Caprion's Wings

by T. L. Shreffler

  The aria burst from him in a warm alto, lowering and rising, loosening his vocal chords. The wave of sound curled through the bowl of the Chamber, spreading outward like a ring of water. Vibrations followed in its wake, causing the ground to tremble and clouds of dust to scatter into the air. And as the Song spread, Caprion felt himself travel with it. His mind and heart joined the music and were carried outward and upward to the sky. The melody was bolder than his last attempt: stronger, eager, and insistent. He paused at the end of the first refrain, pulled in another massive breath, and continued. The Song didn’t just rise from his throat, it also poured through his entire body. He became part of it, completely consumed.

  Chapter 2

  He stood at Fury Rock, but the stars were gone. The wind remained cautiously still. Stiff grass crunched beneath his feet. Frost.

  His eyes searched the sky for any kind of light. Where were his wings? His star? Impenetrable darkness greeted him. It stood like a solid thing, filled with unknowable intention—a black curtain concealing some lethal, biding presence. And he, alone on the ridge.

  The sight struck him deeply. Here, on the rock, his star had vanished. He had nothing left to find.

  Your kind is dying, a voice spoke. It seeped up beneath his boots.

  He looked down at the earth with uncertainty, crushing more grass.

  Little lights, slowly fading away....Even stars must die....

  Caprion stepped back, alarmed. “Who are you?” he called, searching the heavy, suffocating blackness.

  I will bring an end to your kind.

  The voice held a threatening edge, almost mocking. The hair prickled on the back of Caprion’s neck. His eyes searched blindly, gazing over the cliff at his feet. No ocean, no bottom―nothing.

  "How are you speaking to me?" he demanded, trying not to sound as fearful as he felt.

  The real question, fledgling, is why you can hear me. I have been speaking a long time, but Harpies are not good listeners.

  "You..." Caprion turned, searching the ground, the sky. His eyes widened, then narrowed, unable to pierce the darkness. He took a deep breath and tried to think logically. Somehow, this voice had blocked him from his star. It is evil, he thought. He felt frightened, but his anger rose to hide it. He would not give up so easily. "You're of the Dark God!" he called out, certain of his words. “What do you want with me?”

  No response. He felt like he was being watched. Caprion knelt, putting his hand to the ground where the voice seemed to emanate. “Why are you here?” he repeated.

  Find me, and I will show you.

  He frowned. “Where?”

  Find me...down, down in the earth....

  * * *

  Caprion's eyes snapped open. He lay on his back; he didn’t remember falling. An orange sunset lit the sky. His throat felt parched, his skin burned. How much time had passed?

  Across the bowl, he heard the slide of a stone door. He sat up slowly, his head throbbing, then turned to face it. The sunstone had dimmed with the setting sun, and he easily made out the Madrigal's blue robes. The old man stood next to the door, a thin figure in the distance, his hands clasped before him, waiting.

  Caprion climbed to his sore feet. My feet. He looked down at the ground, then glanced over his shoulder, his heart sinking like a rock. No wings. No flight. His Song hadn’t taken him to the realm of starlight and sound. No, he had been filled with darkness, like the pit of a grave.

  I failed. The thought crashed over him. He staggered under its weight, hardly able to breathe. He felt his dreams shatter, his last thread of hope torn away. I will remain wingless forever. He couldn’t truly believe it.

  Leaving the Singing Chamber felt like the longest walk of his life. He approached the Madrigal reluctantly, his feet as heavy as stone, his shoulders slumped, head bowed. He couldn't meet the man's eyes. As he passed, the Madrigal's gaze followed him, but no words were spoken, no hand offered in comfort.

  They entered the granite halls. Caprion paused to gather his robes and dress himself. The Madrigal joined him as soon as he tied his belt. The old man stood before him, blocking his path to the exit.

  Caprion dropped his eyes, staring resolutely at the floor. He felt like an empty shell. “I've let you down,” he murmured. “I...I tried my best.”

  "You fell," the Madrigal said abruptly.

  Caprion blinked and glanced up. “What?”

  The Madrigal had a grim look on his face, which slowly softened in thought. “You collapsed. I saw you. Your mind did not travel upon waves of sound, but sank to somewhere else. What happened?”

  Caprion stared in surprise. After a speechless moment, he muttered, “I was at Fury Rock. There was...blackness.” He hesitated before mentioning the voice. What would the Madrigal think? If the Dark God had spoken to him, then it might be interpreted as a bad omen. A sure sign that the God of Light had abandoned him; that he would never receive his wings.

  "Speak to Florentine," the Madrigal finally said. "A heaviness taints your Song. Your voice wavers, your pitch falls flat; you’re not harmonizing with your star. It could be lack of clarity, a curse, or even a spell from one of the Unnamed. Unusual, but such things exist. See Florentine tomorrow and perhaps she can get to the bottom of it."

  Caprion frowned. “Then…then there is a chance I could still reach my star?”

  The Madrigal gazed at him solemnly. “I can’t give you false hope. You are almost an adult and the chance is slim, but we must do everything we can.” He paused thoughtfully. “I’ve known your family for generations. Your mother’s bloodline is strong. You have a Matriarch in your mother’s line, do you not? A great-grandmother?”

  Caprion nodded, feeling a sense of pride, then an even stronger sense of failure.

  The Madrigal rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Your bloodline is strong,” he repeated. “Speak to Florentine. Something is troubling your mind. Perhaps you can clear it. We could always try an uncharted Singing.”

  Caprion nodded numbly. Florentine was a soothsayer and a fortune teller who also happened to be excellent at Resonating. She could detect imperfections in the aura by sound. All Harpies carried an aura of light around their physical bodies that caused sound vibrations in the air. She would inspect the energy around his body, note any abnormalities, and hopefully deduce their source.

  But Caprion remained uncertain. He had never seen an aura and he didn’t even have wings. Perhaps his aura would be too small to detect. He wasn’t sure how useful a Resonator would be.

  But he would follow the Madrigal’s advice. His mind dwelled on his dark vision in the Singing Chamber. Even stars must die. Perhaps Florentine would have some sort of solution.

  The Madrigal moved to one side. Caprion bowed in respect and then stepped past him down the wide, granite corridor. His steps quickened as he walked. He needed to find a quiet patch of sunlight and get hold of his tumultuous thoughts. His failure seemed insurmountable. No stars had greeted him in the Chamber, no wings, no Light. His mind had been consumed by darkness—by an evil, insidious voice that played with his fears. He felt somehow abandoned, as though the God of Light had turned away His face. But why? Why did I fall?

  He frowned, hardly seeing the granite floor beneath his feet. Had he committed some transgression against the Light? Was he too selfish? Too filled with envy for Sumas, or arrogance, or pride? Had he harmed an innocent? He thought back on silly fights at the Academy, his oneupmanship, the occasional skipped class. All things considered, he had been a fairly tame student. It just didn’t fit. How could he be any worse than his older brother?

  Still, uncertainty filled him. He left the halls of the Singing Chamber and entered the quiet light of sunset. A few birds flitted by overhead; the wind brushed past, carrying a stray leaf. Everything reminded him of the open sky, of flight. It suddenly seemed a terrible thing, never to fly, like a great mystery he would never quite solve. He placed a hand over his chest, pressing against the heavy, hopeless feeling.

 
; As he approached the Road of Remnants, he saw a familiar silhouette waiting by the nearest statue: the small, slight form of Esta. He sighed, dropping his gaze back to the ground, wishing to turn invisible. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow, when news would spread through the city. Singings were public knowledge, and his family well-known. Yes, word would spread, and many would speculate.

  He lifted his eyes in time to see the smile falter on Esta’s face. His throat tightened, mimicking her disappointment.

  "Oh, Caprion," she murmured, her gaze flickering over his shoulder, witnessing the ghastly absence of wings. She met his eyes. "The Madrigal must have made a mistake, a miscalculation. I mean, six years now? It has to be the wrong day. He should redo your charts-"

  "He already has. Twice. They're accurate," Caprion said quietly. He paused next to her, his face turned away. “This was my last Singing. I'm too old now.”

  Esta frowned. He could tell she didn't know what to say. She finally cleared her throat. “What do you think Sumas will do?” she asked softly.

  Caprion's jaw tightened. “Hopefully nothing,” he said. They both knew that was unlikely. Sumas wasn’t passive. Last year, he had jumped Caprion after his Singing and snapped his collarbone and four ribs. "If you shame our family again, I will crush your throat," his brother threatened, choking Caprion to the ground until he passed out, certain of his own death.

  After returning to consciousness, young Caprion kept to his hut for several weeks, avoiding the city, worried that Sumas would send his soldier friends to finish the job.

  Esta gave him a worried look. “He'll find out soon,” she said. “The entire city has been asking me about your wings....”

  “Then I'll deal with him,” Caprion replied. His eyes turned to the shining towers of Asterion, following the Road of Remnants to the distant buildings. The sky darkened, the sun sinking deeper in the horizon. Entering the city at night would be risky, and without wings he would be forced to take the streets. Not a lot of cover. Sumas would find him easily.

  Caprion shook his head slowly. He would never understand his brother. Sumas loved stories of war, glory, and conquest. The more Sumas won, the more he sought to conquer, as though no amount of victory would satisfy him—the ideal soldier. And when his brother ran out of rivals, his eyes always returned to Caprion.

  Perhaps their mother bragged too much about her eldest son’s strength, or perhaps Sumas didn’t need her encouragement—perhaps he was just a bully by nature. Either way, his brother was capable of an efficient brutality that went beyond Caprion’s comprehension.

  Caprion shifted, suddenly worried about Esta. He didn’t think Sumas would attack her, but Esta might try to defend him and put herself in danger. I can’t let that happen, he thought.

  "I'll walk myself home," he said shortly. “I'll visit you soon to speak with our mother.”

  Esta nodded. After a slight hesitation, she rushed forward and gripped him in a hard hug. “You’re still my favorite brother,” she said, her voice muffled by his robes. Then she turned and flitted across the ground, carried away by her wings.

  Caprion found himself smiling, watching her disappear over the city. But as her wings faded from view, the smile drained from his face. He turned to the narrow, broken road through the woods, circumventing the city. Sumas would be looking for him tonight. Best to avoid him altogether.

  * * *

  Caprion circled around the woods to his hut, taking an extra hour on his walk home. His thoughts lingered on the black dream and the oily, slithering voice from the ground. Your race is dying. What did it mean? True, the Harpy race was struggling; birthrates were on the decline and Asterion was startlingly underpopulated. But the voice seemed to suggest a larger plot, a greater enemy. Who? The Unnamed?

  It was the most likely answer. Harpies were children of Wind and Light, the First Race created by the Elements at the beginning of the world. They were the sworn enemy of the Unnamed, the Sixth Race, the Dark God’s children made of Shadow and Fire. Inside each of the Unnamed lived a shard of the Dark God, a race of demons walking the earth, manifestations of His presence. The Harpies saw it as their sacred duty to rid the world of such evil.

  But how could one of the Unnamed be on their island? Where would it hide? Asterion had remained isolated for centuries. Surely their soldiers would detect a demon’s presence. And did the Sixth Race possess the ability to infiltrate his dreams? He had never heard of such a thing.

  Caprion shook his head, pressing through a thick tangle of jasmine and poppy. He needed to speak to Florentine.

  He paused at the fringe of trees behind his hut. His home stood at the very edge of the builders' district, far from the glowing sunstone lanterns and flagstone streets. Usually he liked the isolation, but now it made him nervous.

  He searched the darkness, listening intently; his eyes weren't good in the shadows. He had walked through the woods based on memory alone, following a familiar deer trail. Still, a Harpy's wings usually glowed softly against the night and he didn't see any figures standing around his hut, nor any light from inside. No one in sight.

  Caprion stepped from the tree line toward his small round house. He felt exhausted from the whole ordeal, his mind the worst off. A headache throbbed behind his eyes, still present from the Singing Chamber.

  Suddenly, a large shape stepped from behind his neighbor's wall. The man’s wings became visible, stretching casually behind his shoulders. Caprion recognized them immediately. They spanned just under fifteen feet, though Sumas often rounded up in front of pretty girls or superior officers. And family, of course.

  Caprion paused mid-step, fear settling in his gut, awakening his senses. No sense running―Sumas could fly much faster. He searched his brother's face, illuminated by the soft white glow of his wings. They shared the same high brow and angular cheeks. Sumas had a heavy, proud jaw and a twice-broken nose, which seemed to increase his appeal to the girls. His short, shock-white hair bristled back against his head. Caprion’s features were slightly narrower, what some might call sensitive or aristocratic.

  Sumas’ mouth was set in a firm line—his usual expression. Caprion hesitated at that. All things considered, his brother appeared to be in a good mood.

  “Sumas,” he said quietly.

  “Captain Sumas, now,” his brother replied. A tight grin cracked those lips.

  Caprion frowned, hardly able to think through his anxiety. “You’ve been promoted?” he asked carefully.

  "Just this morning," Sumas said. His voice held a rich, heavy baritone. It matched his hulking shoulders and barrel-chest.

  "Congratulations," Caprion said softly. "You'll be a captain now? In charge of your own men?"

  Sumas nodded, unable to keep the proud tilt from his chin.

  Another long pause. Caprion cleared his dry throat. “Did you only come to tell me that?”

  "No," Sumas said solidly. "I came because my little brother failed again."

  Caprion braced himself, wishing he had his sword, but it rested against his bedpost inside the hut. Sumas noted his distress and grinned, crossing his arms in front of him. “Don't worry, little brother. I expected this.”

  Caprion waited. He already knew what his brother thought of him.

  "Mother is very upset,” Sumas continued. “She spoke to the Madrigal an hour ago. She hasn’t said a word since."

  Caprion tried not to react.

  “She thinks she failed you,” Sumas sneered. “But we both know that’s not true.”

  Caprion's hands clenched into fists. After his last failure, his mother had worried about him incessantly. Their conversations always wandered back to his wings, to his Song, to the next Singing and his future. Eventually it had pushed him from her house, and they hadn't spoken since. He didn’t know how he would face her again. From this point on, he would always be a burden to his family. How would he find work? Who would he marry?

  Sumas glanced at Caprion's wingless shoulders and then to the ground, as though
embarrassed for him. "I don’t understand you. Have you no pride? No honor? How could you do this to our family?” He shook his head, his voice thick. “I'm so angry at you, I want to pound you into the dirt. You don't care about anyone but yourself."

  "You think I did this on purpose?" Caprion said defensively. "I tried, Sumas."

  "Esta said you slept late this morning. You missed the greeting hour." He glared. "Lazy, irresponsible Caprion. You deserve some sort of punishment. If a soldier sleeps in late, he has to answer for it." He glanced over Caprion's shoulder again. "But you'll never be a soldier, will you?" he finished softly. "You've already paid enough, I think."

  Caprion took a deep, short breath. His head ached. He wanted to launch across the grass and wrench the smug look right off Sumas' face―pummel him to the ground, crack his teeth, and break his proud jaw. But his brother would welcome a fight, and Sumas was bigger and stronger. He could still crush Caprion's windpipe. That one thought held him back.

  Sumas finally turned away. “Don't let me see you around,” he said, his voice thick with hatred. It vibrated across Caprion's skin, a shiver of magic both a warning and a threat. “Next time, I won't hold back.” Then Sumas spread his wings and lifted swiftly into the air, flying away quickly over the round, white huts.

  Caprion watched him go until the glow of his wings vanished against the stars. He felt it keenly in that moment―his inability to follow, as though chained to the ground.

  He let out a long, deep sigh and walked to his hut. His body felt twice as heavy as before. He entered his dark room through the open archway and lay down in his bed, his brother's voice resonating through his thoughts. How could you do this to the family?

  He clenched his jaw. Anger, frustration―no solution in sight. He needed to speak with Florentine and find out what was wrong with him. He needed to prove himself. He needed to fix this.