by Sara Kincaid
Malik smiled. “Master Miyabi. It’s good to see you.”
The old woman inclined her head and stepped aside to allow him room to enter. “It’s good to see you safe, young man.”
Candle in hand, Miyabi led him to a worn oak table bathed in the silver glow of a spark light. She blew out the candle and placed the smoky relic on the table as she sat. They chatted briefly about the battle and the loss of the Mystics. Malik knew that Miyabi had a great fondness for Eli and her mouth turned down as they talked. “Have you seen Rina since the battle?”
Miyabi hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking around the room. Her cane lay delicately across her lap, the green orb atop the stick catching the glow from the spark light and bouncing green dots around the room. “I have.”
“So she’s been here! Is she still about?” Miyabi shook her head slowly in response. Silence unfurled like petals between them, Miyabi’s gaze intense. Malik gave a frustrated sigh. “I meant to come sooner. There were so many things to cover at the palace.” Rina had been injured nearly three days ago. He’d regretted the time it took him to visit her, though he knew she’d understand.
“Of course, young man.” She paused for a moment, the silence returning with a vengeance. “You have always been a faithful friend to Rina and as I recall, it was you and I who took care of the problem with Captain Dax.”
“Commander. But aye we did.” Even now, years later, hearing the commander’s name brought a stab of anger. He thought of the disgraced commander now, stripped of his titles and forced to work in the laundry, a punishment he knew that General Shin had been pleased to give.
“I always wondered what motivated you.”
Malik chewed on a heavy lip. In the many years he and Rina had been friends, he’d never told her about Niko and Malik’s older brother, Josef. Josef had been a young recruit during the battle at Delos Pass. First battle jitters left him with an unsteady hand. A battle-hardened Kaldarian came in for the kill, but instead of the tender flesh of Josef’s neck, the soldier met the steel of Niko’s longsword. The Aviator commander bested the soldier only to be shot out of the sky by another enemy soldier that day. Malik remembered the day his brother had returned from the front, his eyes round and haunted. He whispered the tale, words surfacing in between droughts of rice wine.
“I can see you have reasons, but do not wish to say. No matter. Rina, as I said,” she breathed a sigh through her teeth, “is no longer here.”
The words hung between them and Malik became acutely aware of the rise and fall of his chest. He gasped, the pattern pausing. “She’s gone after them!” Miyabi nodded silently. “But how? FireStorm will let no one go.”
“There are others who outrank the great FireStorm.” Her voice filled with condescension, her tone harsh as if she’d spit upon the man if she saw him.
Malik’s dark eyes rounded. “The Regent.”
Chapter Twelve
Rina
Battle-worn guards stood like trees at their designated posts, their heads waving like limbs rocking in the breeze as they fought the slick temptations of sleep. First light, and the changing of the guard, was not far off, making it easy for Rina and her companions to slip through the city gates. All she had to do was puff out her chest and bluster at them a bit, playing the commander role, though she’d never achieved that rank. The guards cowed beneath her steely glare. By the time Raze caught wind of their departure, they’d be long gone.
“Should we be worried that it was that easy?” Halay looked back at the guards, now shrouded in the gray light of morning.
Rina shared a grin. “Maybe a little.” Her shoulder tightly bound beneath her uniform, Rina felt nothing but gratitude at the easy time they had of leaving the city. She’d worry about fixing the holes when they got back. If... She tried to toss the doubts with a shake of her head, but they clung like wispy strings of spider webs. Eli... There was no time to think of that now. Only when.
Halay’s face was turned to the horizon, awaiting the glorious glow of the sun. Rina had little clue to how Halay spent her time in the valleys with her master’s animals. If their parents had still been alive, what would they have thought of her accompanying her sister on a military expedition? Truth be told, discomfort curdled Rina’s gut even though Halay clearly wanted to join the expedition.
They avoided the dirt road and walked instead on the mossy grass beside it until they found the angled tree Bransen Nash had mentioned at their parting the previous evening. He waited beneath branches that moved like black fingers in the rosy light. A ring of smoke curled from his lips above a chin that jutted out beneath his slouchy cap.
He straightened when he saw them, his hands leaving his arms and folding across his chest. “Good morning, NightWind. Halay.” His voice was gravelly and he appeared older in the dim morning glow than he had in the Regent’s quarters. A small pack decorated with an eagle’s claw, the insignia of Burga, sat at his feet. Regent Arayna had issued them all supplies from her personal stores. Rina had a similar pack, in addition to her own supplies, strapped around her waist.
“Good morning.”
Eldon, IceRider, and Jarem, WaveRunner, followed closely on their heels. When the two Aviators approached, they each stopped short and pressed their fists against their chests and spoke in unison. “One flock.”
Rina returned the gesture. “We’re breaking direct orders from FireStorm going on this trip. We aren’t going on this journey as soldiers, so there is no reason to keep up the formality.” She paused. “I hope that the Regent explained this to you before asking for your assistance.”
“Yes, NightWind. Err...Rina. But we both believe this to be the right path.”
Jarem quickly agreed, exchanging glances with his brother-in-arms. “That’s right.”
There was no use pushing the issue. The gold slash across her cheek flashed when she tilted her head, the paint catching the sunlight, as she gestured to her sister and their guide. “This is my sister Halay and our guide Bransen Nash.” She eyed the wind-burned nomad, his cheeks and forehead ruddy and chapped. “I expect that he is the very best the Regent has to offer.”
Jarem, the youngest of the Aviators, glanced at Halay, his cheeks warming as she met his gaze. Her sister was dressed in her mountain herding attire, thick green pants, fur trimmed tunic and high boots. A dark green scarf draped around her shoulders. Her round cheeks were high with color and the cascade of hair that usually flowed down her back lay tightly wound into a thick braid.
“Alright comrades,” Bransen interjected. A stream of smoke slithered through his teeth and he tapped his pipe against the tree trunk before tucking it into a pouch at his waist. “Shall we be off?” Bransen walked off on itchy feet without waiting for a response.
They followed in the footprints of the self-proclaimed nomad, silence engulfing them as the four travelers took in the world around them. Though they still walked on Burgan lands, they had rarely left the walled city, with the exception of Halay up to the mountains with her herds, and were distracted by the sounds of the looming valley forests. The trees were thin-trunked with splays of red leaves that blotted out the sun, leaving them bathed in a red-tinted glow.
As the miles stretched beneath them, so too did the land. It grew smooth and flat, while the trees became rounder and small hermitages dotted the landscape. Rina marveled at the wide, sloping spaces. Around them, the world was waking up and tending to their lives. Farmers left their homes to care for their crops and herds. Beneath their feet, tiny green blooms stuck out sharply against the dark, rich soil.
Rina and the Aviators walked together while Halay had sped up to join Bransen. If anyone could get the information out of Bransen, Rina was sure it would be Halay. The young woman looked up at the gruff man in earnest, her face full of interest and tinged pink with the exertion of their walk. “You’re not from Burga?” Halay shifted her own pack to her left shoulder as
she moved to stand beside Rina.
“I’m not from anywhere. Raised a nomad. Lived a nomad. Likely will die a nomad too.” His words were serious, but his eyes sparkled merrily in the shadow of his cap.
Rina and her comrades took stock of their supplies. “Night...Rina, how did you get out of Burga with your wings?” Jarem looked on her folded appendages with a bit of envy.
Rina shrugged her shoulders and then winced at the shot of pain that ricocheted down her arm. “They’re busted. I suppose FireStorm saw no reason to collect them.” Her wings were wrapped carefully in Master Miyabi’s orange skirt and when she fingered the fabric, the scent of clay dust filled her nose. She closed the pack and strapped it back to her belt.
“Too bad we didn’t think ahead. Our wings were taken right after the battle.” Eldon kicked his boot in the dirt and a cloud of dust rose, collecting on his wheat-colored pants.
Rina bit her lip, thinking through their list of supplies. “What weapons do you have?” Halay carried Rina’s bow over her shoulder, a supply of arrows tucked neatly into Rina’s jacket in the quiver on her shoulder. Jarem tapped his right boot with his left heel and Eldon gestured at the knife strapped to his belt. They didn’t have much.
The puzzle of getting into Kaldar with so few resources worried her more than anything. If she didn’t come up with a plan or even more weapons to aid them, she likely led them all to their deaths. But the Mystics were worth it, Eli or not. Without them, their way of life ended. “It will be enough.” The lie tasted bitter and she swallowed hard, hoping to be rid of it. But the acrid flavor slithered down to her stomach and settled there.
The road was soft beneath their feet and the sun rose higher, bending their shadows so that they trailed behind them. Small towns gave way to even smaller farm communities where a family of thatch houses lingered near one another like a cluster of mushrooms. The whinny of horses working in fields echoed around them as farmers began the furious race against time to get their new crops in the ground.
Behind them, the great Mt. Yama rose like a silent statue, saluting them across the miles. Her head was crowned with sleek clouds gathered in thin layers near her apex. The wind was soft and steady behind them, its voice gentle and sprinkled with encouragement.
“Will they come after us?” Jarem’s voice was quiet, his narrow features creased with worry. His face was thin and hairless, save for a thick set of dark brows that sat beneath the black, frosted icicle-like spikes that stuck out around his head.
“I don’t think so. FireStorm will try to erase all evidence of us and hope that we don’t come back,” Eldon answered quickly. His steps were steady and nonchalant, as if he had every faith in the Regent.
Jarem swiveled in Eldon’s direction, his eyes clouded. “Really?”
Eldon kicked at the dirt, but smiled as he patted his friend’s shoulder. “Probably. But, when we come back with the Mystics, whatever FireStorm says or does will have no effect.” Eldon’s confidence brought a tinge of guilt to Rina’s chest. There was much riding on this expedition.
As night descended, the sea of stars was obscured by black clouds that opened like a flood, dropping torrents of rain down upon them. Water dribbled down their bodies in unbroken rivulets. Their boots squelched in the mud as they walked. Halay wiped her eyes and patiently looked to their guide. “Shouldn’t we stop soon?”
Bransen sighed and held his small lantern up to read the sign staked beside the road. He motioned her toward him and had her hold the corner of her tunic over a map that he pulled surreptitiously from his pocket. They’d made good progress, but urgency drove them onward. Icy raindrops pelted him from above but he hardly seemed to feel the chill. His breath left his mouth in a cloud of white. “I suppose we could break for the night.”
Rina looked around them. It was late. The sun had set many hours ago. They’d seen no town lights or thatch cottages with a welcoming glow. Bransen mumbled as he studied the sign, seeming to argue with himself about which direction to take. Finally, he nodded and gestured for the group to follow him. They walked on for the better part of an hour, the rain slowing to a drizzle, though the glow of the moon was still fuzzy, obscured by layers of thick clouds. The night carried a sheen of silver, encapsulated in the wet tree branches and puddles on the ground.
As they crested the next hill, Rina saw the dark outline of an old thatch cottage. From the glow of Bransen’s lantern, they could see a yard littered with buckets and various tools. The doorway and windows were dark. Bransen led them around the back to a small barn made of thick slats of wood and crowned with thatch.
The barn door gave way easily and the musty smell of horses invaded Rina’s nostrils. In the lamplight, Halay’s face brightened. Bransen laid the lantern on a small table just inside the barn and barred the door behind them. “This will do for tonight.”
Halay dropped her satchel on the table and unwound her heavy, wet braid. She took her hair into a thick rope and began squeezing the water onto the ground. She smiled up at her sister as she groomed herself. “Now I see one reason why you cut yours.”
Rina fingered her own dark locks and scratched her head vigorously, shaking out the water. The remainder of the gold paint dribbled over her chin and she wiped the fading streak from her skin. Rina could feel Halay’s eyes on her, but unlike most, she never flinched away from the scar on her sister’s face.
Rina awoke as the long fingers of dawn began to creep over the horizon. Thin lines of pink and orange illuminated the clouds and the puddles from the night’s storm shimmered like tinted crystals. Halay slumbered peacefully beside her, tucked into the corner beneath the straw. Rina rose slowly so as not to wake her.
Eldon and Jarem sat close together, whispering quietly. Jarem’s spikes had fallen during the night and now resembled the drooping of melting snow sculptures. When Rina approached, they quieted. Following their line of sight, Rina could see a small light coming from the house as the farmer within got ready to greet the day. “Things always look brighter in the morning.”
“Rightly so. At least we’re through with that blasted rain. I thought I was going to be chilled right through.” Jarem sat in his short tunic and pants, his bare feet dangling toward the floor.
“It’ll be even brighter with a dry pair of socks,” Eldon quipped.
“With as much water as we took in last night, I doubt our things will be dry and we don’t have time to wait around until they are.”
“No problem there.” Jarem gestured out the window. “Bransen has been making small talk with the farmer since before first light. He offered to share his fire. All our stuff should be dry.” Rina pursed her lips. “What’s wrong?” Jarem asked, seeing her reaction.
The Kaldarians were not a force to be underestimated. Niko’s angular face flashed in her memory and Rina glanced warily in her sister’s direction. “That’s not my idea of keeping a low profile.” Rina drummed her fingers on the table. At the back of the barn, the horse whinnied and pawed impatiently at the straw in his stall. Dust floated around the barn like snowflakes.
A few minutes later, the barn door opened and Bransen strode in, his arms laden with their clothes and his pipe clutched tightly in his teeth. He laid the items gently on the table and then grabbed his pipe to puff a cloud of smoke into the air. “Good morning, all.” Halay stirred in the straw as Jarem and Eldon grappled for their dry clothes, murmurs of appreciation on their lips. Rina crossed her arms and remained silent. “Well perhaps it’s not a good morning for everyone,” their guide quipped.
“And what about our mission?”
“Our mission is just fine, NightWind. Don’t worry.”
“And of sharing our business with strangers?”
“Sometimes you have to share a little to get something in return. A traveler knows when to be silent and invisible and when to speak up.” The large man shrugged his broad shoulders and took another puff of hi
s pipe. His hair had dried in a ragged poof and he had tried to pat it flat. “But if you’re worried about this farmer leading your commander right to you, let me assure you, you’ve nothing to fear. Men like him get few visitors out here and our path west has been far from direct.”
“We’re still in Burgan territory,” Eldon added unhelpfully.
Rina could see that she had been overruled. “My thanks, Bransen. This will make our journey lighter.”
Halay put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Rina. We’ll find them and bring them home.”
Rina bristled slightly. The Regent sent them off into the countryside with a guide they knew nothing about with few weapons and no flying ability between them. They were nothing more than a flock of sitting ducks missing their flight feathers. Finally, she offered a small smile. “Of course we will.”
Back on the road, Rina had to admit that the going was much easier without her boots rubbing against her feet. The ground sloped downward as they inched closer to Rosson, Burga’s neighbor to the north. Rina had never crossed the border, but she knew that a trail of mountains curved their way from Kaldar and Verdlan, bisecting Rosson and Ogden, the two city-states that stood between Burga and Kaldar. Eventually they’d be trekking uphill, back toward the mountain range.
All she knew of Rosson was the color of the garb of their military unit, a sleek silver-gray. Their weapons bore the mark of the wolf’s paw. Niko had fought beside them many years before in one of the skirmishes with the Kaldarians. He came back with harrowing tales of diving from mountains over battles raging on the ground. Most of all, Rina recalled the light in his brown eyes as he described the battle scene. Soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, marching in rhythmic precision, the Aviators arced in perfect formation as they rode the back of the wind, descending willingly, almost eagerly, into battle. The Rossonian soldiers had fought bravely, like a pack of banded wolves.
