Skyborn

by David Dalglish

  So it went for much of the course. Bree had to twist and shift her body constantly, and several rings she missed altogether. Not that she minded, not really. Her wings felt like a new friend, one she had to spend time with to get a feel for. Every successive ring was a new challenge, and she met it with a determined grin. When she passed through the eighth ring, she tried flying faster, and this time when she twisted her aim was true. Slicing through the center of the ninth ring filled her with incredible satisfaction. Praying she could continue the streak, she saw that the tenth ring was much higher than all the others. So much higher, in fact, she had no hope of making it. Flinging her legs before her, she reduced her speed while letting her wings cancel out their own speed. Coming to a complete halt before the base of the ring, she slowly rose. Once even with the center of the ring, she tilted forward slightly and drifted through.

  Ring eleven was equally impossible, for its bottom was nearly touching the ground. Bree drifted downward, body still erect, as she wondered how to efficiently go from one to the other. Her forward momentum continued from the previous ring, and as she passed through the eleventh ring she straightened out her body and pushed the throttle into a normal flight. The final ring was up ahead, and at an even height. Letting out a whoop, she blasted through its center. Her last ring, and also her best. Spinning in the air, she reduced the throttle. She floated upward, then thrummed her wings back to life when she felt the familiar weightless feeling. The wings kept her at a steady ten feet off the ground as she surveyed the obstacle course. Of the twelve rings, she’d made it through ten of them, all while the rest of her classmates were still trying to learn how to remain aloft in the air…

  “You didn’t set the timer.”

  The sudden voice caused Bree to jump, and she felt her neck flushing. Turning, she saw that she was no longer alone in the field. By his age, she guessed him to be one of the older students. His dark skin was in sharp contrast to the white of his shirt, his black hair wavy and as long as hers. He wore his own silver set of wings, and he flew up to join her with a smile on his face.

  “I take it you’re one of the newbies?” he asked.

  “I… yes,” she said, the term not difficult for her to decipher.

  “Dean Averson,” he said, putting his right hand over his heart in a salute while dipping his head slightly.

  “Breanna Skyborn,” she said, and then realizing she hadn’t returned the gesture, quickly tried to replicate it. The movement sent her gently drifting forward, and to her horror, she realized she was going to slide right into him. Dean only looked amused, and he reached out to catch her waist before easing her in the other direction.

  “You may take to this like a fish to water, but you’ve still got plenty to learn,” he said.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The young man glanced over his shoulder to the course below them.

  “Well, Breanna…”

  “Bree. Just Bree.”

  He looked back, and his blue eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement.

  “Bree,” he said, “if you’re going to do the obstacle course, you should do it right. Follow me, and try not to crash.”

  “I won’t crash,” she said, unsure why she suddenly felt defensive.

  “I saw you overshooting ring two,” he said. “Or did you have a bug on your boots you were trying to scrape off?”

  Was he mocking her? Her immediate instinct was to assume as much, but his grin was too wide, his tone far too playful. Knowing he’d seen her goof did little to help the blush that still remained across her face and neck, and, taking extra care with the throttle, she followed the young man down to the road.

  Beside the road was a tall wooden box she’d not noticed before. On its front was a large white oval, marked at the edges with thin black lines. The lines were numbered by twenties, starting at zero and ending at two hundred and forty. Its single rotating hand from the center currently pointed to zero. Dean reached behind it and showed her where a corded hook extended out the back, along with a smaller secondary handle.

  “This big one winds the timer,” he said. “Pull the cord all the way out to the final ring, and once you’re there, hook it to the side of the ring. Go on, it isn’t hard.”

  Taking the metal hook in her right hand, she gave her wings a short burst to hop over to the twelfth ring, and she was surprised by the resistance of the cord. From the timer she heard a myriad of gears turning, the mechanisms within winding up and preparing to release. During her approach she felt the cord go taut, and she had to grab it with both hands to pull it the rest of the way. Before she could ask what to latch it on to, she saw that there was a slender groove cut into the bottom of the twelfth ring, and she set it within. Taking a step back, she frowned at it.

  “It doesn’t seem very secure,” she said.

  “That’s because it’s not supposed to be.”

  Dean gestured for her to return, and she did.

  “Now,” he said, pointing to the second handle in the back. “When you grab that one, you’ll pull it out to the starting line. The moment you let go, the timer starts. To stop the timer, you need to dislodge that hook from the final ring.”

  “How do I do that?” she asked.

  “Smack it with your hand, and it’ll come loose. Just try not to be going too fast. Broken hands are pretty common injuries in second-year students. I’ll let you figure out why. Anyway, when you dislodge it, the timer stops, and you can come check your time. Once you wind it up, it counts down from four minutes to zero.”

  “What happens if I take longer than four minutes?” she asked.

  “Then it wasn’t a time worth remembering. You ready to try again?”

  “You promise not to make fun of me when I do terribly?”

  Dean grinned at her.

  “How about you just not do terribly instead?”

  Bree laughed as she grabbed the slender handle and walked to the starting line. Bending over, she tensed her legs, placed her thumb on the throttle. She breathed in, breathed out, and released the handle. It shot from her hand, she pushed the throttle, and with a strong leap of her legs she tore into the air toward the first ring. Her first run through had been calm, patient, but this time she was keenly aware of her spectator. The first ring was easy enough, but just as before she failed to correct herself in time. Shooting past the second ring, she twisted around, the wings fighting against her own momentum to resume the other way.

  Up and down, left and right, she weaved and pushed through the rings. She quickly discovered that the strength of her own body would decide many of the turns, for it was the muscles of her back and waist that changed her positioning and re-aimed the thrust of the wings. Every time she thought she had a turn down, she’d jerk too hard one way, climb too steep, or simply not angle hard enough. The eighth ring she had to turn about and try again, and then worst of all came the stretch of nine through eleven. The ninth she pushed through easily enough, but to gain the elevation to reach the tenth she had to kill her entire forward momentum, and at a painfully slow speed she crossed through. Seemingly just as impossible was the ring immediately after, number ten barely ten feet out while still all the way attached to the ground.

  Bree tried to speed up the process by falling, and she jarred her neck by flaring the wings just before hitting the ground. Letting out a cry, she gritted her teeth and fought on. The final ring was the easiest, a relatively straight shot. Flying through it, she heeded Dean’s warning and slowed down before reaching out her left hand and smacking the thin wood. The ring wobbled back and forth, dislodging the hook. The black cord shot back across the grass, securing into the back of the timer.

  Trying to pretend she wasn’t in as much pain as she was, Bree flew back to Dean’s side.

  “How’d I do?” she asked, sucking in air. The exertion had taken far more of her than she’d expected, and she felt sweat dripping down her neck.

  “I’d say the timer ran out at least two minutes ago,”
he said. “Maybe three. It’s hard to keep track after so much time has passed.”

  Bree laughed despite her pain and exhaustion.

  “You’re a smartass, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed I am. What were you doing out here anyway, Bree?”

  She really didn’t want to mention how Dohn had sent her away, so she instead flipped the issue.

  “Practicing,” she said, as if it should be obvious. “What were you doing out here?”

  “Practicing,” he said, and when she gave him a look, he shook his head. “I’m not joking. Look behind you, Bree.”

  She turned, but saw nothing, and told him so.

  “Not there,” he said. “Higher.”

  Her gaze lifted, and then she saw them. Hundreds of feet into the air they danced, silver angels diving and twisting in formation. Several separate men and women flew among their numbers, circling, pretending to be an attacker. The twists they made, the rapid climbs and even rapider dives; it was all so fluid. And their speed! Even at her best while making her way through the obstacle course she was a slug compared to those older students.

  “Shouldn’t you be among them?” she asked as she watched, mesmerized.

  “I should, yes, but my switch started sticking,” Dean said. “I was on my way to the gear sheds when I happened to spot a crazy girl flying the advanced obstacle course on her first day of training and I just had to come watch the ensuing disaster.”

  Goddamn it, thought Bree. She felt her neck blushing for what felt like the hundredth time that day. With her pale skin, it’d be more visible than the fire over the midnight sky. Wanting the subject switched to something, anything, she saw a list of times cut into the side of the timer and pointed to them.

  “What are those?” she asked.

  “Names of the record holders and their times,” Dean said.

  “What’s the fastest?”

  Dean tapped at the one on the bottom.

  “A minute thirty-seven, by none other than Argus himself.”

  Bree recognized that name. Argus Summers was a legend in Weshern, having recorded the most ever kills for a Seraphim at thirty-nine, not counting over a dozen more brought down in theotech-sanctioned duels. Now he led the entirety of the Weshern Seraphim as their commander. She’d seen him only once, during one of the yearly parades, and she’d never forgotten those icy-blue eyes of his.

  “Minute thirty-seven,” she said, staring at the name. “Now I know what to shoot for.”

  “So you’re up for another?”

  Bree grinned.

  “I am, so be a gentleman and reset the clock!”

  CHAPTER 8

  Much to Kael’s chagrin, they did not start their second day immediately with physical exercise and then flight training. Instead he and Brad were awoken early that morning by a hammering fist on the door to their apartment, calling them to prepare for the seventh-day service. So they marched out, half awake and on an empty stomach, to find an older student guiding the rest south.

  “Cross the bridge and head to the advanced elemental training field,” the man said. “You’ll figure the rest out.”

  True to his word, it wasn’t hard to find where everyone gathered. Students of all four years stood in a massive jumble in the empty field, forming a loose U around a stone pedestal. On one side, Kael spotted several of the teachers and instructors chatting with the headmaster. They all wore their uniforms, freshly cleaned. Kael and Brad hovered near the back, with Kael keeping an eye out for his sister. She and Amanda arrived together, and Kael waved his arm above his head until she noticed.

  “I hope this doesn’t cut into our flight time,” Bree said, sliding up beside him.

  “Or breakfast,” Brad said, grinning. “They keep us here too long, and no one’s going to hear the theotech’s droning over the sound of my stomach.”

  “It depends on who we get,” Amanda said, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to see over the crowd to the pedestal. “They’ll send one of the theotechs from the Crystal Cathedral to oversee the ceremony. If it’s Vyros, it’ll be pointed and short. If it’s Jorg, we might be lucky to have practice at all.”

  “Did you go there often?” Brad asked.

  “Every week,” Amanda said, and a look of relief crossed over her face. “And yes, it’s Vyros. Don’t worry, Brad. You’ll get your breakfast.”

  “Awesome, let’s get this over and done,” Brad said, loud enough for Kael to elbow him in the side. With the theotech stepping up to the stone pedestal, the host of people swiftly quieted. The red-robed man was on the older side, his face wrinkled and the top of his head balding. He projected his voice well as he addressed the crowd.

  “Greetings, Seraphim of Weshern and members of the academy,” he said. “My name is Vyros Longleaf, and I consider it a privilege to share with you the wisdom of the angels on this fine day.”

  Kael considered it a privilege to have a place to sit, but the theotechs had strict rules about religious service, one of them being they must take place in open air. The few times a theotech had traveled to Lowville, they’d gathered in the town square to listen. Kael had heard of the fine furnishings of the Crystal Cathedral, built beside the holy mansion, but had never been inside himself. He had a feeling the wealthy and privileged who attended there had nice, cushioned seats instead of having to shift their weight foot to foot to avoid cramping.

  “As this is the first service for those of you new to the academy, I would like to address my remarks to you bright and talented children,” Vyros continued. “You have much to learn, and for now, I would like you to consider me another of your teachers. The power offered to you here is great, and with it comes a need for responsibility, humility, and wisdom. The first two, your instructors here will handle well on their own, but as for the third, I ask that you listen with open ears and open hearts to my words.”

  Kael’s mood soured as Vyros continued with his sermon. The traveling theotechs from his childhood had far more fire and energy than Vyros, their words focusing on repentance and self-improvement through God’s guidance. Kael had enjoyed those sermons well enough, particularly the stirring of emotions in the crowd around him. But this? This wasn’t even close. Every listener looked bored. Kael could have handled that, but worse was the message itself. It wasn’t about failure or grace, fall or redemption, not even about the sins of the old world that supposedly led to the Ascension.

  Instead it was about the role of the Seraphim as protectors of their island nation, and how the theotechs served a similar role to all five islands, plus Center. The constant reminder grated on Kael, and he stole a glance at Bree beside him. She just looked bored, which made him wonder if he was overreacting. That was, until Vyros finally gave away the point of his entire sermon.

  “It is the angels who hold our islands in their hands,” the theotech said. “It is their wisdom that saved our race, and it is their words we must listen to above all others. Above family, above friends, above nations. Those words, spoken only to one. Those words, repeated to us by the Speaker for the Angels, the illustrious Marius Prakt.”

  That was it, the message that caused Kael to grind his teeth as he waited for the sermon to end. This wasn’t a sermon designed for the betterment of the listener. It was an overly long reminder of the power Center lorded over Weshern. Once aware of it, he couldn’t stop hearing it. The many times Vyros referred to the people of Weshern as children. The constant glorification of Center. The reference to how even their Archon, Isaac Willer, also bowed to the will of the angels.

  When Vyros asked that they lower their heads and lift their hands to the heavens, Kael couldn’t help himself.

  “Finally,” he whispered, and this time it was Brad’s turn to elbow him in the side.

  Vyros closed the prayer with a call to obedience and wisdom, then dismissed them to their daily routine. The students scattered, and Kael was all too eager to get some food in his belly and his wings on his back.

  At least I don’t feel
like throwing up anymore, thought Kael as he guided his wings through a set of simple exercises Instructor Dohn taught them earlier that morning. Only his second day of flight training, and already he felt infinitely more comfortable being aloft. The day before, while his sister looped about to the jealousy of everyone, he’d needed all his concentration just to keep his body straight and his speed consistent. As his nerves settled, so too did his flight. Training with Jevin’s set had never been a priority for him, instead something he did just because Bree did as well, but now he felt thankful for the friendly fisherman’s help.

  The clouds were thick above them, puffy and white and very much welcome. In the shade Kael lifted for three seconds, halted, then dropped straight down, the goal to keep his speed the same on the way up as on the way down. For the third attempt in a row he managed it, his feet touching the green grass at exactly three seconds, and he felt a smile blooming on his face. Despite having tried nothing fancier than a few twists and turns in midair, he felt a bit of Bree’s excitement starting to wear off on him.

  Kael glanced to where his sister practiced nearby. Bree’s boredom was clearly evident. She’d rushed through every set of drills, finishing before others had yet to start their second set. While the other students were concentrating hard to fly up, then drop straight and steady, Bree was twirling her body with each rise into the air. On the way down, she’d cross her arms, then twirl again just before her feet touched ground, pirouetting upon the grass before yet another rise.

  “Are we bored, Miss Skyborn?”

  Kael straightened his back, and his heart skipped a beat. He looked straight ahead, not wanting to earn the instructor’s ire as Adam flew over to where his sister trained.

  “No sir,” she said, hovering a foot above the ground as she faced Instructor Dohn. “I mean, yes sir, I’m sorry. I’ve already finished, so I thought if I did them again, only more difficult…”

  “They’re not supposed to be difficult,” Dohn said. “That’s the point. They’re to be learned, and become so deeply ingrained you can perform them even during the chaos of battle.”