by Sara Kincaid
“Raze has many allies. He’s turned an entire garrison against us. It’s only a matter of time before they overthrow the Regent. Already they seed doubt about her legitimacy and our power.”
Zaid’s words turned Eli’s thoughts to the Aviatrix, Rina, for whom he had labored, carving runes into his skin so that he could call forth enough power from the spark to give her the gift of flight. She, too, seemed under his spell. It was no secret that she and Raze were lovers. Despite the fact that the Mystics gave the Aviators—and all of Burga—the gift of the spark, they had turned against them.
“Enough!” Master Moriyo slapped his palm against his thigh. The old man was seated in shadows that flickered with the flames. His long, gray ponytail curved down his jaw and pooled in a thin strand on his knee. “We must have faith in the spark. It was the spark that guided Nia through the doorway to our world and it was the spark that gave her comfort when she was alone. It is in the spark I trust for I have seen the impossible with my own eyes and performed it with my own hands.”
Something from nothing. While gold was the color of Burga and filled in the broken crevices, both real and imagined, silver was the color of true power.
Snow covered the ground, muting echoes and all other sounds. Winter in Burga was harsh, full of crystalized flakes that fell by the tens of thousands. While the mountain provided the Mystics with shelter and most of what they required throughout the year, there was no escaping the power of winter.
The Mystics let their supplies dwindle to nothing, none of them eager to make the trek down into the city, unwilling to face the harsh receptions that awaited them by the people who had turned their backs on them.
Finally, Eli could deny their needs no longer and reluctantly volunteered to venture into Burga for food and other items. He followed the frozen streams that stretched like veins across Mt. Yama’s surface and pooled at the bottom into the cove. It was early and the slant rays of morning shone through fat icicles hanging from the trees. When the wind blew, they clinked together like a wind chime.
Grizzled and unshaven, Eli wore a thick coat lined with black fur, the hood pulled up over his head and his feet stuffed into shiny black boots. He’d arrived so early that the market stalls hadn’t even opened yet, so he hung back in an alley near the melon grower’s stand, which was closed until spring, to wait. Pickings would be slim at the market this time of year, but Eli was desperate.
As the shop owners arrived, their movements marked by deep prints left in the snow, the skies opened up and the snowflakes began their pirouettes. Eli maneuvered through the street, keeping his head low and murmuring thanks as he selected his supplies. Some merchants gave him harsh glances, but no one denied him the goods he needed.
Arms full and his shopping nearly complete, Eli stepped away from the tobacco seller, his breath catching in his throat and nearly choking him as he caught sight of half of the Aviator battalion led by Raze Uxton, walking toward him. At FireStorm’s elbow walked Rina, swathed in a white fur coat with the hood pulled up over her dark hair. Her full lips were pressed tightly together, the gold slash on her face an arc of brilliant light in the slate gray morning.
Hoping to avoid conflict, Eli abandoned his next errand and wheeled back to the road leading out of town and toward the mountain. He stepped onto the snowy street, bustling past fellow shoppers.
Halfway down the lane, a firm hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “Well then. Good morning, Master Eli.” Raze Uxton glared at him with cold, brown eyes, his angular jaw framed by lengthy sideburns.
Eli turned slowly to face the cavalry of Aviators. Raze was surrounded by Emiko, known as WindSong, Beval, known as StarReacher, Ollie, known as GaleGlider, and Rina, NightWind. “FireStorm.” Eli responded, quietly, his voice a low grumble.
“We haven’t seen the likes of you for some time. Does the great mountain not hold all you need?” Raze’s lips curled with a sneer.
Eli’s fingers itched and he felt a strange course of power crackle along the patterns he’d etched into his arms long ago. It burned his skin like an unseen fire. Snow fell harder, muffling the tension and their words. A cold chill slithered up Eli’s back, but he remained motionless. He refused to respond and with each silent second, Raze’s face loomed closer and closer, daring him. Pushing him. “You blaspheme, Commander.” He bit his lip as soon as the words were out, knowing they would do nothing but spur further rebuke from the Aviator.
“Do I? And what of you? Using your powers to influence the regency?” Raze leaned back on his heels, the distance between them widening slightly. The soldiers watched their commander, their eyes wide with shock and Eli wondered if they would all jump on him at once or if they’d let their leader beat him within an inch of his life all on his own.
An indignant wind hissed at Eli’s back, swirling snow in thick clouds. Everything was white, above and below. “The spark chose the true leader of Burga, not us.”
Veins in Raze’s neck bulged. “And where are you now that your puppet is in place? Off hiding on your mountain? You’ve abandoned her as she prepares to squander soldiers in needless battles.” Emiko, a long-time member of the Aviator battalion tightened his hands into fists, spurred forward by his leader’s words, his black hair hanging in thin strands, framing a square face.
“I’m sorry you have no faith in your new Regent. Nia chose her, just as she gave you the ability to rise above the earth. I am only a humble servant.” He paused. “Her vessel.” His tongue curled lovingly around the word, though the barb pierced him with its harsh edges. Each Aviator straightened, their long, lean bodies tight with indignation. Nia would not choose so unworthy a human as a Mystic for such a role. Raze grasped the Mystic’s collar and yanked him forward. Eli’s parcels tumbled into the snow in a colorful heap.
“Where is Nia now to protect her faithful servant? She’s abandoned you just as she has the rest of us. Why else does the spark die?” Amber eyes blazing, his grip tightened.
Eli could only gurgle in response as pressure increased on his windpipe. His vision flared and then began to narrow as half-formed memories drifted through his mind. The sting of the knife as he dragged it along the sensitive skin at his breast. The first burn of the silver spark on his skin. And then, unbidden, came memories of Rina and her leap of faith. Watching her step off of ledge of Mt. Yama into the darkness and the flair of joy he felt as she took flight.
“Stop!” And then jerking as someone grasped his assailant’s hand. “Let him go, Raze.”
After a moment, FireStorm relented. Temper flaring, he turned on the protestor. “So now you are against me in this?”
Small, calloused hands cupped his chin and helped him rise, sputtering, from the darkness. As his vision cleared, Eli was surprised to see NightWind at his side, holding him steady. She drew herself up to her full height, narrow shoulders squared, white fur encircling her dark head. “This is wrong, Raze. Niko would not approve.”
The remaining Aviators shifted from foot to foot, doubt swirling in their chatter. “You cannot squash what we’ve already started. The Regent must go. You support your brothers in this,” Raze declared.
“I have changed my mind.” A flood of warmth filled Eli at her touch even as he struggled to catch his breath.
Her brothers stepped back, shock separating them from the one they’d come to think of as their sister. Raze could feel the shift of the men behind him, questioning their choice to move against the Regent. He clenched his fists, proud and haughty, but refusing to engage further, to give the men more of a chance to falter. “This isn’t over, NightWind.”
Rina grasped the bewildered Mystic’s shoulder and handed him his parcels as the battalion walked away. The wind whipped again, playfully this time, churning up the fallen snow into a stream of white that fluttered back to the ground like flower petals. “Yes, it is.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rina
Rina was consumed by Eli. His eyes haunted her. His shout of dismay as she tumbled from the sky echoed in her thoughts. As she lay awake, worn and ragged from the day’s trek, she relived the quiet, sacred ceremony when he carved the rune of light into her flesh, his face serene and his touch gentle as he held her wrist.
When daylight struck, thoughts of Eli didn’t recede into the fading shadows. Instead, Rina felt his loss more keenly for he was the one who brought her balance. His mood molded hers like her hands had once, in another lifetime that seemed faint and ghostlike now, molded clay.
Taken from her roots and her calling, her walls warped and her color faded. She became like the bone-dry clay as it sits on the rack. Vulnerable. Strong and capable though Eli was, Rina shuddered to think what the Kaldarians had planned for the Mystics and her fears made her slow rage burn with the white-hot heat of the kiln.
The militia behind them were coming closer, tracking them like prey. Rina’s mind began to tick through supplies and tactics and she felt the grips of her training taking over. Her body lost its fluid motion and became rigid with the mechanical movements of a soldier under scrutiny.
Trekking across flat land was easy. Rina’s calves didn’t burn and she could see for miles around. The bamboo forests receded behind them as they descended into Rosson and turned back toward the mountains.
Bransen, too, seemed on edge about the Kaldarians. Seated on horseback, they kicked up clouds of dust as they rampaged across the dry valley. With few trees to cloak the travelers, there was nowhere to hide. The Kaldarians crept ever closer like a rising red tide.
“There’s no way to outrun them.” Jarem glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “Sooner or later we’re going to have to do something.”
“We’re sitting targets out here and we’re grounded. What exactly do you propose we do?” Rina knew her fellow soldiers were uncomfortable with battling on foot, as was she. Though they had trained hard to learn hand-to-hand combat, the Aviators were excellent marksman and preferred long-range fighting with a bow and set of arrows. The trouble was, they only had one bow and a slew of arrows between them.
“How did they know where to find us? Regent Arayna went to a lot of effort to hide our meeting.” Halay huffed and kicked at the dirt with her soft-leather boots. Dust caked under her eyes and coated her field clothes.
“Someone must be helping the other side.”
Halay put a hand to her mouth. “A traitor?”
Eldon shrugged his shoulders. “It happens.”
“In Burga?”
“Especially in Burga. Don’t you remember-”
“Enough of that. They could have left soldiers behind to watch us.” Rina cut Eldon off. With a battle approaching and her sister in obvious peril, Rina grew agitated. They had little time for reminiscing on past grievances. “We need to figure out how we’re going to head this off.”
But they were in a bare valley and fully exposed. Their pursuers would see whatever direction they took and the mountain range of Rosson was too far to reach before they were overtaken. Rina surveyed her companions. “Okay. Bransen’s our guide. He’s our most valuable asset. So, no fighting for you. Jarem and Eldon, be ready to fight with your hands. You’ll need your swords.” Rina took a breath and then turned to her sister, an apology present in her creased brow and her hesitant gaze. “Halay, you’ll take my bow. I’m in no shape to shoot it anyhow. You’re to protect Bransen.”
“But-.”
“No. You can do it. Just like I taught you.” She put her hand on her sister’s shoulder and smiled despite her fears. “You can. I know it.”
“No, Rina. That’s not what I was going to say.” Her eyes scanned her sister’s face. “How are you going to fight? Your shoulder.”
“I’ll be fine.” Her tone left no room for protest. She then addressed Bransen. “Okay. Where’s the best place to meet them here?”
Bransen scanned the landscape. The valley was mostly bare and green. “We just passed a small copse of trees. It’s not much. But, it’ll provide some cover.”
Rina turned to look back in the direction they had come and chewed her lip. “Alright. Let’s go.”
First came the pound of hooves. Then came the arrows, swift and sure, loosed by the men and women garbed in clothes rich as oxblood. Hidden in the branches of a narrow tree, Halay answered each volley with her own. Smaller and lighter than her sister, the bow was a struggle to draw and the muscles in her back quivered with each pull of the bowstring. Bransen stood deeper in the bed of trees, his own short sword held at ready, though he’d received crisp instructions from Rina to stay out of the melee.
Kneeling close to the ground, Rina, Jarem and Eldon gripped their weapons, watching as their pursuers closed in on them. The three had fought together many times, taking wing in the sky over their enemies and raining arrows down upon them. They knew each other’s shortcomings and strengths, how they flew. Jarem was quick to strike, overcome by the impulses of one new to the battlefield. Eldon fought fluidly, his long arms giving him the advantage in hand-to-hand combat. But he was cocky. Rina was like a growing storm, her body held tight and small until the heat of battle overtook her and she fanned out with deadly precision, her eyes dark and distant.
There’s a strange moment before two opposing forces clash, as if the universe pauses before letting fate take what path it will. Things grow quiet except for the thrumming of one’s own heart. Everything seems to move in slow motion, thoughts become clear and the tremors of anticipation fade. And then suddenly, the two side crash together like a tsunami on an unsuspecting shore. Except Rina and her companions were ready.
The band trailing them was only six strong. Eldon gave the signal and Rina and her fellow Aviators charged. An arrow whizzed past Rina’s face and plunged into the side of the horse her first opponent was riding. The beast tumbled with a scream in a sprawl of long legs. Rina chanced a look at Halay. Her face was grim with focus. Rina tightened the grip on her short sword, both the weapon and the slash on her face blazing in the sunlight as she leapt on the fallen soldier, dispatching her with a quick thrust of the weapon.
Rising from the fallen Kaldarian, Rina dragged the bloody sword from the woman’s chest and reached simultaneously for the sword strapped to her belt. She holstered her own sword, choosing the longer weapon to face the next soldier. Rina paused, surprised to be facing another woman, feeling a moment of kinship and understanding, knowing what they likely faced as they entered the ranks. She’d heard rumors that Kaldar conscripted men and women indiscriminately. With cropped hair and heavy features, the muscular Kaldarian warrior sat lightly astride a multicolored horse and she faced Rina with confidence. As she stretched her arm forward, Rina met her weapon blow for blow, the horse racing past in a blur. Rina whipped around in a flash of light as the rays from the sun bounced off her folded wings. The female soldier pulled hard on the horse’s reins and wheeled his head about before digging her heels roughly into his sides.
As the horse thundered forward, the soldier raised her sword high, using the horse’s momentum and her higher center of gravity to her advantage. The blow rained down and Rina gritted her teeth as she absorbed the shock of it into her stolen weapon. The strike brought her to her knees and she groaned as the waves ricocheted through her body, straining her already injured shoulder.
Halay watched the battle below from her perch in the magnolia tree. Every arrow was precious and she treated each one like gold. She slowly drew another from the pile at her feet and placed the tail end against the bowstring. She breathed deeply, drawing the bow as far back as she could, her arms quaking with strain and knowing that soon her arms would give out. Another moment passed as she brought a soldier into her sights, trying her best to calculate his trajectory as he barreled toward Jarem on his horse.
She’d had lots of practice shooting at fixed targets, but when it came to movi
ng targets, Halay was woefully unprepared. Though her siblings had both taught her how to draw and shoot a bow, they never spent much time with moving targets. Given that they expected Halay would never face anything larger than a wolf or some other predator who viewed her flocks as a meal, her training had ended there. But she’d asked to come on this journey, unable to bear the thought of being alone in Burga as Rina left the city walls.
Halay closed one eye, took another breath and let the arrow fly only to watch it land with a thunk in the ground a foot shy of its target. “Don’t fret it,” Bransen called from the trees behind her, startling her concentration. “We’ll get them, by the spark we will.”
The soldier’s horse reared up, tossing his lead-like hooves into the air. He landed back on all fours with a thud as his rider cracked his whip. The black stallion lurched forward, his hooves grappling with the ground beneath him as he changed directions, following his rider’s commands. The whip cracked loudly overhead again as the horse bore down on Jarem whose knife was locked against the hilt of another Kaldarian’s sword. “Jarem! Behind you!” Halay’s shrill voice carried across the field.
Accustomed to his wings, Jarem dropped to a crouch, intent on thrusting himself into the open sky to evade his attackers. Then, he remembered that he was grounded. Wingless. A flood of curses sprung from his lips as his opponent’s sword arced over his head. He ducked just in time and then flinched as the stinging slap of the whip fell across his arm. The horse and rider barreled on through and Jarem rolled out from beneath his attackers before scrambling to his feet. “No wings. No bloody wings!” Before the whip-wielding Kaldarian could turn his horse around, Jarem carried his momentum forward, executing a perfect diving tackle, surprising the sword-wielding warrior. The Kaldarian’s head bounced off the ground awkwardly and he lay still.
Eldon’s serrated blade was slick with blood. He wiped the flat of the blade across his thigh and sniffed audibly. He relished a good fight but always hated the scent that went along with it. Thick with the odors of fear, death and human excrement, there was nothing dignified about the battlefield. Even heroes shit upon themselves once exterminated. That’s why he preferred to fly high above the ground, meeting his enemies from a distance and tasting nothing but the wind.
