Torren’s eyes narrowed. “How long after the meal was her collapse?”
“She’d just excused herself.”
“Did anyone check the food?”
Micca stared at his feet, a hot flush coming to his cheeks. “We didn’t get the chance. When we took Aen to her room and sent someone to summon the healer, all we were thinking about was her. It wasn’t until later the idea occurred to me to check it. By then the dishes were already cleared and the leavings disposed of.”
“Was she dining alone?” Torren asked.
“No. That night, Aen was dining with several members of the council. They were discussing the schedule for her visits to the other islands. The one where her family dwells was to be the first.” Micca didn’t look at them as he added the last.
Torren tried not to let the information bother him. “Do you remember who was there?”
Micca nodded. “Tel Icos, Tel Mides, Tel Valerian, Tel Mallean, and Tel Symeas.”
Rux shook his head slowly from side to side. “It couldn’t have been any of them—these men and women are above reproach. To think someone in the council…”
“It’s why I felt it necessary to seek Torren. He knows our ways but is an outsider at the same time. He…he should be able to see things more clearly.” Micca’s desperate expression begged for his uncle to agree.
Rux straightened slightly in his chair. “Yes, it might be helpful.”
His nephew sighed with relief. He pulled off his fake backpack and cloak, allowing his wings to stretch out freely behind him. “The capital is on its way back, but I didn’t want to wait. Some of the councilors hold the vain hope returning to where she was found will revive Aen again.”
Still visibly shaken, Rux nodded. “If only it would work…but it won’t. El wouldn’t have done this only to undo it so easily—which he wouldn’t; and since we suspect others, they definitely wouldn’t find it convenient for her to awaken, whatever their reasons may be for doing this in the first place.”
“We’re going to leave tonight and catch up to the capital before it gets here,” Micca told him. “I wanted to make sure I filled you in before we went.”
Rux brushed an unsteady hand over his face. “Yes, yes, every moment counts, but you should wait a while. Going over the wall won’t be easy, and the guards are very alert at this time of night. It’ll be better if you delay your departure. Besides, this will give me a little time to try to make things as easy as I can for the two of you.”
Micca nodded. “Thank you. Also, Torren has already requested the help of someone here in town to look into some men who tried to capture Aen before. We told him he could come to you with the information if any was to be had.”
Torren left the office as the two men kept talking. He dropped his pack in the reception room by a chair, the knowledge he was actually going to go through with this settling over him. He must be mad. He was even surer of it as he felt anticipation sparking deep inside him at the prospect. To be once more in the skies, to see the green gardens, the fountains, the towering columns again. He tried to squash the feeling as thoroughly and violently as he could.
“Torren.”
He almost jumped at the touch at his shoulder.
“My uncle said he’ll have the guards keep a watch for your friend. He’ll make sure any news he has from him is brought to us at once. He said he would also supply him with more funds to finance his efforts and some for our travels as well, in case we need it. He’s also writing some letters on our behalf.”
“All right.” Yes, he was really going to go through with this. He tried to find something with which to distract himself. “Could I ask a question?”
Micca blinked in surprise. “Of course.”
“I noticed before you wore silver armor. Does this mean you’ve seen combat?”
Most guard positions for the Chosen were, on the whole, ceremonial positions, mostly used as a means of discouraging trouble from Landers or as an honor guard. Micca appeared a little young to have achieved such a rank.
“No, not yet. Not real combat, though I’ve taken part in many exercises.” Micca preened his right wing, not making eye contact. “For the last few years, the council has been encouraging us to learn more about the martial arts so we would be ready if there ever was a need. I’ve always excelled at sports and have deeply wanted to do my part for El; so as soon as I became old enough, I volunteered for service. Enough others joined later that, with my experience here at the embassy, I was given a higher rank. I also had to win a number of competitions. I not only did well enough to gain the rank but also to be appointed as one of Aen’s guards when she would eventually return to us.”
Torren turned partially away, troubled. They gained rank by competitions? He stared at his callused hand, knowing how he’d earned his.
“You’ve fought, haven’t you?” There was a sudden brightness in Micca’s eyes he wasn’t sure how to feel about.
“Yes, I’ve done my share.” He’d done his share and more. But thinking of this young man doing the same somehow bothered him.
“Perhaps you could teach me. Help me be more effective for Aen.” The young Flyer’s face sobered. “If I get a chance to serve her again.”
“I’m sure you will.” At least, he fervently hoped so.
A little over an hour later, the three men met in the ambassador’s office again. Rux’s color had returned, and there was a fervent gleam in his eyes.
“Torren, things have changed since you were at the capital last, but I agree fully with Micca that your unusual viewpoint could be very helpful.” He gathered a number of scrolls and passed them over. “These are for some of the people you will meet. Micca will know who they are. Mostly, they contain signed statements showing I recognize you as the son of Lar.
“Our people’s opinions of the Landers have worsened since Aen’s abduction. If the council hasn’t already informed the others of your existence, these will take care of it so there will be no question as to your identity. This will hopefully avoid some potential troubles.”
Torren flinched, realizing the necessity of what he was saying but not liking it any more than before. He took the documents and tucked them away without a word.
“Micca, I am tasking you with his protection,” Rux said seriously. “I doubt this will be easy, especially if things are as we suspect.”
“Yes, Uncle, I will.”
Torren frowned slightly, used to only relying on himself. Still, he realized in this situation he might have no choice but to rely on others. Handling people wasn’t his forte.
“Before you go, let’s sit together for a moment and ask for El’s guidance and blessing,” Rux suggested.
Torren felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck but didn’t disagree. If he did, they’d want an explanation; and he doubted no matter what he said it would be something they’d understand. That a Chosen didn’t believe in El went beyond blasphemy—it was a virtual impossibility.
Rux led the way and took them to the back of the house, to a modest round room. Intricate, realistic paintings of lush ground and sky covered the walls, as if to give the visitors the impression they were outdoors. Small benches were set in the room in a circular pattern, all facing a pedestal of marble. Atop the pedestal sat two miniature alabaster wings.
Torren stared at the symbol of his people’s god and felt nothing. He kept his expression blank as the other two took seats close to the center and bowed their heads, setting their hands thumb to thumb with the fingers held out straight—a representation of the wings before them.
Wings—the embodiment of all El meant to the Chosen. The circular temple signified their unity, and the scenes of nature their freedom to serve. It was the wings that made the Chosen stand out from the rest, that granted them their uniqueness in the world.
Wings.
Torren felt the muscles in his back twinge. Others had lost one or both, this he knew, though he’d never met any. But the loss had occurred through accid
ent, not the willful removal he’d been unable to prevent. Anger rose at the fact he’d lived through the humiliation, and he tried his best to bring it back under control. Why should he be angry? There was no god to blame. They didn’t exist.
After several minutes, the other two finished, and they left the chapel. He didn’t look back.
“It’s late enough now it should be safe for us to go,” Micca said. They were back in the ambassador’s reception room, and he was collecting the discarded parts of his disguise.
“My hopes go with you.” Rux embraced his nephew then clasped Torren’s arm. “I’m glad you’ve come back to us. I just wish it’d been under better circumstances.”
“Yes.” He didn’t agree but saw no point in saying so.
“Be careful, both of you.”
They took their leave, picking up what few extra supplies they deemed necessary. Micca led them out the side door, through an archway into the garden and from there to the embassy’s back wall. Dressed once more as a Lander, he let Torren boost him up to the top of the wall. Once settled, he held his arm down to help Torren gain a purchase as well. They disappeared down the other side into the late darkness.
Keeping to the shadows, Torren led Micca through the streets until they reached the city wall. This was where things would get tricky. To get out, they’d have to go up the wall, cross the open battlements and slip down the other side without being seen.
Most of the city guard held stationary posts, but a few made rounds. Their only advantage was the guards would be looking for trouble from without and not from within.
Keeping watch, he made sure they weren’t being observed as Micca quietly removed his pack and cloak. Flexing his wings for a moment, he nodded to him.
“I’m ready.”
Picking up Micca’s discarded things, he felt his stomach suddenly clench in nervousness. He stepped up to the wall, his back to the Flyer. “All right, let’s get it over with.”
Micca came up behind and snaked his arms through his, reaching up and over to his shoulders. Torren felt the excited Flyer’s breath fall softly against his neck as his wings spread out to either side of them. “Jump on the count of three. One—two—three!”
The two men jumped at the same time, but instead of falling back to the ground once the upward momentum was spent, gravity reaching up hungrily for them, they continued moving up. Micca’s wings flapped hard. Torren clung to his arms, not having dangled high in the air for more than half his lifetime and finding, at the moment, he wasn’t too excited at being there again. The ground continued to drop below them; and after taking a dizzying glimpse of it, he decided to keep his eyes on the wall instead.
Micca’s wings made little sound as they propelled them upwards. His grip on Torren was confident and sure.
Their ascent slowed as they neared the lip of the wall. Both peered hard to either side making sure no one was in sight. Micca carried Torren halfway over the lip, and Torren hauled his legs up until they went over it. He slid onto the battlement as Micca dipped down to get back out of sight. As soon as he slipped out of the way, Micca approached and, after setting his hands on the edge and getting as close to the wall as he could, folded his wings onto his back. Torren reached over and helped him up.
Keeping low, the two men scurried across the open to the other side. Staring down into the deep darkness there, Torren sat still as Micca once again took hold of him. His nervousness rising, he nodded, and they dropped off the edge. He closed his eyes as the wind rushed past his face, fear tearing at what was left of his stomach.
He was jerked slightly upwards as their descent abruptly slowed. Sticking as close to the wall as he dared, Micca lowered them toward the ground. As soon as they touched down, Torren sighed with heartfelt relief.
“Are you all right?” Micca asked from behind him, sounding slightly out of breath.
“Yes,” he said without turning around. “It’s just been a long time.”
Micca asked nothing else. After several minutes of waiting gave no indication they’d been seen, the Flyer put his disguise back on; and the two of them used the darkness to slink away.
Luck was with them; and the night’s sky stayed dim, ominous clouds obscuring the moons and stars. They pushed on as far as they could until the trees closed around them, making it too dark to see.
“We’ll need to stop. We can start again at first light.” He was sure Micca would protest, but there was nothing more they could do.
The Flyer heaved a long sigh. “All right.”
They settled down were they were.
Torren found his thoughts racing too fast to fall asleep. This couldn’t really be happening. He couldn’t really be going off on this fool’s errand. He wondered if he would have the nightmare again, or if it would leave him now that he was on his way.
“Torren, I wanted to thank you again for coming with me.” Micca’s soft voice drifted to him through the darkness. The gratitude he heard in the Flyer’s voice made him feel ill at ease.
“I’ve done nothing yet, and there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to.”
“Still,” Micca insisted, “I’m grateful. No matter what happens.”
Torren said nothing else.
Chapter Sixteen
The next days were a hurried blur. The two men grabbed a few hours of sleep here and there; but for the most part, they were constantly moving.
Torren was used to walking long distances, even at this hurried pace; but Micca wasn’t. With the additional restriction of having to keep his wings out of sight and his inability to fly because of it, the journey wore most on him. Horses would have speeded them along, except Micca didn’t know how to ride; and Torren had no time to teach him. The pace took its toll on him quickly, but the Flyer never slowed or complained.
So, in amazement, he watched as Micca seemed to rejuvenate before his eyes when they first caught sight of the capital floating in the distance, even as his own heart filled with dread. It was home, a place he hadn’t seen for more than sixteen years. A place he thought he’d never be returning to again—a place to which he no longer belonged.
“Come on,” Micca cried. “If we hurry, we can be there by tonight!”
Torren wasn’t looking forward to it.
The sun had sunk hours before by the time the island came overhead. Micca shed his disguise like unwanted skin, his wingtips quivering with anticipation.
“Are you sure you can carry me all the way there?” Torren asked. “I can wait here until you get some help.” His gaze never left the dark mass above them.
Micca shook his head, his face shining with eagerness. “The sooner I get you there the better. Let’s go.”
Giving in to the inevitable, Torren only nodded.
The night was still, only the sound of Micca’s flapping wings breaking the silence. As the dark mass came closer, his breathing grew more labored. Torren worked hard at trying not to let it worry him. The air grew cooler as the altitude increased.
As they neared the large mass then hovered beside it, points of light winked at them. Moonlight shone off large columns holding arched roofs. Tall spires soared into the air, their domed tops open at the sides. It stole his breath to be so close to them—his memories resonated with what he saw, reopening wounds he’d long thought healed.
Micca reached the topside of the island, grunting with strain. Now, Torren could see a faint shimmering wall covering the entirety of the island. As they passed through it, he felt a light tingling sensation wherever it touched his skin. The air warmed as they emerged inside.
As if a page were turned in a book, he remembered the field was a part of the island, part of the gift. It helped keep the islands temperate so His people could travel wherever they wanted without fear. It also lessened the power of storms and rain, quieting buffeting winds to breezes and harsh storms to gentle rainfall. When he’d actually faced a real storm on land for the first time, it’d driven him nearly into a panic, until his Lander hosts had explai
ned it was normal for them to be that way.
As soon as he could, Micca set Torren on the ground. Torren turned around as the young Flyer landed and his legs gave way under him. Sweat dripped off Micca’s face, his wings drooping to the sides.
“Are you all right?” He knelt down, concerned about the earnest young man. A twinge of fear reminded him that without the Flyer he’d be alone in this hauntingly familiar place.
“Yes…fine. Just…need a moment.” Micca lowered his head as if having trouble catching his breath. “I got you here.”
Torren almost smiled, softly shaking his head at the Flyer’s stubbornness.
“You filthy grub.”
He threw himself to the side at the sound of the voice as the point of a spear penetrated the spot where he’d been kneeling. Rolling back to his feet, he stayed crouched, hand on the pommel of his sword. A guard in bronze-colored armor stood a body’s length from him, a spear in his hands. The guard made as if to rush at him again.
“Stop!” Micca struggled to rise to his feet. “You misunderstand. He was trying to help me!” He moved between them. “And before you insult him any further, this man in not a Lander, but a Chosen. He is Torren, son of Lar. He was wounded doing El’s will.”
The guard took a stunned step back, regarding them as if he couldn’t decide what to make of them. “But he’s dressed as a Lander.”
“And so am I,” Micca spat at him. “Does that make me a Lander?” His wings shook in agitation.
The guard took another step back, his own wings drooping, yet his spear remained steady.
“I have no orders saying anyone would be coming in this evening.” He sounded defensive.
Torren took off his pack and handed it to Micca. The Flyer took the hint and hunted in the side pocket for the documents sent by his uncle.
“Here—a message from Dom Rux stating the validity of my companion’s identity. It’s been signed with his seal.”
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