Wings Unseen

by Rebecca Gomez Farrell

  “Thank you. I would like to speak with Ryn Gylles.” She trusted him, and she needed someone to confide in. There was too much pounding in her brain to keep it all hidden. She raised her elbows to Rynna Gemni in dismissal, remembering too late she had no right to do so here. Habits are hard to break.

  “Time for one of our walks, then?” Ryn Gylles took her arm. “I want to know what the princess thinks of insect migration—”

  She interrupted him with a hug.

  “Wha–what?”

  She released her hold. “I will miss you. I have grown accustomed to our walks.”

  “As have I.” He was frozen with disbelief. “But are you certain you’re all right? You have never done something like that before.”

  “I do have an ulterior motive,” she admitted as Gylles led her past the huts and toward a path they had not taken before. “I have questions, and I need answers. Part of me wants to go back to Callyn and pretend that much I have seen here never happened. And part of me cannot help but wonder, though it makes me fear to learn the truth. Answer my questions, Ryn Gylles? Please?” She used the voice that had always succeeded in convincing Janto to stay with her rather than attend to his duties.

  Ryn Gylles quieted. “I am not permitted to answer them all, but I can sense that making you wait any longer would not be right. The Brothers may be Madel’s hands, but She speaks to us in our bones. Ask your questions, Serra. I will answer what I’m allowed to.”

  It was a small one, but the best window she’d been given this whole time. She jumped through it. “Why am I here?”

  “You accepted an invitation.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He chuckled at her obvious consternation. “Of course, what you want to know is why you were invited. Asking the right questions is of utmost importance.” He patted her shoulder, and some of her annoyance drained away. She wanted to be angry with him, but she wanted to be done with this emotional tug of war more.

  “What you wanted to know is that you have a role to play in the future of Lansera, if you choose to play it. And no,” he responded to the befuddlement on her face, “it is not that of future princess and someday queen. Serra of Lansera is more important.”

  More riddles. “I was brought here to learn I will not marry Janto?” Simply thinking it made her temple thud. It could never be true. “That’s ridiculous! He loves me. He cannot have found another woman on Braven.”

  “I did not say that, Serra. But I cannot tell you more, not yet. And why you were brought here is not why you needed Rynna Gemni’s attention earlier. Tell me what happened.”

  “Why should I? You will not tell me a thing. Why should I confide in you?” She crossed her arms and made to walk in front and lead, but she did not know where the path went, and the mangrove roots thick-ened with each step.

  “The mist and orbs you see are signs of Madel’s presence. Not spiritual ones, like the peacefulness after a ritual, but physical ones.”

  She stopped short at his words, and a jocal fly landed on her arm. The short, sharp pinprick of its needle was enough to doom it. She smote it then rubbed the remains on a nearby tree trunk. By then, she felt she could speak. “You have seen them, too?”

  “No. Only you can see them, Serra.”

  Impossible. Yes, no one else had mentioned seeing the same marvels she had. But you have not asked anyone either. The thought filled her with dread. The strange occurrences made her nervous and afraid, yet she had not bothered another soul to see if they—the very people attuned to Madel’s spirit or at least trying to be—had also seen it. Maybe it was the answer to this question she feared.

  “Why would only I see such a thing? I was not supposed to be here in the first place.”

  “You have some interesting ideas about fate. It’s as though you believe events just happen to you, and you have no role in making them so. You were invited to come here, but an invitation does not require a yes.”

  “But I couldn’t say no. It would have embarrassed King Albrecht if I declined a Brother’s invitation. I could not risk that. My place, well, surely you know with my family … my brother … I am not in the habit of denying the king what he expects.”

  “I thought you had learned that things are not always what they seem. That sometimes a disloyal brother can be a man reformed? Or a king perhaps not as stalwart as you imagined? Do you always let others’ expectations guide you so easily?”

  Rarely had Gylles’s conversations been so pointed. Yes, she had wanted to avoid the king’s disapproval, but she had said yes to get away … and to learn more of the Brothers. The thought did not sit well with her.

  “Do you still say you had no choice?”

  She shook her head. The humidity was relentless as they walked, a wool blanket drenched in hot water.

  “Ryn Gylles, where are we going?” She did not want to head so far into the woods, and she had learned to dread not knowing what might be up ahead. The fog was so dense, it was impossible to see more than a foot through it.

  “You have a choice to make, Serra, not the one the initiates are making. That is important for their lives, but your choice affects us all.”

  “Then what is the choice? I am so tired of being led like a child with a blindfold over my eyes, grasping at feathers I cannot see.”

  To her surprise, Gylles smiled at her tone of voice. “Well, Lady Gavenstone, let us get you your answers.”

  He leaned against something—perhaps a boulder? It was so hard to see—and then he disappeared. She took a few steps toward where he had stood. Then she gasped as the muddy ground gave way beneath her.

  CHAPTER 20

  JANTO

  Something shimmered in the corner of his eye, and Janto did not dare to breathe. There it was, every bit as shiny as granfaylon scales. Its eyes locked with his, as though teasing him closer. Then it flitted into the woods. This might be destined, but that did not mean it would be easy.

  He ran after the stag, eyeing the low bushes that covered the ground between pine trees. There were a few cracked branches in the direction the stag had retreated, an almost glaringly obvious trail for an impossible creature to leave. Janto did not give it much thought, though he suspected seeing a granfaylon in the flesh may have boosted his confidence. After watching that fish waver between a physical presence here and … elsewhere … he had no doubt the stag was real. The dung that assaulted his nostrils confirmed it.

  Janto found it ten yards ahead, nearly obscured by thick branches in this darker stretch of forest. Its distinctive silver coat shone through the gaps. A few light steps closer, and Janto could make it out entirely. The stag was slighter than he’d thought it would be—the lustrous halo from its coat made it appear a few inches wider around than it was. It kept its head down and eyes unblinking as it ate weeds at the base of a tree, but it would not be caught off guard.

  Janto eased a bolt out of his quiver and lined it up against the taut thread of the Old Girl. It slid into the groove on his index finger with a wince of pain—he had taken aim so many times the past few weeks, but this morning’s failed attempt had worn a new sore into his callused fingers. He cringed, enough to startle the stag anew. Janto cursed and replaced the bolt.

  He did not think of the prophecy as he made his way to the recently vacated tree. No words of grandeur filled his mind, of blessed will he who binds it be, only a certainty he would do this, he could do this. The softer ground at the base of the tree made picking out the stag’s tracks easy. They were distinctive from other deer, a narrow heart split in two, and left with a soft tread, its presence barely more than a fevered dream. Excitement surged through him, making his skin tingle. Pursuing the stag had proven so simple once he’d let himself believe it possible.

  A few telltale broken branches caught his eye to the left. Such clear signs did not take much concentration to follow, so he let himself get a little distracted, his thoughts going where they always did, to Serra. He pictured the pride on her face when he returned,
slayer of the silver stag, and envisioned his mother right behind her, a more relaxed pride just as visible in her smile. He could not wait to see them both, to have finally accomplished something in his life beyond good manners.

  The stag again came into view, and Janto narrowed his eyes. It nosed at the jalif bushes at its feet, the striped purple and white fruit disappearing a handful at a time in its muzzle. The air smelled of moss and herbs. Janto moved steadily, stringing the bolt on the Old Girl faster than the stag’s nose quivered. Its antlers, limed with a white opalescence, shone though little light made its way through the tree cover. Janto slid his finger onto the thread, pulling it taut. He released it, and the arrow skimmed right over the stag’s head, hitting a nearby stump with a thwunk. The stag bolted, and Janto cursed, his advantage lost. Adrenaline coursed through him, and he gave up all pretense of quiet advance—this was a chase!

  An hour and a half later, his smile had been replaced with a flat, determined line. Orange and purple slivers of sunset made it through the canopy. He had kept pace with the stag, but the animal should have collapsed by then. Yet every time Janto reached shooting distance, it visibly tensed before racing into ever darker woods. Janto could see only the brilliance of its antlers at the distance between them. He continued after it, not pressing himself too hard. The stag could sprint for a while longer, but Janto knew he would outlast it if he didn’t let it too far out of sight.

  Time passed; the redbirds fell silent. Thoughts of Serra and his mother were gone. Only this singular purpose weighed on his mind, like he had been sharpened into a tracking tool. Be patient. Wait until the mark tires out. He repeated the instruction over and over, but that second part needed to happen. The stag could not last, panting loudly and shaking violently with each breath. Janto crept closer. He focused his gaze, hand ready to draw an arrow if needed.

  Somewhere in the distance a sound rang out that broke the monotony of buzzing flies and rhini chattering in their lairs. Sielban’s chimes. They were muted; Janto was surprised being so far into the forest affected their volume. It was as though he and the stag were in another place, and the noise not meant for him. Regardless, the chimes filled him with something other than determination: yearning and hunger. His stomach growled involuntarily, and he took a step in the direction of the chimes, feeling compelled to follow them. Had they always been a command? His boots made a sucking noise in the soft earth.

  But he only took that one step. The stag’s eyes were on him, a ray of heated energy boring into him, and Janto spun around. It had not looked at him since the chase began, and it did not linger now. Instead, it leapt, finding some reserve of energy in its solid build. Janto leapt after it, low-lying thornberry bushes pricking his exposed skin, leaving scratches that burned in their wake. He barely felt them.

  CHAPTER 21

  SERRA

  Serra fell—no slid—about ten feet down into a cave. Surprisingly, it was not dark. Yet the blue light infusing the room did not give her comfort.

  Ryn Gylles knelt beside her, his profile highlighted by the glow. “Are you all right?”

  She stood and brushed the cool, dry dirt of the cave floor from her sheath. Strange it would be dry in here when it was so moist outside. Stranger still that she and Gylles were not alone. The light emanated from three Brothers near the back of the dirt room.

  And they were floating. The Brothers were floating.

  She could see solid ground beneath them, nothing but a foot of air between it and the bolder blue that rimmed the hems of their robes. Nothing at all. The fear she had been forcing away came back with a vengeance. Instinct guided her to edge away and seek an exit. But the chute she had fallen through was too steep, and there had been nothing to use as handholds on the way down.

  A tendril of blue energy resolutely sought her out from the hood of one of the Brothers, whirling about like snow dust on a breeze. She heard the voice before it reached her. “You do not need to escape, Serrafina Gavenstone. We will not harm you.”

  “What are you?” It was hard not to gape at the … the … specters in front of her. “You cannot be real.”

  “We are as you have been taught. We are Madel’s hand. That is no mere figurative speech. We exist through the power She gives us and are here to do Her work.”

  Madel would not allow such inhuman wraiths to exist. It was not possible. Madel was the protector of all, She who had triumphed over the other gods and brought the Lanserim forth. She would not bring such horrors to the world.

  “I don’t believe you.” Her voice quavered. “You shouldn’t exist.”

  “Again, your words are true. We had our time, but we squandered it. Madel gave us second chances to atone for our misdeeds while living.”

  Ryn Gylles placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she jumped at the touch. Concern etched his raised brow. “Serra, I would not guide you to harm. Surely you know that? All the time we have spent together, you must know that.”

  There was a blue mist about him, dim in comparison to the Brothers’ glow, like a moon’s reflection in a muddy pool. The rays encircling them were vibrant, brilliant, and terrifying. How could she never have known the Brothers were this? It was plain before her eyes.

  “What are you?” She repeated the question again to the Brothers. Serra did trust Ryn Gylles, but as her fear lessened, an equal amount of trepidation replaced it. What could such beings want of her?

  “We are as you have realized. We are the dead.”

  They spoke the truth, she felt it, but she did not want to believe it. She closed her eyes and murmured, “No, no, no.”

  “Serra, you must keep your eyes open,” Gylles spoke urgently. “The Brothers have more to show you.”

  “If they are dead, then what in Lansera do they want with me?” She gritted her teeth. “I do not want to see it. I refuse to hear any more of this lunacy.”

  The Brothers’ words slipped beneath her skin, a needle into silk. “Then you doom us all, princess.”

  She opened her eyes. They scrutinized her though they possessed no eyes of their own. Only blackness and the blue energy that filled their hoods. “What do you mean? What would Lansera’s doom have to do with me? I am only—”

  “Only what?” It sounded like a taunt. “Lansera’s princess? Is that not the place you seek? Someday queen is no petty dream.”

  They were right. By Madel’s hand, they were right. She could not claim to be—to want to be—a nobody. She had shrunk back from the attention of the court, certainly, but not because she lacked ambition—because of the shame of Agler’s betrayal. Shame of what he had done and how it might hurt her standing, if she were honest. She might have acted one for years, but she was no drapian blossom, floating where the currents took her.

  “What is my role then, Brothers?” She invested the last word with as much distaste as her ingrained graces would allow. “And what is yours?” These were not leaders of her faith. They deserved no true courtesy.

  “When evil spawns and overruns, from silver the weapon comes. Without her sight, mankind is done. With it, all will again be one.”

  The Brothers chanted with one voice that was many. It sounded like a rushing through a caffir horn, amplified by the narrow space.

  “When evil spawns and overruns, from silver the weapon comes. Without her sight, mankind is done. With it, all will again be one.”

  A great dread built within her chest. What could they mean by the chanting? Why didn’t they make their intentions clear?

  “… Without her sight, mankind is done. With it, all will again be one.”

  “What do you want of me?!” She struggled to hold onto courage in the face of their eerie recitation and rushed forward, wanting to pound at them, but she could not reach them. They had risen higher off the ground with each chant and now floated almost at the top of the cave.

  She deflated. “Please, please, tell me.”

  “You must stay until you can see for yourself, Serra. That is what they want of
you. It is what all of Lansera would ask of you, if they could. We need you to weather this storm, to sacrifice to hold our world together.” Gylles pulled her back toward him.

  “But I cannot do that.” His words confounded her. The only storm she knew was the one in her head, eddying thoughts of the dead living, the unexplainable existing. What sacrifice could she give to make sense of that? What did she have to sacrifice at all?

  Discernment froze the blood in her veins as she remembered what she’d said to Gylles outside the cave. They cannot ask that of me—they can’t!

  “I am to be wed to Janto by month’s end.” It came out as a whisper, a plea.

  “That is not your fate.” Gylles’s voice soothed, but his words never would. Not those words, not a future apart from Janto. “He will soon slay the silver stag, Serra, and be bonded to the weapon. It’s the first part of the prophecy. A great evil has risen, as its words foretell and you have seen—”

  The bodies at the lake. She shuddered.

  “—and you and he are of utmost importance in fighting it, but your tasks are different.”

  “But I am to be the queen-in-waiting, the wife of the king! What better position would there be for me to offer aid to my people? I don’t understand, Ryn Gylles.”

  “Your role is not to be wife to Janto Albrecht. You must leave that behind so he can focus on the weapon. He must temper it, and he cannot do that if you are his priority.”

  “You cannot ask me to give up Janto!” She felt no shame at spilling tears this time. What did her comportment matter with a chamber of ghosts as her audience? Janto had been everything to her since she was old enough to cherish more than the doll she held and the brother who tormented her. Yes, she wanted to be queen, but she wanted to be his queen. There was no other future she could imagine.