by Lelia Eye
The Groundwalker stood and placed the bird in the nest. And the young birds cried out happily, for they were once again three.
—The Book of Celesta
CHAPTER
THREE
Return
Skye stared at his friend in horror. Cirrus was swaying on his feet in obvious exhaustion, and his eyes held the haggard look of one who had gone past the gates of Terrain’s hell and then returned. Even in the moonlight streaming in through the window, it was obvious that his face was a crisscross of scratches and gashes, and several angry bruises showed in stark contrast to his pale skin. His hands and arms were in the same condition, and his clothes had been torn in numerous places.
“Hello, Skye,” he whispered, the ghost of a smile on his face. Then his eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed on the floor.
Galvanized into action, Skye rushed forward and knelt beside his friend.
“Cirrus!” he cried. “What happened to you?”
But Cirrus was insensible to the rest of the world, and he did not respond.
“Gone to visit his family indeed,” Skye muttered under his breath as he put his hands under the man’s arms.
Skye pulled Cirrus up and manhandled him onto the bed, examining his injuries as he did so. His initial impression, he discovered, was correct. Cirrus was in poor shape, and his clothes were soaked with blood.
Skye pulled up the leg of Cirrus’s trousers to look underneath, revealing flesh which appeared as if it had been mauled by every thunderbird in the throne room. Cirrus’s injuries were beyond the prince’s meager ability to help. He would have to call in the healers.
Skye touched his friend’s arm, as if to assure himself Cirrus was still there, and then he darted from the room. He made his way through the palace, hurrying down empty halls past the few surprised denizens who were still active in the palace, and soon he arrived at the healers’ station, which was located toward the palace exit and away from the royal wing.
Skye burst into the room and hustled up to the nearest healer. There were only a few people inside due to the lateness of the hour, but Skye was grateful to find even one person there. “I need you to come with me!”
The woman looked at him with a furrowed brow. “What’s wrong, Your Highness?”
“My friend, he’s—he’s hurt really bad.”
The healer turned her head and called for an assistant to accompany her. Then she motioned for Skye to lead them out of the room. He needed no further encouragement to rush back out into the hallway.
“My name is Twila,” the healer said in introduction as they hurried along. “Can you tell me what happened to your friend, my prince?”
“I’m not sure. He appeared in my room a few moments ago and then passed out. It looks like he was attacked by something.”
“Do you know what he was doing when he was injured?”
“No, I don’t. He’s been away from the palace for several days, but I don’t know anything more than that.”
“We will see to his needs no matter what has happened,” Twila said gently. “You need not worry.”
Skye nodded and continued to hurry along the passage. When they arrived at the door to his room, he opened it with trembling hands and stepped inside.
The two healers rushed toward the bed where Cirrus lay. They moved their hands over the insensible man, murmuring to each other as they searched for hidden injuries under his clothes. Once satisfied that they knew the extent of his wounds, they began to work on him with their powers, soothing away the worst of his wounds and causing his bruises to fade from an angry purple to a dull yellow. Through it all, Skye hovered nearby, wondering what mess Cirrus had gotten himself into.
Skye had known Cirrus for almost a decade. Cirrus had been a new—though highly regarded—recruit to the Cloud Sentinel when he was assigned to the protection of the prince, but he had quickly become much more than that to Skye. He had become a friend and mentor, someone who could be counted on no matter the darkness of the skies or the howling of the winds. Yet though he was a member of the palace guard, Cirrus had always been separate in some fashion, perhaps due to the fact that he had been assigned specifically to Skye himself. Something about him caused others to simply take notice of him, even those Sentinels of much higher seniority. But he had rarely been sent out on errands or secret missions since it was crucial for him to remain near Skye to complete his duties. As a result, he had never come back in such a state before.
Cirrus was in excellent physical condition, and he was an expert in various kinds of combat. He had even served as a sort of trainer for Skye, instructing him on how to defend himself with a variety of weapons. While most Skychildren were faithful to their bows, Cirrus had taught Skye how to use a number of other weapons, including the small but effective short swords held by the palace guards. The bond which had formed between them as a result of such activities was profound, and Cirrus had become more of a father figure to Skye than King Tempest had ever been. And now here Cirrus was, fighting for his life, his body practically in tatters.
Before long, Skye had begun to pace. He could not bear to stand still while his friend’s life hung in the balance. His shoulders were tense and hunched, and his palms had begun to sweat. It felt as if the healers had been working for an eternity.
Finally, however, Twila turned from her work to look at him.
“Will he be well?” Skye blurted out.
“Yes, he will,” Twila said with a smile, causing the young man to wilt in relief. “Most of his injuries were not serious. We have accelerated his healing, and he should be on the mend. Unfortunately, he has developed a bit of a fever, and he’ll need to fight that off before you can speak to him. I expect it will be a day or two before the fever breaks. For now, we will move him to the healers’ ward so that we can tend to him.”
“Can I . . . that is, can I come with you?” Skye asked, nervously meeting the healer’s eyes. He was the prince of the Skychildren—he should demand to attend to his friend—yet he felt shaken by what had happened with Cirrus. This sort of attack never happened in the sky realm; the only creatures typically found in the air were either innocuous flying creatures which flitted among the clouds or domesticated beasts meant for food. Even attacks by aggressive wild griffins or temperamental pegasi were rare due to the Skychildren’s ability to communicate with the beasts. Skye did have a suspicion concerning what might have happened, yet he pushed all such considerations to the back of his mind.
Twila smiled and bowed her head. “You certainly can, Your Highness. It’s my experience that people heal faster when surrounded by those who care about them.”
“Thank you. I can . . . ah, I can help move him.”
“Don’t worry, Your Highness. We can move him without your assistance.” She turned and said to her assistant: “Oriole, please go get a stretcher to take this man to the healers’ ward.”
“Right away,” Oriole replied. He bowed to Skye and then left the room at a brisk walk.
Skye knelt beside his unconscious friend and murmured, “Cirrus, what happened to you?”
But Cirrus did not respond; he simply turned in his sleep and groaned.
Skye stared at him for a few minutes, lost in thought, before a female voice behind him ventured: “Your Highness?”
Skye turned to look at Twila, only to realize that Oriole had returned with the stretcher and was waiting for him to move out of the way. “Oh, s-sorry,” Skye stammered. He stood and stepped aside as the two healers moved forward to transfer Cirrus onto the stretcher.
When the healers left the room with Cirrus, Skye was right behind them, feeling like a hen watching over her brood. Though he had faith in Skychild healers, he was unable to keep himself from hovering. When they finally had Cirrus settled in a bed in the healers’ ward, Skye immediately sat in a chair by his side.
Waiting for Cirrus to regain consciousness was frustrating, as Skye had a lot of questions th
at demanded answers. Still, Skye feared those answers on some level. Had Cirrus actually been—but no, Skye was not going to consider that. Not unless he heard such words directly from Cirrus.
“Garms,” the word escaped the unconscious man’s lips, causing Skye to curse under his breath. Cirrus’s facial expression twisted in distress, and he thrust up a hand as if trying to ward off an attack.
“Dirt take you, Cirrus,” Skye growled, “you didn’t. I would have thought you of all people would know better than to visit the ground world.” He glanced over at the few healers in the room, but they were attending to other patients, not heeding the troubled sleep of an injured palace guardsman.
“You didn’t . . . get caught, did you?” Skye whispered. He knew he would not receive an answer, but one simple word from his friend had brought his questions back to the surface. Had Cirrus been captured by the Groundbreathers? The man’s whole future was wrapped up in that question. If he had been captured by the Groundbreathers, then that would mean his honor was stripped away . . . and if that were the case, then Cirrus could no longer live in the sky realm. A Skychild without honor was nothing—no, worse than nothing. Honor meant everything.
Skye reached out and grasped the man’s arm, clutching it tightly. “You’re in the sky now, Cirrus. Rest. You’re safe.” He only prayed that Cirrus had not been captured by the Groundbreathers.
Cirrus’s eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was going to regain consciousness. But instead of waking, Cirrus began a frantic muttering which Skye could only partially understand.
“The Fenik . . . within reach . . . must recover it soon. The danger . . . Groundbreathers must not . . . tried to find it. They can’t . . . if the weapon is to be used . . . for the good of the skies. She’s not . . . destroyer. He is. He is . . . must destroy . . . .”
“The Fenik?” Skye whispered, releasing his friend’s arm. “What interest do you have in an ancient monster, Cirrus?”
According to Skychild religious texts, the Groundbreathers had stolen the Fenik long ago, and the Skychildren had never been able to recover it. It was an important piece of Skychild history, but for Cirrus to talk about such a creature at a time like this was puzzling.
Despite being a staunch Sentinel, Cirrus had always been an avid reader. Still, while Skye had never paid much attention to what books drew his friend’s interest, he did not particularly recall monsters being at the forefront of Cirrus’s reading.
Skye did not know much about the Fenik. He knew what all Skychildren knew—that the Fenik had been created by Celesta as a weapon. Millennia ago, when Terrain had removed the wings of Celesta’s flying creatures and tied them to the ground, Celesta had created the Fenik, intending to destroy the entire world. But when she had met a powerless Groundwalker man, she had fallen in love with him and borne his children. All of the Skychildren were descended from that union; it was their claim to a small piece of divinity.
As a result, the Fenik had not been used by Celesta for its original purpose, and after she had left the sky to live among the stars, the creature had been entrusted to the care of her children with the admonishment not to use it except in direst need. There were few records which even mentioned the Fenik at all. It was supposed to have been a being of immense power and almost godly beauty, though what exactly it looked like had not been preserved.
Could Cirrus have learned something about the beast? Was that why he had been gone for so long? Had the Groundbreathers managed to keep the Fenik under control all these years? Skye would have thought a being of the Fenik’s power could have escaped the Groundbreathers’ control quite easily, but it had not been seen after its capture.
Skye watched the rise and fall of Cirrus’s chest, waiting for him to say something further to resolve the puzzle. But the man’s thrashing only quieted, and he seemed to fall into a deep sleep, leaving any other information tantalizingly beyond Skye’s reach for the time being.
Skye’s thoughts turned to his father, who needed to be informed of Cirrus’s appearance despite the late hour, and he stood and stepped out into the hallway, where he caught the attention of a passing member of the night guard.
“Your Highness?” the guardsman asked.
“Go wake my father and tell him that Cirrus has returned and is in the healers’ ward. He was injured, but he should be fine with some rest.”
The Sentinel appeared nervous at the directive but did not gainsay him. “Yes, Your Highness.”
After watching him leave, Skye returned to the healers’ ward to sit beside Cirrus, unable to suppress a yawn. Despite his concern for Cirrus, he was not accustomed to being awoken at odd hours, and he felt as if he would soon nod off despite his seated position.
He was not sure how many more minutes had passed when a group of guards appeared in the ward. Instantly, Skye became alert and watched as they approached.
“What’s going on?” Skye asked as he stood and moved in front of Cirrus’s bed. “What is the meaning of this?”
The Master Sentinel approached and bowed. “Prince Skye, the Cloud Sentinel has been commanded to take this man into custody.”
Shocked, Skye could only stare at the other man. Had someone overheard Cirrus’s ravings and guessed what he had been about? But that did not make sense—Skychildren who had escaped from Groundbreather captivity generally chose to live away from the sky due to their shame. If someone blamed Cirrus for such a thing, then surely it would be understood that medical treatment was necessary before he could leave the sky realm permanently.
“On whose authority?” Skye demanded once he gathered his wits about him.
“By the authority of the king,” the commander of the Cloud Sentinel said. With a sharp movement, he motioned two of his men forward to approach the stricken Cirrus.
“You can’t take this man away,” Twila said, moving to intercept the guards. “He’s ill and needs to rest.”
“I’m sorry, but I have my orders,” the Master Sentinel replied. He turned back to Skye. “You’ll need to speak with your father if you disagree.”
“Oh, I will,” Skye promised. He watched as the men placed restraints on the unconscious Cirrus’s hands and hauled him away.
After standing there and seething for a few moments, Skye swept from the healers’ station and marched toward the royal suite.
His father would hear about this.
The dark-eyed Terrain considered all that had occurred and all his mother had done in the world, and his jealousy grew apace. As he brooded, a dark and beastly ambition formed within his breast, gaining in strength and transforming into an all-consuming resolve. He would not rest until he had proven he was the equal of the one who had brought him into life.
As the first step in his design, he determined he would have children of his own, that they might act as an extension of his will in the world. He intended them to oppose Celesta’s children, bedeviling them with all manner of mischief and deceit. And so, with the intent to beguile and mislead, he seduced a number of Groundwalker women, lulling them with his honeyed words. In this manner, he was able to lay with several women, promising each of them that they would be exalted above all.
These unions produced dozens of children, dark and swarthy like their father, all possessing some small portion of Terrain’s powers.
—The Book of Celesta
CHAPTER
FOUR
Seduction
The guards outside the royal suite insisted that King Tempest had told them he did not want to be disturbed, but Skye brushed them aside without a second thought. He was disgusted, but not surprised, when he found King Tempest and the Seneschal speaking together in the sitting room. At the sight of Skye, Hawkins straightened, and his expression became guarded.
There was no doubt in Skye’s mind that the Seneschal was involved in what was happening to Cirrus. In fact, the filthy dirt-eater had probably issued the order himself.
Growling u
nder his breath, the prince moved his gaze to his father.
Tempest had turned to look at Skye as he had entered, but his expression was slack and his eyes unfocused. His stare appeared to be glassy, which was not at all what Skye would have expected of his normally sharp-eyed father.
“The king does not have time for you now,” Seneschal Hawkins said in a low voice.
“Be silent!” Skye snapped.
The Seneschal’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, Skye was dressing him down again. “You forget your place, Seneschal. I am the prince of the Skychildren, and I will speak to my father without any heed to your wishes. I suggest you remember who you are dealing with.”
Skye then turned his focus to King Tempest and said, “Father, I’d ask if you received my message about Sentinel Cirrus’s return, yet I’m well aware that actions speak louder than words. Might I inquire as to why one of your loyal Sentinels has been taken into custody?”
“Because Sentinel Cirrus was among the Groundbreathers,” Hawkins spoke up yet again.
Skye turned the force of his displeasure back on the Seneschal. “One more word from you, and I’ll pluck your feathers and bury you with the Groundwalkers.”
Hawkins stiffened at the insult, but he did not put his offense into words. Instead, he said, “I’m only speaking the truth. Furthermore, I can tell you that Cirrus was discovered to be selling information to the Groundbreathers.”
Skye’s jaw dropped as he looked at the Seneschal with horror. Such a claim had not been made against a Skychild in living memory. To any of Celesta’s descendants, the thought of betraying the Skychildren to the flightless Groundbreathers was something which could not have even been contemplated. It was not true. There was no possible way that Cirrus could be a traitor!
