A Flight of Marewings

by Kristen S. Walker

  Pelagia thanked him and turned to Varula Soma. “And I understand that your priests are concocting another miracle for us as well.”

  The priest smiled. “Indeed.”

  Pelagia held up the contract for the Mauve Dragons. “Then, do I have this Council’s approval to hire the Mauve Dragons for the purpose of defending our city on the ground, knowing that we have other methods to protect us in the air?”

  The Council took a vote, and her motion passed. Warlord Syntyche and Councilor Pelagia each signed the contract, smiling across the table at one another.

  The city had no money left in its coffers to pay the mercenaries, so Councilor Eutychon brought the first payment from the Moneylenders Guild, promising that he would give Kyratia a good interest rate.

  Warlord Syntyche accepted the money with a smile and saluted the Council. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to this fight. When do you think Galenos will attack?”

  Pelagia shrugged. “Our spies report that he is off on an annual pilgrimage for now, but we expect that he will be back in his illegally-held fort within a month. I am sure he will not waste much time coming to attack us.”

  Syntyche’s hand went to the sword at her hip. “I should take my company and attack Fort Ropytos now, to root out his forces. He should not be allowed to have a base of operations so close to the city.”

  Pelagia waved her hand. “Fort Ropytos is too strong to take without risks. Besides, I would like him to come here and meet the surprises we have in store.”

  Syntyche bowed. “Whatever my client wants.” With another bow, she left the hall.

  Pelagia entered the Temple of Varula alone. In the dark hours past midnight, the opulent shrine was almost empty. A groggy priestess emerged from an alcove and offered her a small cup of wine in greeting, but there were no other worshipers.

  Pelagia drank the wine, wincing at the bitter vintage, and felt it hit her empty stomach heavily. She had spent the entire day deep in discussion with the rest of the Council, and although they took breaks for meals, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to eat much.

  She slipped off her sandals in the foyer and stepped barefoot onto the soil. The center of the temple itself was hollow and open to the sky, ringed with lit torches. Grass covered much of the dirt, and trees grew around the edge, creating a small grove.

  In the middle of the grove was the sacrificial altar, stained dark with the blood of past offerings. Beside it, a wooden staff had been driven into the ground, and from that hung an old animal skin. Flowers, fruit, and coins lay scattered around them from visitors earlier that day.

  Pelagia approached the altar and slowly lowered herself to the ground, ignoring the protest of her knees. She sat in the dirt, not caring about the state of her gown, and lifted her face up to the night sky. Even in the middle of the city, when she closed her eyes she imagined that she felt the wind off of the mountains, carrying the scent of the forest.

  “I do your work, Varula,” she said to the empty sky. “I hope that you see what I do. I was called to be your priestess, but I serve you in the political realm rather than the spiritual one. I fear that now I will not live to see your worship spread through our land despite my years of hard work.”

  She opened her eyes and saw the stars twinkle above her in the infinite blackness.

  Varula Soma, the priest who represented her god in the flesh, stepped out of the shadows, clad in a leopard skin. He wasn’t a young man, though still much younger than her, but his body was fit: lean, sinewy muscles and a rock-hard abdomen where most middle-aged men had sagging bellies. He walked slowly with the grace of a dancer and came to stand before her.

  One hand rested on the bloodstained altar, and the other reached out to Pelagia. She bent and kissed his hand.

  “Rise, sister,” he said in his deep, smooth voice. Unlike the Deyonist priests, who insisted on being called Father and held above their worshipers, the Varulans treated one another as equals, even their leader. He offered her a hand up.

  Pelagia leaned heavily on Varula Soma as she struggled to regain her feet. With his help, she hobbled over to a rock and sank down with a sigh.

  The priest sat beside her, close enough that she could smell his musky sweat. “You came to see my work,” he said with a smile.

  She nodded. “People still talk of the trick you pulled with the ogre on New Year’s, and the pillar stands in the middle of the circle. But you promised me a true miracle to protect this city, so I came to see for myself.”

  The priest bowed his head, but she saw the corners of his mouth twitch with private amusement. “Yes, I did. I will show you what the power of the wyld can do.”

  Varula Soma stood up, and the leopard skin slipped from his shoulders. In his right hand he clutched a wand tipped with a pinecone, and lifted this above his head. The torches on the walls flared up suddenly, illuminating the room, making the trees stand out as dark shadows.

  His lips moved, but the sounds that emerged weren’t his own voice: a primal growl, calling upon the forces of shadow and chaos to come do his bidding.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Pelagia saw strange shapes moving in the grove, but she kept her gaze fixed on the priest. Then something brushed past her bare foot. She looked down and saw vines were coming up through the ground, surrounding the altar. She expected grape vines or ivy, but when she looked closer, she didn’t recognize the shape of the leaves. They were large and oval-shaped, with two or three lobes each, and hair grew on the underside.

  Her gaze scanned the temple hall and saw that the vines were growing over everything: choking the trees, climbing up the walls, creating a thick mat along the ground. They wove together like a net.

  Varula Soma lowered his wand and admired his handiwork. “These will keep out any would-be invaders.”

  Pelagia looked at the vines with a dubious frown. “That’s nice for your temple, but what about the rest of the city?”

  His hands swept out to indicate the extent of the vines. “These are symbolic. They represent a protection cast over the entirety of Kyratia. As within, so without.”

  She still had her doubts that vines could protect anything from Galenos’s mercenaries, but she nodded in approval. “I see. Thank you.”

  Before she went home, Pelagia left a sizable donation of black diamonds, Varula’s favorite gemstone.

  Varula Soma smiled and kissed her wrinkled cheeks. “Bless you, sister.”

  35

  Korinna XI

  Korinna awoke in the pre-dawn gray. An unknown rider came and handed out breakfast to the candidates: cold bread and slices of cured meat. They ate, stretched, and wrapped up their sleeping rolls quickly.

  Sergeant Navera and Warlord Galenos both came to talk with them a final time. “This is it.” The warlord smiled and shook hands with each of them. “I am honored to have each of you in my service and I wish you luck today. Whatever happens up there, you are valuable members of the company, and I will always have a place for you.”

  Korinna shook his hand but looked away from his face. His smile set her teeth on edge.

  Navera handed out climbing gear and provisions to the first group of ten. “This is not a race. Take your time and get up there safely. Then you’ll have to wait for your opening. If you don’t feel confident, don’t jump. We’ll be here for three days.”

  Douhyos looked over his climbing gear and frowned. “But what do we do?”

  Navera clapped him on the back. “Remember your training. Empathy is the key. If you are afraid, they will sense your fear and stay away from you. Stay calm and focused.”

  Korinna was in the third group with Orivan, and Mkumba would wait for the second. Douhyos and Itychia were in the first. The candidates said goodbye to their comrades and wished them luck.

  Navera took the first group of candidates to the edge of the marsh to wait for the sun. She would send them out in a staggered order, spreading them out in different directions.

  The second and third groups sett
led down to wait in the camp. They tried not to stare in the direction of the marsh.

  The flights of marewing riders in the other camps were making their own preparations. They would take turns flying up to the trees to harvest cloudfruit to save for the coming year. The cloudfruit’s magic could be preserved by storing it in a pickling liquid; only when they were removed and exposed to the air would their magic activate again, giving a boost to marewings before a long journey or a battle.

  When dawn came, the first candidate headed into the marsh and a flight of marewings rose to begin the harvest.

  Korinna and the others only had a little time to admire the view. Other officers came and gave them orders to perform a number of chores around the camps. Some of them grumbled, but Korinna was glad for the opportunity to keep busy.

  The hours dragged on without word from the marsh. Korinna began to worry that no one would manage to catch a marewing. If her friends failed, what hope was there for her?

  Two hours past noon, Sergeant Navera returned from the marsh alone. She saw the candidates’ worried looks and shook her head. “Your fellows have all gone to their trials, and they will return with their mounts if they can. Just wait.”

  Another hour passed, and then finally a shout rang out. Everyone looked up eagerly.

  A large marewing with a rich brown coat glided over the camp and landed on a rocky outcrop above them. Douhyos slid off her back with a proud grin. “Her name is Oakheart!” he called down.

  The other candidates raised their hands and cheered.

  “Wait there,” Sergeant Navera ordered. She climbed up to meet the new marewing rider alone. She led Douhyos and Oakheart away for a private lesson.

  Later, two more young men arrived on their own newly captured marewings. Each of them were treated the same, with only a brief chance to announce their success before they were escorted away by their trainer.

  Korinna would have liked to speak with them, to ask them how they managed to do it, and if they’d seen anything of the other candidates who had gone into the marsh but hadn’t returned. She squinted up into the grove of trees in the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone climbing or jumping, but the sun was in her eyes and the trees were too close together. She would have to wait like everyone else.

  Sergeant Navera came back to the camp from her last lesson and began to pace back and forth. By then the sun was setting behind the mountains to the west, and the narrow valley would soon be dark. She kept looking up to the sky too, and back into the marsh, as if she were looking for someone in particular.

  Korinna saw their sergeant’s anxiety and nudged Orivan next to her. “Do you think that the ones who didn’t catch anything will come back?”

  He frowned, looking up at the trees. “I don’t know. I think if you jumped and—and didn’t make it, the fall would probably kill you.”

  Then, just as the last rays of the sun left the valley, a white marewing came circling down to the camp. Instead of landing at a distance, she touched down right in the middle of the camp, sending candidates scattering out of her way.

  Itychia leapt off the marewing’s back. Navera rushed to meet her halfway and swept the other woman up into her arms in a passionate embrace.

  Orivan and Korinna shared a surprise glance. “Did you know—?” he asked.

  Korinna shook her head, staring at her roommate in surprise. “She never talked about herself. Herokha was the one who knew the gossip.” She whispered a prayer for her late rival’s soul.

  Mkumba muttered something under his breath and turned away.

  Orivan shook his head at their departing friend. “Well, I think it’s sweet.”

  Korinna said nothing, thinking of that night with Galenos. She wouldn’t judge someone else differently from herself. And Itychia had been a rider once before.

  No other riders returned that day, and there were no signs of any other candidates. No one spoke about the people who hadn’t returned.

  On the second day, Orivan and Korinna said farewell and good luck to Mkumba.

  “If any of us can do this, it’s you,” Orivan said, hugging the larger man.

  Mkumba thumped Orivan on the back. “I’m counting on the two of you to join me in the sky, so don’t give up now. There’s plenty of them waiting for us.” He jerked his thumb up to the sky, where the wild marewings darted in and out of the trees.

  Korinna hugged him, too. “If you get scared, just hang out in the top of the tree and wait for us. We’ll be there to get you tomorrow.”

  Mkumba laughed. “I wouldn’t have anyone else come and save me.”

  Together, Orivan and Korinna watched their friend leave, and then began the long cycle of waiting once again.

  Climbing the trees must take a long time, because it was afternoon again before the first marewing rider came to Sergeant Navera for instruction. Only three riders came back that day, and there was no sign of Mkumba.

  Korinna and Orivan watched the sun set with strained expressions and cupped their hands to their foreheads in silent prayer to Deyos. When darkness fell, they feared the worst.

  Korinna went to Sergeant Navera begging for help for her friend. “Let me take a torch into the marsh and look for him.”

  Orivan supported her. “I’ll go, too, so we can watch each other’s backs. We should at least bring back his body for a proper cremation, not leave it there to rot in a swamp.”

  Sergeant Navera shook her head with a sad expression. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you risk your lives. There are many hazards in the marsh, like poisonous snakes and deep sinkholes. In the dark it will be even more difficult to avoid them. You should get some rest and prepare for your own trial in the morning.”

  “No!” Korinna clenched her hands into fists. “He’s got to be alive out there still. We have to go look for him!” She turned away, prepared to go without the officer’s permission.

  “As if I’d need a girl to come save me,” a strained voice came from the edge of the marsh.

  They rushed forward and found Mkumba on the verge of collapsing. His right arm was tucked inside his shirt, which was streaked with blood.

  Orivan looped his arm around Mkumba’s shoulders and helped him into the camp. Korinna ran off to fetch the blacksmith, who doubled as a healer for both humans and marewings. Other candidates brought food and water for the weakened man. Sergeant Navera stood nearby with her arms folded, saying nothing.

  Mkumba pulled out his arm and revealed a bloody stump where his hand had once been. “Those marewings have some sharp teeth on them,” he said grimly.

  The blacksmith saw the wound and shook his head. “I’m no mage. I can bind this so it will heal cleanly, but I can’t restore your hand. I’m sorry.”

  He let out a weak laugh. “I guess my fighting days are over, then. Wonder if the warlord will find a place for me in the kitchens.”

  Korinna put her hand on Mkumba’s shoulder. “You didn’t deserve this. You were one of the best warriors.”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, but you can’t catch a marewing just by being the biggest and the strongest. I took a chance and I lost.” He looked up at Korinna. “Will you stay and hold my hand while the healer does his thing?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Mkumba gripped her tightly with his left hand as the blacksmith cleaned the wound with an herbal salve, then closed it with a simple healing spell.

  When it was done, the three friends sat in silence around the campfire, eating supper. Korinna looked up at the night sky, blocked out by branches, and shuddered. Tomorrow would be the final test.

  The third and final morning of the cloudfruit harvest arrived before Korinna felt ready.

  The third group, which consisted of Korinna, Orivan, and seven other young men, stood together in the camp without really looking at each other. Sergeant Navera handed them their climbing gear and provisions silently.

  Korinna looked over the climbing gear with familiarity, checking it for flaws. There
was a harness for her waist, a sturdy rope, and spikes to drive into a surface and secure the rope. But she wasn’t climbing a tree trunk or a rock face this time. Would the roots be able to hold her weight? How would she pull herself up?

  There was no one to say goodbye to. Mkumba still slept, exhausted from his ordeal the day before, and no one had wanted to wake him. The other marewing riders didn’t speak to the candidates. Against her better judgment, Korinna looked around for Galenos with a faint hope that he might come to see her off, but she didn’t see him.

  Navera led them to the edge of the marsh and gave her final instructions. “Wait for the marewing to come to you,” she said with a stern expression. “When you grab hold of one, don’t fight her. You don’t tame a marewing so much as befriend her. Fill your pockets full of as many fruit as you can carry and bribe her with them.”

  They nodded grimly. No one had to remind them of how dangerous a marewing could be. Korinna only had to think about Mkumba’s missing hand and her stomach tightened into knots.

  Navera gave them a final encouraging smile. “And good luck. I hope to see you back here, and soon. As you may have guessed, it’s better to land away from other people. All marewings are skittish around strangers, but especially when they’re fresh from the wild. Remember your flying lesson.”

  She looked up at the sky and the others followed her gaze. The sun broke above the crest of the eastern mountains.

  The sergeant looked back down and nodded at Korinna. “Alright, Votsis, you’re first.”

  She turned and clasped hands with Orivan. “I’ll see you back in camp,” she murmured.

  He grinned. “Yeah. Go get ‘em.”

  She rolled up the tops of her boots over her leggings, hoping to keep the water out, and waded out into the marsh. There were gaps where the cloudfruit trees had risen, leaving behind deep, muddy pools, and she avoided these. The rest of the marsh was full of thick reeds that grew taller than her and she had to push her way through, keeping an eye on the water ahead for the sinuous movement of snakes.