by Nicole Adamz
I laughed politely, answered questions, and smiled charmingly. Smile, smile, smile, I thought, gritting my teeth against the exhaustion pulling at me. When the mass thinned, Ari steered me toward the small room designated for Caelum. While some performers showed no signs of exhaustion after a performance the strength of my Talent, while a rare gift, was a burden to my body afterwards.
It was easier to perform when Greerson was my Caelum—I quickly shut the thought down. Thinking of him was dangerous territory. Instead, I focused on Ari’s worried face. Thank Aeolus I have a Tyro now. She retrieved a platter of food, and I smiled wanly in gratitude, shakily picking through the fare.
I stretched the sore muscles in my wings, back, and fingers. This performance would leave me bedridden for at least a day. Rubbing my aching cheeks, I spied an Anomaly hovering in the doorway, and arched a brow.
She was an older woman, quiet and elegantly composed, suited to the dais of a High Family like the Durus residence. Her blonde hair covered half her face, leaving a single pale blue eye visible. I examined her household gown, embroidered with the Durus family crest, and noticed the rigid scar peeking above her collar. It was old, but the thick way it stood against her skin made me believe it still caused pain. I winced at its ugliness.
“Excuse me, Caelum. Lord and Lady Durus would like to speak with you,” she said, staring at the floor.
I nodded, signaling Ari to help me stand. The Anomaly waited for us in the foyer, her eyes submissively floor-level, hesitating. Her gaze flickered toward Ari. The two Warders guarding the stairs glanced over, and I winked at them before turning my attention to the Anomaly.
“My apologies, Caelum, but the invitation was only for you,” she murmured.
Chapter 5
Ari
IGENTLY NAVIGATED MAEWYN toward our suite. Her drooping wings and reedy breathing concerned me. She didn’t eat enough before speaking to Lord and Lady Durus and we left afterwards.
Opening the suite door, a small, brown parcel in the mail flap caught my eye. Why would a Courier deliver something this late? The package was wrapped tightly in twine and addressed to Maewyn. Probably another gift from an admirer, I mused.
I handed Maewyn the small package, and she stumbled as I gingerly guided her to her bedchamber. Glancing at her, my heart squeezed at the strain evident on her wan face. No one outside of Ascension is aware of how worn and broken-looking Caelum become after exerting so much Talent.
I scrutinized Maewyn’s sluggish motions. If she isn’t livelier tomorrow, I’ll point out a wrinkle, I chuckled internally. Scraping the jewelry on Maewyn’s bed into her silver crusted box, I cleaned her room while she undressed and slumped onto her mattress. Fatigued, I hung her dress in the armoire before it wrinkled. A crinkling noise caught my attention.
Frowning, my fingers dug into the fabric and eased a card from a thin slit. I pursed my lips. Who is Davin? I cut my eyes toward her crumpled figure. Is this how she starts her romantic endeavors? I shook my head, too tired to attempt figuring out the love-wild Story Weaver.
Quietly setting the card on her vanity, I closed the door. Weariness clung to me. Changing, I carefully tucked my True One pendant beneath my shift. As a Tyro I wasn’t allowed to wear jewelry, so sometimes I left it in my room. However, when I accompanied Maewyn to a Revue performance I secretly wore it. Somehow, it made me feel better.
A sigh escaped as I crawled onto my mattress, gazing at the nightstand and the chamomile tincture in the green vial. I don’t want anyone to know how frequent my night terrors are, I thought drowsily and closed my heavy eyelids. The tension in my body shifted, drifting away as my mind entered darkness.
The musical voice murmured promises, telling me I was chosen, and drawing me in. You have been Claimed as the Envoy, the voice sang. Fear jerked me awake and I sat, shaking in bed, watching the runes on my skin blink brightly before fading. My heart beat a hard, sluggish rhythm, and I drew ragged breaths through my restricted throat. I tried to scream again, I thought on a sore swallow. Speaking invoked the runes from the Abeyance and came with dire consequences. The heart couldn’t take the continuous strain it put on the body.
The onyx, starry runes on my hands curled across the top of my two middle fingers, ending at my wrists in a nondescript pattern. I stared at the design, trying to discern my Talent. Giving up, I sighed. No one knows what they mean—least of all me—and never will if I become ash from trying to scream.
Pale, pink light seeped into the room; night’s farewell kiss to the sky. Sighing wearily, I trudged to my basin, remnants of the dream clinging like cobwebs. Splashing water on my face, I shook off the lingering fear. This dream was more…intense. Why? The word ‘Envoy’ whispered quietly through my mind.
Worry churned in my mind while I donned an ill-fitting brown uniform, looking in on Maewyn’s sleeping form. Stuffing my tomes and supplies into a sack, I scurried out the door heading toward the feast hall. Maewyn will have something to say, complete with eye-roll, about me attending class when I could be excused, but I don’t want to miss anything—and trying to read someone else’s notes is asking for a headache.
When a few Caelum passed me at the morning buffet, I stiffened. Some Caelum liked to make snide remarks about my lack of Talent—and the random nosebleeds I got. I stared hard at my dark, swirling runes. I’ve been Claimed. I have a right to be here. To be trained, I chanted.
After eating, I huffed up the spiraling staircase leading to Docent Pickwickian’s class. The circular room was in the oldest part of Ascension. This room was part of the original structure; a tower built by one of the first Azoic Caelum. I slid into an empty desk, saved before Docent Pickwickian shuffled in.
The soft clack of his wooden staff preceded his typical ink-stained appearance. He had an aged, molting air, and his dull yellow robes were stained and fraying. Dipping my stylus in ink, I prepared for another hand-cramping session of notes. Docent Pickwickian placed a scroll on the lectern and sifted his fingers through the graying ginger hair tangled around his shoulders.
Docent Pickwickian cleared his throat, waiting for the last morning bell peal to finish resonating. Dark, intelligent eyes surveyed the class, letting the silence twist uncomfortably. A few students shifted; the noise ignobly loud in the quiet.
Docent Pickwickian picked up the slender scroll with dry, ink stained fingers. He placed it onto two curved metal brackets in front of the lectern, letting it slide down the lectern’s surface. A rough map of the city was exposed, dominated by five outer points. Each section was meticulously labeled and colored.
“Today I will address the Great Separation,” Docent Pickwickian said, his steady voice erasing the silence. His brows creased at a few muffled sighs, “Knowing when something happened differs greatly from knowing why it happened. In this class we try to understand the why.”
“The Great Separation happened during a time of war. We’d recently discovered we weren’t the only inhabitants of this mountain. There are creatures which live beneath it, and the Great Separation happened during a fierce dispute with the Dwellers over land. Does anyone know how it was discovered that prolonged contact with a Dweller causes death?” Docent Pickwickian surveyed our blank faces.
“The reason—or the why—for the unfortunate discovery was because a group of Elysian felt we should coexist with the Dwellers. Those who supported a peaceful coexistence chose to leave Summit hoping for a new life with the Dwellers. Those who stayed didn’t believe coexistence was a possibility,” Docent Pickwickian said solemnly.
I paused; my stylus frozen. A peaceful coexistence with the Dwellers. Isn’t that what we have now?
“The group of Elysian who left returned. Accounts say they were infected—their wings were molting and blackened. To protect Summit, a mandate from the High Lord went into effect. It created the five wards around the farthest reaches of the city, creating the Ward barrier to protect us. The Elysian who’d left Summit couldn’t pass through because they were changed. There is
speculation that any survivors were Fallen due to the disease.”
I shuddered at the thought of being flightless, like Anomalies, and never touching the sky again. Fallen was a capital punishment that the Aerial Council gave for serious crimes. I’d seen it happen once; the criminal was tied on a stage in the Main Holding while her wings were brutally broken for everyone to see.
I’d covered my ears against her tortured screams, wanting to vomit. The entire thing was wrong. No matter the crime, being Fallen was worse than being ash. If being Fallen was also a result of a disease from Dwellers, I never wanted to meet one. Elysian weren’t made to walk the earth like Anomalies. We were meant to fly—we were born for it.
The journey to Welkin is easier if you fly. Anomalies have a longer journey—if they make it. Born damaged because of past sins, their eternal punishment is walking everywhere even after death. Well, that’s what Aeolus worshippers believe. The True One created us all differently for a purpose.
I don’t know how Anomalies are comfortable walking over their dead. The thought of endlessly treading over the bodies of their departed is abhorrent. It’s far better to be burned to ash and scattered to the winds in Eternal Flight. Zora’s face flashed through my mind and I winced. Our family Anomaly had raised me. The thought of her walking to Welkin after death as some sort of continuing punishment didn’t sit well.
Docent Pickwickian’s intruded on my thoughts, his voice a hypnotic melody. “The Elysian that chose to leave Summit caused families to be torn apart and many lineages were lost, and the Ward Barrier was created; the first divide among our people. After many wars, a tentative peace facilitated trade between the two kingdoms,” Docent Pickwickian said sadly, his gray streaked head bobbing.
I placed the tip of my stylus into my inkwell. We provided Dwellers with cloth, grain, fruits, and vegetables. In return they provided us with dyes, raw metals, precious gems, and crafted jewelry. Both races maintained minimum contact, so peace had existed for over five centuries.
“During the Great Separation, Caelum were called by the High Lord to harness our Talent and create a way to protect our people. Five points at the far reaches of Summit were chosen, and Azoic Caelum created the tall pillars encasing our city in safety. The Caelum worked together with Healers and Prelates to create the Ward Barrier.”
“But the energy traveling between the Wards wanes, and every six months a Renewal is held; five pre-chosen groups of Caelum—along with one Prelate and Healer apiece—surround each Ward and renew the energies of the Barrier. They are the Collective of our people. The Barrier recognizes the unique energy of Elysian, and only an Elysian can pass into Summit without harm.”
“So, the Aerial Council decided a unit of pre-designated rotating Warders, along with a single Aerial Council member, would be chosen every three moons to meet with a band of Dwellers and exchange goods. That is how we keep the peace while keeping the Dwellers outside the city,” Docent Pickwickian said, strolling around the room.
I remembered the long ago pull of wanting to fly higher and further than the Barrier allowed. Wanting more than what life had offered me in Summit. I glanced at the odd design on my hands. The amount of gratefulness I’d thrown to the True One for having both hands marked had yet to end.
When the bell rang, I swiped my materials into my bag. My next class was on the other side of Ascension. Preparing for another day of torture in Melodic Composition, I settled into a desk away from other Tyro. Transferring out of this class wasn’t an option. If I couldn’t play an instrument, then I couldn’t entertain as a Totality Caelum.
I needed to find an instrument to help focus my Talent. So far, no luck. Half of the term was over, and I’d had absolutely no progress using an instrument. There were plenty of classes to train Talent, but mine was still a question mark. This was my hardest class.
Docent de Ecru was a small, delicate woman with masses of dark brown, wavy hair perpetually in a single braid down her back. No matter how I hated her class, there was no disliking this woman—she was so…nice. It was hard to work up a good grudge against someone beaming sunshine and joy every day.
I wanted to dislike her because she was so nice. But it didn’t matter. My spitefulness was too small to mold into anything sustainable. Instead, I sulked. Every day. Because this class gave me the most nosebleeds.
Docent de Ecru patiently waited for students to tune their instruments, a kind smile on her rosy lips. “Please, take out your scores and continue where we left off yesterday,” she said, “Ari, I want you to try another instrument.”
Oh no, I seethed. My expression soured when she reached into a large bag at her feet. I was the class challenge Docent de Ecru cheerfully accepted. I eyed the stringed instrument she held warily, taking it from her hands. Every few days Docent de Ecru produced a new instrument to “support” my Talent’s manifestation. Like it’s simple, I thought resentfully.
Docent de Ecru smiled pleasantly, extracting a thin, silver baton from her left boot. Eyes closed, she expertly waved her stick-like baton in time to the music. My mouth puckered sourly.
I positioned my fingers and pretended to strum the strings. When Docent de Ecru’s baton tapped lightly on my shoulder, and I started, grumbling inwardly. Skies! I cursed. How does the woman know I’m not playing with all this noise? She walks around the room with her eyes closed, swishing that branch!
She hovered until I straightened my posture and ran tentative fingers across the strings. A vibration buzzed up my hands. Satisfied, Docent de Ecru floated around the classroom correcting posture and timing. A handful of Illuminary Tyro concentrated on small beads of light swarming each other in patterns.
“Remember our exercises,” Docent de Ecru hummed, “relax your mind while you play and let your Talent come to you. Greet it and then ask it to move into your music.”
A few Augment Tyro made the potted plants in front of them bloom and sway with the music. Docent de Ecru believed Talent was a separate entity and chose the Claimed Caelum. She insisted we ask it to do our bidding. It was one of many eccentric things about her, and somehow lent her more charm. As though she needs it, I scoffed.
The Serous Tyro made liquid shapes jump in and out of glasses of water in front of them. I don’t know how she knows if someone has connected well with their Talent, I thought, watching her. But she does. All the Tyro she corrects play more fluently, and their Talents become more corporeal. A lone Azoic Tyro in the corner shifted a small chunk of marble into architectural structures.
And then there was me.
The only Tyro without a Talent to practice with. Pointless. Being in here is pointless. I strummed a few more notes on the lute, grinding my teeth. True One, I must become Ascend to Caelum. For Zora. The practiced Talent in the room buzzed deliciously across my skin. A Serous Tyro’s playful butterfly wobbled in the air, struggling to keep pace with the song. I stared at the watery figure, relaxing into the melody. The butterfly’s incandescent outline sharpened, and I stared at the shape, envying his success. It wavered, blurring into a floating bubble of water.
Closing my eyes, I struggled to connect with something—anything—and it happened. Something shifted. Deep inside two towering mountains loomed in the distance, patiently waiting. Yearning filled me, and I hesitantly reached toward it, brushing against the base. Behind them was a depthless entity. Envoy, echoed softly.
Joy…so much joy at the contact. The mountains trembled, grinding against each other. A sudden, heavy pressure welled up inside, snuffing my euphoria like a foot on an ember. My skin prickled, locking into a familiar, rigid position while warm liquid seeped down my chin. When the tension ebbed from my body I slumped.
Docent de Ecru hurried over, and I straightened. “The same?” she said gently.
I glared at the Tyro who stared too long, making them cringe with my odd-colored eyes. I’d be mocked in the feast hall again. Caelum Pearl was particularly malicious, so I glared hardest at her Tyro.
“It seems this i
nstrument does not please your Talent either,” Docent de Ecru said softly.
I nodded, setting the lute on the bench. Glowering at the floor, I wiped the blood on the edge of my tunic and used the opportunity to hide my face. Every. Single. Time. I thought angrily.
“You must have a very demanding Talent, Ari,” Docent de Ecru said encouragingly.
Demanding? More like a skies-blasted Talent that hates me, I thought sarcastically. Grudgingly, I accepted the handkerchief Docent de Ecru produced, stuffing it up my nose. I used my own handkerchief to wipe at the blood splattered on my hands and tunic.
“We can try again tomorrow,” Docent de Ecru suggested. She pivoted toward the rest of the class, “Please continue your exercise.”
Shrugging, I rubbed dried flakes of blood from my chin. I needed to be alone. To get away from Ascension for a little bit.
Chapter 6
Maewyn
IOPENED SLEEP CRUSTED EYES IN PANIC. Why didn’t Ari wake me? I donned a silk robe and frowned, sitting at my desk in a fit of pique. She doesn’t know about the report I send my family after every Revue, I reminded myself. It’s not her fault.
Half an hour later my report was ready to be mailed. Any omitted details could make their way to my parents via their spies, and I could be punished. Especially if they thought I’d purposefully withheld it. Surveying the letter, I made sure it seemed thorough.
I thought about Lord and Lady Durus, and the meeting they’d wanted after the party. As far as Ari knew nothing strange had occurred, but I didn’t report the truth about the secret room in my letter—or the people inside.
