by Lelia Eye
But the strangest sight of all was their headgear. The conical helmets adorning the soldiers’ heads rose to a point at the top, and each Groundbreather’s face was covered by a metal mask shaped into the face of a man. The mask consisted of a long face with prominent cheekbones and clean-shaven cheeks, and the way the men’s eyes gazed through the eyeholes in their masks made them appear cold and cruel. The unnerving effect of the masks was only exacerbated by the presence of pointed beards jutting out from their chins.
“I see you have never looked upon our Iron Swords in their full battle regalia,” Tillman said as he stepped up behind Skye.
While Skye’s immediate reaction was not a pleasant one, he managed to control his response, saying calmly, “No, I have not, Your Majesty. This is what your men wear into battle?”
“It is, though it has not been needed much in recent generations.”
The king paused as he gazed at his soldiers, and though Skye could not account for it, he appeared affected by the sight of the soldiers, as if looking upon them touched him on some deep level.
“Our people have not seen our god in countless generations,” Tillman continued, his voice overflowing with solemn reverence. “Much like yours, I believe. But it is said that the masks were modeled after the face of our god, and each time new masks are created, they are fashioned by our finest artisans to continue the tradition of honoring him when we go to war.”
It was all Skye could do not to shudder at hearing such an explanation. The thought that he might be looking at the face of his people’s ancient enemy—even if it was only a metal facsimile—was almost intimidating.
Still, regardless of their attire, the fact that the Groundbreathers were willing to risk their lives for this cause was no less than amazing; Skychildren and Groundbreathers fighting on the same side of a conflict was unprecedented. It would not do to insult his new allies by insulting the very face of their god.
“Are you ready?” Tillman asked as he turned away from his soldiers.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Skye replied. “Infighting among the Skychildren has been so infrequent as to be unheard of. I wish it hadn’t come to this, but I can’t leave the sky realm in Hawkins’s hands.”
Tillman nodded sagely. “I understand.” The king eyed him for several moments, apparently in some indecision, before he spoke again. “I hope that I might be giving you some relief in stating my wholehearted support for you in this endeavor—and not only due to my daughter’s situation. I like you, son, and moreover, I have seen how you behave with Tierra, and I understand the affection you hold for her. You will perhaps understand some day that though all fathers would prefer that their little girls never grow up, there can be no greater blessing than to cede a daughter’s protection to a young man who loves her and will make her happy.”
Flushing, Skye nodded. “I do love her. And I will do my best to make certain that she is always happy.”
A smile and a slap on the back met his statement. “I know, and I thank you for it. Now, do not let thoughts of Tierra distract you today. I have every confidence in you. Go and take back your kingdom.”
“I will,” Skye replied with a grateful smile. “And when I return, I hope that I will be able to address you as an equal.”
Tillman smiled and moved off to give a few final words of instruction to his men, leaving Skye to ponder what had passed between them. He found that though he was still uncertain about his future mother-in-law (and actively detested his sister-in-law), he believed Tillman was a good man. Skye would appreciate being connected more closely to him. Perhaps in time he would even consider the man to be a father. Celesta only knew that his own father had not properly filled the role in some time.
A slight movement caught Skye’s eye, and he turned to see the queen approaching him. Her expression was grave, yet he thought he saw a hint of worry in her eyes.
“Skychild,” she said.
“Your Majesty,” he returned, giving the barest hint of a bow. He had far rather not show any respect to the woman, yet he knew he needed to attempt to cultivate good relations with her for Tierra’s sake. And also, he supposed, for the sake of peace between their peoples.
Her lip quirked upward before she turned her face into a mask once more. “When you go into battle today, do not do anything foolish.”
“I don’t plan to, Your Majesty.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You men never ‘plan’ to do such things, yet nevertheless, you always seem to forget what little good sense you may have whenever you go charging into battle. I am telling you to keep your head today and remember what awaits you down here. If you die, then my daughter will, too. And should that happen, I will find you in the afterlife. I am certain you would not appreciate the experience.”
Skye raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you won’t have to worry about that.”
“You had better pray it is so,” she said. “I may not ever understand why Tierra would have feelings for a Skychild, but I am not blind. I can see you mean the world to her, and I fear she has felt that way for some time now. But what you need to know is that she is important to me, too.”
He dipped his head. “Then we are in agreement about something. Tierra is precious, and I mean to protect her. Please keep an eye on her for me today. I do not . . . I cannot predict exactly what it will be like up there.”
“Worry about keeping yourself safe today, Skychild. I will handle my daughter.”
He nodded in acknowledgment, and as Sequoia moved away to join her husband, Skye looked up at the skies to search for any sign of those who would come to assist him with the Groundbreather soldiers. A few minutes later, they finally arrived.
“Prince Skye,” Typhoon greeted him with a bow when he and another Skychild alighted on the ground.
“Typhoon,” Skye returned before nodding and smiling at Typhoon’s companion, whom he had not met before.
Turning, Skye noted the approach of the Groundbreather soldiers who were to accompany them. Despite their masks, he could almost feel their anxiety toward the prospect of flying up into the skies.
For their part, the two Skychildren looked at the Groundbreathers with astonishment, and though Typhon, happy-go-lucky as he was, appeared to accept them readily, the other Skychild looked on them with distaste.
“Are you ready?” Skye asked the Groundbreather leader of the company, deciding it was best to leave the courtyard before insults were exchanged.
“Whenever you are, Prince Skye,” the man replied.
Skye nodded and looked at the other two Skychildren. “Let’s go.”
* * *
They went to the small sky village where Skye had met with Gale and Typhoon, and he found that the members of the resistance were waiting for him. They were a motley group, lacking the uniformity of appearance that was sure to be present in the Seneschal’s men, but Skye was heartened by the sight of them. He wished they could have all been provided with armor, but that was something he could not help.
His eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw someone especially familiar step out from the throng.
“Gusty?” he said, looking at the other Skychild in surprise. Pleased at seeing the familiar face, Skye approached the former slave and gripped his hand with pleasure.
“Hi, Skye—umm, Your Highness,” Gusty said, grinning nervously. “You didn’t think I’d stand aside while you try to retake your throne, did you?”
In truth, Skye had feared that Gusty’s cowardice might lead him to do just that, but he was more than glad to learn he was wrong about his friend. Perhaps regaining his honor had restored the other young man’s bravery. “It’ll always be ‘Skye’ to you, Gusty. I appreciate your support. I’m glad to see you’re all right.”
Gusty nodded toward where Gale was standing with some of the others who had been present at the council of war. “I think they’d like to talk to you for a few minutes before we all go.”
Clapping Gust
y on the back—it really was good to see him—Skye moved to go speak with the people who were acting as his generals in this offensive.
A few minutes were all they needed to make plans with regard to the partnering of Groundbreather soldiers with Skychildren and to discuss whether any last-minute changes to their battle plans were needed. In truth, there was little strategy involved, as they primarily meant to storm the palace and force Hawkins to give up the throne, yet having a general idea of what was expected provided a necessary structure for the soldiers and made everyone feel more confident.
Once the assignments were made and other instructions were given, Skye gave the resistance a war speech. Afterward, he could never recall what exactly he had said, yet there was such faith shining in the faces of those assembled that he must have gotten something right.
And then they were on the move, sweeping through the sky in a great group, with him flying at the front. They landed at the edge of the cloud on which the palace sat, and Skye paused for a moment to look around. The air was clear and clean, and it seemed to contain a hint of expectation, as if creation itself was anticipating the coming confrontation. A little distance away from the great edifice, the village which served the castle appeared to be ready for the festival which always took place on Midsummer Day. The village had been decorated in the manner of the Skychildren, with ribbons and banners hanging from every house and dangling on lines over the streets. Soon, there would be entertainers, vendors selling all manner of foods, and Skychildren of all ages laughing and dancing, displaying all manner of art, and reveling in the beauty of Celesta’s creation. Skye could only hope their celebration of this sacred day would not be interrupted.
When Skye and his group approached the front of the palace, the Sentinels at the entrance briefly watched with unfeigned surprise before running inside to spread the alarm. It was not fear that led the guards to do so, but pragmatism. They had no hope of stopping the army before them alone.
Inside, a greater number of guards than normal was present, yet they were obviously no match for the army at Skye’s heels. A few men stepped forward, as if to engage Skye’s soldiers, but he gave them a stern look.
“Run to the Seneschal and tell him I am here,” he said. “There need not be bloodshed today.”
Some of the Sentinels ran away, perhaps to do as he said, but a few stood aside as if to indicate they had no wish to become involved. A few more even stepped forward to join Skye’s army. Skye nodded at them with a tight smile, recognizing some of their faces.
He strode forward through the palace corridors, his men behind him, until at last he reached the doors to the throne room. He brushed past the guards stationed at the entrance—they seemed uneasy at his appearance despite having been forewarned—and went into the throne room. Inside, a wedding was taking place.
Skye did not even need to see the wedding bracelets clasped around the Seneschal’s and Mista’s wrists to know he was too late to stop the travesty. Hawkins’s smirk was a sufficient enough clue as the quivering Mista spoke the final words of the ceremony: “And so, with the beloved goddess Celesta as our eternal witness, we are now wed.”
Mista drew a hand up to her mouth after finishing her sentence, her expression indicating that she might soon lose the contents of her stomach.
It was all Skye could do to refrain from running forward and throttling the Seneschal. “You would dare marry your niece?” he asked loudly in disgust, his voice carrying across the room as he stood in the doorway. The Skychildren, unlike the Groundbreathers, did not use priests in their wedding ceremonies, so Hawkins had not needed to obtain approval to bring about such a heinous union, and Skye found himself wishing for the first time that his people had had some sort of system in place that would make marriage more difficult to bring about.
Hawkins glanced at him and gave him a self-satisfied smile. “I’m so glad you could join me on this happy day. For you see, now there can be no doubt that I am king!” With that, he dropped Mista’s hands and rushed over to a nearby guard, who was holding Strix up on a gloved hand.
Skye, who had not noticed the bird, stepped forward and watched in confusion as Hawkins carried Strix to the king’s throne. Through a large opening in the palace roof, the throne was bathed in sunlight. Such a circumstance only happened at a certain time of day, and it had always been viewed with a sort of strange solemnity.
“What are you doing?” Skye demanded, hastening his steps forward, an unexpected dread twisting his stomach.
But the Seneschal simply gave him a smile. Then he held Strix up into the sunlight. The bird burst into flames.
And then it occurred to Skye. And he cursed himself for not seeing it before. The Fenik had been in front of him all along.
Strix was the Fenik!
Many moons passed by as Celesta journeyed as one of the Groundwalkers, sharing their lives and their ways, reveling in the goodness of all that she had created. The Groundwalkers were simple people and loved simple things, and through her sojourn among them, Celesta was convinced of the rightness of her decision not to destroy them.
At length, after she had lived among them for some years, Celesta took thought of the man she had met, and she determined to seek him out at last. For love had swelled up in her heart for this man, and she wished to know him better.
—The Book of Celesta
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
Reappearance
The inferno burned as hot as the noonday sun, the flames rising ever higher and forcing those in the throne room—most particularly, the Seneschal, who had been the closest—away from where the Fenik was being reborn in all its glory.
The fire was nothing like Skye had ever seen before; the typical reds, yellows, and oranges were present, only they seemed brighter and more alive than in a normal fire, much as the sun appears when leaving the obscurity of a cloud for the clarity of the open sky. In counterpoint to these colors, the greens of a verdant forest, the deep blue of a summer sky, and even the black of the darkest night were all present. Strix cried out in his musical voice, a song of triumph, a song of freedom.
Suddenly, the keening stopped. The form of the bird collapsed into dust.
All was silent for several moments. Then the ashes left upon the floor in front of the throne suddenly began to eddy and drift in an eldritch wind which rushed ever more quickly.
It began swirling around, becoming a fierce vortex, gaining strength and buffeting everyone present, forcing them out to the walls of the throne room. In the midst of the whirlwind, the figure of an immense creature began to take shape, its form coalescing from the innumerable motes of the dust which only moments before had been a rather small and ugly bird. The melodic song from a deep and ancient voice suddenly burst over the palace, and Skye felt that surely no Skychild within range of Strix’s voice could remain unmoved. For this was the Fenik, the beautiful and terrible harbinger of Celesta’s wrath. It had returned to the sky realm, and it was now about to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world.
The wind abruptly died. And the Fenik stood before them in all its glory.
Jewel-like eyes were situated on either side of a long snout, and an array of razor-sharp fangs protruded from the sides of its mouth, each one long enough to impale a man. From the snout issued twin puffs of acrid smoke, warning of the great furnace contained within. Below the head, a long and sinewy neck stretched down, connecting with a powerful body that had four legs, each carrying its own complement of spear-like claws. At the end of the Fenik’s body, a long tail stretched out, thick at the base and tapering down to a point, the length of many men. Along the creature’s massive sides, muscles protected by overlapping scales rippled as it moved, undulating with untold power and majesty. And finally, near the creature’s shoulders sprouted a pair of long, leathery wings, furled against its sides like pennons on a calm day.
It was a reptilian creature which Skye had only ever seen an illustration of in one pl
ace. Ironically, that location was on the far wall above where the creature stood, etched into stone. The creature had never been connected to the Fenik. But it was the Fenik. And now Skye could give a name to the Fenik’s other form. Dragon. Harbinger of death and destruction.
The Fenik paused for a moment to inspect itself. It had not been in this form since the moment before Celesta had turned it into a bird. No Skychild, living or dead, had ever seen it like this. The image was powerful and terrifying.
In that moment, Skye heard a familiar voice inside his head which chilled him to the core.
“Skye, is that what I think it is?”
In a panic, Skye whipped his head around, frantically searching the room. “Tierra?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you here in the palace with me?”
A sense of fear mixed with exasperation made its way through their bond. “Never mind that. What in Terrain’s name is that thing?”
“It’s the Fenik!” Skye snapped at her. “How in the blazes did you get up here?” He dared not continue to attempt to find her. The Fenik was very intelligent and likely knew of his feelings for Tierra. If it became aware that the Groundbreather princess was here, then it might try to use her against Skye.
“I think that is a secondary concern right now, Skye,” Tierra’s voice said tightly over their link.
“I am free!” the Fenik bellowed, tilting its head back. A great ball of fire escaped its open mouth. The fire shot up into the air through the large hole in the palace and exploded in the sky, sending a great wave of heat out in all directions. “After all these long years of imprisonment, I am finally free!”
“Yes, you are,” Hawkins said, smiling possessively. “And you shall obey me!”
“I think not!” Skye called out, stepping forward and addressing the Fenik. “You are bound by Celesta to serve the Skychildren. I am the rightful ruler and the only remaining member of the Skychild royal line. As such, I should be the only one who can command you.”
