Wings Unseen

by Rebecca Gomez Farrell

  Vesperi? Garadin knew only one woman by that name in Medua, and she was no candidate for royalty. “My master,”—he kept his eyes down as he addressed the Guj—“you cannot mean Vesperi Sellwyn, Lord Jahnas’s daughter?”

  “I see you have learned why you were brought here, Garadin. Good. I thought perhaps you might have trouble remembering.” He smirked. “Yes, Vesperi Sellwyn is the woman I intend to marry Ralion. Do you have an objection to that?”

  Romer plays with me. He could not consider that creature worthy of Ralion, even if Ralion was no more important than the dirt on his shoe. Garadin had to think fast. “If you mean it sincerely, then I must admit to some misgivings.” Romer gestured for him to continue. “Vesperi Sellwyn would be a grave mistake. She refuses to be tamed, and Saeth knows Lord Jahnas has tried to from the moment of her birth. He had not succeeded by the time I left Sellwyn. She has a mind of her own and ambitions, none of which suit a queen of Medua.”

  “You speak truth, which pleases me. Perhaps you have some intelligence left in that addled brain of yours. Adver Cormal, please inform our friend why I have chosen Vesperi for this honor.”

  Cormal, descended from of a pair of Rasselerian thieves, had skin always shriveled as though a fish out of water and webbed feet, though his hands bore only extra flaps of skin. He spread his fingers apart as he spoke. “She may be the silver weapon.”

  Both Garadin and Raino choked on air, but only Raino lacked the forbearance to restrain his shock after. “But that must be a lie!”

  “A lie?” Romer sounded thoughtful. “What would any of us gain from a lie like that? You know what the prophecy foretells when the weapon appears. With it, all will again be one.”

  Garadin was at a loss. “But she never—I never saw anything.” He had lived at Sellwyn Manor for a decade, had presided over her brother’s birth. She had shown no signs of possessing magic.

  “The first report of her … skill was not received until she was sent to the convent, well after you had left Sellwyn.” Nouin supplied the details as he burned the sheets by candle flame, filling the room with the smell of smoke and ashes, but thankfully no incense. The advers did not keep altars at Mandat Hall. “We did not think much of it then. A nun died, and the Sellwyn girl saw her last. But Cormal reported a shift in the field that same day.”

  “A Rasselerian feels a breeze the same day a nun goes missing and this is considered proof of the weapon?” Garadin was surprised Romer could be taken in so easily.

  “That is not all, old man.” Nouin did not hide his disdain. “Cormal came to us again three weeks ago reporting the same sensation he had had then. A fortnight later, we received word from Lord Sellwyn that a suitor of Vesperi’s had gone missing. He was certain his daughter had something to do with it and asked, again, for her banishment.”

  Panic’s fingers grasped at Garadin’s throat. This will not turn out well, not with that girl involved. He pleaded with Romer. “But if she is the weapon foretold, then why have you not killed her? Why would you bring her here instead? The prophecy implies she will destroy us!”

  Romer picked up an apple from a bowl near his bed. He pulled a sharpened bone from his robe and sliced into the fruit, making a multitude of fast, precise incisions. “To keep her close, of course. I am not yet convinced she poses a threat. None have seen her wield the gift. And if she does have it, well”—he retied the makeshift blade to his robe then tossed the apple in the air, and it fell, splitting into dozens of strips, each one twisting as it sank to the floor—“I will deal with her. As of now, with or without magic, she may prove useful to us. Rather, she may be the perfect weapon for our needs. A woman with a mind of her own filled with a thirst for power? It will not take more than offering her the queenhood to sway her to our purposes.”

  Garadin knew better than to disagree. Romer had plans—foolhardy plans—but the timbre of his voice brokered no argument. If Vesperi was the weapon, then the prophecy was true and the Guj could do nothing to stop it. The silver weapon would be the end of their rule, the end of Medua. Garadin needed a plan to survive if the empire fell, a plan that involved getting as far away from civilization as possible.

  “You will bring her here.”

  For a moment, Garadin let himself imagine the Guj’s brown eyes were not on him.

  “Sellwyn will welcome you, will he not?”

  Garadin nodded. There was no use denying it. He and Jahnas had bonded right away, like men with a keen eye for self-preservation. “Yes, my master.”

  “First thing in the morning, you will leave for Sellwyn. Bring this letter with you.” Romer snapped his fingers, and Adver Nouin handed over a piece of parchment sealed with an imprinted fist, the mark of Saeth. “Entreat Sellwyn to give her up. She will come cheaply, I suspect.”

  Garadin raised his elbows. “As you wish.”

  CHAPTER 16

  JANTO

  Free time was not to come until after the climb, and that would not come until tomorrow evening, or so Sielban said over their breakfast table two weeks into the Murat. The slim man leapt from one edge of the table to another, balancing on his toes. His excitement was probably the most mysterious thing Janto had seen since the Murat began, but it made everyone else nervous. The plates and glasses shook with each footfall, yet Sielban made no sound as he landed.

  “How many attempt to climb the mount?”

  As each man raised his hand, Janto counted: Nap, Rall, Tonim, Flivio, and Hamsyn, who surprised Janto. Neville was not known for its rough terrain, and Hamsyn was a hunter who kept his bow, called the Old Girl, always nearby. It was a treasure, strung with silver thread and carved by his grandfather out of cherrywood that had been preserved in Rasseleria’s swamps since ancient times.

  “Excellent!” Sielban clasped his webbed hands together. “The rest of us will camp at the base, ready to assist if anyone has need. You will begin in an hour. Meet us at the edge of the grasses.” Then he disappeared, causing Rall’s cup to clatter to the table.

  “I wish he would stop doing that.”

  The others laughed as Flivio teased, “You must work on your wishes, friend, because I see no hope of that man staying where he can be found.” Flivio dipped his spoon back into his bowl of steaming oats.

  Rall brandished his sausage toward Janto. “I thought you were to be my competition!”

  Janto cringed. “I may have been speaking above my skill level that night,” he offered by way of explanation. “And if you’ve paid any attention to my scrambling down the steeper bends, you’d know I speak truer now than I did then.”

  The other men laughed, but Nap clapped his shoulder. “A wise man knows his boundaries,” he considered.

  “And we’ll have the pleasure of being waited on by a prince for the only time in our lives,” Flivio finished with a sly grin.

  Nap finished his thornberry tea, placing his mug back on the table. “I best be off to ready my pack for this Feat.” The Wasylim raised his elbows and went in search of the path.

  “He is right.” Hamsyn laid down a half-eaten salmon pie. “I’m also off to pack.”

  Hamsyn rose to leave, but Janto waved him over, selecting a few items from the table that would keep: dried slivers of dark, peppered craval meat and thin wafers flecked with anise and rye seeds. He slipped them inside his pouch and handed it all over to Hamysn. “Take this. I’m certain Sielban has ways of knowing if any of you fare badly, but this climb will be tough, and you should keep nourishment nearby.”

  Hamsyn gave his thanks, stringing the pouch over his neck.

  Rall laughed from the other end of the table. “I would hope my fellow climbers knew to bring food! I would hope it went without saying, but if not, all the better for me.” The seasoned climber made his way with Hamsyn in the direction Nap had disappeared. Tonim and Flivio looked sheepish as they, too, gathered food from the table. Jerusho and Janto exchanged glances and tried not to laugh, sharing the same thought: Thank Madel, I’m not climbing that peak.

&
nbsp; Janto’s boots hit the ground, and the release of his muscles felt so good, he fell to the ground and kissed it. The climb had started in the dusky pink grasses on the south face of Mount Frelom, their sticky seed pods dotting his pants, but black sand dominated here. He had delivered a fresh canteen to Rall on the northern face through a series of moving platforms that ascended it, powered by a force Janto could not name. It was his and Jerusho’s job to go up them when one of the climbers called for aid. They used ropes to rappel down after. Apparently, Janto had taken a wrong turn—or several of them. He had hoped to make it back before the climbers did, but the starting line could not be seen, meaning this was the western side of the mountain. The sea between Braven and northern Rasseleria was a thin line of white above the dark sand.

  They complained, but he forced his legs to start walking and fast, following the base of the mountain. The chill air felt like a steam bath compared to where he had just been. Climbing was definitely not for him. He wanted to lie down on the sand for hours and let it warm his skin. He hoped his fellow man of the plains fared better.

  As he walked, a brown speck appeared on the horizon over the water. It grew closer with each step he took. Janto felt foreboding, remembering the last time he had seen something curious approach from afar, a horse and its feather-cloaked rider. Why would someone come to Braven and interrupt the Murat? It was unheard of. He murmured a prayer to Madel that Serra and his parents were safe.

  By the time his legs had stopped aching, the speck had morphed into a canoe, and he could make out a few dark-haired heads within it. They reached the shore as Janto reached the edge of the beach where the grasses took over in earnest. To the east, he could make out Jerusho’s form standing near their small camp.

  Sielban walked briskly in Janto’s direction. He must have seen the paddlers. His teacher’s suit blended in effortlessly with the line of trees in the distance. There was no concern on Sielban’s face when he reached him.

  “There is a boat.” Janto gestured toward it.

  Sielban peered at him, his head cocked to one side. “Do boats always cause you such concern, princeling? We are on an island.”

  Janto sputtered. “I did not realize you knew them, Teacher. I thought it might be trouble.”

  Sielban flicked his tongue. “They come every day from the shore with our provisions and to prepare our meals.” His sparkling eyes conveyed his amusement. “You must be a Lanserim first, Janto Albrecht, before you can be anything else. And Lanserim do not jump to conclusions so fast. Not everything is a mystery.” His tongue lingered in the air for a moment. “And now you will excuse me. I must be fast before my next task.”

  Janto knew he should offer to help unload, but he was flabbergasted.

  He leaned back against the mountain’s slope and watched as the three men and Sielban piled a cart he had failed to notice with frozen bundles of meat, sacks of grain, and jugs of teas and ale. Laughter mixed with short gasps of pain drew his attention elsewhere. Near the base camp, Janto could make out two climbers coming down the mountain’s path, carrying something between them.

  “And now, my next task,” came Sielban’s voice by his ear, making Janto jump. How had he crossed the distance so fast? Sielban grinned then hurried over to the camp. Janto trailed behind him.

  Jerusho reached the climbers first. Janto heard him bellow, “What happened? Did you reach the crest then impale yourself on it?”

  Hamsyn and Tonim, shirtless, carried a contraption of ripped tunics strung across tree branches. A form answered from within the pallet. “If only. The women at home might forgive my voice if I had managed the Feat.” Flivio’s sharp timbre was unmistakable. “I lost a foothold and slid many yards until my leg got stuck inside a crevice. These two heard my manly cries of pain and reached me thirty minutes later—”

  Hamsyn cut in. “Ten minutes later. You were not so far ahead of us as that!”

  Flivio laughed, though pain furrowed his brow. “Can I save no pride? I am a man in pain here!”

  Sielban shook his head at that. “A child with pains from broken bones. You are lucky to be on Braven. And to have such good friends to aid you.” He waved his hand over an unnatural lump below Flivio’s left knee, the size of Mar Pina’s enormous meatballs. Janto grimaced, imagining how it must feel.

  Sielban held his hand out flat then curled it into a fist and released it. Flivio bolted upright, his head covered in sweat but his face relaxed with relief.

  “Teacher”—his tone was nearly worshipful—“thank you.”

  Sielban raised his elbows. “You are welcome. And before you ask it, no, you may not return to your climb. You are not healed yet. I can only set things right so time can do the rest. You must remain off your leg and stay down here with us, and you must drink plenty of water.”

  Flivio nodded in obedience, the quietest Janto had ever seen him. Hamsyn and Tonim lifted him up by the armpits, each man under one shoulder. The wounded man umphed at the effort. He wiggled his hurt leg as they deposited him on a bale of pink grasses.

  “Men,” Sielban addressed the rescuers, “you may return to your climbs, if you wish.”

  Janto stood agape at Sielban’s choice of words, but the others did not seem to notice. Another utterance to ponder later.

  Tonim laughed, his dark blond hair shifting as he shook it. “There is no hope of catching up. Flivio was on Nap’s tail up the southern face, but no one has seen Rall for hours. Better to stay here and celebrate victory with them. Besides, I should keep an eye on my brother.”

  “Agreed,” said Hamsyn, “and I have learned climbing is not my Feat.”

  Janto scooped up each man’s canteen and took them to the water bucket, returning full ones to a round of thank yous. Hamsyn took his in silence, lost in thought before addressing Sielban. “Teacher, I am uncertain what my Feat should be. I had thought it hunting, but my skills are nearly useless in the cover of Braven’s woods and climbing is not my strength. I’m adequate at archery but hopeless at racing far distances—the burning in my lungs rises far too fast. What should I pursue here? I am afraid my Murat will know no victories.”

  Sielban cocked his head. “How many men have you known who have been to the Murat?”

  “Not many. Two of my village’s council. The man who runs Carafin’s markets mentioned he had gone when news got out that my application was accepted. There is the king—” he glanced briefly at Janto “—and his man, Ser Gomalyn, who comes to inspect our holdings once a year.”

  “Have any of these men told you what titles they claimed at the Murat?”

  “Well, no, though the king, of course, won the archery Feat in his year.” Janto had heard the honor brought up many times by servants and members of the council, but it struck him now that his father had never boasted of hitting thirty bull’s-eyes in only fifty minutes of competition.

  “Did you wonder what the others had won, after you met them?”

  Hamsyn stared toward the woods as he considered the question. “Well, no, I was too impressed by them. Each man struck me as someone to admire, and I enjoyed being with them, talking with them. I don’t even know what my councilmen achieved.”

  Sielban flicked his tongue over his teeth. “I have lived here many years, training men for Lansera and its good fortune. They have all been champions when they left, though there are never more than a few with a title to their names. For most, those come with time.” He cocked his head to the other side. “You have learned limits, Nevillim, which is more than most men can say. Do not worry about a title. You are already succeeding here.”

  Hamsyn’s lips curved up. “Thank you, Teacher.”

  Sielban raised his elbows but quickly dropped them, cupping a hand to his left ear as though the wind spoke to him. His lips moved wordlessly for a moment, then he declared, “This Feat is nearing its end. The rest of you should see to water and food for our last few climbers. The victor will soon win his acclaim.” He winked at Hamsyn. “Not all Muraters win fame for F
eats, but the celebrations do provide a nice change for one as long on Braven as I.”

  Sielban leapt toward the woods, disappearing faster than Janto could blink.

  They had dealt a second round of Sloshed Ryn when Rall came around the mountain’s curve. He was exhausted, stumbling forward. Janto grabbed a filled canteen as he rushed over to greet him.

  “Did you reach the peak?” He tilted the water into Rall’s opened mouth. “Were you the first?”

  Water dribbled down his tired face, but there was no mistaking his satisfaction. Janto hugged him. “He did it!” he called out to the others who were soon upon them. “He defeated Mount Frelom!”

  Hamsyn hopped from foot to foot, while Tonim clapped Rall’s back. Jerusho remained at the supplies with Flivio resting his leg. “Congratulations, Rall! First name for the record books!”

  Rall wiped a dribble of water from his chin. “Thank you, all of you. And I aim to gloat, but I may collapse first.” To Janto, he said, “More water, please,” and then, “Nap is not far behind.”

  Janto was relieved to hear it. He knew Braven was safe, and yet with Flivio’s fall, he had been anxious. He went to fetch more water, thinking of the feast the sailors were preparing.

  “It is almost ready,” Sielban whispered into his ear, making him jump. “But first, you must listen to their tales. A good king always gives his men their glory.”

  What did I do to merit that piece of advice? Their reappeared teacher offered Rall his congratulations, and Janto went back to wait at the path.

  He did not have to wait long. Nap’s short, stocky shadow rounded the bend in no more than ten minutes.

  “Second.” He looked disappointed but mostly exhausted as Janto gave him water. “But what a place to be the first loser! The view from the peak before the angels came”—Janto’s brow arched and Nap reconsidered—“well, not angels, maybe, but little creatures that floated on wisps of air and spoke my name.” Nap clasped his hands. “I swear I’m not crazy. That’s what I saw. And the view! It was amazing. You would think the clouds would obscure it, but I swear I might have seen your city’s sparkling bridge from there.”