by Becca Lusher
Nineteen
Lessons
16th Harvest
“IT SHOULDN’T BE too bad,” Mouse said, as Mhysra and her friends walked through the eastern citadel. “Two captains and four junior lieutenants, right? They’ll just divide us into two for now. That’s not so bad. Unless you’re last. I mean someone has to be. What if you’re not picked at all? Can they do that? Has that ever happened before?”
Corin jabbed him in the back. “I’ve no idea and I’d rather not know, thanks.”
“I shouldn’t have eaten breakfast,” Mhysra moaned, feeling miserable.
Derrain rubbed her arm. “But you might have fainted.”
“Which would have given us a laugh,” Mouse quipped, ducking Derrain’s swipe as they reached the hall.
Maegla’s Hall was considered the heart and wonder of Aquila by many, Riders and architectural historians alike. With its enormous, brass-inlaid doors flung wide to beckon the students inside, it was both an inviting and intimidating sight. As large as a cathedral nave, the floor all dark wood, polished to a high shine to reflect the glory of the ceiling above. Lavishly decorated with paintings of Riders, miryhls, dragons and clouds, its centrepiece was devoted to the Storm Goddess Maegla, patron of the Rift Riders.
At the front of the hall, gilded by the sunlight streaming in through the high windows, stood Captain Myran, his two lieutenants and four men Mhysra had never seen before. From her brother’s descriptions, she guessed the man in the middle was Dean Marshall. Straight-backed, a little above average height and with greying hair, he had an unremarkable appearance – until he glanced her way. The weight of his power and all of his authority was in his eyes: this man knew what he was doing.
The short, slender man with a cheerful countenance beside him had to be Fredkhen, rumoured to be the nicest captain in the Riders. His lieutenants were as different from each other as men could be. One was of medium height with a stocky build, his brown skin, eyes and hair suggesting Sutheralli roots. His hunched shoulders and constant shifting showed that he was uneasy at being the focus attention, making Mhysra wonder why he was training for captaincy.
The other man looked like a born leader – or at least thought he should be. Sternly handsome, with black hair, bronze skin and dark eyes, he was tall and lean, but he watched the new students with a distinct lack of interest. She could almost smell his contempt.
“Maegla save me from that one,” Corin murmured.
“Unlike you to turn down a pretty face,” Derrain said.
Corin’s smile was wry. “I’m not so blind that I can’t see the beast behind the beauty. Or the arrogance. He thinks he’s better than everyone. I’ll feast my eyes elsewhere, thank you.”
“All the more for me,” a Sutheralli girl whispered behind them. “I like a man in need of taming.”
The dean clapped his hands and the snickering students hushed. “Welcome to Maegla’s Hall, friends old and new. Every Half-Year we gather our newest trainees under our wing, and it gives me joy to say… Welcome to Aquila, students. I hope you enjoy your time here.
“But first we must assign you to a captain. Don’t be alarmed,” he added with a smile. “With a captain, you’ll have flurry-mates made up of not just those you study with, but all who are under your captain’s command. With a captain, you become part of a family, of history, of the Riders. This is how it has always been and how it will always be. Over to you, captains.” He motioned them forward, Myran moving with his unmistakable limp and Fredkhen with his hands in his pockets.
“Some do this by rote,” Myran spoke clearly into the expectant hush. “Others choose only those they have met at the selection schools.”
“We are not those captains,” Fredkhen added with a smile.
“I choose to put my trust in my lieutenants.”
“As do I,” Fredkhen agreed, though a little less confidently. “Some decisions have already been made, but our lieutenants will still speak with you. All of you.”
“This is too weighty a decision to be dealt with in an instant.” Myran looked around the hall. “Please be patient.” Turning to his lieutenants, he indicated the students. “Choose wisely.”
Mhysra’s friends looked as surprised as she was. Nothing Kilai had said had prepared her for this. She’d expected to be split into the groups in which they’d arrived and be picked out by rote. Perhaps divided up and selected purely by chance. Or even have her name drawn out of a hat, though she suspected her brother had made that one up. Mhysra wasn’t sure if this method was better or worse than she’d expected.
While Stirla and the other lieutenants set about talking to groups of students, Lyrai headed straight towards Mhysra and her friends, smiling. “No need to panic,” he said when he reached them. “You must know Stirla and I have marked you down for us already.”
“Who have you marked down, sir?” Derrain asked, always the bravest when it came to questioning the lieutenants. Being able to look down on Lyrai probably helped.
The lieutenant checked their group and smiled. “You, Derry. Mhysra, Corin, Dhori, and Haelle, of course. And yes, Mouse, you too,” he added, when the boy stared at him with terrified eyes. “Relax. You have a very boring day ahead of you.”
Weak-kneed with relief, Mhysra managed to squeak out her thanks before sitting with a thump. Lieutenant Lyrai moved on and her friends settled around her, equally reassured.
“So all that panic was over nothing,” Corin grumbled half-heartedly.
“Panic’s never for nothing,” Dhori said thoughtfully. “It teaches us something.”
“Like to be wary of Riders like him?” Mouse asked, pointing at the arrogant lieutenant.
“Something like that,” Dhori agreed, smiling.
“Prepare yourselves for more wisdom then,” Corin warned. “He’s headed this way.” They all tensed, then breathed a collective sigh of relief when the Rider eyed them disdainfully and moved swiftly on.
“Maegla be praised,” Mouse murmured.
Dhori smiled. “Thanks to halls like this, She is, and always will be.”
17th Harvest
“GOOD MORNING, STUDENTS,” Lyrai called, as he strode onto the flying field for his first lesson early the next day.
“Morning, sir,” the students chorused raggedly from miryhl-back.
“I said good morning, students!”
“Good morning, sir!”
“Better.” He smiled, looking at his nineteen students. They were a pleasant mix from across the Overworld, and he recognised about half. “Some of you already know me from Nimbys and the journey here, but for the rest, I am Lieutenant Lyrai and this is Sergeant Honra. We will be teaching you how to fly.” There was a ripple of whispers and he clapped his hands for silence, startling one student into falling off.
“On your miryhl, Mouse,” Honra called.
The boy blushed and remounted, much to the amusement of the others. While he settled, Lyrai studied the faces before him, their expressions ranging from smug to anxious. He hoped to cure both before the morning was over.
“As you may have realised, some of your lessons will be taken with all of Captain Myran’s students, others won’t. You will all be learning the same things, of course, but it occasionally pays to lessen the odds of students to teacher.” A few people chuckled. “As you get older, your lessons will mix with Riders and students from other years. Since you’ll be expected to fight together under the same captain, we expect you to train and learn together too. It should teach you to respect those outside your own peer group and perhaps help others less fortunate.
“All of Aquila’s students are Riders-in-training and we expect you to behave accordingly at all times. Treat others as you wish to be treated and you can’t go wrong. After three years, your time will come.” He paused to let his words sink in. After a long moment, he smiled. “Well, that’s the serious stuff done. Let’s move on, shall we?”
With Honra’s help, he arranged the lines so that he could see everyone.
“Introductions.” He pointed to the boy on the end. “Name?”
“Fhyrin fra Fhenlyn, sir.”
“And your miryhl?”
Fhyrin looked surprised. “This is Twister, sir.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Twister,” Lyrai said to the miryhl, who nodded back. “Where are you from, Fhyrin?”
“Seffal Falls in Kevian, sir, and I’ve been flying since I was five.” Fhyrin sat up straighter and puffed out his chest. “My father and two brothers are Riders.”
Lyrai raised an eyebrow at the boy’s cocky smirk. This was one he’d have to keep an eye on. For now, however, he dismissed Fhyrin with a brief nod and moved on, coaxing introductions from the rest, including those he already knew, until he came to the nineteenth and last. “Name?”
“Greig fra Jeign, sir.”
He studied the lad closely. His dark skin and brown curls identified him as Etherian, but there was something about the firm jaw and mischievous brown eyes that looked even more familiar. “Where are you from, Greig?”
“Cyrris Peaks, sir.”
Lyrai smiled, certain now. “You’re Lieutenant Stirla’s nephew.”
Greig nodded warily. “I’m his oldest sister’s son, sir. I’ve only met him a handful of times.”
“Lucky you.” Lyrai winked, pleased when the lad grinned, making him look more like his uncle than ever.
“And your miryhl?”
“Jupi, sir.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jupi. I hope you’ll both enjoy your time with us.” With the introductions over, Lyrai paced back along the lines. “I hope you all will. Now, to work.” Putting his fingers to his lips, he let out a sharp whistle. From his position hidden high amongst the mountain crags, Hurricane screamed.
The students looked up in awe as the miryhl swooped, racing his own rippling shadow across the grass. Circling around the field, Hurricane made sure everyone had a chance to see how huge and magnificent he was before he landed. Wings closed, he raised his head, marble feathers gleaming in the sunlight.
“This is Hurricane,” Lyrai introduced mildly.
Even Fhyrin looked lost for words as the students gazed at the impressive eagle, even those who’d seen him before. The miryhls all straightened, trying to look more impressive, except for Cumulo who raked his talons across the grass and huffed sulkily.
Lyrai chuckled and, using Hurricane’s lowered wing as a step, settled easily into his saddle. “Today, I want you all to fly this course. It’s just a few small obstacles designed to test your skills, balance and flight craft. It’s not hard. I’ll go first. Watch carefully.”
They glided down the field to the obstacle course. As Lyrai had said, none of it was difficult. Hurricane dipped through the large hoops, swooped over and under the bars, and wove between the poles without Lyrai having to do anything to guide him. He just called out the directions – to the students as much as his miryhl.
As they swirled around the last pole, Lyrai plucked a flag from the barrel. Returning to the start, Hurricane landed gently, allowing Lyrai to plant his flag before the admiring – and faintly panicked – row of first-years.
“Well, Fhyrin? Are you going to gawp all day or will you fly?”
The boy looked at the course, back to Lyrai, then at the course again. While Fhyrin might have lost his cockiness, the shier students now gazed at Hurricane with wonder, no doubt dreaming of a day when they could emulate him. Lyrai had always known his new miryhl’s worth would far outweigh his size and magnificence.
Fhyrin took off and Lyrai followed, calling, “Honra, you’re in charge.”
Gliding after the young pair, Hurricane murmured, “So this is teaching?”
“I hope so,” Lyrai replied, having only the vaguest idea of the role himself, and shouted for Fhyrin to start. The miryhl responded before the boy, and Fhyrin’s nerves showed in the way he clung too tightly to his saddle, hunching away from the poles and wobbling with every elevation change. Lyrai wasn’t sure whether to be appalled by the boy’s overconfidence or impressed that he managed to stay on at all. He foresaw hard work ahead with those two.
Hurricane circled lazily above the course. “That’s a good miryhl.”
“Yes,” Lyrai agreed with a sigh, hoping he could train the boy to match as Fhyrin landed, flag in hand. “How come you miryhls do all the hard work, yet still make us look good?”
“That’s our job,” Hurricane chuckled, ruffling his feathers on landing. “You show off with weapons and strut about in shiny boots while we work. You get the glory, we the graft.”
“What do you get out of it?” he asked.
“Undying loyalty,” Hurricane replied tranquilly. “And a laugh when we throw you off.”
Lyrai chuckled and rubbed his bonded’s neck. “I knew there was a reason I had to be nice to you.” Smiling, he turned back to his students and the task of teaching.
DERRAIN SIGHED AS he watched Mhysra and Cumulo sail through the obstacle course, looking more impressive than even Lieutenant Lyrai and Hurricane had. “It’s not fair.”
“Life rarely is,” Dhori said, perched cross-legged on his saddle. It looked neither natural nor comfortable, but his friend was serene. Easy for him, Derrain thought with another sigh: Dhori had already proved he could fly almost as well as Mhysra. It was as though he and Latinym had been bonded for years, rather than a mere half-moon. It was quite disheartening.
“Practise,” Corin suggested. “We just need more practise.”
“Sixteen years or so,” Mouse grumbled as Cumulo swirled around the flying field, making the flag in Mhysra’s hand unfurl with a snap. “I’ll never be that good.”
“Few of us will,” agreed Haelle, who had inched her way through the course already. Her black female, Thunder, was one of the most impressive miryhls in their year, but her pale eyes and watchful air made Derrain nervous. “As long as I can stay on in reasonable comfort, I’ll be happy.”
“I’m aiming a little higher than that,” Corin said, watching Cumulo land. “But I’m not a fool.”
“You’re next, Corin,” Honra called, and she smiled weakly at her friends.
“Start counting,” Mhysra chuckled, when Cumulo strutted back into line.
“Why?” Haelle asked.
“I bet Wisp finishes the course faster than anyone. Before or after.”
“Including you?” Mouse was convinced no pair could rival her and Cumulo.
“Definitely,” Mhysra and Derrain said together, grinning.
Mhysra ruffled her miryhl’s feathers. “Cue was too busy showing off to go fast.”
“Hurricane started it,” Derrain pointed out, making Cumulo chuckle.
“Don’t encourage him.”
“Hey, look!” Mouse pointed at where Wisp was already landing. “I barely saw them move.”
“Wisp of the wind,” Dhori murmured. “There won’t be many who can catch them.”
“Good for her.” Derrain flinched when Honra called his name. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck!” his friends chorused as he eased Zephyr forward.
“I won’t drop you,” the miryhl murmured soothingly, taking off. “You can trust me.”
“I know,” he replied. “It’s me I don’t trust.”
Chuckling, she circled, waiting for Derrain to give the signal. Lieutenant Lyrai waved them on and Derrain leant forward. “Go,” he whispered, and she angled into the wind.
Derrain’s heart hammered as cold air struck his face and they dropped to barely three feet from the ground, then lifted up. The moment of weightlessness made his stomach clench, as Zephyr tucked her wings in tight, then flapped again. They were through the first hoop. Another lift, pause, then catch and the second was done. The third took them higher, the fourth low again, but by then Derrain was used to the sensation of his stomach trying to fly free.
After that he relaxed. They hopped over and ducked under the horizontal bars and wove between the poles with ease. Zephyr took it gently, her flight so smooth that Derra
in’s body naturally followed wherever hers led. As he reached for the flag, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to sit up. Chuckling, Zephyr took a victory lap before landing and giving him a chance to plant their flag.
“Good,” Lieutenant Lyrai praised, and a warm glow gathered in Derrain’s chest.
He waited for Zephyr to hop back into line before he leant forward to ruffle her luxurious feathers. “Maegla blessed me the day She sent you into my life.”
Turning shy, Zephyr ducked her head and nudged his boot. “I like you too.”
“Not bad for a beginner.” Corin grinned, still excited after her own flight.
Derrain rolled his eyes and smiled. For the first time he felt he might manage this. It wouldn’t be easy, but flying wasn’t impossible either. Not with a miryhl like Zephyr.
“You’ll do,” Mhysra assured him softly. “We all will.”
“Maegla witness that,” Dhori agreed, just as Mouse tumbled off at the poles. “Of course, She may have to help some of us more than others, but She’ll do her best.”
“And it’s up to us to do the rest.” Mhysra winced as Mouse fell off again.
“Nothing like a miracle to start off our training,” Derrain said, leading the cheers as Onyx landed, a flag waving triumphantly in Mouse’s fist.
“Anything’s possible,” Dhori said. “Even miracles. We’ve got three years, after all.”
“Cheer us up, why don’t you?” Mouse burbled, bouncing in his saddle as Onyx rejoined them, clearly ecstatic to have only fallen off twice. Some miracles might take more work than others, Derrain thought, but they’d be worth it in the end.
AFTER EVERYONE HAD completed the course, Lyrai made them fly laps while he conferred with Honra. Mhysra and her friends eyed them warily, wondering what they were up to, but thankfully the bell sounded before any nasty surprises could be sprung. Dismissing them to the eyries, the lieutenant warned that he’d see them again the next afternoon.
“We have to fly every day?” Mouse groaned, when they reached the eyries for their first lesson in miryhl care, thanks to the eyrie attendants.
“Every day,” Corin agreed with far more enthusiasm – but then she hadn’t fallen off.
“You’ll get used to it,” Mhysra promised. “Once your body adjusts.”
“I’m not sure my body was built for those kind of adjustments,” Derrain grumbled, wincing as he straightened his breeches. “I’m too old for these fun and games.”
“Positively ancient,” Dhori agreed, the oldest amongst them. “But what’s the point of joining the Riders if you don’t fly every day?”
“Precisely,” Mhysra agreed, kissing Cumulo’s beak and taking his harness to the tack room to show the attendants that she did indeed know what she was doing.
It was a sorrowful bunch who winced, limped and groaned their way through the citadel a little while later, as the bell summoned them to another lesson. Guided by an attendant, they headed up the mountain terraces of the western citadel, where all the classrooms, libraries and study rooms were. Three steep staircases later, they dragged themselves across a courtyard flooded with autumn sunlight and in through an open door.
The other half of Myran’s students already occupied the back of the room, while the captain waited at the front. The new arrivals were too desperate for rest to care where they sat. By the time they’d settled in the sunlit room, Mhysra found herself beside a stranger. She only had time to smile at the red-headed boy before Captain Myran stood up.
“Good morning, students.”
“Good morning, captain,” they chorused, proving that they learned fast.
He limped around his desk to lean against the front of it, smiling faintly. “Are you enjoying your first day? I trust my lieutenants are treating you well.”
The half that had been in survival studies with Stirla nodded, while the rest groaned.
The captain chuckled. “Those of you feeling the effects of your first flying lesson be comforted to know that your fellows will feel exactly the same by the day’s end.” Half the class perked up, while the other grew alarmed. “But that’s for later. Now you’re with me. After yesterday I hope you all know who I am, but in any case I am Captain Myran Mylanri, from a little known province in the Lowlands. I’ve been a Rift Rider for more years than I care to remember, twelve of those as captain. And to get it out of the way, yes, I have a limp. It was gained on active service, some ten years gone. No, it does not impair my abilities as a Rider.
“And yes,” he added, noticing Mouse squirming in his seat, “it was a gift from the kaz-naghkt. I hope that sates your curiosity but, if not, I will allow time at the end of the lesson for questions. But first, we have other things to discuss.” Reaching across his desk, he turned over the sand timer. “While at Aquila, I am not only your captain, but your teacher too. I will instruct you on the finer details of history – general and military, alternating the subjects on different days. We begin with military, specifically the Rift Riders.
“Can anyone tell me how the Riders began?”
There was a long pause. Everyone knew how the Riders began, but that didn’t mean any of them wanted to be the first to speak up, Mhysra included.
Dhori smiled. “Maegla made us, sir.”
Captain Myran motioned for him to stand. “Dhoriaen, isn’t it? From Nimbys?”
“I prefer Dhori, sir.”
“My lieutenants have told me about you, Dhori. Please continue.”
Dhori twitched his shoulders and took a deep breath. “The people of the Overworld were dying. The coming of the clouds had changed life beyond all recognition. There was a risk that humans would die out. A deserved punishment some said, but Maegla intervened. She spoke with the dragons and together they created the first miryhl. The dragons made other winged creatures, but the miryhl was the only one in which the Goddess played an active role. As such, they are precious to Her. With bullwings, pyreflies, horsats and doelyns to act as beasts of burden, Maegla wanted something more for Her miryhls.
“And so She created the Rift Riders. Protectors and guardians of the Overworld. They would ensure that humans did not repeat the foolish mistakes that had created the Cloud Curse in the first place. Above all, they would be Hers. Forerunners of the storm, swearing oaths of allegiance, honour and servitude to Her above all others. They would dedicate their lives to defending the helpless.”
Captain Myran smiled as Dhori sat down. “Thank you, Dhori, a most comprehensive answer, and one I hear rarely. Yes?” he asked, as another student raised her hand.
“I heard that the kings of the Overworld created the Rift Riders.”
“Stand up, please,” Myran urged the girl. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Lerya sa Nanya, sir, from Scudia, sir.”
“Please continue, Lerya.”
“Well, when the clouds came, humans struggled to survive. When things got desperate, they sent to the gods for help. That’s where the miryhls came from, and pyreflies, horsats and so on.” She nodded at Dhori. “But wars were fought for control of these creatures, pitching mountain against mountain, range against range, all vying to own these marvellous beasts. Things became desperate, people were dying and the dragons refused to breed more winged animals, so the kings came together in a grand treaty.
“The Rift Riders were created to oversee the Overworld, owing allegiance to all, but to no single nation. Maegla became the patroness because of Her role in the creation of the miryhls. Leastwise, that’s what I was taught.”
“Thank you, Lerya.” Captain Myran motioned for her to sit. “So we have two versions – one concerning Maegla’s direct involvement, the other unnamed kings from long ago. Has anyone else heard differently?”
He smiled as hands went up all over the room. As each of them were given a chance to speak, Mhysra’s head began to pound. There seemed to be a different story for each region and three versions from Imercian alone. They varied between the people asking for help – or kin
gs, or war chiefs, or religious leaders – to a lone hero venturing into the Dragonlands to steal the secret of the miryhls from their closely guarded nests.
The debate grew heated as students rushed to defend their versions from the encroachments of others. Ancient rivalries and grudges between ranges were stirred up; those from the east ganged up against those from the west; the individual Greater West nations fought amongst themselves; Lansbrig residents sneered at the Mistrunans; the Sutheralli dismissed everyone. Even Mhysra grew annoyed as her Lowland version was dismissed by some of the Storm Peaks students. Voices rose, insults flew and the lesson teetered on the brink of chaos.
Until Captain Myran lifted his hand and said, “Enough.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the room still fell silent anyway. Red-faced students sat down, waiting to be chastised.
Settling back against his desk, Captain Myran smiled wryly. “I believe a point has just been proved. I’d ask if anyone could tell me what, but I fear what I might get.” The students chuckled and his smile warmed. “Clearly you all know how the Rift Riders began. Unfortunately, you don’t all believe the same story.
“But that’s all right,” he added, after several students cringed. “The Riders began around seven-hundred years ago, when writing things down was not a priority. There are few accounts from those days and they rarely deal with the formation of anything, let alone the Riders. But that’s Overworld history, trying to piece together what happened from the slightest of evidence. Even those sources we do have contradict each other, depending on where they originate.
“My point is, we don’t know how the Riders started, but we do know why. And that why is as relevant today as it was then. To protect. The Rift Riders are far from perfect and there are parts of our history we would all rather forget, but our purpose has never changed. We guard the Overworld and our people from all the threats we face. In days past the enemy wasn’t always clear, but over this last century things have changed. The Overworld is always changing, but the coming of the kaz-naghkt is a change that united us all.
“I won’t ask about the origins of the kaz-naghkt,” he warned, before anyone could start. “That’s an even thornier issue than the origins of the Riders. I just wanted to show you that history isn’t perfect. It’s as accurate as we can make it, but our sources are limited and often suspect in provenance. Yet we can learn much from piecing together what we have, which in turn gives us a chance to fill in the large gaps of which we know nothing.
“That is what you will learn from me. So, let’s start with something about which there is no doubt. The founding and building of Aquila. Corin,” he beckoned her from the front row, “please hand out this paper. There are quills and ink inside the desks. You’ll be taking notes every lesson, which I hope you will supplement with further reading in your spare time. Notes are important, since they help record what I tell you and also enable you to complete your study work.” He smiled as grumbles rippled through the room, while Corin scurried about.
Silence resumed as the thirty-seven students settled down, quills inked and poised, waiting for him to begin.
Captain Myran smiled. “The year was two-hundred-and-eighteen of the Cloud Era, and the Overworld was in turmoil. Carrayne of Cirrica, head of the Rift Riders, had been assassinated. The Riders were thrown into confusion and the world watched, waiting to see where the feathers would fall. But as the elections for a new leader grew closer, there was increasing pressure from outsiders for the Riders to choose this candidate, or that, who would favour one kingdom over another.
“Out of this chaos rose a young woman, Jhydera, who claimed the allegiance of no land. She spoke of an independent Rift Riders, with no patron or politics, who protected all and favoured none. But where could such a force live? Where on the Overworld could they exist, without risking favouring one over another?
“And so the search for the Riders’ home began…”