Wings of Lomay

by Walls, Devri

  Kiora, we need to do a couple of things. Quickly, lean on me and make an enclosure.

  Kiora slid off his back, leaning on his side. He walked with her as she stumbled, touching the trunks of a few trees to set the enclosure. Once it sealed itself, she dropped to the ground, her eyes closing before she even lay down.

  Not yet, Kiora. Almost.

  Kiora peeled her eyes back open, blinking furiously as she tried to focus on Arturo’s face.

  Listen very carefully. I need you to open your mental connection with Alcander completely. I am going to try to talk to him—through you.

  Kiora nodded sluggishly as she lay back in the dry meadow grass. The ground was cold and felt wonderful against her skin. She relaxed her mind, pulling back at the layers, revealing Alcander.

  ***

  ALCANDER FROZE IN THE hall as a voice he had never heard before called his name—in his mind. Every muscle in his body tensed at the violation.

  This is Arturo. Kiora is very ill, came a male tenor voice. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her awake to speak with you. I need Emane. Have him waiting outside the city.

  “Alcander, what’s wrong?” Emane asked, coming up alongside him.

  Alcander shook his head. He leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees, pinching his eyes shut. We are not in the city. We are in Tavea.

  Arturo was quiet, but Alcander had the most distinct impression that the Pegasus was flipping through his mind, assessing the situation from his memories. The feeling made him want to vomit and he swallowed back bile.

  You cannot bubble long enough to get to a safe place, Arturo thought. Stay there. I will be there by morning.

  Are you bringing her? Alcander thought back.

  No, she is too ill to ride any longer. We must move quickly. Find warm clothes—we will be flying high.

  Where are you?

  Near Lomay’s. We also need the incantation to—

  Alcander gasped and stumbled forward as Arturo’s presence withdrew abruptly from his mind.

  “What is it?” Emane asked as Alcander righted himself.

  “Arturo is coming for us. Kiora needs you.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Drustan asked.

  “Arturo says she’s too sick to travel.”

  “Arturo?” Drustan said, realizing the impossibility of that statement. “How are you talking to Arturo?”

  “I’m not sure,” Alcander said, starting back down the hall. “He said he was using Kiora.” He broke into a jog, leaping over vines. “We have a lot to do. Hurry.”

  The three ran out the back exit. They followed the broken castle wall, past the gardens, where a small collection of houses stood in a semi-circle within the castle keep. This was where those who helped with castle duties lived. The vines had turned the houses to piles of sticks. Eerily, most of the wooden pieces were still standing, nearly in their correct locations, leaning on the vines that twisted in and around them. A shock of black hair spilled out from a lopsided doorframe, confirming that the houses had not been empty when the attack occurred.

  Past the homes, a white door lay flat on the ground. Alcander grabbed the handle and wrenched it up, revealing a set of stairs leading down.

  “Flying foxes nest underground,” Alcander said as he hurried down the stairs. He held his staff up, willing it to glow. Blue-and-white light swirled around the walls.

  The stable was a circle and stalls lined the perimeter. On the top of each stall was a long, rectangular window with bars to allow one to look inside. Feeding troughs hung outside each pen in front of an opening large enough for the fox to extend their head through. The trough was divided into two parts, food and water, and both were completely full despite the time that had passed since Tavea’s destruction

  “Who is feeding them?” Emane asked. His hand moved to his sword as he looked at the stairs.

  “No one. The troughs are magicked—they fill on their own.”

  Drustan wrinkled his nose. “Too many flying foxes for my liking,” he said as several noses appeared between the bars, sniffing and displaying their teeth.

  “As long as they get your scent, they will be fine,” Alcander said. He approached the first cage and held his hand up to the bars. The flying fox sniffed and its giant ears perked with interest. “Emane, Drustan. Come on.”

  Drustan inched forward, holding out his hand as if it were the last time he might ever see it. He looked over his shoulder to Emane, grimacing as the flying fox sniffed his hand. “And you thought Dragons were temperamental.”

  The fox laid its ears back flat on its head. It pulled back its lips to expose curved teeth and hissed. Alcander yelled from a few pens over. The fox’s ears perked up as it jerked back. It glanced over at the king and then returned to Drustan for a grudging reevaluation.

  “Remember that first time you saw a flying fox and Alcander said it only spits on people it doesn’t like?” Drustan said, pulling his hand away.

  Emane nodded, frowning at the fox before him.

  “He wasn’t kidding.” Drustan moved over to the next cage. “Go ahead.” He smirked. “Stick your hand up there.”

  Emane hesitated.

  “We have a lot of foxes you need to get acquainted with, Emane,” Alcander said. “And not a lot of time. Just put your hand up there.”

  Emane gritted his teeth and stepped forward, holding out his hand. The fox sniffed. Its ears perked up and forward. It pushed its face against the bars and made a funny chirping sound. Before Emane could move, its tongue flicked out from between rows of needle-sharp teeth, licking his hand.

  Emane yelped, jerking back as the acid spit ate through his skin. “I didn’t do anything!” he yelled, hurriedly healing his hand.

  Alcander strode over, giving him a congratulatory pat on the back. “He liked you. A lot.”

  Emane looked at him incredulously. “So, if it hates me, it spits at me. If it loves me, it licks me? Both end in the same result,” he sputtered.

  “Don’t let him lick you,” Alcander said.

  Drustan jumped back from a pen, yanking his hand protectively behind his back as another fox barred its teeth at him. “Why do they always hate Shifters?”

  Alcander rushed over, shushing the agitated fox. “Because your kind is not very likable,” he said.

  “Funny as always, Your Majesty,” Drustan said, glaring at the fox like it was a demon’s spawn.

  This continued for hours, Alcander coaxing the foxes into liking Drustan—some were far more resistant to his presence than others. Emane, on the other hand, learned quickly to be prepared, leaping back as fox tongues whipped out from between bars.

  “Who knew they would be so fond of Witows?” Alcander said.

  “Yours didn’t like me,” Emane pointed out, skittering back as a fox chirped happily at his presence.

  “That’s because I didn’t like you.”

  Drustan crouched down in front of some lower bars on the other side of the stables. “Now these guys I like.”

  “What are they?” Emane asked.

  “Marlocks.”

  Emane knelt down to look in. The creatures were twice as long as he was, with short, muscular legs and faces that looked like miniature bears. They came in all colors and were leaping and wrestling with each other. Black, brown, white, and reddish fur, all rolling around the pen.

  Alcander came up behind them. “The Marlocks’ main strength is their intelligence. They have the ability to understand speech.”

  “That, and their speed is unrivaled,” Drustan marveled. “How did you catch them?”

  The voices brought the Marlocks out of their wrestling match and running toward them. The first two skidded to a stop, looking intensely curious before the rest of the group collided with them, slamming into the door.

  “We caught two of them a long time ago. The rest were been born here,” Alcander said.

  Kneeling down, Alcander explained to the Marlocks what he needed. Intelligence glittered in thei
r eyes as they nodded their understanding

  “Are you sure?” Emane asked.

  “They will be fine. They’re fast enough not to get caught and their threads won’t raise alarm.” Alcander stood and held out his staff, running the light across the walls.

  Drustan plucked a key off a hook. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Alcander took it and inserted it into a small hole near the top of the door. The door shimmered, then dissolved before their eyes. The Marlocks burst from their cage. Alcander opened the next three doors as well, each full of Marlocks. The creatures ran and rolled through the room at lightning speed.

  “How long has it been since they’ve been out of these cages?” Drustan asked, leaping out of the way of two rolling Marlocks.

  “I don’t know,” Alcander said. “Too long.”

  A Marlock clipped Emane with his tail and he fell backwards, landing hard. He scrambled back up before he was trampled by the others.

  “Go,” Alcander said to the creatures. “I will call you when it’s time.”

  Each and every Marlock stilled, gave a small bow with their heads, and rushed up the stairs.

  ***

  TOO EXHAUSTED TO HOLD on to it anymore, Kiora let her mind connection with Alcander slip closed.

  Arturo nudged her cheek. Sleep. I will be back as soon as I can.

  Grateful for permission, she dropped off. The dreams started immediately.

  Her mother leaned over her, placing a cool rag against her forehead, telling her it would be all right. It played over and over again, her mother’s green eyes looking anxiously down at her.

  Too soon, her mother left, and the dreams turned to nightmares. She tossed and turned, telling herself to wake up, but she couldn’t. She was trapped in her own mind with Morcant and Drustan, Taveans in water bubbles, and Aimon. Each of them dying over and over again. Morcant’s death came with the soul-wrenching pain of losing a friend while the others came with the soul-twisting guilt of killing. Her hands dripped with blood. She scraped at her palms and the back of her hands, trying to remove it, but the blood remained. It was a part of her. When the darkening edge that indicated a vision invaded her nightmares, she threw herself into it headlong.

  She found herself in an open and airy room. It looked like the inside of a castle, with white-and-beige marble floors, two-story windows opening out to a balcony, and a chandelier attached to the top of a steep and intricately decorated dome. The chandelier was crystal and glittered beautifully in the rays of the setting sun coming through the windows, throwing mini rainbows around the ceiling and walls.

  A fire roared in the fireplace and she noticed the tops of two heads, barely visible over the backs of two high-back chairs. Coming around the side, Kiora craned her neck to see who it was. She gasped and leaped back. Jasmine and Enzo, the new leader of the armies of Tavea, sat staring into the fire. Both seemed unaware of her presence and she reminded herself to relax. It was just a vision.

  “They have to be somewhere,” Jasmine said.

  “We think the rebels may have made it around the lake and are traveling back toward the canyon where we nearly captured Lomay.”

  “All of them, Enzo?” Jasmine snarled. “How is that possible?”

  “We have the lake surrounded, my lady. No one gets in or out.”

  Jasmine tapped the edge of her chair with long, delicate fingers. “Can’t they? It is my understanding that you have had several incidents.”

  Enzo paled, his thick, stocky frame shrinking in his chair.

  Kiora couldn’t help but notice how strange fear looked on him.

  “You have seen what happens to those who fail me.” Jasmine slowly reached out a finger and trailed it down his cheek, her nail biting into skin. “Lying does not yield less lenient results, Enzo.”

  “My apologies.” He bowed his head. “The Solus and Alcander have left the city. We are using their absence to our advantage.”

  “How so?”

  “We can’t penetrate the entrances. Instead, we are attempting to break through the enclosure beneath the lake.”

  Kiora saw a faint flicker of amusement pass over Jasmine’s face. “Continue.” She motioned, leaning back in her chair.

  “We are wrapping Dragon fire in magic and sending it to the bottom. Hopefully we will be able to break through soon.”

  “Dragon fire,” she said smoothly, nodding.

  Kiora was confused. Dragon fire would do nothing against that barrier. Jasmine, in all her power, could barely open a hole, and even then she wasn’t strong enough to fully dispel the barrier. One break in concentration and the hole would have slammed shut. Jasmine knew it too, so why wasn’t she telling Enzo?

  “Yes, my lady. We will continue the assault—you have my word. And we are ready and waiting for the return of the Solus.”

  “You assume she will return?”

  “She has proven herself to be overly soft-hearted. She will not leave her rebels there to die.”

  “Perhaps . . .” Jasmine cooed with such kindness, it sent fear stabbing though Kiora. Enzo as well, judging by the way he scooted himself to the other side of his armchair, looking as if he wanted to crawl over the edge and scramble out the door. “Instead of sitting around waiting for them to come to you, you should force the rebels out.”

  Enzo frowned. “How would we do that?”

  Her head whipped around to face him, her green eyes flashing. “Have you no imagination? Why must I lay out every step? I might as well do it myself.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” Enzo stammered. The muscles in his neck were tight and bulging, his eyes wide.

  “Think about it, Enzo,” she hissed. “Just . . .” She trailed off, going rigid in her chair. “Go,” she demanded.

  Enzo stood immediately, dropping into a deep bow. “We will do better.”

  Jasmine sat stiffly until the doors closed behind Enzo. She stood, walking closer to the fire as if to warm her hands. “How dare you?” she said to the empty room. “How dare you come here?”

  Kiora took a step back in confusion. She wasn’t really here, was she? This was just a vision.

  The bright green silk dress Jasmine was wearing rippled behind her as she turned and walked around the room. “I can feel you, Solus, I know you are here.” She turned around, her eyes running past Kiora, but not seeing her. “How dare you ask for a vision of me?” Kiora realized with a jolt that her vision had taken her here, with Jasmine, in the time it was happening. Not after, not before. Jasmine thought she had come on purpose, that she had called it.

  Jasmine summoned a Light, holding it up in her hands. The ball was dull and lifeless, just as all the rest were, but as Jasmine placed a finger in between two of the cords that bound it, the Light flared back to life. Closing her eyes, she turned her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

  Kiora’s heart pounded. What was Jasmine doing?

  “A Tavean,” Jasmine breathed with a smile. “That is how you did it.”

  “No,” Kiora whispered. “No, no, no!” She tried to pull herself out of the vision, but it wouldn’t release her.

  Jasmine tapped the Light, her lips pursed. “Taveans are so very particular with their minds—I am surprised. You must be very persuasive.” She looked around the room again as if she would be able to see Kiora. “I think it’s time you and your accomplice are taught a lesson. A little mental pressure on our Tavean friend should be very uncomfortable.” She closed her eyes, concentrating, as magic from the Light began to swirl around her.

  Kiora panicked, mentally pulling and yanking against the vision. Still nothing. She watched, helpless, as Jasmine focused her energies on Alcander.

  ***

  ALCANDER STOOD NEXT TO Drustan, ready to intervene, as the last flying fox sniffed his hand.

  “We will release the foxes when Arturo arrives,” Alcander said, heading toward the stairs. A sudden blinding pressure started in his temples, quickly wrapping around his forehead. He st
umbled backward, falling into the wall.

  “Everything all right?” Drustan asked.

  “Fine,” Alcander said, straightening. He made it up three stairs before the pain intensified. Grunting, he fell forward.

  “Emane, grab him,” Drustan said, pulling him to his feet. Emane placed Alcander’s other arm over his shoulder.

  Emane searched him for injuries. “What’s the matter?”

  “My head,” Alcander groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Emane placed his hand over Alcander’s forehead, trying to heal whatever was ailing him. It made no difference.

  “It’s not helping,” Alcander said through clenched teeth. Excruciating pain exploded behind his eyes and traveled down the base of his neck.

  “I have enough magic,” Emane said, looking over at Drustan. “I don’t understand why it’s not helping.”

  “Come on,” Drustan said, dragging them up the stairs. “There is nothing wrong with his head. This headache is from outside magic.”

  “I have healed magical injuries before.”

  “No, you have healed the physical result of a magical blow. If I had to guess by your inability to heal him, his pain is resulting magic that is still in effect.”