NightWind

by Sara Kincaid

  “I answer to the Regent. Not you.” She finished buttoning her shirt, her hands clumsy with the clasps. Tremors of pain washed through her shoulder.

  “If you go against my orders again, NightWind, I’ll have you dishonorably discharged. How do you think SquallTamer would react to that?”

  Rina flinched at the mention of her brother’s Aviator name. No one had said it within her hearing since he’d died more than eight years ago. “How dare you.” Her voice dropped to a growl and she tasted blood.

  If Raze felt threatened by her tone, he didn’t show it. He crossed his arms casually in front of his chest, the fine fabric of his jacket whispering with his movements, and looked down at her over his long, sharp nose. When he spoke again, his bronze gaze was neutral, without emotion. “I’ve made my orders clear.” He glanced at her once more before sweeping from the room.

  After Raze had gone, Rina deflated. She sat down on the bed, curling her right leg beneath her and traced her fingers over the silver lines Eli had etched into the tender flesh on the underside of her wrist. She turned in a half circle, hoping for some hint of the direction that Eli and his captors had taken. But no light came and Rina bowed her head. He was too far away by now.

  A knock at the door broke through Rina’s misery and she hastily wiped tears from her face. “Come in,” she called after clearing her throat.

  A short woman with a curved spine entered, flashing a rosy and dimpled smile. The woman’s hair was long and gray, tied up in an intricate knot. “NightWind is awake.” She nodded, pleased with herself.

  “Please, madam. Call me Rina.”

  The healer nodded and shuffled to her patient. “Of course, Rina. I am Hilde, master healer.” She then pointed at Rina’s half-dressed form. “Where are you going?”

  “I must rescue the Mystics.”

  The healer nodded thoughtfully. “All in good time. But first, we must fix you. I will redress your wound.” Rina allowed the healer to open her shirt and unwind the dressing. Rina bit her lip, feeling the threads of fabric catching sharply against the stitches. “It needs time,” the healer muttered. She checked the stitches and wiped a clear liquid with a pungent scent across it, causing Rina to flinch. “You are lucky the arrow didn’t hit you lower.”

  Rina leaned back, her eyes meeting Hilde’s steady gaze. “The Mystics are gone.” Rina remembered the final rush of wind roaring in her ears as she plunged toward the soldiers kidnapping the Mystics. Would she fly again?

  “You will bring them back.” The wound would leave a rough patch of puckered skin. Another scar. Rina touched the large scar that ran down the side of her face thinking of the life she’d left behind.

  Hilde nodded encouragingly, her round, dimpled face opened in a smile. “You will fly once more, Aviatrix.” Pride and admiration warmed her voice and Rina blushed with shame. There were moments when her hands ached for the feel of clay, when her soul cried for the chance to create, even as she craved the rush of the wind and the stomach-dropping feeling as the thermals lifted her higher on some invisible path.

  Hilde turned Rina’s shoulder beneath the light. Her hands were light and cool. She nodded her approval and began to wrap fresh dressing around the wound. “It will be many days until it’s fully healed. But, you may go home now if you like.”

  Home. The first thing she thought of was the small dwelling she and Eli shared above the repair shop where Eli had been apprenticed before being taken in by the Mystics. But Eli was gone and going there alone would bring her nothing but sadness. Perhaps Miyabi would allow her to stay at the artist’s enclave with her. Rina’s heart warmed at the thought of returning to her former master’s workshop. “Yes. I think I’d like to go home and rest.”

  “Good. You rest. Return in two days’ time so I can check how you’re healing.” Add space please The old healer slapped her legs lightly and then pressed her hands against her thighs to push herself back to standing.

  Master Miyabi wore loose work pants and a billowy shirt that tied around the waist. The fabrics were left in their natural wheat color for Miyabi’s clothes were always dirtied with clay and glazes. Her short legs stuck out like spindles beneath her pant cuffs. Her shoulders were hunched from bending over her work, but her muscles were taut and wiry from all those years of lugging, shaping and molding clay. Miyabi’s designs were coveted by everyone in the city and her pieces were used to serve the Regent.

  When Rina entered the shop, Miyabi was taking an order from a customer, her intricately carved cane tucked under her arm. Carved vines crawled down the shaft, beginning at the green spherical handle and disappearing beneath her arm.

  Miyabi looked up briefly from her work, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw her former apprentice standing shyly in the doorway. “Yes, Miss Livia. I have it all down here and will be glad to create this piece for your daughter. It’ll be ready in three weeks.”

  “That’s just perfect. Thank you, Miyabi.” Livia gathered her things and folded a thick wrap over her shoulders before walking away. When she saw Rina, she let out a small ‘oh’ of surprise. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone had come in. NightWind, it’s so good to see you out and about. Khalid,” she started before blushing slightly. “General Shin mentioned that you’d been wounded.”

  “Thank you. How are your daughter and the general getting along? Well I hope.”

  Livia smiled at the mention of her daughter and her new son-in-law. “Things are going quite well I think. I’m hoping for little ones before next spring! But don’t tell them that.” Livia giggled conspiratorially.

  Rina smiled kindly. It was a good sign that people were out and about. Though the market was still a mess of wrecked carts and broken windows, life continued. “I won’t say a thing.” Livia nodded and continued through the door.

  The shop was just as Rina had remembered it, down to the layer of clay dust that covered everything like a blanket of snow. A small display shelf stood against one wall bearing some of Miyabi’s best designs and colors. A variety of pots, plates, tea sets and more were positioned elegantly on the shelves, though dust collected at their carefully crafted feet. Near the grimy window stood a small table and two chairs where Miyabi and her customers sat as they talked design and color. In the back loomed a foot-powered wheel and a vat of excess pieces of clay soaking in a tub of water. Eventually, these pieces would be turned into slip and used to seal the edges of pots and other containers making them watertight. Against another wall were large wooden drums, typically used for wine. In these, were Miyabi’s precious glazes. From a milky blue liquid on the left, she could coax flashes of red and gold when she pulled the pots from the white-hot kiln. Another created a black crackling effect on the pot’s surface.

  Miyabi closed her notebook and stood. “Rina.” She shook her head, silently correcting herself. “NightWind.” She held out her hands and Rina rushed to her, allowing herself to be enveloped in the old woman’s embrace. Miyabi held her lightly. “What happened?”

  Rina took the old woman’s gnarled hands. “The Mystics. They’re gone.”

  “Gone?” Miyabi blinked.

  Clearly Regent Arayna and General Khalid Shin had decided to keep the news of the Mystics kidnapping to a small circle. Not that she blamed them. “The Kaldarians took them.”

  “Eli?”

  Eli and Rina had been together for three turns of the sun, connected since the day Rina stepped out of Raze’s shadow and turned her back on the politics and the struggle between the Regent and the leader of the Aviators. “Gone.”

  “Well then you must go get him—all of them—and bring them back.” Miyabi slapped her hand against the table for emphasis.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “FireStorm has forbidden it.”

  “FireStorm hasn’t stopped you before. You have your wings?”

  “Yes.” R
ina thought of her broken appendage, missing them like one misses an arm. “The lightning tube is shattered.” The wings sat in her pack, wrapped delicately in her uniform jacket that Hilde had meticulously cleaned and repaired. With no Mystics around to re-harness the spark and repair the tube, Rina was grounded.

  Miyabi grunted and motioned for Rina to follow her. She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked, a rhythmic thud echoing against the stone floors. “Then you will go on foot.”

  Rina trailed Miyabi up a set of stairs to her living quarters. Miyabi pushed open a thin door, its hinges creaking. The room smelled sweet, like flowers just before they begin to wilt. Warm light streamed in through the window illuminating the bustle of the market square below as people began to clean up the wreckage.

  Miyabi’s bed sat in the same corner it had for at least the past dozen years and the small cot where Rina had slept during her apprenticeship was empty and waiting on the other side of the room. Rina laid her pack delicately on the unoccupied cot. “Master Miyabi, why have you not taken another apprentice?”

  “You are my apprentice, Rina. No one else.”

  Rina smiled and ducked her head. “I have been with the Aviators for more than six years now. I don’t know that they will ever let me go.” Her brow creased. “I’m bound to them for life.”

  Miyabi came over and sat beside her former apprentice and affectionately tucked Rina’s hair behind her ear. The short strands were barely long enough to cover her neck. “You will not always be a warrior. And when that day comes, you will be master sculptor.” Satisfied with a nod of agreement from Rina, Miyabi continued. “Now, about the Mystics.”

  “I won’t get far. My shoulder.” Rina grimaced as she touched her injured arm.

  “An arrow?”

  Rina nodded.

  Miyabi tapped her chin with a long, gnarled finger. “You must rest for now. I will share my salve with you. It is for my aching bones, but perhaps it will help with the soreness.” Miyabi struggled to her feet and pattered across the wooden slats to the small table by her bed. She picked up a small jar and returned to Rina’s side. “Let me see your shoulder, girl.”

  Rina loosened the ties around her shirt so the neck fell off her shoulder, revealing the mass of cotton wrapping. Miyabi meticulously unwound the bandage, revealing angry red flesh held tightly together by black stitches. Miyabi dipped her fingers into the thick salve and rubbed it gently around the wound. Rina felt her muscles relax and the pain recede somewhat. “Rest now.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rina

  SEVEN YEARS AGO

  From the moment she reported for duty, Rina knew there were doubters among the Burgan forces, Commander Dax, the recruit trainer, being one of the strongest voices against the Regent’s decision. Much to her embarrassment, as she’d approached the company to report for duty, Dax had eyed her head to toe, his tongue sticking out slightly between his teeth before turning to a soldier seated beside him. “What next? A female Regent?” Commander Dax was a tall man with a proud pout, square shoulders and hair cropped close to his skull. The soldier, to his credit, had looked at Dax with open-mouthed horror, but had done nothing to critique the commander’s harsh words.

  “Dismissed!” Commander Dax shouted, his voice echoing harshly in the low-ceilinged room. The recruits stood still until the door closed behind him. But once the door had latched, there was a collective sigh and the men hurriedly removed their boots and sweaty clothes, eager to be off their feet.

  Rina scanned the room and then gazed at her feet on the floor. Burga was not a huge city. She knew many of the men with whom she was now housed, though not well. This did not ease her duress.

  The lights were switched off and the worn recruits settled into their bunks. Rina stood motionless, a tightly wound spring, until she heard the first snores rising from her new housemates. Then, she slid out of her boots, laying them at the foot of her bunk. Glancing about in the dark, she finally slid out of her clothes, folded them carefully and placed them in the woven sack at the foot of her bed. In her thin undershirt and pants, she crawled swiftly under the covers and lay staring up into the darkness and wondered why the Regent brought her there.

  Rina was dressed and standing beside her bunk when first light came over the mountain. Niko had told his sisters in detail about his experiences as a recruit, so Rina knew to anticipate an early start throughout their training.

  Without preamble, the lights were switched on and leaders of various battalions strolled into the recruits’ barracks. Shouts of “Up and at ‘em” and “Attention!” circulated throughout the room as soldiers were jostled awake. Rina stood still and watched it all unfold.

  The last of the leaders to enter the barrack was Raze Uxton, FireStorm, the leader of the Aviators and her future commander. His blue tunic and trousers were impeccably pressed and lined with golden threads. Over his uniform, he wore the signature Aviator jacket, though his wings were not attached.

  Even without wings, the jacket was striking. The brown leather, smooth as butter, practically gleamed in the silver glow of the spark lights. His brass buttons were polished to a luminous sheen and they trailed casually up his taut torso at a diagonal. His boots were the same warm, polished leather and they hugged his calves, coming to an end below his knee. Rina felt his gaze flicker over her. Heat seared through her as she stood in his shadow.

  Before they were allowed to eat, the recruits were taken on an early-morning run through the fortress. “Move out!” Dax called. Rina felt Firestorm’s eyes on her as she passed.

  They first took the grueling hill leading up to the main gates and then trekked through the grounds. It was so early that the flowers had yet to turn their heads up toward the sunlight.

  Eagle Palace was known for two things. First, for the beautiful gardens tucked within the walls of the massive fortress. Second, for the thousands of steps that led up the turrets and to each of the battle stations and lookout points surrounding the palace. Two pairs of feet pounded on each step as the dew settling on the twenty-four recruits quickly turned to trickling sweat.

  Rina recognized the recruit running next to her. Malik was barely over the age of majority. While their fellow recruits were gasping for breath, Malik trotted along as if he were doing nothing more than going for a stroll. Once she synced her breathing and her footsteps with his, she found herself lulling into his rhythm.

  Malik was tall with dark skin and closely cropped curly hair. His eyes were like two pools of night sky, fringed with long, dark lashes. So in tune with his own pace, Malik barely paid attention to those running around him. But, he did glance up once and wink at her.

  Dax watched as the recruits did their circuits through the turrets and around the main grounds of the fortress. After a final lap, the recruits were brought to a halt. “Recruits circle up!” His voice boomed around the central yard. The soldiers stayed in formation and trotted over, lining up in two neat rows.

  Rina tried to hide her gasping. Her gray tunic clung tightly to her, damp with sweat, and she could already feel the sting of blistering skin on the balls of her feet. Her long braid dangled down her back and she blinked away her bleary-eyed exhaustion.

  Commander Dax walked down each row, eyeing every recruit from head to toe. Before returning to the front and facing the would-be soldiers, he stopped in front Rina, standing uncomfortably close to her. Her skin began to tingle and she had the strong urge to pull away from him. After a moment longer, he moved on. She breathed a sigh of relief and then started as she felt a hand brush her arm. Malik. They exchanged glances.

  “We have ten weeks to clean you up and get you fit. You’ll go through weapons training, hand-to-hand combat, endurance training and more.” Dax began to pace. “It’s going to be hard. But nothing great ever came easily, now did it?” He stopped and regarded the new troops once more. “Alright. Dismissed. Off to the mess hall with you and get some b
reakfast.” The recruits touched their fists to their breastbones, then turned as a single unit and walked away.

  Once they were out of sight of their lead officer, they relaxed. Groups of young men clumped together, laughing and complaining about the morning workout. Malik hung close to Rina, clearly slowing his pace to walk beside her. “I’m Malik,” he said by way of greeting.

  Rina tilted her head to look up at the impossibly tall young man, her lips quirking into a smile. “I know. I’m Rina.”

  Malik’s face broke into a large grin. “Yes. I know you, too. You were apprenticed to Master Miyabi. She is a dear friend of my mother’s.”

  Rina’s heart warmed at the mention of her teacher. “I was.”

  “What changed? Last I heard, you were set to take over for her once she came to terms with retirement.”

  “I was summoned by the Regent.”

  “For service?” Malik’s thick eyebrows rose toward his hairline. To conscript someone to service was more reminiscent of Kaldar than of Burga. “What branch?”

  “Aviator battalion.”

  Malik nodded, understanding. “Like your brother.” As leader of the Aviators, Niko had been well known throughout Burga.

  “Did you know Niko?”

  “Only by reputation.”

  As they entered the mess hall, each soldier received a plate filled with rich greens from the palace gardens, medallions of meat that Rina believed to be sheep or goat, and starchy barley. Armed with a plate, Rina and Malik joined their fellow recruits at a table.

  The hall was quiet except for the occasional plunk of a glass on a table or the scraping of utensils against a plate. As she ate, Rina uncovered the design hidden beneath her meal and realized that it was one of Miyabi’s own. Over her years of service, Rina likely had constructed a number of the plates being used in that very room. They were a simple design, built for industry and easy cleaning. The lines from their fingertips as they pulled the plate from a blob of clay on the wheel were impeccable. Rina imagined the mesmerizing spin of a perfectly centered piece on the wheel and she touched the grooves left from the fingers of the person who had constructed the plate, imagining pulling the clay out into the proper form. The grooves fit her fingers precisely. At the plate’s center in Miyabi’s steady hand, stood the claw of an eagle etched in perfect gold paint.