The Endless Skies

by Shannon Price

  How many Leonodai would need to join the Endless Skies before the losses begin to affect the Heliana’s powers? If too many kids are lost, or if adults start to get sick, we could become the next Garradin.

  “Fear or no fear,” the Second Sentinel shouts as the eleventh bell begins to toll, “you remain proud! Proud of your blood, proud of your people. Loyalty above all!”

  We echo the words back to her. It is our city’s children on the line. Ours is a mission of legend, of the kind that Rowan longs to be a part of.

  You can be the hero of this tale, I think. You can be the hero of hers, too.

  The sentinels give the signal to take flight.

  * * *

  Cold wraps around me like a shroud as my paws lift from the Heliana. Sethran takes us into the headwind while the rest of us form a line behind him. All around me, the other teams take the same formation, each of us saving our energy. We’ll split up at Balmora, but for right now, we take the most direct path to the Cliffs.

  In the decades since that fateful day, the humans had claimed the spot where the fox-kin’s city once was and turned it into a fortress. In a natural split in the Cliffs is a sheltered cove that the fox-kin and sea-folk used to use for trade. The humans scarred the land, cutting a zigzag path into it. Above it, they constructed pulleys and machines to get their resources from the height of the land above and onto the shore below. It’s the place where they launch their ships, and understandably, it’s the most guarded place on Balmora. Every few months, they test a new iteration of ships. One with cannons mounted. One with metal in the base so the sea-folk can’t sink it. They try whatever they think will get them to Vyrinterra, once and for all.

  Below us, the dark sea rolls in an ever-shifting rhythm. Here and there, the ghostly shapes of sea-folk come and go as quickly as breaking waves, patrolling the waters for enemy ships.

  It’s a quarter hour’s flight to Balmora—not a far distance by any means, but it feels longer without the promise of a quick return. We glide most of the way, saving as much energy as possible. I focus on my breathing, the way we’ve been taught. In what feels like no time at all, the restless churn of waves becomes a roar. We’re approaching the Cliffs.

  Teams begin to break away, each aiming for a different part of Balmora’s western shores. My senses are hit with a wall of smells I’ve come to associate with Balmora from my past scouting missions—smoke and dirt, earth and metal.

  Out of nowhere, a watchtower blazes to life, the flames throwing harsh shadows over the broken landscape and shocking my vision. Moments later, another one lights up in the distance. Humans and their shadows pour out of the earth. As my eyes adjust, I see their hidden bunkers among the barren earth and tree stumps just as bullets begin to fly. Roars intermix with the sharp fire, and I instinctively swing higher to get out of range. We’re far from the human fortress. They shouldn’t be this far south. Is that what they’ve been doing these past months? Building out defenses to span the entire coast?

  Sethran banks sharply to the right, roaring for us to follow. “We need to take cover, quickly.” From behind, I hear a roar as other teams do the same. “Ox, the tree!”

  “I see him!” To my right, Ox responds by taking his human form. Just as his armor transforms, the bow he has clipped to his chest plate as a lion dissipates into sparks of magic, re-appearing on his back. He pulls it forward, nocking and then loosing an arrow with a practiced deftness—a move that I’ve never mastered, no matter how hard I tried.

  But the strain is evident on his face as he takes his lion form again, golden sparks flowing over his body noticeably slower than they would at home.

  “Dive!” Sethran shouts. “Get to the ground, now!”

  Exin drops, and I follow. I lower my head so my helm takes the hit of the branches and leaves as I try to land, claws scraping against the bark. As I come to a skidding halt, I take my human form. My axe—held in place with metal loops on my lion armor—falls to the ground as my form changes, but years of practice tell me exactly where it landed. My hand wraps around the familiar, heavy weight as I lift it. Sethran roars a command, but I’ve seen what he is warning me of. I launch myself at the human who’s emerged from the direction of the watchtower, sword in hand. Parrying his strikes, I use my shield again and again until the human’s panting hard from exertion. Swinging around and under him, my axe meets his rib cage, and his body falls.

  Breathing hard, I take in the battle around me. By now, the entire coastline is alight. Roars and gunshots, screams and shouts clatter in the air. They weren’t supposed to see us coming, not like this. The humans were supposed to be isolated at their fortress.

  “Exin!” I shout, realizing I’ve lost track of him. I call his name again, waiting for his answer but instead hear him howling for me, just ahead to the left. I run in his direction and find him sword to sword with a human. The man is bleeding out of his arm, and Exin from his leg.

  I adjust the grip on my axe and yell, as loudly as I can in this form, as I lunge at the human. It’s two against one, and the human is wounded. Exin takes the killing blow. He sits up in triumph, chest heaving and glistening with sweat—but when he tries to stand, he falters. I let him lean on me as he presses down on the wound, air hissing between his teeth.

  “Go on without me,” he says. “I’ll slow you down.”

  “I’m not going to just leave you,” I say, adjusting his arm around my shoulders, but he pulls it away. “Give me your arm.”

  “I’ll slow you,” he repeats. “Go.”

  “Exin—”

  “I’ll buy you time.” He shoves me in the other direction. “Loyalty above all. Go!”

  I stagger back, trying to make my friend’s words make sense, but they don’t. His wound continues to bleed, and in my gut, I know he does not have much time. But I can’t leave.

  Then Sethran calls my name from the trees. My commander.

  Years of training rush back like a river let run wild. With one last look at Exin, I join my commander. Ox appears out of the smoke, face shiny with sweat and marred with dark droplets of blood.

  “We retreat now,” our commander says. “We have to get out of here.”

  I follow after him, and that’s when a pang of pain jolts my chest. I surrender to it—the last of my magic leaving me. The three of us make a break for it, staying low as we head directly away from the closest watchtower. At the rear, Ox slings arrow after arrow into the fires and chaos behind us.

  Guilt weighs in my gut like a stone over leaving the battle so quickly, but Sethran is right. Our orders are to find the cure and save the city’s children. And to do that, we need to stay alive.

  We race through the underbrush, the roars of our comrades fading to screams and more gunfire. Sethran takes us due south, and with a startling suddenness, the rage of the battle disappears. I focus hard on the feel of the ground beneath my feet, putting one foot in front of the other like it’s the only thing I’ve ever known how to do.

  A truth burns brighter in my chest than the fires we leave in our wake: now that the humans know we are here, there is no turning back.

  12

  CALLEN

  When the land around us has been silent for an hour, Sethran lets us slow our pace. I sip at my waterskin carefully, conserving it as best I can without passing out.

  We walk in silence for a few miles, until the underbrush starts to reemerge and green peeks through the otherwise barren soil. Sethran spots a rocky outcropping in the distance with decent camouflage from surrounding trees and brush. My legs grow heavy with fatigue as the adrenaline of the battle dissipates. We finally reach the outcropping, and our commander calls for a rest.

  Sethran leans against a boulder, pounding his fist idly into the rock behind him. “What happened to Exin?”

  “He took a bullet to the leg,” I reply. “It all happened so fast.”

  The blood pulsing out of my friend’s leg is an image I won’t soon forget. In the battles against the humans, I�
��ve seen my fair share of cuts and gaping wounds. The sight or scent of blood doesn’t scare me—rather, like a blacksmith’s tools, it sharpens my senses. I have learned which wounds can be mended and which can not. Exin was bleeding too much, too fast …

  “It would not have healed, not without a healer’s attention right away,” I say.

  Sethran takes my meaning. “Skies keep him and everyone else who may have been lost. The humans were ready for us.”

  “They came from underground,” Ox says. “Are there tunnels that we know of?”

  “There are mines at the base of the northern mountains,” our commander responds. “But that would be too far. Warriors haven’t been called to battle in what, six months? The humans must have been planning and expanding their hold, while we sat idle.”

  Ox takes a seat near Sethran, resting his elbows on his knees. “The king and sentinels probably saw the break in the fighting as a sign of victory.”

  “Well,” Sethran replies, his tone bitter, “they were wrong. And it cost Exin his life.” He paces for a moment. “I’m going to go look for water.”

  I look skyward. The moon is waxing, which works in our favor if we are to travel by night. Still, there isn’t much of the land that I can make out clearly. A dark mass that may be a forest calls in the distance. That will give us the best cover and best advantage, and we know how to fight in the trees. Part of the third year of warrior training takes place largely on Vyrinterra, in the forests controlled by the bearkings. We’d spend days in the trees, practicing avoiding detection and seeing if we could make it all the way up the mountain without being caught. If you were, you were sent back down to start over.

  As Sethran goes, Ox stands back up and stretches his legs.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him.

  “Never better.”

  “I meant are you wounded.”

  “Not physically,” he says, putting his leg back down. “Exin was my cousin, you know.”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “And my friend.” The Warriors’ Hall would be quieter without his laughter lighting up the place from Underbelly to roof. When it comes time to clear out his room, I’ll volunteer myself to help. It is a solemn duty, but one that warriors do themselves as an act of service to one another. “How do you feel about this mission?”

  “I’m in favor.”

  “Skies. You know what I mean,” I retort. “Don’t you ever give a straight answer?”

  He shrugs. “Only when I want to.”

  My frustration gnaws at me. There was only one answer I really wanted. “Well, are you and Rowan together?”

  “Sounds like something you should ask her. Besides, I thought we agreed to focus only on the mission,” he says. “‘The mission comes first’ and all that? Was it just for show?”

  “No,” I reply. “But I’m waiting for you to start acting like less of an ass all the time.”

  Ox laughs. “This is me, Callen. Take it or leave it.”

  “What reason do you have to act like this if it’s not about her?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s pretty entertaining.”

  I exhale hard, trying to fight my desire to punch Ox in the face. With his short dark hair and quick mouth, he is the opposite of me. Even our choice of weapons contrast with each other. Ox can fight from a distance, whereas I have to get close to my enemies. Maybe that’s what Rowan meant by wanting something different—but that is too literal for her. There is something in Ox that she likes, but I don’t exactly feel up to the task of finding out what it is.

  “To be honest,” Ox says, more quietly, “I’m still wrapping my brain around all this. I’m so angry at the humans, and leaving someone you care about behind is easier said than done.”

  I flinch. Is this another game to him? Or does he actually mean it?

  “I’m angry, too,” I reply finally. “None of this is fair.”

  Ox nods and gazes skyward. His expression relaxes as he takes in the sky. “I’m sorry, Callen. I forget how I can seem to people I don’t know well.” He comes over to me and touches my right shoulder. “Let’s let it lie, shall we? We can talk about something else. What is your favorite Exin story? Skies know I have a few gems.”

  * * *

  Ox and I are both chuckling at the time Exin tricked Scholar Orr into cursing in front of everyone, when Sethran comes back. “No luck on water,” he says. “What the skies are you laughing about?”

  Sethran’s confusion only makes us laugh harder. It feels good to feel something other than guilt. Exin told me to go. He knew his role in this fight had shifted and, in the perfect clarity of acceptance, had known to try to free me of any guilt. That was so like him. No number of practical jokes could shake his ultimately kind soul. Telling me to go was his final act of grace.

  I draw a deep breath, letting the night air cool me from the outside in. Rowan, as much as she hates being left, is safe, at least. Exin has given me a chance at staying alive, and I have to take it so I can get back. I have so many reasons why I have to keep my eyes on the east, toward the cure.

  To save the sick kids. To serve my king. To keep Matron Talla from bearing another loss. And to have the chance to make things right with Ro. I look idly to Ox, then turn away again.

  I can’t control where her heart will fly, but I can control mine.

  13

  ROWAN

  Dawn breaks over the rooftops. Citizens will be in their beds past their regular hours, sleeping off the night’s festivities.

  From my childhood room at Storm’s End, I am alone with the birds. They murmur and whirr to themselves as the sun whispers from the east, telling a story of promise and panaceas, cures and celebrations. The small bench beneath the window was made for a child, but I still found a way to wedge myself onto it.

  Last night, while most of the Heliana had their attention on the bonfire at the heart of the marketplace, I was looking skyward. The teams’ armor glinting in the moonlight was the only betrayal of their presence as they left.

  Vera, who watched and waited up with me, had nudged my arm. “You okay?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah. Me neither.”

  When we couldn’t see them any longer, Vera headed back to the Warriors’ Hall while I stayed at Storm’s End. I didn’t want to wake up in the Underbelly—it would only remind me that today was supposed to be our day. To have my dream put on hold was too much to deal with on top of my fight with Shirene, worrying about the teams, and trying not to count how many of the Storm’s End girls may be in sick beds by the end of the week.

  “Please,” I had asked the stars, “please let them find it. Bring it home.”

  I doze off, only to be woken again by the birds stirring on the panes by my mother’s balcony one room away from mine. Her voice carries in the morning air as she sings to them.

  Careful not to make any noise, I sit up to try to listen better. Goose bumps sweep over the bare skin of my arms and midriff. I’d slept the summer night in a sleeveless linen shirt and pants, but it’s not the morning chill alone that causes the sensation. To hear my mother singing is one of my favorite things in the world.

  I only remember one of my mother’s performances. It was shortly before she gave up singing to teach. She led the chorus at a celebration of my namesake, whom we can still see in the stars closest to the moon. I don’t know the words she sang. All I remember is a flash of rose-colored dress and the sound of bells as she moved her hands. Charging melodies rippling along with the sound of the other singers.

  I am grateful to have the memory and even more grateful for every moment I’ve spent with my mother since then. Someone like Bel was not as fortunate. Both his parents were warriors, and both went to the Endless Skies on the same night my father did ten years ago. Bel was taken in by his relatives, but things kept going wrong for him. His aunt, warrior Ellian, was reported lost during her mission the next day. They never found her body.

  The history of the Leonodai is built on the names of lost wa
rriors. I don’t want the next chapter to be built on the names of lost children.

  Back in the present, my mother switches to humming, then after a beat, I hear a low whistle. Two sparrows take flight. I bet they’re going to the healers to see if there’s been news. A few minutes later, she knocks on my door and lets herself in.

  “You’d sit out on the window bench like that when you were little.” She holds out a cup of water, and I take it. “I thought you’d outgrown it.”

  “Oh, I have.” I push back with my shoulder and sit up, swinging my legs down where they can fully extend. Pinpricks and goose bumps travel up my shins.

  “What a lovely morning,” she says. Beyond us, the clouds are wispy, whipped by the wind of the skies above. “Makes you forget.”

  “I watched them go.”

  “I thought you might,” she replies.

  “I should be with them.”

  My mother sighs. “We can’t always do the things we want to do. Besides, there is much more work to be done here. Have you heard from your sister at all?”

  “I talked to her yesterday,” I reply, undoing my braid and combing it out with my fingers. “She’s been named the King’s Voice.”

  When my mother doesn’t immediately reply, I look up. Her expression tells me all I need to know. “Oh, skies,” I say. “Did Shirene not tell you?”

  “I’m sure she’s been very busy.”

  Too busy to send one bird? I try to recover. “She did seem pretty tired and stressed,” I add. “I’m sorry you heard it from me, though, and not her.”

  My mother picks up a comb from my nightstand and deftly moves her hands to restart my braid into a four-strand one that I can’t ever do on my own head. “She’ll come visit when she can,” is her reply. “I know she will.”

  She’s tying off the braid at my neck when bells sound from the Glass Tower. My heart rate shoots up, and I count the tolling. Warriors summoned to the Tower. It’s not a call to arms.