Dylori eyed the pendant. “Did you get a new lover I don’t know about, Misti? They have a terrible eye for trinkets.” When her dark eyes flicked up to meet Misti’s, Dylori’s grin melted into a frown.
“It’s not mine. That Divus put it on me.”
Panic pressed Misti’s voice up an octave. She tried to pry the pendant away from her skin, but a painful burst of heat forked from the orb and traveled through her shoulders, neck, and chest, making her cry out. The pendant didn’t budge, but something around her neck did—a thin silver chain. Emboldened, she tugged on the chain, but it merely slid around her neck. Loose enough to tug on, but not enough to pull over her head and certainly not with the pendant fused to her skin. She looked at Dylori, terror building once more like a wave surging inside her.
“It’s not mine, Dylori, it’s not mine, and it’s not coming off.”
Dylori scooted forward, removing her gauntlets and putting a hand on Misti’s shoulder. The gentle pressure calmed Misti, if only a little. Her shoulder tingled under Dylori’s hand, even now—a feeling that had nothing to do with her rising anxiety—but she ignored the sensation.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t come off?” Dylori reached for the white orb, but Misti slapped her hand away.
“Don’t touch it! I don’t know what it does.”
“Okay.” Dylori pulled back and pointed toward the forest where the banished one had vanished. “That crafter put it on you?”
“Yes, and there was another crafter—an Elu—who slipped through the ranks, too. I tried to catch him, but—”
Heat crept up the back of her neck. Should I tell Dylori that my crafting vanished, if only for a moment? Dylori would have questions and she’d have to tell Met’zil Zarious, their commander. Then he’d interrogate her, and it couldn’t have been the Elu that stopped her from crafting. It couldn’t have been. Surely my stupid fear kept me from using my ability. But to admit that she had been afraid, even after seasons of training, would be dishonorable. Not at all like a Moon Knight. Not at all like a Vagari.
Clearing her throat, Misti looked at Dylori. “I tried to catch him, but he got away.”
Dylori sighed and tucked a lock of her black hair behind her ear, some shorter gray strands falling over her eyes. The gray wove in and out of her darker locks, creating a pattern much like her neades’ coat. The lighter coloring wasn’t from age, but rather a mark of her neades bloodline, just like the light gray lines that extended from her hairline and formed the points of a v at her eyes, and the tiny black horns jutting out above her ears.
“Again?”
“I’m sorry,” Misti murmured, shame burning a path along her skin.
Dylori reached out, almost as if to cup Misti’s cheek, but then she seemed to think better of it and her hand landed on Misti’s shoulder again. The weight was surely meant to be comforting, but guilt made Misti wince. This very mistake was one of the reasons she was still a Zil, a new moon, lowest in the ranks. Misti stared at the nearly full moon etched into Dylori’s chest plate, the same symbol etched into the hilt of her sword. They had entered the Moon Knights at the same time, had become fast friends during their basic training, yet Dylori had made it to T’zil before her. She had to be promoted sometime. Not only to get more coin and supplies to send to her siblings, but to become braver, stronger, more powerful to face them in person. To face her parents.
“Try not to worry. We’ll catch that sunbaked Elu,” Dylori said, though her words betrayed her concern as she slipped into her southern accent, getting faster and faster with each word. Dylori gave Misti a gentle shake and a reassuring smile. “And that banished Blood crafter who decided you’re sweet enough to warrant a necklace. We’ll figure out a way to get that thing off you, too. How do you feel?”
Surprisingly, Misti felt okay. The orb had cooled, the pain had subsided, and her strength had almost completely returned. Besides, Dylori’s calming presence was lifting Misti’s spirits. “I felt really sick at first, like a Blood crafter had a hand to my skin and sucked the life from me, but that feeling’s gone now. It seems like whatever this pendant was supposed to do had failed.”
Dylori eyed the orb. “Good,” she said in a low voice. “We should tell Met’zil Zarious what happened as soon as we get back. He’d know what to do about this. And in the meantime, we should help the others.”
Dylori closed her eyes, a soft orange glow forming behind her lids, and her neades shuffled over. He looked at her—his dark oval eyes reflecting the twilight—and nudged his horns into her side, digging a small groove into the ground with a front hoof. Chuckling, she pushed a hand into the thick fur on one of his front legs. “Not you, Dis, you’re too big to go crashing through the forest.” But her neades kept pushing at her, grunting and huffing, and she laughed, the orange glow behind her eyes fading.
Misti laughed a little, reaching out to scratch the neades. The thick fur was soft under her fingers. Comforting, too. “Sorry, big guy.” She turned to Dylori. “Here, I’ll do it.”
Calling up her crafting once more, Misti searching the forest for something smaller than Dis, something much smaller. Sneakier. A flock of strixis caught her attention, and she called one to her. A few moments later, two tiny strixis flew down from the trees and landed on Misti’s knee. Their long claws dug deep into Misti’s unarmored knee, and she grimaced at the sudden needling pain. The birds were adorable, though, and a small smile lifted Misti’s lips from their cuteness. Misti stroked one of them. The strixi tilted its head, ruffled its brown-and-white-speckled feathers, and curled up its long, white-feathered tail as it waited for Misti’s command. Misti called up an image of the attackers in her mind before giving the strixi a few simple orders: “Find them. Note their location. Tell me.” The one she had connected with gave a soft coo and hopped once, twice, before flying off into the forest in the same direction the banished Elu had fled. Its friend followed after the banished Divus.
“There. They’ll keep searching long after our group returns.” Misti ran a hand over the back of her neck. “At least I did something right today.”
Only then did Misti notice the odd look Dylori gave her, a curious expression flitting across her dark eyes as they caught the last rays of the sun. Dylori’s lips curled slowly upward, and she seemed to rouse herself from wherever her mind had taken her. She rose to her feet, pulling Misti up with her. Their armor clanked a bit, sounding louder than ever because of the quiet. The neades gave a little huff and shoved his stumpy horns gently into Dylori’s shoulder. He blinked at her. Smirking, she reached into her belt and proffered a few leaves, letting Dis lick them off her palm.
Watching them, a deep ache formed in Misti’s chest, intensified now that the adrenaline from the battle had faded. I hope Zora’s okay. Zora had been injured in their first attempt at battling this group of banished folk. Misti had been in the back then, too, but she had sent Zora forward, figuring her little vulnix could slash a few eyes at least. Zora had been busy attacking a banished one when a second came from behind. Zora spun around, but the second one was fast and sliced her stomach open. Misti remembered the terror at seeing her vulnix hit the ground, orange blood gushing from the wound. She had left her post then, but none of the knights judged her for it. She had saved Zora, but couldn’t heal her completely, and now Zora was being tended to back at Amiin, more than two nights’ hard travel south. Her hand drifted to the orange feather tied behind her ear—Zora’s gift to her when they parted, so Misti could always have a piece of her.
Being separated from her vulnix had left a tiny hole in Misti’s heart. Vagari were meant to have companion animals from their bloodline, meant to use their Animal crafting to commune with them, meant to be together always. It hurt her deeply that her command had left her friend so badly wounded that neither she nor their own Divus could heal her entirely.
Misti fingered the chain around her neck, rubbing the loose metal between her fingers. Now that the pendant seemed to be inactive and her initial fea
rs had subsided, the chain bothered her. Putting a chain around a pendant intended to fuse to someone’s skin seemed a dumb idea and fusing a necklace to a person’s skin seemed worse. What kind of crafting could do that? She touched her skin around the pendant. It wasn’t sensitive, didn’t feel agitated. Judging from the searing heat it had given off initially, she really didn’t want to know what the skin under the silver metal looked like. It doesn’t make sense.
Dylori playfully shoved her neades away and began the task of pulling together the dead bodies. The Moon Knights always buried their kills, both to help with the smell and out of respect. The ground would pull any nutrients from the dead and return them to dust. Misti helped, pushing the bodies into the crevasse Dylori’s neades had made. Dis shoved rocks and dirt over the bodies. They finished just in time to see the other Moon Knights return.
Dylori wiped at the sweat gathering on her brow. “Find them?”
Stee Marii shook his head, and then glared at Misti. “We’ll have to tell Met’zil Zarious that she let them get away again. That’s what…the third time this cycle?” His voice, though soft and smooth, cut Misti deeply.
It was the second time, but Misti didn’t bother to correct him, glancing at the dirt.
Dylori cuffed him on the side of his head. “Only the second, Marii. Don’t go blowing things out of proportion. Could’ve happened to any of us.”
“Useless vulnix bloodlines,” Stee grumbled, rubbing his head. His eneeraa drifted up from where it had been by his feet and swirled around his shoulders. From the way his shoulders relaxed, the eneeraa’s action seemed to comfort him.
Misti bristled at the vulnix comment, but her anger faded into anxiousness as she watched Stee’s companion, her skin prickling. Eneeraa creeped her out. Their bodies appeared to be formed of gray smoke, but with eyes and teeth and claws. But the bloodline was rare and made Stee particularly strong and hard to hit, just like the eneeraa itself. A Vagari worth his salt.
When the other four Moon Knights continued to grumble, Dylori spoke up again. “Misti sent two strixis out to search for them. We should go back to the village and meet up with Met’zil Zarious. Tell him what happened, how two got away, and how Misti has a new piece of jewelry that can’t mean anything good.”
Stee cocked a gray eyebrow. “Jewelry?”
Misti pointed at the white orb on her chest. The other Moon Knights gathered around, peering at it. She tried not to move away and tugged at her ear a little, uncomfortable with all of them staring at her. Moon above, why’d it have to be me?
Dylori shouldered her way through the small crowd. “All right, knights, staring will do nothing. Let’s head out.”
The others nodded, and Stee led the way back to the Vagari village. Night drew closer around them, like a blanket after a hard day, and Misti welcomed it, knowing they would be safer in the dark, away from suncreatures. She walked a bit behind the others, ignoring their snide comments, especially from Stee. He heckled her often, and her skin wasn’t tough enough to take it. No matter how much she tried to laugh it off, she’d always been sensitive to taunting, especially since she felt like most of their comments rang true. The fact that she’d let not one but two banished folk get away meant they’d have to stay here longer, hunting them down.
Then there were the suncreatures—vile beasts that roamed these lands and attacked innocents. This part of Whels wasn’t as bad as the southern area, but the long summer days meant the suncreatures were at their worst. While most villages were stationed nearby the larger cities for protection, some folk built their homes past the city guard limits. Those brave, foolish, headstrong villagers—Misti couldn’t quite decide—needed the Moon Knight’s protection more than ever. The villagers knew to stay out of sight during the day, but it was part of the Moon Knights’ creed to kill all suncreatures they met. Met’zil Zarious had ordered the knights out every single day since they’d been here, nearly two crescents in all.
It was clear by the sluggish way the group moved that the fighting had tired them. Stee, who usually was the most vibrant, kept his head down and shoulders rounded as they marched. Even Dylori moved slowly tonight.
Misti kept her eyes on the trees while they walked, but she didn’t see the two banished ones that had gotten away or the strixis she had sent out. Nighttime sounds filled her ears—the hum of bugs, the huffs of companion animals, the cracking of twigs underfoot. A cool breeze whispered through the trees, and she breathed in deep, drawing comfort from the sweet air. They passed by a few bushes of zora, that had inspired her companion animal’s name, their flowers glowing a soft reddish orange. She touched the feather behind her ear again. Misti lifted her gaze to the sky, empty save for some spiky pibra branches and stars. No moon hung there this night.
Their walk took longer than expected, their torpid march tiring even to her. The hours passed in silence, with only a whispered conversation or two breaking the soft sounds of the night. When Misti looked ahead, she saw the white glow of daygems raised on high poles marking the outskirts of the village, but she had expected to see those lights much sooner. The knights normally weren’t that slow, even after a fight. Odd, but I bet it’s just exhaustion. Yawning, Misti shook off her worries when the first villagers came out to greet them.
Dylori stepped forward, clasping a brown-haired man’s arm. “You should be safe now. We dealt with the bulk of the banished ones.”
“Thank you, T’zil Clyofis,” the man said. “May the darkness ever enshroud you.”
“You as well,” Dylori replied with a soft smile.
While that smile was meant for the villager, Misti couldn’t help but appreciate how the expression lit up Dylori’s features. The glow of the daygems settled gently on Dylori, accenting her armor, her sword, the etching in the metal, and Misti found she couldn’t look away. The soft light made even Dylori’s scars—a jagged one on her cheek and a tiny one on her right ear—seem pleasant. She made for a stunning sight. The knights regaled the villagers with the amazing frontal assault she and her neades managed to pull off, and the villagers looked at Dylori in awe.
A young woman in a blue wraparound dress rushed over and kissed Dylori, who returned the gesture with gusto. Even more cheers erupted. Misti watched long enough to recognize the striped pattern on the woman’s skin that marked her as of a laria bloodline. She knew this was the same woman Dylori had spent the night with before they had left. Misti averted her gaze, heat rising to her cheeks and ears. She always said to Dylori that she hated public displays, but it was a lie. If she could only manage to be like Dylori one night, flaunting her love like that and being so strong with the sword, she’d be the happiest Vagari in Whels. One night, maybe. And if the person receiving that affection just happened to be Dylori, well, that would be more than a dream come true. Her ears grew hotter.
Misti kept to the edge of the village, letting the others bask in the glow of victory. Now that they had returned, the group seemed livelier, joking, slapping each other on the back, petting their companion animals, and chatting with the villagers. Misti took in the village they had saved, her gaze sliding over the thatch-roofed homes, the bathhouse in the center, the food and supplies in carts, the dirt roads, and the dozens of daygems hanging from poles, lighting up the area so the people could do as they pleased in the safety of night. Merchants set up their wares by the bathhouse in a small market and sleepy children tumbled out of their homes to have their first meal and play together; workers headed out to earn their night’s keep. Three older men sat in a circle by a crackling fire, laying out hand-carved sticks and painted rocks in rows to play a rustic version of noi-sao. Fruit-speckled bread sat in the center, the prize waiting for the victor.
Tiredness still pulled at Misti, though, more so than the others it seemed. She ran a hand over the pendant, remembering how her strength had waned when the crafter pushed it into her skin. That waning stopped, she thought. Misti rubbed her forehead, trying in vain to quell her worries.
After a mo
ment, Misti realized she was being watched by a young girl, maybe seven or so. “I like your eyes,” the girl chirped, her voice fast and clipped like a bird’s. “Orange is my favorite color.”
“Mine, too.” Misti gave her a smile. She must’ve never seen someone with a vulnix bloodline before. Every vulnix Vagari had multicolored eyes, and Misti was no different. One of her eyes was orange, the other blue. The girl’s gaze drifted down, locking onto the white orb, so Misti clasped her chest plate back into place. She had left it unclasped during their walk, letting it hang under her arm and enjoying the cool night air. The young girl wiggled from her mother’s grasp and pattered over, her white dress fluttering behind her. The mother, an older woman with a feather pattern on her neck and arms clad in a similar dress, watched them.
“Pretty!” the girl whispered, pulling on Misti’s rough pants just below her cuisses and pointing up at her neck. The girl had the same markings as her mother: a light feather pattern down her neck, arms, and even her legs. A strixi bloodline, perhaps. “Can I see it again?”
“You’re kind, but no, you can’t see it again.” Misti shooed the child away, hesitant about this orb around her neck. A gnawing sensation began in the pit of her stomach, and she had a feeling that something much worse was yet to come.
The girl’s mother called for her daughter to return, but the girl didn’t seem to hear. Her eyes and feather pattern glowed orange, and she lifted into the air in front of Misti.
“But I—” The girl stopped, her orange glow dimming, and she sank quickly to the ground, landing on her feet. At first Misti thought it was because her mother had called her back and figured the girl would rush back to her mother’s side, but she continued to sink, slumping over. What’s happening? A dull heat pulsed at Misti’s neck, and the girl’s eyes closed. The girl’s mother rushed over and pulled her child into her arms. Realization dawned and Misti cried out at the same time as the mother.
Sunkissed Feathers & Severed Ties Page 2