Wings Unseen

by Rebecca Gomez Farrell

  “Oh, don’t you?” He laughed. “Just what do you think the Brotherhood is?”

  Not men. They did not live, eat, nor speak with voices they could call their own. But they appeared perfectly normal to everyone else. Was that magic? And what of the blue mantle under the temple? Lessons she had been taught at temple and in her classes came to her lips. The Brotherhood is Her hand working among us.

  “Ryn, is magic …” Finding the right word was difficult. “Is magic the hand of Madel?”

  His face brightened. She was right, then, or close.

  “And the Brothers. They are magical creations of Madel’s. Suspended between life and naught by Her spirit?” She had never seen so clearly. “They were being infused … sustained … under the temple with Her magic.”

  “Yes.” Cladio nodded excitedly. “You understand what power flows through this world. Only thusly can you grasp what power threatens it.”

  Serra sunk into a chair. “But what are they then? The vermin I saw? They are not the same as the Brothers. They cannot be creatures of Madel, can they?” The thought that those horrible things may have Madel’s breath within them made her ill.

  “Oh, they are certainly alive. Those vermin, as you called them, are not Madel’s magic, but they are similar. They have been brought into being not by the hand of a loving God but by the filth of a fallen people. Serra, that mass you have seen is a manifestation of evil. It has come to be because we, those who call ourselves civilized, have allowed vile deeds to propagate right outside our doors. We thought ourselves untouched by the Meduan thirst for power and greed as long as we kept ourselves separate. But we were wrong. And now, we are being eaten alive by that mistake.”

  Serra closed her eyes. Ryn Cladio was telling her Turyn’s Peace was wrong, that the kingdom she had always served and might have ruled with Janto was a sham and a selfish one at that. But the Meduans had chosen to be their own people, hadn’t they? What responsibility did Lansera have for Meduan reprehensibility? The same responsibility King Albrecht had to pardon a traitor whose vision had been clouded by lies. “What am I supposed to do? Talk to the king? Beg him to invade Medua so they will stop hurting each other?”

  Ryn Gylles went on his knees before her, pride and worry commingled on his face. “You are to destroy the claren with your magic. Your sight is what was prophesied.”

  That made no sense. Yes, she had seen those creatures, but she could not kill them. She hoped to never be in the same room with them again. And she could not believe she was the only person who had ever seen them. They were so vivid, so menacing. Anyone near them would have been forced to take notice. I cannot be alone in this. “I do not understand. Surely you have seen them too or how would you know what I saw?”

  “We don’t.” Ryn Gylles explained. “Not entirely. We have made assumptions from the marsh village reports, including the one you, Lourda, and Poline brought. The first deaths from Wasyla were reported a few days ago. They are breeding fast and you are needed.”

  “What am I to do? Go to King Albrecht and tell him what I know, that I can see them?”

  “Sharing this with the king will be necessary, but you have more to do than that, I’m afraid. Without your sight, we cannot kill them. So it falls to you to be the guide for us all.”

  She had chosen to serve her people, not to be their savior, and she had fought against it for weeks, held onto Janto as long as she could. She wasn’t a hero. Was she?

  “What did they look like?” Ryn Cladio reached for a bound scroll on the highest shelf of his hut. A copper imprint of a giant graced its front cover. A compendium of monsters, perhaps, or of fairy tales she could not depend upon to stay within the confines of a book.

  “They were many. But they acted as one, a black mass with red wings churning in on itself. They sounded like a hive of bees muffled by a heavy cloth.” She closed her eyes, trying to recall the creatures more fully. “I did not see any up close, but a few broke off to make wider circuits of the room.”

  Ryn Cladio handed the book to Ryn Gylles. “Tasters. They were expanding their search for things to consume.” What would have happened had she stayed a moment longer? The memory of two deflated skins made bile rise in her throat. Thanks be to Madel I did not.

  Gylles yelped when he turned the page. The writing it contained was too ancient for Serra to decipher, its ink dark green rather than violet. The opposite side held a charcoal illustration of a funnel with many eyes and teeth. It was colored in with red powder, and a caption above it held thick letters.

  “What does this say?”

  “The Claren Hoards,” Ryn Gylles translated. “An ancient evil that straddles our world and Madel’s realm. It has been a thousand years since last they bred. They enter through uncovered orifices—mouths, noses, ears—and breed in the bracken water of violence and hatred among men. Our complacency since Turyn’s Peace has given them enough time to come to maturity through the Meduans.”

  Ryn Cladio’s quill fell to the desk with a clatter. “Serra, you must begin your work. The weapon must strike. You must destroy them.”

  The Brothers had said that Janto needed to bond with the weapon—that was why she could not marry him. But if she was the sight, then was she also the weapon? Could I still be his? Her cheeks flushed with hope, yet she had no idea how to eradicate the claren. “Ryn Cladio, what is the whole of that prophecy?”

  The older man stared out his window, considering each word as he spoke. “When the silver stag runs free, blessed will he who binds it be. Rise up, ye treasured bird of three. Wing him what boons ye foresee. When evil spawns and overruns, from silver the weapon comes. Without her sight, mankind is done. With it, all will again be one.”

  The moon Tansic pulsed in the evening sky. Ryn Cladio focused his sharp eyes on her. “You are certain you have no other magic in you?”

  “I am, Ryn. Other than this”—she waved her hand over her face—“this sight, I have not felt anything magical in me. But how is the silver stag related to this prophecy?”

  “Of course!” Ryn Gylles clapped his hands together, voice fast again. “How silly of me not to remember what the Brothers said to you in that cave, Serra. I had been so worried about you that I … Cladio, they said the weapon was connected to the slayer. But they stressed that Serra could not interfere with that bond, insisted she would if she continued her betrothal.”

  The reminder deflated her, and Ryn Cladio paced behind the desk, a hand pressed against his forehead. “We had considered the stag’s slaying a confirmation of the time in which we lived, another proof the world was in peril and the prophecy was coming true. But it would make sense that such a creature might leave a weapon made of its essence, or that he who slayed it might be the weapon.” He stopped his movement, sighing. “We may need to ask you a greater favor than Madel already has, Serra. Would you meet with Janto, question him for us?”

  If she could handle leaving him on her wedding day with nary a word of explanation, then she could handle that. She had made her choice in Callyn, and it appeared she would assist Janto with sorting out his own. If doing so helped him understand why she had so disgraced him, all the better. She would not seek his forgiveness for giving into her destiny, but she ached for it, nonetheless.

  “I will go to him. But what am I asking?”

  “Ask about the stag, if he noticed anything after the hunt. Ask if he has magic like yours but different, something that would complement your own. You can see the claren, but you need a weapon to guide. Perhaps Janto is the weapon and he does not know it yet. That would be the best solution. You must find out.”

  “Of course.” She took two steps toward the door before remembering she had nowhere to go, no belongings to gather. “I am ready when Madel is.”

  She did not hesitate to grab the Brother’s robe when it appeared.

  CHAPTER 39

  JANTO

  The familiar apron mostly covered the corpse, and her stalwart wooden spoon had fallen to the ground o
nly a foot away, but Janto could not admit it was really Mar Pina.

  He was not the only one. Pic refused to leave with the smattering of kitchen staff when the king ordered them out. The boy’s wide-eyed stare was stuck on shock. Janto braced Pic with his arm, ruffling his hair and turning his head from the body—the skin—that lay in front of the oven.

  “I do not understand.” Pic gripped Janto’s arm as strongly as a boy of eight could. “There’s nothing there. What could have—”

  The king yelled to everyone in the room. “Cover your mouths and ears. Do it now.”

  Janto pulled out his handkerchief, tying it around Pic’s face. He grabbed a cloth from a nearby counter, using it for himself. Nap and two of the guards made slow circles around the room on his father’s instructions, waving their hands in front of them like parting waters.

  “How will we know if we touch them?” Nap continued his search.

  The king hesitated. Janto could tell by the way his left arm drooped and his right one rose to his forehead, pressing down for a moment. “I don’t know.”

  It was the most terrifying thing Janto had ever heard. The most terrifying thing he had ever seen came next—a tidal wave of silver that rolled through the room. Crackling sounds like corn kernels popping and onions sizzling on a griddle erupted from nowhere as they ducked.

  Near the fireplace, hundreds of red and black insects sparked into existence in the empty air then collapsed to the ground. Smoke rose from the wooden fixtures all around them. Even the brick of the fireplace radiated heat. Janto spun around, holding Pic with one arm. Hopefully, the sight of what caused that flame would be easier to take than Mar Pina’s remains.

  Vesperi stood inside the doorway, her hair lifted from her skull as though she’d been hit by lightning. A silver orb tipped each black strand, her head a candelabra of elongated, skinny tapers. A thicker strand of silver energy pulsed to her hand where it eddied in a swirling mass, alarming to behold. Janto felt her fury as she raised that hand again and again, one finger lifted higher than the rest. A brilliant bolt came from it each time, followed by a cloud of smoke wherever she struck. I had good reason to bind those hands.

  The air crackled behind him but no more insects fell, and the servants screamed anew when Vesperi lashed out again. She was out of control, raising her hand two, three, five times in a minute, setting cloth aflame and striking most of the furniture and earthenware to pieces.

  He shielded his eyes from the magic’s glare as Vesperi raised her hand again. She needed to be stopped. Maybe he could do something to restrain her. Maybe this was why they were connected. Patting Pic’s arm, he said, “Stay here,” then tried to step forward. But he could not move. Something held him from behind—a soft, firm touch from supple fingers, fingers that had grazed his arm innumerable times over the past decade. He turned in shock.

  Serra wore the Order’s garb, and behind her stood a Brother, arms raised as though about to chime a ritual bell. Janto forgot how to breathe.

  She rushed past him, more determined than he’d ever seen. “Watch out!” Whether his warning was for her or Vesperi he did not know. Neither woman acknowledged it. Serra grabbed Vesperi’s arm and pointed it toward a spot below the western window. “There. You must aim there.”

  Vesperi released another surge and shimmered in the haze of heat around her. The magic hit the wall—no, not the wall, but a dark and massive cloud of insects in front of it that lit up with a thousand different flames. The throng dropped to the ground, releasing more of the acrid smell that filled the room.

  “Janto,” Serra called to him. “You must talk to her, tell her she can stop.” She sounded confident, assured. But she hesitated before continuing, “She looks strange to me—is she from outer Rasseleria maybe, like your mother?”

  Typical Serra to be befuddled by lineages in the midst of all this. Janto almost laughed as he reached them. Instead, he placed a gentle hand on Vesperi’s arm so as not to spook her. “That’s enough.” Then he rambled on with no idea what to do. “You got them, I promise. You can stop, Vesperi. Focus on drawing it back in. Would you try, please?”

  Vesperi said nothing, but her silver glow dulled. She lowered her hand. Janto felt victorious. It took great restraint not to hug Serra, twirl her around, or kiss her. But another part of him was angry, very angry at the sight of her. Where had she been this past week? Why come now when he had needed her every second since then? His mind flooded with confusion, but the strongest emotion he felt was relief to see her at all.

  So he answered her question once he could see brown mixed in with the silver of Vesperi’s irises again. “She’s a Meduan. The one we captured while on forage. Your Brothers did not tell you that?” It was ridiculous to feel jealous of them, but he did.

  Her eyes narrowed, then she whispered, “Of course, she is,” so low and bitter she may not have realized it. Then she shook her head. “The Brothers are not known for forthrightness. I have learned that many times over since you left for your Murat.”

  “What is going on here?” Vesperi’s hair no longer flailed, though it was puffed up more than it should be, like her curls had thickened with sea air. The last few servants huddled together by Mar Pina’s remains.

  “Pic,” Janto called to the child, “I think it is safe now. Can you lead the others to my mother and Ser Allyn, and please tell them what has happened?”

  “What about Mar Pina?” The lad wiped away tears that had not ceased since the cook had fallen to the floor, a corn husk in the breeze.

  Janto put his fingers under the boy’s chin and lifted his head so their eyes met. “I will take care of her body. I am sorry I could not stop them on my own.”

  Pic nodded. His comportment reminded Janto of the child he had been so many years ago when Serra had needed someone to lean on and he decided it would be him. Sometimes, you had to be a man at eight years old without Sielban’s training.

  “Let’s go.” Pic stood tall with the pride of being given a duty. “We need to tell Queen Lexamy what happened as the prince asked.” The servants rose together as one and shuffled toward the corridor.

  “That was well done.” His father stepped out from a shadowed corner of the room. Janto did not know which of them he addressed. The king greeted Serra with a kiss to the cheek, something Janto would not dare to do, not anymore. “Welcome. Your companion appears to have left, but I think I see—you see—why he has brought you back home.”

  “I am not sure I have a home anymore, my lord.” Serra raised her elbows in deference to the king, but her eyes were only for Janto. “I wish it could be otherwise.”

  No words formed in his throat. Nap’s hand clapped his shoulder. “Let’s help Rall.”

  Rall. His friend who had lost so much had slipped into the room unannounced and spread a cloth beside Mar Pina. He worked silently, something resembling calm on his face. Janto knelt down and helped spread the corners straight, averting his gaze if it happened to fall over an inch of the skin. But Rall, Rall stretched the body and smoothed it flat. Nap found a sleeve and pulled it to the side until an arm was recognizable. Once again, the absurdity of being born a prince struck Janto when other men did work like this every day.

  Not like this, though. Not work like this.

  The cloth Rall used was one Mar Pina had taken pride in spreading over the main hall’s feasting tables. They tucked the fabric around her, the skin barely leaving an impression of anything in the muted shroud. By coincidence, a representation of the hand of Madel reaching from the Enjoin temple in silver and gold threads rested where Mar Pina’s head should be.

  “Are you all right?” Janto placed a hand on Rall’s shoulder. “This must be horrible for you.”

  He shook his head. “No, I need to do this. I did not think I could face it again when I heard the screams. But I realized it would be less of a shock for me than for anyone else here, so I came.” He paused. “You have to stop this, my prince.”

  “But how can I? I’m not—”


  “You are the slayer of the silver stag. You will find a way.”

  “We all will.” Serra spoke, soft but sure. “That’s why I’ve returned.”

  CHAPTER 40

  SERRA

  Not for the last time and many, many times removed from the first, Serra wished the Brothers had given her more information. She sat in the throne room, in a chair placed too far forward from the others to feel comfortable. She was under examination, but she could not blame any of them for the questions.

  Her unruly gaze wandered toward Janto for the twentieth time. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. The exhilaration she had felt when she arrived in the kitchen vanished as soon as she had learned she hadn’t been fast enough to save Mar Pina.

  Ser Allyn asked again, “You are certain there are no others here?”

  She had spent the last two hours covering every inch of Castle Callyn, venturing into areas she had never been admitted before—the king and queen’s chambers for one—and others she had never wanted to see such as the servants’ quarters just south of the castle. Mar Pina’s snug dwelling had overwhelmed her. The woman had always been such a homey presence in a cold castle. How could Serra have never visited her? Even that far from the kitchen, the air smelled of toasted flour. It confounded her that the claren had targeted a woman who would never have committed the acts of depravity they bred in. She reaped the evil others had created.

  Once she had wiped her tears, Serra had searched, focusing on breathing deeply as though meditating with her eyes open. There had been no traces of the claren, no masses or trails of red suspended in the air.

  “I’m certain.”

  “But how can you know?” She had never seen Ser Allyn so flustered, his mind unwilling to take the leap needed for Serra’s presence to make sense. It had been so obvious to her when she saw Vesperi and the magic she yielded. Some things simply were. Like Serra’s love of Janto and why she could not keep his any longer. His link to Vesperi had become so quickly evident when he talked her down, knowing just what to say.