“I mean no harm,” Ceti said.
“Quiet, Roman,” Nighthawk said.
Ceti sighed. “I’m sorry to have troubled your people. I am here by accident.”
“You’re here by a weird trick that I don’t understand,” Nighthawk said, still brandishing the spear.
“It’s called an aquila and what happened is that I went off-course and crashed,” Ceti said.
“Listen.” Sky grabbed the handle of her father’s spear. “He’s not dangerous. Relax, all of you.” Sky let go of the spear. The other warriors lowered their weapons, uncertain whether to obey her or her father.
“This Roman is unique. He flies,” she said. “He’s not to be hurt. Those are my orders. I’m taking responsibility for him.”
Nighthawk’s eyes widened. “If you take responsibility for him, you take responsibility for all his actions.” Her father lowered his voice. “Slow down and think, Sky.”
That was a plea. Her father was trying prevent her from making what he saw as a bad mistake. If she pledged her word and reputation on behalf of a Roman that she barely knew and Ceti behaved badly, she would be responsible.
She stood on the edge of a cliff and there would be nothing to break her fall if the Roman stepped wrong.
Nighthawk wanted to pull her back from the edge.
“It’s my decision,” she said. “I’ll stand for the Roman.”
Nighthawk’s face twisted. Her father looked angry and confused, his mouth caught in a strange grimace. He looked the same as he did when her mother made a decision that he opposed. She swallowed hard. Perhaps I am my mother after all.
“I’m doing what needs to be done.” She looked past him to the other warriors, to see if they would follow her orders. She had standing as a tribal elder, but this was not her tribe.
The warriors were silent, but lowered their spears. They were listening. For now.
“Sky, I’m going to stand,” Ceti said. “That’s all I’m going to do.”
“And I’ll help you, as I said I would,” Sky said.
Ceti shook his head. “No, Domina, I don’t think that is a good idea. You’ve risked enough.”
Domina. A Roman word that she didn’t understand but it seemed to imply respect. She nodded. He was right. He should show strength of his own.
Gods, she liked this man. She understood this man, though that would no doubt seem folly to her father and everyone else. He longed to fly, to do something amazing. But instead of brooding and wondering about his destiny, as she had, he’d done it.
He should not suffer for that, not while she could protect him.
Ceti struggled to his feet. She took another step back as his full height was revealed.
Oh. My.
The Roman was easily a head taller than her father and he was one of the tallest of her people. Ceti’s shoulders were the broadest that she’d ever seen. He was not some bulky giant either; he was all in proportion, a flat stomach, strong, but not overly large hands, and powerful legs.
He would be a dangerous enemy, if he chose to be.
And a fierce protector as well.
The Roman bowed to Nighthawk. “As I told your daughter, I’m Ceti of Seneca, but reside for the moment in Manhatos. I intended to fly only over the water. Again, I apologize for intruding on your village.”
“What is that object?” A warrior pointed to the tree.
“An aquila. It flies,” Ceti said.
An aquila. It flies. He said that with such calmness, as if it was a usual thing to say, like “I am eating breakfast.”
“Romans are not allowed near our village,” said one of the warriors.
“Ceti fell from the clouds,” Sky said. “That’s never happened in our history. I can think of no more blatant omen for me than a man literally falling from the sky.”
The warriors started murmuring. They didn’t like the idea of a Roman’s fate being entwined with any of the People. She wasn’t entirely happy either about being bound to a stranger either, but there was no denying that Ceti had landed at her feet.
Behind her, she heard Ceti whisper something that sounded like an oath under his breath, equal parts frustration and confusion.
Nighthawk stared at her as if trying to digest what she’d just said and it gagged him instead.
“Daughter.” His lowered his voice to speak only to her. “Your mother would have my head if I let you do this. Stop. Please.”
Nighthawk’s anger she could take. His concern made her knees weak and made her stomach twist into knots. He looked so disappointed in her. Just like her mother would be, exactly as he said.
“My mother is not here and the gods seem to have a different idea.” Sky crossed her arms over her chest, not certain if she was right, but determined anyway. Perhaps Ceti falling at her feet meant nothing more than that he’d misjudged how to land his aquila.
But if claiming he was a sign saved his life, then, fine, he was her destiny.
“All I wish,” Ceti said, “is to retrieve my aquila and leave in peace. I’ve no wish to make Sky responsible for me.”
Nighthawk shook his head. “You may be what you say, Roman, but you can’t leave. For all we know, you’re here to spy on us or you were sent to attack us. If not for my daughter, we would have killed you already. She’s bought you time.”
“There will be no killing,” Sky said. “Father, even if I didn’t claim responsibility for him, if we hurt him or keep him prisoner, we risk war with the Romans.”
“We’re always at risk of war with Romans. I’m not going to let him to land near Shorakapkok and then simply walk away and neither will the village elders,” Nighthawk said. “I’ll allow that his arrival could be a portent of the future. He comes back to the village and then we’ll decide his fate.”
The warriors nodded in agreement. “We accept his arrival as a sign, but we can’t release him,” said one.
“Besides, if he is a sign for you, daughter, then he has to stay,” Nighthawk said with a smirk.
She hid her inner wince. Her father had a point. “He’s not to be harmed.”
“No. I can’t go with you. I have to get back to Manhatos. Now.” Ceti put his hand on his belt knife.
Sky turned and closed her hand over his. Underneath her palm, she could feel the corded muscles and the strength in his fingers. “You’ll die if you fight, Ceti,” she whispered. “And then who will tell me what it felt like to fly?”
He stared back at her. His eyes were the color of a clear blue lake, a color that struck her as so odd, so alien. A line of blood streaked his cheek from a long scratch. His gaze flicked over to her father and the warriors and back to her.
He took a deep breath. “Move your hand, Domina.”
She did as he said, looking straight up at him, holding his gaze. He drew the knife.
She heard her father gasp.
“Sky, get away—”
Ceti offered the knife to her, hilt first. “I am in your hands, then, Sky of the Lenape.”
She took the hilt in her hands as Ceti released it. The knife was heavier than any others she’d used, and the curve at the end looked especially deadly. She took a deep breath. “I am She Who Was Born Under Fire in the Sky and I accept your charge, Ceti of Seneca.”
She turned around and looked at her father. “Does this satisfy you all, then?”
Nighthawk looked anything but satisfied. His jaw was set, one of his hands clenched into a fist. But he nodded, lowered his spear, and motioned to the warriors.
Sky nodded. “Come with us, Ceti.”
He took a step forward and his face twisted in real pain.
Sky frowned. “Is your ankle injured? Can you walk?”
“The ankle is sore. But that’s not what caused me pain.” He pointed up, grimacing. “I can’t leave my aquila. I have to bring it with me.”
“So you can fly away and escape us?” Nighthawk asked.
Ceti shook his head, smiling. “I have no way to launch it from here, ev
en if it were intact. But I can’t leave it there. Weather or animals could destroy it. Or it could fall out of the tree and be smashed to pieces.”
“I don’t care.” Nighthawk motioned and the warriors surrounded Ceti.
Ceti clenched his hands into fists, ready to fight. Sky felt ready to smite him herself. Curse you, Roman. She’d just saved his life and now he was endangering it again for his creation.
It was consistent. He had already risked his life to fly. He wouldn’t let the aquila go easily. Likely the only way to keep him alive would be to get it for him.
Sky looked up. She’d climbed trees for years. She could climb this one.
I want to see what kind of thing soars with eagles.
She jumped, grabbed the first low-lying branch, and started her ascent.
Chapter Five
Her father yelled in shock and anger and slapped his spear against the trunk of the tree for emphasis. The others screamed at her to come down. Ceti’s booming voice carried above them all.
Sky ignored the din and the shouts for her to stop. Nighthawk would claim this was another whim. But she knew better. It was more like the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Perhaps Ceti will teach me to make one of these. I will fly. Someday.
The ascent was easy. From birth, she’d climbed trees to get closer to the heavens. Her parents and the tribe had always encouraged her climbing, saying there could be no better pastime for her than studying the sky.
There were more calls, though she couldn’t hear the exact words any longer. She focused only on grabbing branches above her and curling her feet around the ones below her. It seemed like no time at all before the base of the great tree was out of sight, hidden by the leaves.
She stopped for a moment to take a deep breath and wipe the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her tunic. Ceti’s fall had cleared a path. But it had also left many broken branches with sharp edges. She looked down at her hands and forearm, already covered with nicks and cuts. Her face, too, had been scraped from contact with the maple’s rough bark.
The large wings of the aquila loomed far above her but with each movement upward, the aquila seemed to grow larger. The branches thinned as she gained altitude, making the climb easier, but also became slimmer and smaller, making her hold more precarious.
Using her fingertips, she felt her way up the tree until she found a branch to her left, large enough that it seemed unlikely to crack. She pressed herself against the trunk and squeezed her knees tight around it to bolster her hold.
Convinced she wouldn’t fall, she pushed aside the leaves just above her head and saw the aquila clearly.
A square wood frame hung below the V-shaped wings. That must be what Ceti used to hang onto. She tapped the frame. Odd, the wood was hollow. It must be a Roman wood. The bottom corner of the frame had splintered and the two remaining pieces hung loosely near each other. It looked like that corner had taken the brunt of the crash. Better it than Ceti.
She’d no idea if it was repairable and wondered if this damage would wound Ceti as much as any physical injury.
The wing cloth was ripped in numerous places and parts had torn loose from the frame, partially ruining what was a beautiful painting of an eagle. How had the artist managed that vibrant yellow color for the beak?
The arrow shape at the center pointed directly at the ground. At least that was the right direction. Sky relaxed against the tree trunk, contemplating what to do next. Getting here had been one thing, an easy task compared to what was next. It was good her father wasn’t in the tree with her to point out he was right, that she was being foolish and impulsive.
How am I ever going to get this down?
She put her hands on the frame and tried to lift it away from its perch. It wasn’t heavy. She could move it. But if she pulled too hard, the wing cloth might be further shredded. And if she simply wrenched the thing clear of the branches, it could come completely loose from the tree and go crashing to the ground, much like Ceti had done.
She thought about calling to Ceti for an idea of how to best carry the thing but she couldn’t see anyone through all leaves and likely she wouldn’t hear him either.
This problem was hers to solve, unless she wanted to admit failure, climb down, and let the aquila rot here until the wind dislodged it.
No.
It was such an impressive thing. It had looked so wonderful in flight. She couldn’t leave it here and see it ruined forever.
First step, free the aquila from the branches. Second, guide it down rather than try to hold it. She decided keeping the frame intact would be the most important. Presumably, Ceti had more cloth. But he probably didn’t have another frame.
She set her foot on the next branch up to get closer and slipped.
Her feet touched nothing but air. She hung by an arm. Fear shot through her along with stabbing pain as her shoulder took all her weight.
Cursed tree spirit! I bet you’re rotted at the core.
Sky gritted her teeth and desperately felt around for a solid branch. Leaves slapped at her eyes. Fear twisted her stomach and dried her throat.
Focus.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and hugged the trunk as hard as she could with her knees. That released some of the pressure on her shoulder. She laid her head close to the trunk. The bark scraped against her nose as she reached up with her other hand for a branch that would save her. Her fingertips brushed only leaves.
She growled deep in her throat, used her knees to shimmy up the tree just a little bit more and tried to grab the branch above her again. Thank the gods she was wearing leggings today.
This time, her fingers curled around a solid branch. She pulled with her upper arms, muscles straining, and reached up enough to set her feet on a branch that originally had been level with her waist.
Whew. Falling out of a tree was not the way to prove Ceti was related to her destiny.
Sky took another moment to regain her strength. Her shoulder ached. She looked around. She had never been this high before. The sun shone down brightly, unhindered by any obstacles in its path. She could see the island spread out below her. The plains of the village fields stretched to the west until the cliffs rose above them. To the east, she could make out the Roman settlement at the foot of Mannahatta. A tall tower on the highest mount loomed above it all.
The two communities belonged to two separate worlds even though they occupied the same land. Was her mother right that one needed to be wiped out for the other to exist? It seemed a horrible shame to wipe out a people who created things like the aquila.
Sky slid out further on the branch and grabbed the closest edge of the wing frame. The cloth of this tip had ripped and hopelessly tangled in the branches. She drew her knife, put her back to the tree to brace herself, and began to cut the frame free. The material was rough to the touch on one side, soft on the other, and both resisted her sharp knife edge. She gritted her teeth and sawed harder.
Sweat built up in her palm as the cloth continued to resist. She almost dropped the knife. Finally, the wing edge came free. She quickly sheathed the knife, wiped her sweaty hand on her leggings, and grabbed the frame’s edge with both hands. She pushed it, turning the aquila sideways, wingtip pointing down. It should slide down easier turned this way. Ceti’s fall had cleared a path through the leaves that she could follow.
The aquila shifted slowly from its perch on top and twisted sideways as she guided the wing downward. So far, it was working. The pull of the ground would do most of the work for her.
She scrambled lower, one hand on the tree, one hand on the wingtip, guiding the aquila on a parallel path down. As it turned completely vertical, the pull of it on her arm tripled. She had to stop to get her balance. How had she thought the aquila easy to hold before? The weight of it threatened to tear her arm off at the shoulder.
The aquila shifted, almost demanding to go down faster. She swore, let go of the tree and grabbed the wing with both hands. But the momentum
of its fall ripped the aquila from her grasp.
Curse you, Roman thing!
The aquila rushed by her. The wood frame banged into her forearm. She flailed out desperately with her hands, trying to grab the thing again. She closed her hands around the hollow wood, and held on.
The aquila stopped moving.
The frame rested against her knees. She heaved a sigh of relief. With her back against the trunk, she looked closely at what she had in her hands now. It was the broken wood that hung below the wing. Ceti had used it to steer, she guessed, though given he’d ended up in the tree, it hadn’t worked that well.
She heard the shouts from below again. She looked down and made out a few figures through the leaves. Her father yelled for her to relax and take her time. Ah, they could see her then. No, more likely, they could see the aquila moving. It’d be hard to miss.
She smiled, confident again. She was almost done. All she needed to do was take it slower.
She searched for the next branch downward with her foot. One step at a time, one branch at a time. She started counting the steps, falling into a rhythm, making steady progress.
Her arms ached. The bark of the tree scratched her back. Blood from the cuts on her arms dripped onto her leggings. She ignored it all and instead pictured how wonderful it would be to get this to the ground. This was going to work.
About three-quarters of the way down, with the end in sight, she stopped to adjust her grip, now slick with sweat. Her father and the others came into focus. They watched silently now.
She gritted her teeth, not caring that her arms felt pulled from their sockets. She was nearly there.
The frame seemed to be yanking at her. Maybe it wanted to fly again. She snorted at the idea. It was a thing of cloth and dead wood, not a living being like the tree. She went down another branch, then another.
The aquila tipped again and she lost the balance of it. The wing above her turned, like some ungainly bird falling in flight. Her arms were twisted over each other. Her sweaty fingers lost their grip.
The aquila gathered speed, tipping further, breaking branches and tearing leaves from the trees. She dove forward along a branch in a last desperate attempt to stop it from falling. It picked that moment to break completely loose from the branches above. The trailing wing edge came directly at her at her, threatening to impale her shoulder.
Eagle of Seneca Page 5
