The One Who Could Not Fly

by E G Stone

  “Humans,” Ravenna said. There was a gasp from a charcoal sylph, her wings bristling. Another let out a surprised curse. Strygis merely pressed his lips together. Ravenna sighed and pointed to the long, thin scar on her arm. “I received this when human slavers—those who capture others to sell into service—came to Shinalea and captured me. This is where they branded me. This is where they cut down my spine...”

  She told her story swiftly and concisely, emphasising the injuries inflicted upon her, glossing over those humans she loved. Miska did not even make it into her story; she found it too painful. Instead, Ravenna painted a picture of a cruel and furious race who culminated in Davorin, a conqueror who was seeking the Stormbringers of ancient times. The sylphs. She gave her evidence from the journals and made a spectacle of her scars. If she had been able to feel anything but determination and emptiness, then perhaps Ravenna would have been disgusted by the picture she was painting. Not all humans were evil. Not all were cruel. She loved a human with all her heart and yet she would not let his name pass her lips.

  Finally, when Ravenna’s tale of her escape across the desert to warn her people came to an end, nothing but silence remained. The High Council stared at her, unable to form reactions into words. If they thought about arguing, then there was the evidence of Ravenna’s story written on her skin. If they thought about declaring her banished, there was the steel at her hip. They knew she would not have returned if it were not important and the truth was staring them in the face.

  “They do not know where to find us,” one sylph said after a moment.

  Ravenna raised her brow. “Do you honestly think that will stop them? This island is less than half-a-day from the mainland. I was captured by humans right on these shores.”

  “You can go back! Lead them in a different direction!” Another sylph nodded eagerly.

  “And if they find you while I am attempting to lead them astray? What will happen, then? Will you just fly off like a flock of startled crows? Or will you die?”

  Strygis pounded his fist on the table.

  “You should not have returned! You doom us all!”

  Ravenna said nothing for a moment. She looked at each council member individually, meeting their gaze until each flinched away. Finally, she spoke, her words quiet though they rang through the chamber. “We were doomed the moment we lost that which we were.”

  “How could this have happened?” The dark female sank into her wings, the feathers fluffed in fear.

  Ravenna did not lower her gaze. “The moment the law to exile those who ventured beyond our shores came into being, this was the only possible result. We could not remain hidden here forever. And when the humans did come, they would have forgotten us. We would have forgotten them. Both of us, lost to myth and the mists of memory. Our isolation will prove to have been our undoing.”

  “You brought this upon us! The humans would remain ignorant if not for you!” Strygis leaned forwards, wings flaring overhead.

  “Perhaps,” Ravenna said softly. “And perhaps not. They found Shinalea without my assistance. Either way, I have come to warn you. To save you. Send a scout if you doubt me!”

  Silence echoed in the chambers. The High Council would not even exchange glances.

  Ravenna nodded. “If you will not send a scout, then you must trust me. Trust the scars that I bear. If you do not prepare for this, then you will die.”

  Strygis looked to the council member on his right, then to the one on his left. Neither said anything, though the charcoal sylph flicked her eyes to something below the table. Strygis shook his head furiously. The charcoal sylph whispered something fierce, jerking her head towards Ravenna. She could feel them staring at her scars. She lifted her chin and spread her wings, hands resting on the swords at her hips. Strygis glared at the table, but with another whispered word from the sylphs at either side of him, he nodded.

  These sylphs were terrified, Ravenna saw. It was for the best, she knew, but she had never seen such fear on any of her people’s faces before. It was like having the last remnants of happiness from her childhood torn from her. Ravenna’s chest ached for it, but she showed no sign of her pain. They would face much worse in the times to come. Enough that there might not be much left.

  Strygis watched Ravenna, meeting her gaze. He flicked his eyes to each of her scars, lingering on the brand at her hip. Finally, he took a deep breath and reached beneath the table, removing something and setting it out for all to see.

  Ravenna took a step back, shock coursing through her. This was a diadem made of gold-wrought feathers. It was the Crown of Wings, the symbol of the Queens and Kings of the sylphs. And they were offering it to Ravenna.

  “Help us,” the female sylph to the left of Strygis begged. She reached out to push the golden crown closer to Ravenna. “Save us.”

  Desperation bloomed in their eyes as they pushed that gold-wrought feather crown towards her. Ravenna knew that they were begging her silently to take the crown, to lead them, to save them. Only one had the courage to ask outright.

  She curled her lip and turned her head away from the crown. “No.”

  “N-no?” Strygis asked, voice quivering as he realised all his splendour and influence and supposed power would do him no good, now.

  “No,” Ravenna repeated. “I do not love you well enough for that.”

  “But —”

  “I will not be your Queen.” She gave them a hard, sharp stare. “But I will fight your war.”

  Then, she turned on her heel and left, her wings fluttering slightly behind her. Silence followed in her wake.

  Epilogue

  Rock slipped under Miska’s feet, making him stumble and fall. His thin leather slippers had worn through and he could feel the rocks digging into his feet. He kept onwards, though, only one thought on his mind.

  I have to find Ravenna.

  It had been three days since he had run from the Red Palace, fleeing for his life, and to find someone to save those he left behind. He had come upon the Great Hall, determined to see whether or not the soldiers could have saved Lenore from Davorin. They were twenty against one man. Surely, they could have defeated him easily? But the carnage that he had seen through the open door…

  Miska shivered, only partly from the cold. He remembered the look of despair on his queen’s face. He remembered how she stood facing the door with Davorin beside her, his gaze fixed on her face in a triumphant grin. Lenore had seen Miska. And she gave him the only command that could have enticed him to go. She had told him, “Run. Save us.”

  Miska had not even bothered to pack any supplies. He just fled the Red Palace, the place that had been his home since he was a child. He left everything he had known behind to go find Ravenna. Surely Ravenna, the love of his life and the strongest person he knew, could save Lenore. He had to find her. He would bring her and that army of Stormbringers that Davorin wanted. But the sylphs would be fighting against that bastard. Then Ravenna would grind him into dust.

  Only…Miska wasn’t certain that he was going the right way. He had not seen Vareis’ directions to Ravenna properly. He had only noted the part about the Iron Mountains. Was the path to Shinalea over the mountains?

  He had been wandering in the mountains for nearly half-a-day and was completely lost. His feet began bleeding and the farther he went, the more he shivered. This was cold, terrible, bone-breaking cold. And these trees! They were tall and spiny, with no resemblance to the lush trees in the gardens surrounding the Red Palace, or the scrubby plants of the desert. They made everything look the same, and their web-like, exposed roots obscured the sharp rocks underfoot.

  Miska tripped and fell, grasping at a branch. He could feel it crack, even if he could not hear it. He straightened and tried to catch his breath. Tears stung at his eyes as he realised he did not even know the way back to the desert. All around him was unfamiliar terrain with no sign of water or food or people.

  Miska missed Ravenna. If she were here, she would know wha
t to do. She had read all those books. Surely, she knew how to navigate. And she would know what to do about the crawling feeling on the back of Miska’s neck. It was almost like he was being watched, but not by an animal. No, this presence was intense and intelligent and it scared Miska desperately.

  Miska felt a tremor in the earth. He started running, fear pumping through him, pushing his steps onwards. He did not care about the fire that burned through his bleeding feet. He did not care which way he was going. He just had to get away.

  A hole in the ground yawned in front of Miska. He mistimed his jump and fell instead, tumbling down a slight slope. His head slammed onto the trunk of one of those horrid trees and the world spun before him. Miska rolled onto his back, groaning. He looked up and knew, then, that his life was at an end.

  He would never see Ravenna again.

  Lenore would die and the Red Desert would be left to the hands of Davorin.

  He had failed.

  Miska whimpered as the dragon’s head drew closer. Its step made the earth tremble, its bright white scales shimmering in the sun. Miska saw its jaw moving and, for once, he was glad that he would never hear. He was not sure he could have borne the noise that heralded his death. Miska felt his head throb again and he closed his eyes, slipping gladly into darkness.

  His last thought before he succumbed to the black was of the strong and beautiful Ravenna. He hoped she was alright.

  End, Book I

  Acknowledgments

  The amount of people that are involved in making a book is actually quite large. I would like to thank all of them for the support and help that has gone into The One Who Could Not Fly, because without you, none of this would have happened.

  Firstly, there are my beta readers, whose comments made this book so much more than it was. I gladly took all that you told me and did my best to improve it. I hope that it meets your standards. I would also like to thank my editor, Vanessa, for putting a lot of time and work into this piece. I would especially like to thank Fay Lane, who put together the most beautiful cover with short notice. You are an absolute genius.

  Then there are the people who have been eagerly awaiting this first book of the Wing Cycle, who believed in me and thought that this would be a great next step in my adventures in writing. To Michael Evan who waited patiently through the frustrations. To my readers, who did not press me. And to my dad, who listened to me rant and rave when everything was falling apart, and helped me take initiative to move forwards. To all of these people, I say thank you.

  “There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”

  ― C.S. Lewis

  About the Author

  E.G. Stone is an independent author who has been writing, quite literally, since the age of six. Since then, E.G. has improved rather a lot and has written (so far) twenty-two full-length novels, various short stories, a screenplay, snippets of poetry, and various blog entries that may or may not make sense. E.G. enjoys writing in many different genres. The favourites are science fiction, mystery (preferably of the murder variety), adventure, fantasy — basically anything where the world isn’t quite what you would expect. When not writing, she is off musing about the workings of languages, both real and created, or wandering around and experiencing new people, places and things. E.G. reads voraciously, perhaps to the point of slight-insanity. She also is enjoying making a go of this writer thing full-time. Weird, nerdy, perhaps a little crazy, she is having a grand old time writing, reading, reviewing, interviewing, and causing trouble.