by Sara Kincaid
When she returned to the small table, she remained standing and gently unwrapped one of the wings and pulled it out to its full glory. The embers in the fireplace threw beams of light on the extended wing and the metallic runes glittered. Zhara rose from her seat, drawn to the wings, and ran her hand gently over the contraption. “What a marvel. A truly gifted Mystic must have crafted these.”
“Yes.” Rina’s voice softened as her lips curled around his name.
“Someone special to you?”
Rina nodded. “Yes.” Their eyes met across the fire and it was clear that Zhara wished to ask more.
“We must leave at first light. We’d best get some rest,” Bransen urged.
“You’re right. Thank you, Zhara, for allowing us to stay with you. We needed this.”
“But of course, NightWind.” Zhara used her title reverentially and Rina started. “I heard one of your fellow Aviators refer to you in this way. I’m happy I can help.” Zhara, too, stood, pushing her chair back with the back of her legs. It scraped noisily against the stone floors, but it didn’t seem to bother their sleeping comrades. Rina stepped toward the sleeping quarters, but stopped short as Zhara touched her arm. “If I may ask, how will you get into the palace once you arrive? Regent Opher is no fool. He clearly knows you’re coming.”
“Yes, his troops will have alerted him to our travels and I expect we shall run into them again. Luckily we are better armed, having collected weapons from their fallen. As to how we’ll get into the palace, I’m not sure. None of us have ever seen Kaldar, much less the Regent’s palace.”
Zhara tapped her finger against her chin. “I have visited Kaldar many times and have also been in the Regent’s personal quarters. Their fortress is very different from Eagle Palace. But not impenetrable. The palace was built during the days of airships, so being able to fly would be very helpful. Otherwise, you’ll be plucked off the walls like bugs.”
Rina drummed her fingers on the table in frustration. “Only a Mystic can fix the wings.”
Zhara’s ran her fingers over the long black feathers. “Wait a minute. There’s a Brotherhood of the Spark in Delos.”
Rina cocked her head to the side. “More Mystics?”
Zhara shook her head. “No. They’re not Mystics. But they might be able to help you.”
“Why don’t we know about them?”
“Only the High Council knows about them.”
“Well doesn’t that mean Regent Opher will know too?”
“No. Not all of the Regents sit on the high council. It’s different from the Council for Peace which all of the Regents sit on for the sake of Mantinea.”
“Who sits on that council?”
“Regents Oda, Amara Nay and Lark.”
“Novo, Rosson and Antel?” Rina’s eyebrows rose toward her hairline. Novo, Rosson and Antel weren’t exactly the strongest city-states in Mantinea. Even the battle-riddled Verdlan carried more weight in the general council than those three city-states together. But perhaps that’s exactly how the Regents of those three city-states wanted to be perceived so they could pass below the radar.
“Yes. But, if you go to the brotherhood, they might be able to fix your wings.”
Rina’s breath caught in her throat. To feel the wind beneath her, its fingers in her hair, to dive and climb and ride the thermals. If the brotherhood could repair her wings, then they just might have a chance at rescuing the Mystics from the Kaldarians. Her heart sang. She just might be able to bring Eli home.
Chapter Twenty
Rina
The Brotherhood of the Spark, Rina learned, lived deep in the cleft between the mountains that bisected Rosson and were nestled just inside the Delosian border. The brotherhood’s abbey and grounds were protected by a mysterious wind that never ceased blowing.
After leaving Zhara’s home, Bransen Nash adjusted their path, following Zhara’s instructions on the best way to reach the brotherhood’s abbey. This meant that Rina and her companions would have to extend their trip and travel between the mountain range twice on their trek to Regent Opher’s palace. But if Rina’s wings could be repaired, it would give them a decided advantage once they arrived at Bear Palace.
Rosson was hilly with rich soil and abundant plant and wildlife. The landlocked city-state was bisected by two large rivers that flowed down from the mountain range. Worried about the Kaldarians being alerted to their presence, the travelers skirted around the nearby town of Wilton that sat on the river. From a distance, Rina saw several water wheels that connected to the mills. Jarem shaded his eyes and looked at the large cog-like structure curiously. “Strange. What’s it for?”
Bransen puffed on his pipe. “They have no spark here in Rosson. They’ve had to adjust and find new ways to power their tools.”
Halay chewed her lip. “Don’t they have any Mystics?”
Bransen tapped his pipe on his teeth. “They have one. But one person can’t keep the infrastructure of a whole city-state going. Their regency decided on a path of rediscovering solutions that don’t rely on the spark decades ago. This is the future for all of us if the issue of the spark isn’t sorted out.”
“This is the future if we don’t rescue the Mystics from the Kaldarians, spark or no spark.” Eldon gestured at the water wheels in the distance. “But, who knows what Kaldar has planned?”
“They rely on the Mystics too. Surely their purpose isn’t to destroy them?” Jarem tried to ease the tension that had settled over the group. They weren’t simply risking their lives to rescue Eli for Rina. Regent Arayna had sent them on this quest to preserve their way of life. Without the Mystics, there was no spark, no runes of power, no Aviator and no true path to the Regency.
Rina turned Jarem’s question over in her mind long into that night as she stayed up on watch. Their fire chased shadows on the bamboo that grew thick and tall around them. The ground was blanketed by a green-gray moss. If Regent Opher wasn’t trying to end the Mystics, then what exactly did he want with them?
When the sun returned, their fire had reduced to a bed of ashes. The menacing sky above was the same color as the dregs of their fire and Rina gazed up at it with a frown.
Bransen caught her look of displeasure. “That happens a lot out here. We’re near the mountain. Moisture gets trapped. That’s why the mountains always look so cloudy.” Bransen tapped his pipe on a fallen tree trunk and pulled the hood of his jacket over his head.
“Wish I’d packed better,” Jarem quipped. “I’m not looking forward to wet socks again.”
They had just crossed the second river and sighted the gap between two mountains when an arrow zipped through the air and buried itself in the ground just behind Rina’s heel. Halay shrieked and jumped back. Rina drew the sword she’d stolen from the fallen Kaldarian and whipped around, her teeth bared. “Incoming!”
Eldon drew his sword and stepped between Bransen and the attacking soldiers. More arrows fell as the Kaldarians raced across the field on horseback with two warriors per horse. Arrows continued to rain down as the Kaldarian horses plunged through the river. Their hooves scrabbled with the mossy ground as they came across the other side. The horsemen carried bows and arrows while their riding companions leapt from the bare haunches and drew their weapons. Unable to outrun the horses, the Burgans gripped their weapons and turned to face their enemy. Quickly, the sing of steel replaced the hiss of the arrows as the two parties clashed.
“Goddess damn them!”
“Stay back!” Rina glared at Halay and Bransen before her sword collided with the Kaldarian’s blade. The weight of her opponent made her grimace and she switched to holding her sword in her weak hand. Rina felt stronger than she had since her wings had broken, but she was a far cry from her original form.
With the sun hidden by the clouds, their weapons appeared dull and the slash across Rina’s cheek was not quite so menacing. The Av
iators fell into a rhythm, keeping their backs to one another from a distance and dispatching Kaldarians with quick thrusts of their stolen weapons. Halay held Rina’s bow but couldn’t fire for fear of hitting one of their own.
The woman who had led the Kaldarians against them last time sat astride a striking horse. Its silvery fur and eyes glimmered with an ethereal light. Halay eyed the beast with slack-jawed reverence, her bow going limp in her hands. The soldier’s red uniform looked like a wave of blood against the beast’s silvery hide. This time the woman avoided Rina, intent on other members of their group. She slashed her way past Jarem, who caved beneath the impressive blows of her broadsword, his only wound in this encounter being his pride.
Jarem’s next target towered over him with dark hair and a sneer that could have frozen a snow lion’s heart. Jarem’s stolen sword sparked as the two blades clashed. His opponent become enraged when he saw the bear claw insignia in Jarem’s hands. “You are not fit to wield that,” he growled, shoving Jarem roughly away from him.
Jarem stumbled backward, whipping the sword in front of him, his feet a tumble. “And you are not fit to wear the crest of Mantinea. Where are our Mystics?”
The burly soldier shoved the point of his sword forward with such vehemence that Jarem barely had time to parry. “Where are your wings, Aviator?” The Kaldarian delivered blow after blow, forcing Jarem further away from his comrades. Jarem knew he was in danger, but each time he tried to force the soldier backwards, he ended up leaving himself exposed to the better swordsman.
A sweeping kick sent Jarem to the ground, his head banging painfully against the dirt. Sparks flooded his vision. He held tightly onto his sword, waiting for the killing strike. He pursed his lips together and let out a piercing whistle that carried across the battlefield. Another blow descended which he weakly deflected. The soldier glared down, his lip wet with perspiration and he raised his sword. Jarem waited, his muscles tense. He strained to keep his eye open, determined to face death full on.
But the blow never came. Jarem’s muscles unlocked and the burly soldier stumbled forward, his eyes already glazed in death. He collapsed and Jarem rolled aside to avoid being pinned beneath the giant. Dazed, he came to his feet and eyed the arrow protruding from the Kaldarian’s neck. Halay. Across the battlefield, Halay gulped air, her eyes wide with fear. Her arms had frozen after releasing that lifesaving arrow and her muscles quivered. When their eyes met, her body unlocked and she reached for another arrow from her belt.
Eldon’s voice cut through his thoughts. “WaveRunner! Would you get back to work already? We’re kind of in the middle of something here.” To prove his point, Eldon drew his short sword, now bearing a blade in both hands, and pinned his opponent to a nearby bamboo stalk. He shook his head as he withdrew the bloody blade. Daydreaming on the battlefield. He was never going to let Jarem live that down.
Eldon’s eyes followed the silvery horse carrying the warrior with the closely cropped hair. After blowing past Jarem, she ringed the battlefield, never leaving her mount. When she reached one end of their circle, she’d jerk the reins cruelly against the gelding’s mouth and spur him back in the other direction. Why someone would ride such a beautiful and rare mount into battle, Eldon could never understand. A horse like that was a prize-winner and should be entered in competitions and bred, not neutered and wielded like a battle steed. Finally, the female warrior made her move, spurring her horse into the fray. He was like a ray of light with hooves and she was merely his passenger. Together, they leapt over fallen comrades, her eyes barely registering their bodies, intent on only one thing.
The horse’s mane whipped through the air, aglow against the gray sky. His hooves crashed like thunder and the woman riding him raised her sword high. She didn’t shout, but she was poised and singular like a blade cutting through the air.
Halay watched her advance and knew that the warrior was coming for her. The thought left her feeling sluggish and she moved as if she were under water. When the woman was only a few strides away, Halay remembered the knife that Rina had given her after their last encounter with the Kaldarian forces. She dropped the bow and drew it from her belt, brandishing it with shaking fingers.
The warrior stopped short, pulling harshly on the reins as she drew near and leapt from the horse’s back. Without a word, she lashed out, her sword clanging painfully against Halay’s small knife. The reverberation sent Halay’s teeth on edge and she took a step backward, snapping the shaft of one of Rina’s precious arrows as she did so. The woman closed the space between them quickly and struck at Halay once again. Halay jumped to the side, loose hairs from her braid flapping in her face.
Rina scanned the battlefield. A number of Kaldarians had already been slain. Her heart grew heavy at the thought of killing her own countrymen. Blood pooled in the dirt and into the crevices of the soles of her boots and the blood trails carved into her stolen sword were slick with crimson.
Remembering her sister, Rina’s eyes swept the battlefield, seeking out Halay’s pale form. She noted Eldon, poised and locked in battle with a soldier and Jarem’s hellion battle style as he hacked away at their attackers. A flicker of movement at the corner of her vision caused her to turn and she beheld the muscled leader of the Kaldarian band charging on her own two feet, sword raised and teeth bared, intent on a wide-eyed Halay.
Choking back a sob, Rina cursed her broken wings that would have carried her to her sister’s aid in a matter of seconds. Instead, she dug her toes into the dirt and forced her leaden legs to move. Her muscles churned and screamed and her arms pumped like pistons. Her heartbeat spelled out her sister’s name, but her thoughts were consumed with Niko, their brother and his bloody form on the battlefield. Rina whipped her sword around and willed herself forward faster. Her mouth opened in horror as her sister parried the Kaldarian woman’s expert sword thrust. A curse to Nia passed her lips as a flash of sunlight broke through the clouds illuminating the battlefield. The silvery horse appeared to burst into flames, but it was only the reflective glare of his luminous hide. He swished his tail and turned his pale eyes on her as she hurtled past him.
The Kaldarian’s sword fell once more and Halay let out a scream. Rina’s blood went cold. Somehow, Halay managed to fend off the blow again, her screech of terror sending a chill down Rina’s spine. The Kaldarian raised her sword, but Rina was still a dozen steps away. The arc of her sword was cruel and final. Rina cried out as the killing blow fell.
But a flash of steel, singing through the air like lightning, connected with the Kaldarian’s blade, sending it off course. Bransen Nash stepped forward, teeth bared, sword gripped tightly in his left hand, while his right held rigidly onto his precious pipe. The Kaldarian grinned as she withdrew her blade and thrust it forward again, determined to disarm her new opponent.
Though Bransen was taller and stronger, he didn’t possess the same level of skill as the Kaldarian. Her closely cropped blonde hair gleamed in the sunlight as she moved in below Bransen’s impressive wingspan. The two traded blows, but the woman was unable to disarm the giant. His thick muscles bulged as he absorbed each hacking thrust of her sword.
Rina continued forward, finally reaching her sister’s side. She gripped Halay’s shoulder tightly and drew her away from the battle. Her words came in thick gasps. “Stay back, Halay. Please.” Their eyes met briefly before Rina turned back to Bransen.
The tall man stumbled back and the Kaldarian moved in with the swiftness of a bear’s paw, her sword plunging hilt-deep into Branson’s stomach. A cry of protest and disbelief ripped itself from Halay’s chest. Rina watched the blow fall, feeling an echo of the killing thrust in her own stomach. Bransen’s body went instantly slack, the sword falling from his hand. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground.
Wordlessly, the Kaldarian withdrew the sword from Bransen’s lifeless body and paused for a moment to wipe blood and bodily fluids from the blade onto the dead ma
n’s clothing. In that moment, Rina closed the gap between them, tearing across the grass without realizing what she was doing before she did it. The Kaldarian soldier stood up to her full height, her grin wild and welcoming. She was taller than Rina and her arms rippled with muscle. Where Rina was lithe and slender, this woman was thick with strength, her body hard beneath her red armor.
The two women fell together like daylight and shadows. Rina, the lighter of the two, danced around her partner with twirls of deadly precision, dodging each thrust of her opponent’s sword. The blonde warrior growled in frustration. With each move, the dark swirl of ink that was Rina’s hair whipped around her face like splatters on a scroll. Their swords met again and again, blow for blow, with teeth-chattering strength.
As the two women fought, the clouds continued to split, allowing the golden circle of the sun to show, and illuminating the dark gray clouds in a line of silver. The sunlight glinted off of Rina’s scar and the brass buckles of her uniform so that she emitted a glow that mimicked the Kaldarian’s horse. That’s when she noticed the mistake. The Kaldarian woman, whose footwork and timing were impeccable, stuttered.
Rina landed on her toes and without wasting a moment, thrust her sword forward, aiming for the gap in her opponent’s armor. Her stolen sword found its mark, sliding just beneath the soldier’s arm and between her ribs. As soon as the sword had penetrated her opponent’s flesh, Rina let go of the blade and stepped away. She panted, her eyes on her stricken foe as the woman stumbled, the sword protruding awkwardly from her side.
Her opponent fell face-first to the ground, her body sighing as death took her. Rina finally tore her gaze from the gruesome sight and found her sister who knelt by their fallen comrade and guide. She’d taken the big man’s sword hand in her own, his right still clutching his beloved pipe. Rina walked to her sister’s side. “He saved me.” Halay looked up at her sister, her eyes brimming with tears.
