys. It will be an enjoyable journey.”

  Exchanging amused glances with Cumulo, she smiled at the captain. “We would be delighted.”

  THE SHORT TRIP back to Nimbys was fun. Despite his spates of flummery, Captain Torven was good company. After asking about Wrentheria and the Lowlands, he regaled Mhysra with tales of his travels and life in the Storm Peaks. All accompanied by an irrepressible twinkle in his eye. Mhysra doubted she could believe a word, but he was amusing. After a while Cumulo settled down for a snooze, satisfied that his Wingborn was safe.

  When Nimbys came into view, gilded by the evening light, the captain excused himself. Horsat messengers were dispatched and sailors filled the deck, pulling in side sails and adjusting the ballast, while others secured the hold. Leaning against the prow rail, Mhysra peered down at the excited youngsters rushing onto the outer walkways of the lower decks, eager for their first glimpse of Nimbys. These would be her year mates at Aquila, and she hoped that more would prove friends than foes.

  “You’re fretting again,” Cumulo murmured over her shoulder.

  “Better prepared than surprised,” she replied, while sailors hustled the students away.

  Captain Torven ordered the hatches opened and the signaller blew the horn. The sound boomed down the ship’s bow and echoed against the mountainside, until the whole sky rang with it.

  The captain approached Mhysra as loose miryhls emerged from the belly of the ship. “Would you guide them to their new home, my lady?”

  Mhysra glanced at Cumulo, eyebrows raised. Someone would be coming from the barracks to collect them, but she didn’t mind helping. It depended on her miryhl. He tilted his head, sighed and lowered his wing.

  “Is that a yes?”

  Mhysra grinned and accepted the hand Torven offered. “It is, captain. Thank you for your company. I hope we meet again sometime.”

  “I am sure of it,” he agreed, kissing her hand again. “Perhaps sooner than you think.” Winking, he stepped back so she could mount. At her curious glance, he laughed. “Till next time!”

  Cumulo opened his wings, cleared the deck with a bound and they launched into a sky filled with miryhls.

  LYRAI WAS IN LOVE. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Not to mention the most frustrating. The last of the Storm Peak miryhls refused to enter the temporary eyries and, as part of that refusal, it would not be caught. A brute of a bird, the eagle was almost as tall as Cumulo but wider across the chest. It looked powerful and fierce, hissing at anyone who came too close.

  Riders made loops out of their ropes and tried to restrain it, but the miryhl was too quick. Surprisingly nimble, it skipped out of reach, catching the loop in its beak, before tossing it contemptuously back.

  Lyrai smiled at its antics, seduced by the big creature’s grace. It was an unusual colour: deep brown and pale cream mottled in an extraordinary mixture. A marble miryhl. He’d heard of them and always thought they sounded ugly. Standing before such a magnificent specimen now, though, he could see only beauty.

  The miryhl’s face was the shade of sun-warmed pine, with dark circles around golden eyes. The crown of its head was the same darkness, continuing in a broad stripe down its neck and across its back, running in bars along its wings. The feathers on the underside of its body and chest were marbled from white to a brown so dark it was almost black. The wings were cream and biscuit between the dark bars, running into brown at the tips. Delicate flecks of caramel, gold and black dotted its feathers, like sparkles and secrets.

  Lyrai was infatuated. There was no doubt in his mind which miryhl he would choose come the Choice, but only if the Riders didn’t drive it off first with their ineptitude.

  Stirla whistled beside him. “I’ve not been so impressed since I first saw Cumulo.”

  Lyrai snorted. “As that was barely a half-year ago, forgive me for not swooning.”

  “Ah, but before that,” Stirla said airily, “the last time I was this impressed was by Atyrn. Not that either’s a patch on my girl, of course. Cumulo thinks he’s too smart and this one’s a brute.”

  They both studied the brute in question as it ducked a loop, only to be snared by one thrown from behind. The miryhl wheeled sharply, wrenching the rope from the Rider’s hand. The eagle shrieked and snapped at all within reach, stamping on the rope and worrying at it with its beak, but only managed to tighten the knot.

  “That’s not good,” Stirla murmured, wincing at the miryhl’s scream. Catching a second rope, the bird yanked the offending Rider off his feet. Only a quick grab from his friends prevented the man from being dragged within the miryhl’s reach. “You might want to intervene.”

  “Fools!” Lyrai snapped, paying his friend no attention, as the miryhl tangled its feet in the rope. “They’ll kill it before we even get to the Choice.”

  “Which is where you come in,” Stirla said. “Off you go. Pull on your captain boots and prove your mettle, or whatever it is we’re supposed to be learning around here.”

  Lyrai eyed him sourly, but didn’t even bother asking why his friend didn’t do something himself. Some things were not worth the bother of putting into words. Besides this was his miryhl – it was up to him to save it.

  The eagle lunged again, tripping and splaying its gorgeous wings. The Riders pounced, eager to secure it while it was preoccupied. The miryhl panicked, trying to regain its tangled feet and flapping its wings to keep the intruders at bay. More than one flight feather was damaged as they were flailed against the ground.

  Sergeant Rees stamped on the miryhl’s wing to hold it down while he attempted to put a rope around the bird. Rolling to the side, the miryhl slashed out with its feet, knocking Rees over and very nearly slicing him from neck to navel.

  “Enough!” Lyrai roared, deciding everything had gone too far. “Stand down! I order you to stop!”

  Rees struggled to his feet and found himself facing a furious miryhl, while four Riders roped its wings. They tightened their grip as the miryhl struck, barely missing the sergeant.

  The eagle screamed, strained and freed a wing, beating it frantically and damaging more precious feathers on the sun-baked ground.

  “Stand down!” Lyrai shouted. “I said stand down! All of
you!”

  By now six Riders clung to the ropes on the miryhl’s left, while another three had managed to loop its neck, but at Lyrai’s bellow they reluctantly let go. Even Rees rolled clear in the face of Lyrai’s rage.

  “Back away from the miryhl,” he commanded, keeping his voice low, trying not to distress the bird any further. “All of you. Now.”

  “You heard the lieutenant,” said an unexpected but much welcomed voice. Captain Myran had arrived. “Timpkins, throw that rope and I will tie you up and present you personally to this miryhl for breakfast.”

  Rider Timpkins dropped the rope as though it burned, and the circle of men shifted back another six paces. Everyone waited, looking between the miryhl and the man behind Lyrai.

  A broad hand squeezed his shoulder approvingly. “Proceed, lieutenant.”

  Not taking his eyes from the panicked bird, Lyrai lowered his chin in a grateful nod. “Thank you, sir. Forgive me for not saluting.”

  Captain Myran chuckled. “Formalities are taken as done, lieutenant. Now soothe that miryhl.”

  Lyrai nodded again and took a tentative step forward. The miryhl hissed and Lyrai sank down, resting his weight on his haunches. “All right, my beauty,” he crooned. “Steady now.”

  The miryhl cautiously folded its unbound wing, though it kept an alert eye on Lyrai’s creeping progress. When he got too close the eagle growled, flexing its free foot.

  “Steady,” Lyrai murmured. “You’re in a tangle and need my help. I won’t hurt you, my fine one.” Keeping his voice soft, he continued praising the miryhl and creeping closer until he was within half a pace of the sharp talons. The eagle scraped the ground but didn’t strike.

  “Good, that’s good,” he praised, reaching for the tangled rope. The miryhl flinched, as did Lyrai, and both froze. They sighed in unison when neither struck and Lyrai slid his knife from his boot, careful to let the eagle see what he was doing at all times. “We’ll soon have you free, friend.” Reaching for the ropes, he sliced through a third of the thickly woven width before the miryhl jerked away.

  “All right,” Lyrai crooned. “Think you can handle it now?”

  Watching Lyrai warily, the miryhl stretched out. With a crack of that deadly beak, it snapped the rope.

  “Good,” Lyrai whispered, pulling the bindings free and taking care not to touch the miryhl any more than necessary. “There.” Tugging the last of the rope away, Lyrai hopped back as the bird rolled to its feet, but when it found its left wing still tied it shrieked in outrage.

  “Watch out!”

  Until now the Riders have been mercifully silent, but as one onlooker shouted the obvious the miryhl remembered it wasn’t alone and lunged for the nearest target.

  Swallowing hard, Lyrai dropped to his knees, keeping his hands low and his head bowed. A puff of air caressed his cheek as the bird’s beak passed but didn’t make contact. Not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe, Lyrai waited, watching the shadow on the grass as the miryhl loomed over him.

  Warm breath separated his hair, then touched his forehead, nose and chin, before a smooth beak rested against his cheek and chest. Lyrai barely had time to look up before he was flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him by a hard shove.

  Deep brown eyes glinted as the miryhl arched its neck and put them beak-to-nose. “Untie me,” it rasped, and though its voice was hoarse from its screams it was also clearly male.

  Lyrai blinked, stunned at being spoken to so causally. He nodded. “Let me up first.”

  Huffing, the miryhl moved back a pace, allowing Lyrai to roll to his feet and snatch up his knife. In the end he didn’t need it, the noose slackened beneath his fingers and the eagle was free. The big male swung his head to meet Lyrai’s gaze, nodded in thanks and launched, broad wings opening with a crack.

  “Wait!” Lyrai called. Buffeted by the downdraft as the miryhl flew into the gathering dusk, he could only watch with envy as the bird powered away. Lyrai wanted this miryhl; no other would do.

  “Congratulations, lieutenant.” Captain Myran watched the glorious eagle swirl around the mountainside and out of sight. “You handled that admirably. I assume you have no need to wait for the Choice?”

  Lyrai barely heard the praise – a rare honour from his captain that at any other time would have filled him with pleasure. “He spoke.”

  “I noticed.” Myran sounded amused. “Perhaps when he returns you should take him to the Rider eyries. I don’t think he liked the look of the other one.”

  “He spoke to me,” Lyrai repeated, not paying attention. “Without a ceremony or a temporary bond. Or anything.”

  “Yes.”

  “I want him. If he doesn’t come back, I’ll look for him.”

  Captain Myran patted him on the shoulder. “He’ll be back.” When Lyrai still didn’t look at him, the captain turned away. “Come on, Stirla, let’s see how the other new arrivals are faring. Your fellow lieutenant’s a little preoccupied.”

  Preoccupied was not how Lyrai would have put it, more like ensnared. It was as though by releasing the miryhl from the ropes, he’d entangled himself. For the briefest moment it had felt glorious. When the miryhl loomed over him, capable of killing with one blow, he hadn’t felt afraid. His heart had pounded, but not with panic, and when he spoke Lyrai felt as though Maegla Herself had smiled on him.

  Now all he felt was anxious. What would he do if he didn’t come back? There wasn’t another miryhl on the entire Overworld that could compare. It was this one or none.

  “You have to come back,” he whispered to the empty field. “You have to.”

  So he waited, while everyone else got on with their lives in the warm summer evening. Kneeling like a supplicant before the gods, Lyrai remained on the flying field. The first stars opened their eyes above him and the moon climbed over the Cloud Sea. Oblivious to the passing time and growing numbness in his legs, all Lyrai could do was watch the spot where he’d last seen the miryhl.

  A cool wind drifted over the grass, raising goosebumps on his skin, but he ignored it.

  Until a soft voice murmured, “Still here?”

  Not daring to look over his shoulder, Lyrai swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Have you nowhere better to be?”

  At the hint of amusement, Lyrai turned. A hiss of pain escaped him as the blood flowed back into his legs and he flinched when the miryhl lowered his beak to rub them.

  “I was waiting for you,” Lyrai said, grimacing at a fresh cramp. “I wasn’t sure you’d return.”

  The miryhl straightened and tilted his head. “In some things we have no choice.”

  Unsure how to take that, Lyrai attempted to stand instead. He had to do it in stages on his reawakened legs but, with a little help from the eagle, he finally stood on his own.

  Rumbling with concern, the miryhl nuzzled him. “You must not wait like this again. I don’t like it.”

  Smiling, Lyrai carefully stroked the feathers on the eagle’s head, relaxing when they rose and the bird purred his enjoyment. “I hope I’ll never need to.”

  “Good.”

  They fell silent as Lyrai tickled the miryhl’s head, uncertain how to proceed. This was new for him and he was at a loss over what to do.

  “Must I sleep there?” the miryhl asked, nodding at the rickety structure built for the Choice.

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “Good.” The eagle sighed with relief and preened Lyrai’s hair. “It does not look safe.”

  “It’s well enough,” Lyrai promised, enjoying the attention. “For a few days.”

  The miryhl huffed, unconvinced, and bowed his head. “I am Hurricane.”

  “Lyrai. Lieutenant Lyrai Henstrati Henrykran.”

  And that was all they needed. Without another word, Lyrai showed his new miryhl to the Rider eyries and wondered whatever had happened to ceremony and ritual, and whether they truly meant anything after all. It certainly felt better this way.