NightWind

by Sara Kincaid

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Do you doubt your mother?” Moriyo’s voice was gruff with reproach, his beady eyes narrow.

  “No, Master. But we must be prepared for anything. Regent Opher is not to be trusted.”

  “Indeed, young man. But our powers are not to be used in combat. You know what happened during the War of the Habibi Gulf.”

  Eli knew. Their goddess-given powers had been used by their predecessors to great tragedy in the Habibi War between Mantinea and the Northlands, led by Commander Vitus Croy against Lady Delia Skytte nearly a hundred years ago. The sky battle that opened up a great chasm in the earth had somehow affected the Mystics and they could no longer harness the spark with the same power as before. After that tragedy, the Mystics agreed to never use their spark powers in combat again for fear that they would lose the spark forever. “Yes, Master.”

  “Come.” Master Moriyo held out a thin, wrinkled hand to his pupil. “Rest for a while. You’ve had a busy night. I will stay up while you sleep. We’ll figure something out when the sun rises.”

  Words of protest came to Eli’s lips, but they never made it further. Moriyo’s deeply wrinkled face was resolute. “Yes, Master.” Eli went to his pallet, and though he expected sleep to elude him, his eyes fluttered closed within a matter of minutes.

  “Have we no underground shelter? No supplies in the event of a threat?” Eli dragged a frustrated hand through his hair, leaving thin strands askew on his wide forehead. Perhaps this is why the Mystics were all but gone. They don’t anticipate threats to their safety. Eli brushed the angry thought from his mind. He had to think like Rina now. What would she do?

  They didn’t have much at their disposal. A bow and a few arrows, a skinning knife; all from their hunting supplies. Eli fought the urge to laugh. The knife was starting to rust the last time he’d caught sight of it in Moriyo’s hut.

  “No, young master.” Master Eira gazed at him with calm, blue eyes the same color as her tunic. As the oldest of the Mystics, she was the highest ranking and thus could do as she pleased. Her heart-shaped face opened in an indulgent smile, revealing teeth dulled with age. A small breeze played with her short-cropped white hair.

  “The Kaldarians can’t be underestimated.” Master Zaid huffed in frustration. Sunlight glinted off of his forehead as he folded his arms in front of his chest. Zaid was the youngest of the four Mystics except for Eli. He’d never asked, but Eli assumed the man was somewhere in the middle of his sixth decade. Zaid was tall with a narrow torso. His green tunic hung on his scrawny frame. Skin, dark as slate, peaked out beneath the cuffs of his pants and the top of his shoes.

  “Neither should our forces,” Master Moriyo reminded them.

  Eli thought wistfully of Rina. “As far as we know, none of the Burgans know that there are soldiers on the mountain.” He paced around the banked fire pit, his feet squelching in the sodden grass. Three pairs of eyes followed his progress. Eventually, he stopped. “We’re going to have to fight them. You and me.” He pointed at Zaid. At the look of protest on their faces, Eli hurried on. “Not with the spark. With our hands. You were a hunter, weren’t you, Zaid?”

  The tall man nodded. “Yes, I can shoot.”

  “Well then, we’ll give you the bow and arrows in our hunting supplies.” Eli turned to Eira and Moriyo. “Masters, with all due respect, you must stay hidden.”

  Moriyo’s hands were clasped over the black orb of wood at the end of his cane. “We cannot risk your lives. You are too valuable. What will Burga do if you fall?”

  Eli kneeled on the soft earth before his master. “Master, you have far greater power than I do. You are worth more to the people of Burga.” Eli gestured to the thin white scars that swirled on his chest, snaking down into his tunic. The runes covered his arms and torso with a few larger symbols on his thighs. “Look at what I’ve had to do to myself to harness enough of the spark to serve Nia.”

  The old man grasped his apprentice’s arm with surprising strength. “You have more potential than you know.”

  Eira shifted, the soft cotton of her sky blue tunic brushing against the dirt. The air around them was suddenly silent. “The birds have gone quiet.”

  Zaid stood quickly, the movement fluid like a cat and smooth as a snake. “They come.”

  Chapter Five

  Rina

  The Kaldarians had fooled them. They weren’t here for the Regent at all. They were here for the Mystics. A knife of fear slashed at Rina’s heart with enough force that she clasped a hand to her chest. Eli. Two nights ago she had refused his request to marry him because she’d been afraid of losing him like she’d lost her brother and her parents. And still, now, she was at risk of losing him anyway.

  What did they want with the Mystics? Nia protect them. The Mystics were rare, coveted, a dying breed. The people of Mantinea had relied on them for generations for they were the ones who could loose the spark that traveled in perpetuity on the figure-eight wires, powering their engines, and lighting their sconces.

  The Mystics were their only tie to the spark. No one else could access it and set it on its perpetual path. Rina tightened her grip on her bow and surveyed the landscape beneath the window, thinking of Eli’s easy smile.

  Scrubby trees stuck out like stray hairs at the mountain’s base, slowly growing into a thick mane on her back. Fighting had ceased to progress into the inner palace grounds leaving Rina and her companions far enough away from the fighting to safely make the leap across to Mt. Yama. “We fly!”

  “One flock!” Jarem and Eldon answered in unison.

  Rina touched her fist to her chest before turning smartly to the window. She stepped up onto the sill and her wings spread wide. The whirr of the spark encased in the lightning tube that gave her the gift of flight echoed in her ears as it charged around the tiny figure-eight loop.

  Though the tube itself was a mechanical marvel, Rina’s wings were a work of art. With a layer of black feathers on top and a flash of white underneath, her appendages had been created with much sacrifice. The artist, now her lover, had constructed them with great care. The tips of the wings appeared dipped in gold and each feather had a strange symbol, an ancient rune of Nia, etched into the shiny lacquer.

  “We have to find the Mystics,” she told them, keeping the slow rise of panic from her voice.

  “But we don’t even know where they are. They could be anywhere!” WaveRunner tossed his frosted bangs, from his eyes, the blonde-tipped spikes around his head limp with sweat. He tapped his feet, agitated. It was his first battle, the first dive with his wings after his initiation. His heart still stopped in his throat when he stepped off the edge and dropped into the expanse beneath him. Jump or die.

  “We’ll never find them in time. NightWind, do you know where the Mystics stay?”

  Rina shook her head, her hair a ribbon of ink against her shoulder. The wind picked up, whispering through the open window. “No. The Mystics have their secrets.” Her face darkened. “Even from their loved ones.”

  “Should we split up?”

  “Only if we must.” IceRider leaned his short sword casually against his shoulder. The hilt was black with an eagle’s claw crest. He appeared to be waiting for Rina to take the first leap, though there was room enough for the both of them on the ledge. Rina stared out into the bright blue, tasting the wind and gauging its strength. Satisfied, she dropped her hands to her sides and took a last look at her feet upon solid ground. Unity. Bravery. Flight. Rina bent her legs and pushed off the sill with her powerful thighs. For a moment, she appeared to float and then her body angled downward like she was diving into the sea, a streak of feathers and black hair and a flash of smudged gold. Her wings sprung to life and propelled her across the sky toward the mountain.

  Wind gusted past her and Rina was suddenly grateful for the layer of fur sewn into her clothing. Spring had come to Burga, but th
e chill of winter still clawed at the rising warmth. The sun was high overhead and the sky bright blue.

  Sword clashes echoed through the air, but Rina kept her head bent toward her mission and urged her wings to flap harder. Protect the Mystics. Every second lost could spell the end and she wasn’t prepared for what his end would mean.

  Rina told herself that it was her duty. Deep down, she knew that duty was only a small part of the panicked flight she now took.

  WaveRunner and IceRider followed close behind her, their gray and black wings flapping hard to lift them up into the sky. All three Aviators wore dark brown leather armor along with thick black boots that rose to mid-calf. Fur-lined, tough leather jackets with off-center brass snaps served as protection for their torsos and held special attachments on their backs to secure their wings.

  Jarem and Eldon spread out on either side of her and drew arrows from their quivers in perfect unison. As they approached the mountain, Rina could see the splashes of red, uniformed Kaldarians overtaking the mountains like angry flames. Rage settled in her chest as she drew the arrow back and let it fly.

  Their first salvo found their marks and they quickly loosed more in an effort to clear the cliff face for their landing. The arrows had their desired effect and the Kaldarians retreated into the trees, giving the Aviators room to land. Rina’s wings slowed as she prepared to touch down and she swept the sword from her left hip in a single smooth motion as her feet skidded across the flat rock. Her wings folded and she brandished the sword in front of her. The metal glinted in the sunlight, mirroring the flash that glittered in a smudged arc along her left cheek. Rina thought of Eli and crouched low, poised for battle.

  IceRider and WaveRunner landed a few steps behind her and drew their weapons. As Rina and her comrades stepped forward, the Kaldarians rallied, drawing swords from scabbards as they advanced.

  Part of her hated this infighting. Even though they had been at odds for years, the Kaldarian soldiers were still fellow Mantineans. It was Regent Opher of Kaldar who was to blame, Rina thought. His ambitions kept soldiers in arms and blood on the battlefield. But a growing part of her relished this fight, for it was because of Regent Opher and his armies that her brother, Niko, had died.

  Niko, known as SquallTamer among the Aviators, had been the commander of the renowned battalion of flying soldiers. Brave in battle, majestic in flight, he’d been born to become a member of the elite force of warriors. He had a flat face and a nose that twisted slightly due to being broken in his youth, but he was still handsome. Rina used to tease him about his nose. Niko and Raze were like brothers, and Raze had discovered Niko’s broken and bloodied body on the battlefield, stripped of his wings after the battle at the gates of Delos.

  Rina tightened her grip on the hilt of her weapon. The Kaldarian swiped fiercely at her and she met his blade with a clang. The soldier was tall and lean, his muscles rippling beneath his metal-studded leather armor. His fair hair was clipped close to his skull, revealing uneven knots and nodules beneath his skin. Rina ducked under his blade and made a wild grab for his unarmed hand. She hit home, but quickly lost her grip, her hand slipping on the thin sheen of sweat on the soldier’s forearm. The bigger man shoved Rina to the ground and raised his blade. Rina rolled to the left, avoiding the downward swipe. She leapt to her feet and stabbed him in the side. The soldier gave a gurgled cry and dropped in a heap.

  Behind the fallen soldier came more Kaldarians. From a distance, they all looked the same, like some sort of template in Miyabi’s shop. She thought of the thick clay spinning on the wheel, drenched with water as she worked. Rina, with the power to mold earth, sighed as she prepared to spill more blood upon its unblemished surface.

  Rina and her comrades met them slash for slash, but soon found themselves being forced back toward the edge of the cliff. The ground was slick with mud and their boots were heavy as they slogged through the battle. The Kaldarians had spent the night in the elements, searching the mountain for the Mystics. Their uniforms were soaked through, the deep red made darker, desperate.

  Another soldier barred Rina’s path, arcing his sword so the metal caught the light as he jammed the tip at her throat. Rina parried, sending the swipe off course and then buried her sword up to the hilt in his back as he stepped through. Rina growled in frustration, pulling her sword free of the fallen man. She glanced behind the Kaldarians at the path disappearing into the mists of the mountain. “They’re playing with us. We need to get out of here!” She jammed her blade into the thigh of her new opponent, her hair whipping behind her in a jagged swash of ink.

  “Go! Find them. We’ll take care of this.” Jarem rushed forward, shoving Rina’s opponent to the ground and offing him with a fluid swipe of his own blade. A new soldier quickly replaced the injured man and Jarem’s sword clattered noisily against the Kaldarian’s shield. When she hesitated, their eyes met and he grunted. “Go!”

  “One flock.” Be safe she whispered silently before turning on her heel and running through the spindly trees. Fearful that someone would follow her from the skirmish on the cliff, she weaved quickly in and out of the shadows, ducking beneath bushes bursting with buds and finally coming to rest in a mossy patch of ground a quarter mile from their landing spot.

  She crouched low, sword held at ready and took in her surroundings. The sounds of the fighting faded and no footsteps crashed through the tangle of vegetation behind her. She was alone.

  Rina stayed low and took a haggard breath. If she stumbled upon a horde of Kaldarians, she’d be done for. A respectable fighter herself, she couldn’t face a whole group of them on her own. The Kaldarians would have stuck to the gravel paths, fearful of getting lost in the maze-like foliage of the mountain. Everyone in Mantinea knew that strange things happened on Mt. Yama.

  Rina’s thoughts turned to Eli, the only Mystic to be discovered in at least a generation. Memory of his cobalt eyes and their last encounter brought a stab of ice to her chest. Nia, please reveal the secret of your mountain to me. She glanced around, hoping to identify her location by some marker but only succeeded in feeling more lost.

  Damn him for being so loyal. Eli had never divulged the secrets of the great Mt. Yama to her. A taunting wind tickled the bone-thin branches above her. The mountain was laughing at her. Foolish girl who thought she had conquered the elements when she’d leapt from its precipice. Foolish girl who had taken a Mystic for her lover. Foolish girl who had taken a lover in a time of war. She’d already lost her brother and her parents. Hadn’t she learned?

  With a grunt, Rina rose to her feet and shook the doubting wind from her head. Haughty mountain. Did it really think that an oath that bound Eli to the mysterious Mystics would keep him from at least leaving her a hint? Eli may not have told her where the Mystics lived, but he’d given her a way to find them. Rina rolled up the sleeve of her jacket to reveal an intricate pattern of thin silver lines on the inside of her left wrist. Against all warnings of his fellow Mystics, Eli had carved a rune of a powerful connection into Rina’s flesh. Rina delicately ran her fingers over the thin circle and then touched each slash inside the circle. Beneath her touch, the symbol began to warm. She turned in a slow circle, the mossy ground shifting beneath her muddied boots. Finally, a light arced around the circle and Rina stopped. “Goddess, you’re a genius, Eli,” she whispered as she returned her sword to her hip and took off at a sprint down the mountain.

  Branches from thickly clumped trees, their trunks stretching high into the air like desperate, seeking hands, reached for Rina as she passed. Beneath her feet, the mountain pulsed and in her ear the wind whispered. Hurry. Don’t delay. Too late. The symbol on her arm continued to glow faintly. “I’m coming,” she whispered to the trees as she turned and ran downhill.

  Following a sharp dip in the earth, Rina discovered a narrow, muddy path. She skidded to a stop, and looked each way. Leaves shifted like water overhead as the wind changed direction. Rina
felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She was near the bottom of the mountain now which could only mean that the Mystics had been captured and the Kaldarians were on the move. To her left lay an intricate rock garden, the ground that Nia herself had supposedly walked on as she’d created their great continent beneath her feet. Rina had attended a ceremony here once at Eli’s side. It was as close as she’d gotten to their secret hideaway. The garden was edged by thin pines bearing spindly gray-tipped needles.

  Along the outer edge of the rock garden stood a tall building made of ebony timbers and lacquered to a glossy sheen. Rina hurried over and shimmied up the ladder to the small balcony. The wood was smooth from years of wear and thick coats of lacquer. It struck her that her presence on this tower was likely forbidden. But if the Mystics were kidnapped, who would be there to enforce the rule anyway?

  When she reached the top, Rina stepped on the small outcropping and surveyed the land around her. From the higher vantage point, she could make out the design of the rock garden sculpted into an intricate pattern of an eagle, the symbol of Burga. Beyond the rock garden, Rina could see the base of the mountain and a horde of Kaldarians marching swiftly away from her with Mystics bound and trudging along at a rapid pace. Rina gasped, hardly believing that she’d found them. “Eli,” she cried, her voice soaring through the crisp air like the call of an indignant eagle. His name reverberated along the mountain’s spine, echoing back to her. The Kaldarians turned in the direction of her voice, the moment of surprise lost. Rina cursed her foolishness. “Jump or die,” she whispered to herself as she leapt from the ledge, her wings unfurling with the smoothness of a river, following the echo of her heart.

  Eli was bound like his fellow Mystics, his dark hair speckled with white and ruffled as if he had been roused from sleep. When he caught sight of her, he struggled against his bonds, reaching for that impossible knot that bound his wrists. Laid out on his back was his master, the great Moriyo.