A Flight of Marewings

by Kristen S. Walker

  Meanwhile, the ogre lifted the pillar on its shoulder and lugged it back to the center of the courtyard where the priest waited. The audience held their collective breath.

  Varula Soma lifted his hands to halt the ogre. “The power of the wyld shall be our ally from now on, a protector of our city instead of a threat. And let this be the symbol!”

  At his command, the ogre lifted the pillar high above its head. Then, with a great heave, it drove the pillar downward through its own body and into the cobbled stones below. The hardened marble broke through the weaker pavement, and the pillar remained standing in the center of a bloody smear like a monolith.

  Varula Soma stepped aside to let neophytes drag what was left of the ogre back into the wagon and wheel it away. He wiped his cheek where some of the blood had splattered and raised his stained hand to the crowd.

  “Behold the power of humanity!”

  The crowd went wild.

  13

  Aristia I

  Aristia crouched in the shadows of the Council building’s ornate sculptures. The marble-paved square stretched out in the sunlight before her, and in the center, a multi-colored fountain splashed fresh water over carvings of leaping deer and dancing maidens. The decorations in the fountain were new, commissioned by the Temple of Varula, but the fountain was nearly as old as the city, and Aristia had sat in this same spot watching the fountain every day since she could run.

  Richly dressed people strolled across the square without so much as glancing at their lavish surroundings, but Aristia wasn’t watching them. She had learned, over years of her ma stretching their meager earnings to feed her growing brood of children, that the fountain attracted flocks of birds—birds that were fat from living off the scraps of the rich. And a girl who could be quick, and quiet, and not attract attention, could sneak her way by and snatch a bird to add to her family’s stew pot for dinner.

  Her stomach cramped from the thought of another night with no meat in the stew. Worse still, her youngest brother was sick, and he needed good food to have the strength to get better. Her mother would say nothing if she returned empty-handed, but her face would show her disappointment. She still had time to creep down into the sewers and hunt rats, but the darkness of the sewers scared her, as did the thought of what else might be lurking down there.

  Aristia would wait just a little longer.

  But then a patrol of city guards marched by, and though none of them had ever spotted her in her hiding place before, one of them inexplicably glanced over and saw her. “Hey, you there, brat,” he growled. “Why are you lurking about?”

  She turned and ran, dodging through the thickest part of the crowd to slow down anyone following her.

  Aristia hoped at first that the guards wouldn’t pursue her, but she heard shouts and scuffles in the crowd behind her. She zigzagged in a new direction to throw them off her trail and ran as fast as she could.

  When she left the square and ducked under the gate in the inner wall to the outer city, Aristia realized that she had made the mistake of heading east instead of west. The houses here grew bigger and more opulent, until she came to the mansions that were bigger than entire city blocks in the slums where she lived.

  She looked wildly up and down the street, knowing that she stood out even more here in her dirty rags. If someone spotted her, they would call even more guards to catch her.

  But even the richest neighborhoods still had their back streets for the common servants to come and go. Aristia ducked down the first side alley she saw and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Maybe now she would have the time to catch her breath and sneak out again.

  Then she heard sandals slapping against the stone road and guards shouting. “Search the alleys. She can’t have gone far.”

  They were going to find her! Aristia turned and hurried farther down the alley, looking for another way out. She went around a corner and found a dead end. She was trapped!

  But wait—she steadied her breathing and forced herself to look around. There: an old crate shoved up against the wall, a loose stone in the wall just above it. If she stretched, she might be able to climb over. She prayed that there would be somewhere she could hide on the other side.

  She scraped her knee in the process, but she managed to hoist herself up onto the wall. When she dropped down the other side, she found herself in an elaborate garden—but it looked like it hadn’t been touched in a while. Weeds grew out of the flowerbeds to cover the path, and a fountain in the middle was switched off, clogged with leaves and algae.

  For a moment she hesitated, remembering the teachings of the Deyonist priest from when she was younger. “‘Be wary of the wyld places,’” he’d read aloud from Teachings of the Allfather. “We must respect the wyld, but also guard ourselves against it. The wyld is a force that will constantly seek to tear down all we have built, to reclaim the land that we have taken. It will send monsters to kill us. Be safe and keep to civilization.”

  But this was just a garden by a house in the city. It was a little overgrown, but surely the wyld couldn’t have reclaimed it in the middle of all these people. Besides, the new priest she saw at the New Year’s festival was saying that people could have power over the wyld. One little garden wasn’t enough to stop her.

  Aristia crept through the overgrown plants and froze in terror. She’d heard nothing, but a man stood in the middle of the path in front of her. His face was in shadow so she couldn’t see if he had spotted her yet, but if he turned even a little in her direction, surely she would be caught.

  She crouched for what felt like an eternity, heart pounding and mouth dry, waiting for him to move away or to turn and see her. She fought to keep still and quiet her breathing, because any sound would travel in the silent garden.

  Yet the man stood very still, too, as if he were waiting for something—and then she realized her mistake.

  Aristia straightened up and walked over to the man. She reached out to touch his arm and felt smooth stone. Something about it was unlike any stone she had seen before, even the fine marble used in the best temples. The statue looked alive, even standing out in the garden: no untended vines climbed up the side, no sap or bird droppings marked the surface.

  Growing more confident, she walked down the largest path and took a peek at the house. The mansion was huge—large enough to hold her whole family’s apartment building with room left over. The windows were boarded up, and she didn’t hear or see any people.

  Aristia smiled at her good fortune. The house must be closed. She could hide in the yard until nightfall and slip out under cover of darkness.

  She explored the garden, giving a wide berth to the uncanny statue, and found fruit trees untended, dropping ripened apricots and peaches on the ground to rot. Much of the fruit hung low enough that even she could reach. She plucked one peach that looked untouched by bugs or animals and sank her teeth into it. The sweet flavor exploded in her mouth—the best thing she’d ever eaten.

  Aristia ate the whole peach in eager bites, juice dribbling down her chin, and reached for another. When she tired of peaches, she gorged on apricots, reveling in the faint tartness. She ate so many fruits that she thought she would be sick, but each one tasted better than the last.

  Once she had eaten her fill, Aristia went back to the abandoned house, hoping to find some kind of discarded bag or another container that she could use to carry home more fruit for her family. Near one of the servants’ entrances, she found a lot of broken furniture and other trash, as if the house had been left in a hurry. She picked through the rubble.

  Something tickled at her ear. She tried to ignore it, but it itched terribly. Aristia dropped a broken pot and dug inside her ear with her finger. Mother told her to keep her ears clean, but there was so rarely any water to wash with at home, and it didn’t seem worth the trouble.

  She didn’t find anything in there, and the itching stopped. Aristia went back to her search.

  A bell chimed in the distance.
She froze where she crouched in the trash. Was there someone in the house after all?

  The bell rang out again. It sounded like a wind chime, the decorative bells hung outside a house to ward off evil spirits. Aristia breathed a sigh of relief. It was probably just a stray breeze, not another person.

  But the bell kept on ringing, shifting through different tones, almost like a song. And when Aristia walked away from the house, clutching a dish that would let her gather fruit for her family, the music came with her, ringing in her ear.

  She shoved a finger in her ear again and music got louder. How could the music be inside her head? If it didn’t stop, it was going to drive her mad.

  14

  Galenos IV

  Galenos was relieved to find that the farming families Councilor Diokles wanted to introduce him to did not actually want to meet in the bakery. Late one evening, Diokles led him into a warehouse on the west side of the harbor. The Councilor insisted that they disguise themselves with hooded robes. Galenos thought that no disguise could hide his size, but he tried to slouch down as he walked.

  The warehouse looked no different from the others on the outside, and inside there were crates stacked high. Diokles went to a door in the back and knocked twice, paused, and knocked two more times.

  Another man opened the door and ushered them inside. The room was plain, furnished with a wooden table and a dozen chairs, and lit with a handful of smoking torches. A group of tired men and women waited for them.

  Diokles sat at the head of the table, leaving only the chair on his right open for Galenos.

  When they were all seated, Diokles introduced the others. Each one represented a different family or guild. Galenos was surprised to discover that not only were several wealthy families represented, but also several powerful guilds besides the Miners and Agriculture. All of them were unhappy with the new Republic.

  “It’s not even a real Republic,” one older woman complained. “We don’t feel represented at all. We only get one speaker, since all agriculture is covered by a single guild, but the merchants have found a way to control several guilds, and our motions get voted down every time. Including the motion to replace our city’s patron deity.”

  Diokles heaved a loud sigh. “At first the people resisted them, but now they are dazzled by the Varulans’ miracles. For now they are concentrating on the populace within the city, but I have heard that they have plans to send clergy to the regional summer festivals and convert the villages as well. The temple is growing in power, and if we do not stop it soon, it will get out of hand.”

  The man beside him nodded. “We still worship Deyos in our home, but now we feel like we have to go to the Varulan temple, or we will be ostracized by the other powerful families. We have been strongly encouraged to change which temple we donate to—encouraged by men who appeared outside our house with heavy clubs. They are nothing better than thugs.”

  A young man stirred in the shadows and came forward to the table. He wore the robes of a junior priest. With a kind smile, he placed his hand gently on the man’s head like a blessing. “Deyos still feels your loyalty to him. However, he understands that protecting your family is the most important thing. Give your money to the Varulan temple.”

  Diokles smiled at the young priest. “Thank you for your guidance.” He looked at Galenos. “Have you met Loranos?”

  Galenos remembered the priest’s rabble-rousing sermons. He didn’t hide his frown of disapproval. “I did not think that the temple would get involved in city politics.”

  Loranos blushed and ducked his head, but Diokles put his hand up. “I think that the Council’s decision has made our politics a religious matter. However, he is mainly here to meet you as the potential future leader of the city. We all want to make sure that if we support you, you’ll represent our interests.”

  Galenos folded his hands and leaned forward, hoping that it would make him appear more sincere. “Of course I want to see the city returned to its traditions, including our worship of Deyos. In fact, I have already sent a petition to the Temple on the Mountain asking for their assistance in bringing Kyratia back to the true path. I think that a restructuring of the Council might be in order, as well.”

  The man on his other side nodded. “That all sounds well and good, but what about these new tax laws? Now I owe tithes on all of my land, including the fields that lie fallow. I shouldn’t be charged for land that’s not even producing for me right now.”

  Others piped up with similar complaints. Galenos heard a whole list of demands from each of them: promises of more lenient taxes, loans for expanding their farm lands, assistance for repairs after a monster attack or natural disaster. He was forced to make deals that he could only pray he could keep if he became duke.

  At last, they had settled on a list of demands, and Galenos agreed to as much as he felt safe. Then they reached the issue of strategy.

  Diokles cleared his throat and took charge. “The one thing we are all sure of is that no one really wants this to come to a fight. War drains resources and leaves damage that has to be repaired.”

  Galenos nodded. “It also takes lives, which cannot be replaced.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Diokles said too quickly. “The point is, if we can do this without bloodshed, that would be ideal.”

  Another councilor leaned forward. “The only way that we could make a change in the government is to get the entire Council to vote in our favor, and that’s never going to happen. The Varulan conspiracy will not give up their power willingly.”

  Galenos began listing possibilities off on his fingers. “We could blackmail them, hold their families hostage, have them assassinated and then replaced, arrest them for crimes against the city—”

  Diokles waved his hands in the air. “Oh, my! Those all sound so extreme. Is there not a gentler way? What if the Temple on the Mountain decides to overrule the Council’s decision?”

  Galenos shook his head. “I don’t think that the priests will interfere that far. Their purpose is to moderate disputes between the independent territories, but they don’t dictate our individual governance. That would violate the agreement.”

  Diokles frowned. “But I thought that you petitioned them for assistance.”

  “To keep the other cities from attacking us for seceding from the agreement. Right now, we are in danger from our neighbors.”

  The others gasped.

  Diokles swallowed hard. “Surely you only mentioned that as a threat to the Council so they would listen to you. No one would actually come and attack us, right?”

  Galenos shook his head. “If we aren’t following the guidance of Deyos, then we have already violated our agreement with the temple. If we don’t hold up our end, then the other cities don’t have to keep their word. If they see us as a threat, or if they see a weakness that they could exploit, then they will attack us. Especially those cities that would like to reclaim lands conquered by the late duke.”

  Everyone began talking at once.

  “The Council has doomed us all!” said one hysterical woman.

  “Don’t panic, or they’ll descend on us like vultures,” the man next to her said.

  “Who do you think will attack us first?” another man asked Galenos. “My lands border Sympaia. Should I get my family out before the war starts?”

  Diokles fought to regain control of the meeting. “Calm down, everyone, please remain calm. The Warlord has not said that we are going to be attacked tomorrow.”

  Galenos stood up, commanding instant silence from the rest of the group. “What we need to focus on now is strengthening our defenses so that our enemies believe it would be too costly to attack us. I am taking measures in my own company, but we need to do other things in the city, like increasing the number of city guards.”

  One man raised his hand to speak. “Won’t the magestone of our city defend us?”

  “Yes, but I would never rely on magical defenses alone.” Galenos sat back down. “Every typ
e of defense can be breached by something. We have strong walls and powerful spells, but it’s better to have more than two layers. Trained guards would be another level of defense, and help deal with the current unrest caused by the religious disagreements.”

  Diokles rubbed his beard in thought. “City guards who could be loyal to us. And that might be one way to give ourselves an advantage over the Varulan faction in the Council.” He looked around the table. “That means we have to be the ones to pay for them.”

  There were a few reluctant sighs, but they agreed. People began to volunteer the amount of money they could put toward paying the new guards.

  Galenos raised his hand. “I have a friend with a few investments who would happily donate as well. Let me speak to him about the amount that we can afford.”

  He explained how he could bring Myron, Korinna’s regent, into the city to manage the Votsis estates more directly. Basileos had left behind a great deal of money, and no doubt Myron would agree that the money could be used to help Korinna secure the rest of her rightful inheritance. That way, Galenos wouldn’t have to dip into the Storm Petrels’ budget or his own pocket to fund the political coup, and the money would not be traced back to him.

  Diokles smiled. “Well, then, even better. So we all agree that the first step is to hire more guards and make sure that they know who is paying their wages.” He wrote down several notes on a scrap of paper. “Perhaps we can also have some money funneled into the Temple of Deyos without direct ties to any of us, so we will not be threatened by thugs at our doors. We shall have to refine the rest of our plan working forward from that. Any suggestions?”

  The discussion went on into the night.

  Galenos rifled through his messages and paused. He recognized the elaborate seal on one letter as the profile of Deyos, which meant that he had finally received a reply from the Temple on the Mountain, the main religious authority of Deyonismos. The envelope felt light in his hand, so it was brief—why had it taken so long to reach him?