The Endless Skies

by Shannon Price

  I don’t know how. Skies alive, I don’t know how it’s possible.

  The city is rising.

  47

  CALLEN

  I extract my sword from the human’s side and kick him down. Blood drips from my blade, and my chest heaves. The ground below my feet pushes against me, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize we’re climbing in altitude.

  A boom sounds from behind me, and a rain of seawater follows after. The frigid droplets send shivers across my skin as I search for Rowan among the Leonodai flying skyward after ramming the boat. Shirene ducks and dives with an agility to rival falling stars, roaring orders to a team of warriors who’ve just crested the buildings beyond. Like the ones we saw when approaching the city, the teams carried nets laden with stones from the riverbeds. My gaze follows as the team swings outward, dodging the lingering gunfire and letting the heavy rocks fall. The stones crash onto a building that usually houses a lively sweets shop, collapsing the roof. Screams from the human soldiers sound from the rubble. We can repair later. We can rebuild.

  Right now, we are still in the fight.

  I finally spot Rowan soaring skyward, her wings flinging seawater with every beat. She flies over to me, shifting into her human form as she lands.

  “The Heliana is rising,” she gasps. “Look.”

  “I know,” I reply. “But the prince is dead.”

  “Exactly. I don’t understand.” The sounds of battle carry from from the street beyond. “But we can figure that out later.”

  She runs toward the fight, and I follow right on her heels. Blood pulses in my veins in time with my footsteps as we meet a trio of humans brandishing swords. None of them have guns. They were so confident in their weapons that they failed to bring enough supplies for this attack. They are down to iron and bronze, same as we are.

  Ro and I fight together, our limbs falling into the dance of warfare in a way they never did in sparring. Rowan ducks low and lashes out with her blade, causing the human she’s engaged with to jump back in defense—straight into my own sword. She pivots, leaping with her right leg while she stabs backward with her sword, meeting an oncoming human’s shoulder blade.

  A call comes from above us as two arrows fall in quick succession. The soldier falls dead. Rowan wheels around, looking for more enemies. Her bad leg trembles, but her grip on her sword never falters. The moment of relief stretches, and stretches again like a welcome horizon.

  Roars carry in the air—they are not cries of pain or war but of victory. It’s only after I catch my breath that I dare to hope.

  We’ve won. Blinking sweat from my eyes, I squint into the sun to see who aided us, but Rowan recognizes him first.

  “Ox!” she screams, sheathing her sword as she runs for him. The two embrace, but for once, my heart doesn’t sing in jealousy. “How did you escape?” she asks.

  His hair and skin are smeared with soot and dirt. “Oh, you know, I talked my way out of it. They were quite reasonable.”

  “Ox.”

  “Fine, fine,” he says, relenting. “The first ones to find me were unarmed. I fought them off best I could, then snuffed out the lights and waited. When it was quiet enough, I dug my way out of the vent.” Ox looks around the remains of the battle. “Skies, we did it.”

  Rowan makes a sound like, Oh, and I leave her to break the news about Tabrol. Summer wind wraps my bones in a familiar grace as I jog over to the remains of the Northern Gate and look over the edge. The teal of the sea winks back, not far below us, but still below.

  Rowan, Ox, and Vera come join me. “The scholars have always said that the city would fall if the royal line fails,” Rowan says. “But it has failed, and we’re still here.”

  “The king still lives. That was enough for all the years without an heir,” I say, but I’m trying to make sense of it all, too. That’s what we’ve always been taught, what we’ve always believed.

  It’s as if all goes quiet except for one simple truth: the scholars were wrong.

  Rowan looks to the palace. “Do you think it was another lie?”

  “That’s too big of a thing to lie about,” Ox says.

  I put my hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Maybe they were just … wrong.”

  “Let’s find the others,” she says.

  We follow the sounds of roars and conversation to an open plaza on the edge of the market district, not far from Storm’s End. I catch Rowan looking in the direction of the school, her body visibly relaxing at the lack of smoke plumes from that direction.

  The bells sound. Rowan and I are both greeted by name. Vera hugs Rowan from behind, her tears creating river patterns down her cheeks as they wash away the splattered blood.

  Sentinel Renna emerges from the crowd of fighters and gives a respectful touch on my shoulder. Even her renowned scowl breaks as she smiles at me. “Good to see you, warrior Callen. Did all your team return?”

  Exin. His memory is distant, yet bright as a new burn. I shake my head, and Renna bows hers. “Skies keep them, and us.”

  The bells continue calling throughout the air, only to be interrupted by a series of cheers as Shirene, resplendent in her new armor, appears in her lioness form on an adjacent rooftop. A voice calls her name so earnestly and desperately that it can only belong to Sethran. The cheers get louder as she dives in her lion form and then retakes her human one only to run straight into his arms.

  Rowan calls out to her sister.

  Shirene glances up, stepping back from Seth to look at us.

  And that’s when a bullet pierces her armor, ripping directly through her chest.

  48

  ROWAN

  “No!” I shriek, my hand whipping back to grab at my last knife. The warriors around me scatter as I scan every doorframe, every window. No. No. No.

  Another gunshot sounds, and I duck instinctively. A shadow slumps from behind the door in the clothing shop past where Sethran is now crouched, screaming and holding my sister. I sprint toward it, the joyous call of the bells clashing with the horror of his sobs. I hear the word healer, and several Leonodai take to the skies at once. Others go for the rest of the street, checking for other human stragglers.

  Callen is right behind me as I get to the doorframe. Dark blood seeps out from below it. The realization dawns on me, and when I push the door open, the human soldier’s body falls with the thud. His head is totally gone, replaced by gray spatters and blood.

  The sight makes my stomach turn, but I can’t help but stare at the vile, vile sight. Callen grips my shoulders.

  “He took his own life,” he mutters, but I barely register his words. A mad hope seizes me, and I dash back outside. Two healers land beside Sethran, taking their human forms instantly. Their hands go to their supplies—salves and rolls of white bandages. Seth sobs as he holds Shirene close. Trembling. Whispering.

  I dive beside them, desperately shoving my way between the two healers. “Move!”

  I plunge my hand into my knives’ sheath, where I put the rest of the cure Callen had tried to give me. Seth understands what I’m doing and gently opens Shirene’s mouth while screaming for water.

  “Please,” I beg. “Please work.”

  We press the cure between my sister’s lips as someone hands me a waterskin. We try to get Shirene to drink. We try. I touch my fingers to my sister’s neck and feel her pulse beat once, twice …

  But there is so much blood, and it doesn’t stop. The red stains my filthy warrior-elect uniform and Shirene’s beautiful sentinel attire. Her eyes flicker for just a moment, her gaze landing on Seth before her head falls heavy in his hands.

  All around us, the bells sing, triumphant.

  EPILOGUE

  ROWAN

  I have been in what remains of the Glass Tower many times now, but never with the entire city’s eyes on me.

  For the first time in our history, warriors-elect are to be sworn in on a day that isn’t during High Summer. Then again, the city has already seen its fair share of firsts i
n the past six weeks. The first funeral for a golden prince, then one for a sentinel. The first time a warrior-elect—me— stood in front of Vyrinterra’s ambassadors and sentinels to challenge the decisions they’d made. The first time a deserter had been formally invited back home to speak their piece, in hopes of creating a lasting change.

  The proof is all around us. The Heliana floats above the sea once more, despite what the scholars always taught us. Even after the devastation of Tabrol’s death and the battle that followed, the Leonodai people stand as one. The city has come together in so many ways that at times I feel like we are stronger than ever before. The Heliana’s people hold her magic, not just the royal line. The scholars can do with that what they wish.

  Today, the Tower is packed, with many citizens lining the back walls, where stands have been erected to fit in as much of the public as possible. Late summer air carries from one window to the next, the first hints of the changing season. The area to the right of the king, the reserved place for warriors, is just as crowded. I find Ox’s face in the crowd, and he smiles that roguish smile of his. Names of friends are called, and I cheer them with everything I have. Vera, then Bel. So many of them survived the Fall of the Heliana, as the city is beginning to know it. We have lived to see her in the skies once more.

  The king calls my name, and I step forward.

  My feet are bare as a sign of humility. My hair, which Vera insisted on doing for me, is full of her expensive oils and glossier than it ever has been. With the sentinels’ permission, I bear a white ribbon on my upper arm, in memory of my sister.

  My past and present are with me. Before me, my future.

  I kneel before the king. He seems to have aged far beyond the time since that fateful day. The proud, noble gaze I’ve always imagined myself seeing when I took the oath has been replaced with a disquieting pain. I know that pain. It binds us together, the way only grief could.

  “Rowan An’Talla,” the king says once more. “Do you swear, from this day forth, to serve the Golden City, the Citadel of the West, the Heliana, and all of her people?”

  “I do swear,” I answer.

  “Do you swear to put loyalty above all, to answer the bells whether they call at first light or the last?”

  “I do swear.”

  The king accepts a new warrior’s uniform from Sentinel Renna. The latter meets my eyes, her gaze going to the ribbon on my arm. As the King’s Voice, Shirene would have been the one to hand me my robes. I accept the uniform, keeping my eyes low as they well up with tears.

  “Rise, warrior,” says the king.

  And I rise.

  * * *

  Ox and I skip the celebrations. We’re at our usual place on the rooftop, no longer lying together but content in each other’s company. Ox had smuggled up a small picnic of celebratory treats, which we munch on idly. My appreciation for food has doubled since our return. Below us, the Hall is lit from Underbelly to ceiling with congratulatory calls. The city beyond us, though still under repair, is lit with lanterns and the smaller celebrations between family members.

  It’s strange to look down at my own body and see cobalt blue. The fabric of the robes is finer than my old one and ten times as soft. The king’s pardon is no small gift, and I carry it in my mind always.

  As I have for many nights now, I look to the east.

  “You know where Callen is,” says Ox. “Why not just go?”

  “I’m not going to test the king’s mercy twice,” I retort. “Callen wouldn’t have known the ceremony was changed to today.”

  Ox pours another half glass of wine and hands it to me. “Nothing’s going to stop him from flying straight back once he hears. This is your moment, warrior Rowan.”

  “Thank you, Ox,” I reply, holding his gaze. “For everything.”

  In the days after we returned to the Heliana, finding time to make things right with Ox had been a challenge. I could barely stand to leave Storm’s End, and when I found the strength, I had to be there for my mother. It was not enough for the sentinels to sing Shirene’s praises to the citizens once everyone was safely returned to their homes. It wasn’t even enough for the king to send us a signed letter. My mother threw it in her desk drawer without even opening it.

  When Ox and I finally found a moment to meet, he was way ahead of me. “I already know, Rowan. And it’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know it sounds like a lie, but I didn’t know how he felt, or how I felt, until High Summer. Everything that happened with us was real. It’s just this other feeling was real, too.”

  He’d pulled me in for a hug and kissed the top of my head gruffly. “If he hurts you, you know who to call to help set his stuff on fire.”

  “Ox.”

  “Okay, fine. We’ll throw it in a river.”

  Callen had already been gone for a week at that point. As our city grappled with the loss of the prince, the destruction of so many buildings, and the recovery of the sick children, Noam was busy advocating for the Leonodai to make a show of peace.

  Shortly after our return, Noam’s mountain village had been peacefully taken over by another of the human kingdoms. Turns out that General Marchess wasn’t just at war with us, but with other humans as well. Noam’s new rulers had swept in to Marchess’s land through the mountains, claiming victory after victory. The threat of General Marchess wasn’t gone, but at least we had help keeping it at bay.

  At the same time, the sentinels held public meetings where the citizens could come and listen to Noam and ask questions of the once-deserter. Callen went to every one. I went with him, but preferred to cling to the seats in the back.

  “I’ve consulted the leaders of the village,” Noam had told the crowd. “And they want to strengthen our bonds of peace. I’ve asked the king to send warriors back with me. Citizens, too, if they are willing. There is much that Leonodai can learn from humans, and vice versa.”

  When the call for volunteers was sent out, Sethran unexpectedly answered. Callen did, too.

  “Are you sure?” I asked when he told me. We were in the grotto, faces flushed from kisses that never felt like enough to make up for lost time. It was strange to be crossing the line of friendship like this, and a part of me was still hesitant. But Callen was a light in my grief, and I held fast to it.

  He nodded, fingers stroking the bare skin at my shoulder. “General Marchess said his people were hungry. That’s why they had tried for peace before and why he went mad trying to capture Vyrinterra.”

  “We offered them trade,” I countered. “If they wanted food, they could have had it.”

  “But after years of us denying it to them, it’s hard to discount their anger.” He sighed. “If there was any truth to what he said, then I want to know it for myself. Maybe we can learn the land better and start to heal it. But if you don’t want me to go, I’ll stay.”

  I did want him to stay. Everything was still so overwhelming—my own grief, my mother’s. The city’s. But if he wanted to go, I respected that. He could stay close to Seth, and his volunteering would look great in the eyes of the sentinels.

  “Go,” I had told him. “I’ll miss you. But you should go.”

  Back in the present, Ox escorts me back to Storm’s End, taking the long way over the still-broken Northern Gate and down through the outskirts of the city. In the water, I spot the flick of watchful sea-folk’s fins. Even though the Heliana has regained her place above the sea, she sits much lower than before.

  I can only imagine how baffled the scholars must be to not come up with answers. But in my opinion, it is high time we start seeing things as they are and not as we always believed they were.

  With a quick hug goodbye, Ox takes off for the Warriors’ Hall. I peek into my mother’s room to check on her. She’s already asleep though it isn’t past tenth bell. I know it was a lot for her to come to the ceremony today.

  Closing the door quietly behind me, I tiptoe to her office. The murmur of chirping birds outside is th
e only sound as I light some candles to illuminate the dark. Sitting down at her desk, I run my hand across the steady, familiar surface. I don’t remember the last time I was in this room alone. I must have been Isla’s age.

  Isla. I think of her more often than I admit out loud. One day, if the peace Noam seeks and Callen is helping build becomes real, I’ll go back for her. It isn’t right that she is living without knowing her full self. Part of me expects the girl to show up on the Cliffs at any moment, having made the trip herself. I would gladly teach her to fly.

  Curiosity bests me, and I open her drawers to look for the king’s letter. I find it, but before I open it, another folded parchment catches my eye, as does the sight of my name written on it. I unfold the letter, looking first at who sent it. My heart jumps.

  There is no stopping the tears as I read Callen’s words, scrawled writing and all. His words burn into my mind as I ask myself the question of What if…? What if he’d died out there. What if he’d left me only this, his words, his heart, in a plain parchment without so much as a seal. What if he’d gone to the Endless Skies before I could know for sure.

  The sound of the birds cuts off, replaced by a rush of golden wings.

  Standing, I walk as fast as I dare to the balcony. With a trembling hand, I open the doors. The smell of smoke and pine trees clings to Callen’s clothes, and he must not be eating well because he’d lost some of his bulk. His gentle eyes, humbled by the time and distance, find mine. “Hi, R—”

  I throw my arms around him, stifling whatever his next words will be. One of his hands wraps around my waist while the other cradles the back of my head.

  “I came as fast as I could,” he says. “The messenger was there when I returned from helping build up a dam. The moment she said the ceremony had happened, I started flying.” His arms slacken. “Skies, I must smell terrible.”

  “I’ll get over it,” I say, and he leans in to meet my kiss.