The One Who Could Not Fly

by E G Stone

  “Why couldn’t I fly?” Ravenna demanded, doing her best to flare her wings threateningly. Tacitus ran his fingers over her black feathers, so different from the normal golden ones of the other sylphs. Not for the first time, Ravenna was conscious of the difference. She wished for gold.

  “Ravenna, child,” Tacitus said. “I had hoped that I was wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “When you were born, your colouring was apparent and a shock.”

  She knew this already. No one cared about a sylph’s colouring except when it was her. Why would he not tell her what she wanted to know?

  “But there was something else. Your wings…they were smaller than they should have been. They’ve always been smaller than they should be.” Tacitus smoothed a ruffled feather and looked at Ravenna again. She pulled her wings back from his hands. “I hoped that with time, they would grow. Or, perhaps, their size wouldn’t matter as you became stronger. You already use them to help you move faster down the stairs, to climb, to run. Just like every other sylph. Even your Dalketh is impeccable. But…it seems that I was wrong.”

  Tears streamed down Ravenna’s face as she took in what Tacitus was saying. She did not want to believe it. She wanted him to be wrong. But he was so much older than her. So much wiser. Why would he be wrong about this? Ravenna waited in silence for Tacitus to finish what he was saying. He had to say it.

  “I don’t know that you will ever fly,” Tacitus murmured.

  Ravenna let out a sob.

  The older sylph opened his dark arms, so different from her own pale ones.

  Ravenna knew that she could move forwards and find comfort in them as she had before. Instead, she pulled away, pushing through Tacitus’ feathers and running as fast as she could to the woods.

  The trees loomed overhead, taunting her. Once they had seemed only to demand patience, that one day she would conquer them when she learned to fly. Now, they mocked her. She would never fly. She would never burst through the treetops and skim them with her wings. Ravenna let out a scream of defiance and rage at the trees. They merely stood there, laughing and enduring.

  Ravenna ran farther, the tears blurring her vision. She reached a clearing far from the Tower and sank to her bruised knees. The pain throbbed through her, the only truth in a world torn to pieces. “No,” Ravenna begged the sky, hoping that someone would hear her and help her. All she felt was pain.

  Her wings seemed to wrap themselves around her without her volition. Screaming again, Ravenna grabbed her feathers and tore them from the wing. If they would not help her fly, then they were worthless. She was worthless. The pain was immediate, blinding, and put a knot of satisfaction deep in her belly. Ravenna reached for another handful and tore them out, too, flinging the useless black feathers as far from her as they would go. She kept pulling, kept pushing through the pain until her tears turned to lung-wracking sobs and her head fell forwards on the bed of feathers.

  She cried herself to sleep, her throbbing, bleeding wings limp at her sides.

  Ravenna did not know how long she had slept there when she was woken by a cool hand on her burning wings. She woke with a weak cry and turned to find Tacitus standing over her, eyes wide with horror.

  “Ravenna!” he breathed. “What have you done?”

  “I wish I didn’t have wings at all!” Ravenna yelled, sitting up and pounding her small fists at Tacitus’ chest. “I wish I’d never been born!”

  Tacitus lunged forwards and pulled Ravenna to his chest, as much a hug as keeping her from struggling and doing more damage. He breathed hot, furious words into her ear, and she felt his tears brush her skin. “Don’t you ever say that again, Ravenna! You are not worthless. You are not incapable just because your wings will not hold you in the air. You can still do everything that anyone else can do. Do you think that I would have bothered putting all of my time and energy into you and your education, your life, your care—do you think I would have loved you if I thought that you were never going to be worthwhile?”

  Ravenna sniffled, burying her face in Tacitus’ linen tunic. “N-no,” she hiccoughed.

  “Then you don’t believe it, either,” Tacitus snapped. “If you cannot fly, then find a different way. If you want to live in the Aerial City, use what you can to jump, to glide, to climb. If you want to be an Intellecti, then learn. But don’t you ever, ever give up on yourself again.”

  Ravenna nodded. She did not protest when Tacitus lifted her into the air, her pain-filled wings hanging limp from her back. She glared up at the trees from Tacitus’ arms as he carried her back to the Tower. She promised them silently, defiantly, that they would not conquer her. She would conquer them.

  Chapter Two

  Ravenna held in her sigh as she turned the page of the ancient text with the utmost care. She did not want to disturb the other Intellecti in the reading room, where nothing less than complete silence was allowed. It had been rumoured that sylphs had been removed for thinking too loudly. It was also where most of the older texts housed in the Tower were stored.

  Ravenna shifted her wings, the slight rustle of feathers garnering her a few unhappy looks from the others around her. She winced an apology and took in a breath. Stillness. Silence. She needed both to control herself. A moment later, she let the breath out just as slowly and silently and returned her attention to her book on early sylph mythology.

  Nearly one hundred generations ago, sylphs were not the winged beings we are now. Sylphs were beings of air, elemental mages who could only become corporeal in rare instances when their magic manifested itself enough. Our closest cousins were the elves, both dark and light varieties, and it was from them that the sylphs understood what it was to have a physical existence.

  Some of the sylphs craved this existence and worked their magics as best they could to bring it about. It worked well enough to allow them to couple with the elves and produce offspring that were physical in body and strong in magic. These half-breeds longed to taste the air that their pure sylph cousins drank and tried to work their air elemental magic to fly. It was only partly successful and ended up in the death of many of these half-sylphs. Those sylphs that had not given up their incorporeal form watched with disdain, scorning everything to do with these half-breed scions of their own foolish kind. So, the half-sylphs searched for a better solution, their blood becoming more diluted the more generations they were removed from their ancestors.

  Eventually, the sylphs approached Qiaseri, the great dragon who had survived the Fire Wars. He said that he would give the sylphs what they desired, but that the consequences would be great. Desperate to taste the wind again, the half-sylphs agreed to Qiaseri’s bargain, though the price was indeed greater than they could anticipate. They were given wings, the great feathered wings that we have today, but their air magic was drained in the process, leaving them both magicless and mortal. The sylphs who remained as air elementals were so horrified, they refused to even communicate with their mortal kin. These beings disappeared into the mists of history, either dying out or vanishing from living memory.

  The mortal sylphs removed themselves from the mainland to learn how to fly and live as mortals. Their progeny populated Shinalea and built the Aerial City, where sylphs live today. The Tower where the Intellecti live…

  Tacitus touched Ravenna’s shoulder, making her jump and sending her chair clattering backwards. Her wings flared defensively. Tacitus raised his eyebrows, a slight frown marring the corner of his mouth. Ravenna winced and bowed an apology to the other scowling scholars before replacing her tome and slipping out of the reading room. Ravenna rubbed away the blush that covered her cheeks as she closed the door behind her. Tacitus was waiting for her.

  “What had you so engrossed?” he asked wryly, leading Ravenna away from the reading room and towards the central spiral of the Tower. “I’ve never been able to sneak up on you like that. Not since you were a child.”

  “I was reading myth
ology,” Ravenna said, almost scoffing at the word. She had studied other mythologies, and they all talked about mystical beginnings and beings of such great power that they were called gods. The Intellecti never bothered with such trite nonsense, instead focusing on fact and knowledge as much as they could. Sometimes, though, Tacitus would tell her stories of the great battles of the past and stories that were so ridiculous they could only be true legends, like how the stars got their patterns in the sky.

  “An interesting pursuit, considering I asked you to read the Wing Cycle and map out possible sites of first settlement on Shinalea,” Tacitus said.

  Ravenna wilted a little. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I got distracted.”

  “I can see that,” Tacitus said. He shook out his wings. “No matter. The Wing Cycle can wait. Your grandmother has asked that you come up to the Aerial City today for luncheon with her.”

  Ravenna perked up a bit. “Really? I’d better leave, then, if I want to make it up the stairs in time.”

  “Desarra will also be there,” Tacitus said casually, as if he were making observations about the weather. Ravenna bit her tongue to keep from growling in annoyance. She had burdened Tacitus for cycles with her hopeless desire to be closer to her sister. Desarra tolerated Ravenna and that was only at the request of their grandmother. Ravenna had given up on reconciling with her sister some time ago. Desarra would never be comfortable with Ravenna around. Ravenna would not burden someone else with hopes of something that would never happen, especially not someone who had been so kind and loving to her over the cycles.

  “I had still better leave, then,” Ravenna said, trying to sound cheerful. Tacitus eyed her with his amber eyes and nodded.

  “Be careful on the stair,” was all he said, turning towards a quiet corridor that led to the interior of the Tower. Ravenna turned to the great wooden door that led to the path between the Tower and the Aerial City. “Last time you went, you returned with bruises on your shins.”

  Ravenna had neglected to tell him that was because Crispinus had been waiting in the middle of the stair to trip her. He had soared out of the window in the stair before Ravenna could do more than gasp and fall to her shins. Even grown up, Crispin did his best to undermine her. Ravenna did her best to ignore him.

  “I’ll be careful,” she assured Tacitus. He nodded and walked away. Ravenna pushed open the doors and started through the woods at a light jog. She swallowed the anticipation and fear that filled her throat in favour of focusing on the path before her. Ravenna’s muscles loosened and she quickened her pace, angling her wings.

  She ran through the woods, leaping over fallen trees and roots that rose out of the path, scaling and leaping off of boulders. Her wings let her twist and turn in the air with no more effort than it took to run. Ravenna reached up to grab branches above her and a flap of her wings had her easily climbing onto the lowest branches. She leaped through the trees like a squirrel, landing as lightly as the birds she had studied to understand their flight. After about ten minutes of acrobatics and using all of her muscles, Ravenna smiled.

  This, this was freedom. Motion unencumbered by expectations. Dalketh exercises put to uses that none of her teachers would have approved. She was not flying by any means, but she was capable enough to move as swiftly through the forest as any sylph. Faster, even, as she had a smaller wingspan and was not dodging branches and trees, but using them to her advantage.

  Running through the forest was one of the few times that Ravenna felt whole.

  Then, it all came crashing down. A squirrel, startled by her presence a branch away, jumped directly in the path of Ravenna’s next jump. She tried to change direction midair, but her wings had already been twisted for the next jump and she did not have the control to stop what came next. She fell. The ground was moving towards her too quickly to be stopped. Had she actually been able to fly, not just do clever acrobatics, Ravenna would have been able to save herself. Instead, she fell wing first onto the ground.

  The ferns and pine needles mostly cushioned her fall. A rock, though, cut through that defence and jabbed her right in the back between her wings. Ravenna barely managed to suck in a breath before pain splintered her vision into bright stars. She struggled for a moment, trying to breathe, trying to move. All she could do was tremble and hold perfectly still.

  “Ow,” Ravenna finally managed. She let out her breath slowly and, groaning, got her legs underneath her so she could sit, then stand. She had to lean against a tree for support. “Wings,” Ravenna murmured, stretching each in turn. They ached, but there wasn’t any serious damage beyond a few feathers bent out of place. “Legs, arms, all okay,” she continued, taking stock of each limb in turn. Her back hurt, but she did not think anything serious had happened. At least, the stone had not managed to pierce her skin and her back was not broken. She was going to have one beautiful bruise, though.

  “And now I’m going to be late for lunch,” Ravenna sighed. She stretched her wings out again, taking a few experimental flaps to stretch her back and test the ache. It was…passable. Wincing, she started into a jog again and nearly sighed in relief when the Stone Stair opened up before her.

  The Aerial City had been built straight out of a series of cliffs that rose from the forest without any warning whatsoever. The buildings were carved into the cliffs and most had windows and balconies open to the sky. Some were recessed deep into the cliffs, honeycombing it and giving the city more size than the beautiful stone carvings would have allowed. The sylphs could just fly up, so there was not really a need to have any of the buildings close to the ground. And since the cliffs were all but inaccessible from all sides, it was a perfectly defensible spot.

  Unfortunately, for the elderly, and children, and those whose wings were broken or ruined in whatever form, like some of the Intellecti who lived in the Tower, getting up to the City was almost impossible. Unless, that is, another sylph flew them up or, like Ravenna often did, they took the Stone Stair.

  It was a winding, curving stair carved into the interior of the cliff, the only visible sign of its existence the entrance at the very bottom. The stairs were made of the same reddish cream stone of the cliffs. It, though, was not decorated with the beautiful bass reliefs and carvings that the rest of the city boasted. It was plain and purely functional, made for those who could not fly and who were somewhat separate from sylph society.

  It was also killer on the calves. Ravenna sighed. She started up the steps, her wings tucked in close so they would not run into the walls on either side and get dusty. Desarra would never let her live it down if that happened. Once, Ravenna had tried counting the stairs going up to the city and given up at two hundred and sixty-seven. Now, she just counted her breaths.

  By the time Ravenna made it to the top of the stair, she was panting, and her abused limbs were thinking about trembling. She emerged into the great hall and spread her wings, her hands on her hips to give her lungs the room to expand and gasp in air. Ravenna paced the hall while her heart calmed and tried to take in the details so she wouldn’t pass out.

  The hall floor was smooth, with geometric designs in different coloured stone sprawling over the entire space. The walls seemed to grow organically from the floor, the designs climbing up the walls until they turned into carvings of sylphs or birds or, Ravenna’s favourite, a battle scene where dragons and sylphs fought against what looked like elves and something out of a nightmare: horned and hulking and roaring with power. Windows on the far side of the hall revealed an expanse of sky that was slowly turning grey with promised rain. And next to one of those windows, her golden wings arching high over her head, her shining copper-gold hair twined into a cascade of curls, her eyes sharp and blazing, stood Desarra.

  “Ravenna,” she said flatly, bowing her head in acknowledgement of her sister.

  Ravenna tucked a strand of her black curls behind her ear and took in the formal blue tunic and billowing trousers that cinched at her ankles. With her golden skin and high, ari
stocratic features, Desarra had always been lovely. Ravenna had the same features, but no one would have mistaken her for the beauty that was her sister.

  “You look beautiful,” Ravenna said honestly. Desarra blinked and a slight blush coloured her cheeks. A moment later, the expression was gone, replaced by disapproval.

  “You have leaves in your hair and your feathers,” Desarra sniffed.

  Ravenna turned and, sure enough, there were fern fronds mixed in with her feathers. She imagined her hair was not much better.

  “I don’t suppose there’s time for a bath?” Ravenna hoped.

  Desarra’s scowl deepened.

  “Perhaps if you had arrived earlier, we could have at least made you presentable,” she said. In a single, smooth motion, Desarra glided to Ravenna and began brushing the debris from her wings. Ravenna knew better than to imagine the action was a result of any sisterly affection. More likely it was born from the fear that Ravenna’s appearance would reflect poorly on Desarra. Desarra was aiming for the High Courts and needed all the societal approval she could get. Having a useless sister did not help.

  Ravenna helped as best she could, even giving her feathers a little fluff when Desarra ordered. Finally, Desarra sighed and deemed Ravenna acceptable. The two of them walked through the great hall towards the passage that would take them to the Queen’s private quarters.

  “How’s Crispinus?” Ravenna asked softly, wondering if it would ever be possible to get on her sister’s good side. “I would have thought he’d escort you.”

  “He’s on a hunt,” Desarra said, her tone somehow managing to be both scolding and proud at the same time. “He was picked by the Lords of the Wind to join them and see if he could match their prowess. Of course, he will.”

  “Pass on my congratulations,” Ravenna murmured. She did not actually care about the social clique, the Lords of the Wind, but Desarra did. They were a pompous group of sylphs who took pride in their aerial skill and their ability to hunt. A bunch of show-offs, in Ravenna’s opinion. But their prestige made them the most admired set in sylph society. They had almost as much influence over public opinion as the High Council did.