Skyborn

by David Dalglish

  She wanted to fly.

  Bree thrust her body backward, altering her course so that the folded wings pointed to the sky. Rising upward, she watched the Fount and the fishermen disappear as she traveled through the clouds and into the space above. Once she was nearly even with the surface of Weshern, she reduced the throttle so that she hovered. Staring at the clouds at her feet, Bree smiled.

  “Time to soar,” she whispered, and punched her arms forward as if diving into the waters of Lake Pleasance. Her angle dropped, and she pushed the throttle to its maximum. The wings might not have been designed for speed, but with them pointed toward the ground, adding to gravity’s pull, she felt the wind blast against her as her velocity rapidly increased. Tilting her head and dipping a shoulder to the side, she shifted her aim, flying faster and faster toward the bottom of Weshern and the Fount below.

  For a moment she doubted herself, but the exhilaration was too much for fear. Bree twisted herself parallel to the ocean, and though her descent slowed, her speed remained, and like a shooting star she entered the great shadow cast by Weshern and began circling the Fount. The fishermen were blurs, barely visible from her left eye. Laughing, Bree spiraled downward, looping the twisting waters, feeling the wet spray across her face, her long hair wildly flapping behind her like a cape. She danced through the fishermen, staying just outside their own steady upward spirals. Harder and harder she pushed at the toggle, willing herself faster, feeling more at home in that moment than she ever had staying at Aunt Bethy’s.

  And then a fisherman flew in her path.

  His back was to her, legs and net dangling as he lifted dozens of fish. He was returning to the docks, and with her rapid descent she was on a direct collision course. Panicking, she felt her mind blank, felt her body lock up. Deep in her stomach she knew it was the worst possible reaction, and as she careened toward the man she forced herself to do the only thing she could think of: she rolled. Shoulder over shoulder she twirled, ending her curved path about the Fount and sending her flying off and away. The roll gained her the few feet necessary to prevent herself from slamming into the fisherman, but her relief lasted only a split second, for as she tried to right herself, she found herself spinning. Head over feet she rolled, and it seemed every twist of her waist and pull of her shoulders was in vain.

  She was falling.

  Bree’s heart hammered in her chest as her stomach looped. She saw the ocean, the island, the Fount, all in a rotating dance as she plummeted. Remembering what Jevin had taught her, she shut off the wings. Without their push, her spinning would slow, increasing her control. She just had to right herself, that was all. The wind on her skin was now a threat, a reminder of how quickly the ocean approached. Crossing her arms, she tried to go limp, to stop fighting the natural pull of gravity. Fear closed her eyes. It was terrifying, relenting control in such a way, but her frantic mind knew it was necessary. Her rotations slowed, and when she opened her eyes she saw water above her, which meant she fell headfirst.

  Curling her legs up to her chest, Bree took another deep breath, then kicked them out as she swung her arms. Her body began to rotate, and she timed it just right, waiting until her feet pointed toward the ocean before setting the switch to half power. Instinct screamed to go full, but she knew doing so could send her spinning once again. The wings shimmered gold, and she felt a pull on her body from the buckles as the contraption attempted to lift her. Her speed was too great, and she steadily increased the power as her heart hammered inside her rib cage. Louder the wings hummed, glowing brighter, but the water was so close now. The buckles about her body dug deep into her skin, the ache her punishment for being torn between the strength of her plummet and the pull of her wings. Eyes wide, she watched the ocean closing in, the waters so blue, so deep. Closing her eyes, she prayed that if she died from impact, it would be quick and without pain.

  The impact never came. A hand grabbed her wrist, twisting her about. She opened her eyes to see Jevin spinning her so he could grab her other wrist, and then he looked to the sky as his own wings flared gold. Another strong jolt shook through her body as his wings added to her own. Her plummet slowed, then ceased completely. Face buried into his chest, she felt frightened tears finally release.

  “I knew it,” she heard Jevin say. “Moment I saw you zooming down like an idiot, I knew this would happen.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  “Dropped a full net to catch you. Hope you appreciate that.”

  Bree pushed herself away, and she set the switch to half so she could gently rise.

  “I’m glad I’m more important to you than some smelly fish,” she said, and despite the tears on her face and the snot she felt dripping from her nose, she laughed. Jevin’s glare lasted but a moment before he shook his head.

  “Follow me,” he said, and he offered her his hand. “Let’s get you back on solid ground.”

  She took it, and together they rose back to the docks, neither saying a word to the other. When near, Jevin let her go, and she drifted down to the wood and landed on wobbling legs. Plopping to her knees, she curled over, cold sweat on her neck. Her palms pressed against the wood, fingernails digging. Kael rushed to her side as the din of the fishermen welcomed her back to her previous life.

  “Bree?” he asked, clearly worried.

  “I’m fine,” she said, not looking at him.

  “So how’d it go?” he asked. “What was it like to fly in open air?”

  In answer, she vomited all over the docks, bits of it slipping between cracks and dripping down through clouds to the ocean so very far below.

  CHAPTER 2

  Kael and Bree huddled on the stairs, a door between them and the kitchen. The day was fading, the midnight fire to arrive within the hour, and the twins should have been asleep in their beds. Instead they’d heard a door open, followed by the deep voice of Nickolas Flynn, a longtime friend of their parents who came over from time to time to ensure that they wanted for nothing. They left their soft feather beds and crept down the wooden stairs. Experience acquired over a lifetime allowed them to step exactly where they needed to prevent a creak. Ears to the door, they listened as their aunt and the knight talked.

  “Their birthday’s days away,” Aunt Bethy said, and Kael could hear the anger in her tone. She only spoke in such a snippy, hurried way when she wanted the conversation to move to anything else in existence. Kael imagined her sitting in the rocking chair of their kitchen, just beside the stone fire pit that served as heating for their home and as their oven. “There’s no reason to hurry such a thing.”

  No doubt their aunt refused to look at Nickolas when she said it, instead keeping her long, oval face pointed downward, green eyes locked on whatever she made with her needlework.

  “It isn’t hurrying,” Nickolas said, his deep voice carrying up the stairs. Nickolas was a member of the angelic knights, sworn protectors of Center, the greatest and most powerful of the six holy islands. The theocracy of Center was ruled by the Speaker for the Angels, Marius Prakt, and overseen by his religious servants, the theotechs. Nickolas’s folded wings were a gold so pure they were blinding in the daylight sun. His head was smoothly shaven, his armor light and glittering, the two swords secured at his waist razor sharp. Everything about him, including his voice, spoke of control and authority.

  “I daresay otherwise,” Bethy insisted. “They don’t need testing until their sixteenth birthday.”

  “Their sixteenth is the last day to be tested,” Nickolas said. “And you owe it to your brother to—”

  “I owe it to him to keep his children alive and breathing,” Bethy interrupted. “Breanna nearly flew herself into the ocean earlier today, and with one of those fishermen training sets. What do you think she’d do if given a set like yours? She’d break her damn neck.”

  Kael glanced at his sister, and he saw her face had turned beet red.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” she whispered.

  The way she’d reacted when
hurling on the dock, or how loudly Jevin had berated them on their walk home, seemed to contradict that, but Kael let the matter drop.

  “It only means she needs more training,” Nickolas argued. “And I spoke with Jevin about that incident. Bree was going far too fast for her training set to handle. With a set like mine, she’d have been less likely to lose control. This is what she wants, and Kael, too. Let them come with me tomorrow to Center. We’ll test for their affinity, and after that, the choice is theirs.”

  Silence for a moment. Kael glanced at his sister, and her eyes were wide. Affinity, as in elemental affinity? That meant one thing, and one thing only…

  “Why must they be tested?” Aunt Bethy asked, her voice quieter. “Just because their parents had affinities doesn’t mean they will. Besides, there’s no reason for them to join the Seraphim. Let Kael become one of the house soldiers if he wishes to serve in the military. And Bree will forget flying in time, once she marries…”

  Heavy footsteps moving about the room. The rocking of Bethy’s chair ceased.

  “Weshern’s safety fades each day,” said Nickolas, his voice softening, almost pleading. “Your island is yet to recover from the battle that claimed Liam and Cassandra. Both were phenomenal Seraphs, and your niece and nephew might echo their legacy. Don’t let them die in obscurity, Kael laboring in platemail armor and Bree scraping her hands to the bone pulling potatoes in Lowville’s fields. They belong in the sky, protecting those they love. They belong in Weshern’s Seraphim.”

  Both twins tensed, waiting for their aunt’s answer.

  “No,” she said.

  Bree was down the stairs in seconds, avoiding Kael’s desperate grab at her arm. She burst through the door and into the kitchen, and holding back a curse, Kael followed. If Bree was awake and listening, they’d assume he’d been, too, whether he had or not. The vast majority of the time, it was a safe assumption.

  Kael joined his sister in the kitchen, standing tall in his long beige bedclothes. Their home was a modest one, the kitchen cramped by the rocking chair, the dining table, and the many rows of shelves packed with spices, utensils, and bowls. Bethy sat in her rocking chair beside the east-facing window, while on the other side, Nickolas stood before the front door, arms crossed and a frown on his face. His skin was dark as coal, and the contrast made the gold of his armor and the white of his tunic seem all the brighter. While Bethy looked exasperated to see them there, Nickolas seemed almost… hopeful.

  “I want to go,” Bree said, before either could address her. “We want to go.”

  Bethy looked back and forth between them as Kael shuffled his feet, his gaze more often on the floor than on his aunt’s tired stare.

  “You don’t know what you’re signing yourselves up for,” she said. “The life isn’t glamorous or happy. Most likely you’ll die before you reach your twentieth birthday, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Serving as a Seraph for your island is also a great honor,” Nickolas said. “An honor your parents would have been thrilled to witness bestowed upon you.”

  Bethy rose from her chair. Her hands were at her sides, bones curled from the hours and hours she spent in the fields, fingertips forever stained brown. She walked over so she could address them eye to eye.

  “How could you want this?” she asked. “You saw it for yourselves. You saw how terrible battle can be. Do you want to die like your father, lungs punctured with ice and body crushed from the fall? Or would you rather die like your mother, bleeding out across the rooftops?”

  “Mother died flying,” Bree said. “Don’t you dare insult her for it. Better the sky than the fields.”

  Bethy moved to slap her, but Nickolas caught her hand.

  “We all serve God’s will, whether in fields of grain or fields of battle,” he said, glaring at Bree. “And your aunt only wishes for you to understand the fate I offer. It’s bloody, it’s dangerous, and it will likely kill you. Both of you. Will you still come to Center for testing, knowing that?”

  “You’re all I have left of my brother,” Bethy said before they could answer, tears in her eyes. “Don’t take it from me, please. That life, it’ll rip you away, just like it did Liam.”

  It was almost enough to convince him, and to his surprise, it seemed to sway Bree as well. But Kael knew how much this meant to his sister. Even after she’d nearly died that morning, even while her hands shook as she returned the training wings to Bryce, she’d asked when she could don them again. And if it meant he had to bear the burden…

  “I’ll go,” he said.

  Nickolas slowly nodded, looked to Bree.

  “I’ll go, too,” she said, sniffling once. She looked to Bethy. “And I’m sorry.”

  Bethy wrapped her arms around them both, and she freely let her tears fall. The door creaked as Nickolas pushed it open.

  “I’ll be here when the morning mist fades,” he said. “Dress in your finest, and get some sleep. Tomorrow, we fly to Center.”

  Come the rise of the sun, the midnight fire was all but smoke. The blessed rays of light pushed it away, banishing it for one more day. The effect was not immediate, though, and for the first hour of morning the sky carried a dark, wispy texture as the smoke gradually dissipated. It was known as the morning mist, and Kael stared at it while standing beside the door to his home. If only the daylight could scatter his nervousness and guilt like it did the mist. Bethy had said little to them after Nickolas left, only held them and told them how much she loved them both.

  It hurt, but it wasn’t enough. They were committed now. So long as they passed their tests, they would gain entry into Weshern’s Academy, established by the Archon of Weshern hundreds of years ago to train and prepare soldiers for aerial combat in defense of their island.

  The door opened, closed, and Bree joined him. She wore a pair of brown pants and a long-sleeved white shirt, and around her neck she’d wrapped a deep blue scarf.

  “Nickolas said to wear our finest,” Kael said as she crossed her arms and leaned against the door. “Shouldn’t you wear a dress?”

  “We’re joining the military, not going to a dance,” she said.

  Kael shrugged.

  “Just thought I’d ask.”

  He himself wore his finest pair of black wool pants, and his shirt was one that used to belong to his father. It was a light gray, and across his breast was the royal symbol for the island of Weshern, that of a downward-pointed blade drawn with thin blue lines. Kael’s boots were black and polished, and he noticed Bree wore a similar pair.

  “Good thing we’re not dancing,” he said. “You’d smash your poor partner’s toes.”

  He grinned, she smacked him in the chest, and he mussed her hair in return. Pointedly turning her back to him, Kael saw her suddenly tense, and he realized Nickolas must have arrived. Clearing his throat, he stood up straight and glanced down the street. Not seeing him, he looked the other way, only to find the knight landing from his flight mere feet in front of him. The morning light gleamed off his polished golden armor. The hum of his wings, so deep and pure, slowly died away.

  “Are you two ready?” he asked after inspecting them both. Kael waited for him to berate Bree for how she dressed, but he never did.

  “Ready, sir,” Kael said, and Bree nodded her head in unison.

  “Very well,” said Nickolas. “Follow me to the lifts.”

  He led them down the road, past rows of identical homes with their square designs, stone walls, and thin wooden rooftops. Most were quiet, for where they lived was inhabited mostly by farmers, who had to be out in the fields come the morning mist, rerouting irrigation from the aqueducts, inspecting for bugs, and yanking out the weeds that dared steal precious water and soil from their crops. Aunt Bethy was among them, having headed to the fields earlier than ever. Kael felt certain it was so she didn’t have to say a word to them prior to their leaving.

  Their home was on Picker Street, just a dead end jut off from Wooden Road, which ran west until it ended
at the docks. The other way curled north, exiting their town of Lowville while cutting through the many fields. All along its reach were various shopkeepers, selling wares from Weshern as well as the other outer islands and Center itself. The simple stalls were little more than tents propped up about permanently placed stone tables, and the men and women occupying them quieted their cries as Nickolas passed. Surely the knight had plenty of coin to spend, but it seemed none of the merchants dared harass him while he traveled with a purpose beyond browsing their wares.

  “You travel with me to the very heart of humanity’s continued existence,” Nickolas said as Lowville faded behind them. “Since you come as visitors, there are a few rules you must know and follow. First, do not leave my side until ordered. Second, keep your mouths shut unless explicitly told to speak. You aren’t a native to Center, which means the theotechs can detain you if you’re asking questions they don’t like or visiting places they don’t want you to be in. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

  The edge of the island was before them, and with it a chaotic gathering of crates, barrels, and people. They approached the lifts, where ferrymen carried men, women, and their merchandise from island to island. Like the docks, the lifts were a heavy wooden structure built hanging off the side of Weshern, only it looked far sturdier as well as much more crowded.

  Nickolas turned so he might address them eye to eye.

  “Third,” he said, glancing between them, “and perhaps most importantly: do not lie. No matter what you’re asked, no matter if you think the truth will cost you your chance at being a Seraph, you do not lie. Have I made myself clear?”

  Kael had never left Weshern to visit any of the other islands, let alone Center that ruled over them all. He’d thought it’d be no special matter, but Nickolas’s tone and warnings made him think otherwise. They were traveling to the home of the theotechs, they of the red robes who gave Kael the creeps whenever he saw one fly by. And everywhere there would be men like Nickolas, strong, controlled, all wielding a similar air of authority. Lump in his throat, he nodded affirmative as Bree quietly whispered the word yes.