Caprion's Wings

by T. L. Shreffler

  "Overheard it," he said briefly. "Would Sumas know where it is?"

  "Possibly," she allowed, pursing her lips. She fiddled with her cup for a moment, but Talarin had never been good with secrets. Caprion could tell she had something to say. Then she leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ve been there only a few times,” she said in a hushed voice. “Soldiers don't train against the Unnamed until after a year of basic duty. They're dangerous to be around if you're new to your wings...or wingless." She eyed him. "Why?"

  Caprion considered telling her about his strange dreams, then decided he would sound desperate, perhaps grasping at straws. “I need to go there,” he said bluntly.

  "And do what?" Talarin pressed.

  Find my wings. "Get some answers," he said. “Something has been…interfering with my Singing.”

  Talarin continued to stare at him and then she grinned. “Look at you, suddenly so mysterious!” she laughed. “What do you mean, interfering?”

  Caprion frowned, unable to share her humor. “Please, Talarin, would you trust me? I need to get down there. It’s important.” He met her gaze, hoping she would see his urgency. Please, he thought, willing her to agree with him. Please understand.

  She studied him closely, concern crossing her face. Then she let out a short sigh. “I hate it when you simper,” she said.

  He balked. “What? I do not simper!”

  “Sure you do,” she teased, “and it always works! I can never say no to that face!” She shook her head as though greatly put upon. “I’ll take you below, but I’ll have to go with you, wingless little bird that you are. We’ll have to be very careful. We’ll be arrested if we’re caught. And you can’t go near the prisoners.”

  "I might have to,” he murmured. “But I’m not defenseless. I can handle a sword.”

  Talarin bit her lip. "The Unnamed are a race of assassins," she reminded him. "They can wield swords too, perhaps better than any of us. Would you at least tell me what you are looking for? Perhaps I can help.”

  Caprion shook his head firmly. “I’m not truly sure myself. But I have questions. Trust me, I won’t be long. An hour at most.”

  Talarin nodded in resignation. “The caves are underground and the soldiers practice at night. You can only reach the entrance by flying. I’ll have to stay with you until you’re finished."

  Caprion hesitated at that, considering the consequences. She could be demoted or worse. “You'll get in trouble if you’re caught,” he said slowly, rethinking his plan. “You don’t have to do this….”

  Talarin shrugged. “I know,” she said. “But I'm not one of those cruel bastards who'll turn their back on you.” She looked at him pointedly. “I want you to find your wings, Caprion. I don’t really understand why you’re doing this, but I can guess it’s important. You’re not rash like your brother. Something isn’t right and I want to help.”

  Caprion’s gaze softened. “Talarin….”

  “My uncle is wingless, you know,” she said abruptly. “But he’s still family. He's not any more or less of a person.”

  Caprion felt an unknown knot of tension loosen in his shoulders. Slowly he relaxed, and a true smile touched his face. “The way my family acts, you'd think I was a criminal or a drunk. Or worse, like I'm not even a Harpy anymore.” His smile faded slightly.

  "They'll adjust," Talarin suggested.

  He didn't respond immediately. “I haven't lived at home in a year,” he finally said.

  “I noticed,” she replied.

  Caprion sighed. “Sumas is against me. My mother blames herself. Esta is sweet, but she’s too young to help. I don't know how long this is going to last. What's going to become of my life?” He found himself staring at the floor. “I'm complaining too much, aren't I? I’ve had everything handed to me except my wings. And now life is going to be hard. I might have to fight for something, or heavens forbid, earn it. I sound pathetic, don't I?”

  Talarin wrinkled her nose at him. “Maybe just a little.”

  He winced.

  She leaned over and punched his shoulder, laughing. “Don’t lose hope! Here I am, two years into my wings, and I wake up every morning still thinking they’ll disappear. I’ve had several wingless relatives in my bloodline. It’s passed down, I think. I never should have found my star. It’s like our lives have been switched.” She shook her head at herself, a wry smile on her face. “There's worry and fear in all of us. You're just living a much different path then you imagined. Think you can handle it?”

  "If I don't find my wings?"

  "Yes."

  Caprion thought about it, rummaging around, struggling against his wounded pride. He imagined five years from now, and then ten―never learning magic, only suited to menial tasks, like trimming bushes or cleaning streets. He would live a quiet life, perhaps still in this very hut, read a lot of books and start a new hobby. Eventually, he might even become good at something, like an instrument. “I've always wanted to learn the mandolin,” he said thoughtfully.

  Talarin snorted with laughter. “Sometimes, Caprion, you make me feel manly.”

  He grinned at her in irony. He didn't say it, but at her prompting, a deep yearning had awakened inside of him, a sense of ultimate dissatisfaction―without wings, he might learn an instrument, but he would never know the world of flight.

  Talarin's smile wavered at his expression. She laid her hand on his shoulder again. "Get some sleep, alright?" she said with unaccustomed gentleness. "You look really tired. I'll meet you tonight and we'll follow the soldiers out."

  Caprion nodded. Talarin picked up his cup and finished his drink for him. “See you tonight,” she called, leaving the used cups on the floor. She picked up her sword and whisked out the door, spreading her wings easily once she cleared the archway. She lifted into the sky, soaring upward, and then glided out of sight over the trees.

  Caprion sighed deeply and moved to his cot, thoroughly exhausted. He had spent the previous night tossing and turning, reliving dreams of his Singing, except he couldn't remember his Song. His voice felt stifled and lodged in his throat. Yes, sleep would be welcomed, and hopefully a bit of peace.

  * * *

  Caprion slept most of the afternoon but awakened at sunset, alerted by the chorus of crickets outside his window. He dressed in a brown vest and black pants to better blend with the shadows. He cleaned his sword briskly, although the blade didn’t truly need it. He always kept it immaculately clean, the point sharp and precise. It was a utilitarian broadsword, forged from heavy steel and meant to be wielded with two hands. Satisfied, he strapped the weapon to his back and went to meet Talarin at the fringe of woodland behind his house.

  Talarin arrived at twilight, dressed in a full suit of armor. “If I look the part, they'll think I belong,” she explained, answering his questioning look. “No time to waste; we’re running late.” Then she took his hand and a white light surrounded him, tingling across his skin. Wordlessly, Talarin lifted him into the air and they flew toward Fury Rock at the far end of the isles, over acres and acres of forest. Only Harpies with large wings could levitate objects or people. It was one of the requirements of becoming a soldier.

  The more they neared the coast, the more Caprion became determined. Yes, this is the place, he thought, nearing the tall cliff that overlooked the ocean at the very end of the Lost Isles. Fury Rock rose above the surrounding forest like a jutting horn. He had traveled here only a few times as a child.

  Fury Rock stood on a tall cliff above a circle of sacred stones, planted in the ground long ago before the fall of Aerobourne. The sacred shadestones jutted in a circle at the base of the cliff, darker than night, like thick, black fingers thrusting up from the earth. The Harpies did not commonly use shadestones; in fact, these giant slabs had been mined long ago from an unknown location on the mainland. They remained a silent eulogy of when the floating island had traveled freely through the clouds. Unlike sunstones, which emitted light and amplified Harpy voices, the shades
tones did the opposite, absorbing all light and nullifying sound vibrations. Long ago, this circle of land was used for sacrificing enemies, but such rituals were no longer practiced. No one except the Madrigal really knew what the shadestones were supposed to do, but the old man never talked about them.

  Caprion and Talarin landed just outside the circle of stones, clinging to the tree line at the base of the high cliff. They stared up the length of Fury Rock. Caprion stood stiffly in the shadows, his expression grim. He tried to stay focused on his goal, but the thought of facing his brother intimidated him—what if he ran across Sumas in the dungeons? He would have to tread softly and remain well hidden.

  "There," Talarin murmured. Specks of light appeared on the horizon. They rapidly grew larger until a band of Harpies appeared overhead, flying smoothly toward the top of Fury Rock. They spoke animatedly, unconcerned that others might overhear.

  "Remember last week when that blind one kept coming at me and I struck her twice in the jaw, but she just kept standing up? Remember?"

  "With the gash on her cheek? She's a fierce one...."

  "Are they very strong?” a third chimed in. “Do we use our weapons? I was told only to bring my saber…."

  "We use our wings, feather-head! Don't you pay attention?"

  "Easy on the baby bird,” the first one laughed. “He will find out soon enough!”

  The Harpies moved out of earshot toward the top of Fury Rock. Then, one by one, they dove out of sight below the cliff, toward the pounding surf of the ocean.

  "There must be a cave entrance along the cliff face," Talarin murmured to his left. She adjusted her helmet firmly, watching the Harpy soldiers with eager eyes. "Looks like they’ve mixed the group with some more advanced soldiers. I should fit in easily."

  Caprion nodded. He hoped she was right, for her own sake. He would have to stay unseen in the shadows. Easy to do in his case, since he had no wings to emit a glow, and Harpies didn't see well in the dark.

  "I'm just going to have a look around," he murmured. "I'll make it quick. An hour at most, then we can leave."

  "Stay away from Sumas," she cautioned.

  "Don't worry about that," he replied stiffly. As Captain, his brother would most likely stand in charge of the practice. Sumas hadn't arrived with the rest of the soldiers; he was probably already on site. Part of Caprion relished the thought of a confrontation—a chance to draw swords and face his brother in the dark underground where their footing might be more even, but his wiser self knew it wouldn’t end well. I'm doing this to find my wings, he reminded himself. Nothing else matters.

  "Ready?" Talarin asked, as the last of the soldiers disappeared over the cliff.

  Caprion nodded.

  Talarin took his hand again. Silver light encased Caprion's skin as the power of her wings enveloped him. They floated up through the trees, above the shadestones, and along the steep hill to the edge of Fury Rock. They dropped over the cliff, plummeting away from the stars and into the dark abyss between ocean and air.

  Chapter 4

  The entrance to the prison was barely visible along the cliff face. A long, narrow tunnel split through the rock with hardly any landing space outside of it. They hovered at its edge, a half-dozen yards above the turbulent ocean. Fifteen-foot swells crashed against the cliff face, climbing the rocks, then gasping and sinking back into the midnight sea.

  Caprion and Talarin landed precariously inside the tunnel. A woven basket of sunstones illuminated the rocky entrance. After that, the way became steeped in moonless shadow.

  He glanced at Talarin, then started forward cautiously. Her wings cast a halo of light around her shoulders and she tightened them against her back to fit through the narrow passage. They traveled deeper into the crevice until the tunnel widened and they entered a long series of maze-like corridors. They walked in silence for several minutes.

  Suddenly, Talarin pulled back. She put out her arm, blocking him from moving forward. “Hush,” she murmured.

  Caprion came to a halt. A low-pitched voice reached his ears, echoing slightly off the rock walls. He recognized it and sucked in a quick, nervous breath.

  "New arrivals?" Sumas said from around the corner, an edge of surprise to his tone. "How long have they been imprisoned?"

  "A week now," a higher-pitched female voice replied. "Just a handful taken from separate Hives. You could break them in tonight if you'd like." She sounded eager at the prospect. Caprion felt a chill move across his skin.

  Sumas paused, then replied, “We have new recruits tonight. First-timers. I'm going to start them off against the older ones that won’t fight back.”

  “If you insist,” the woman said wistfully. “But the old ones are so boring. I wish you’d reconsider….”

  “No,” Sumas said flatly. “I won’t waste new blood on fledgling recruits. We’ll use the fresh slaves for tomorrow’s practice with the lieutenants.”

  The woman’s voice grew soft with disappointment. "But I have other duties tomorrow, Sumas,” she cajoled. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you otherwise?”

  Caprion frowned. The woman didn’t speak like a soldier. She sounded overly familiar with his brother, like close friends...or lovers. Caprion edged forward slightly, curious.

  The conversation continued with decidedly more tension.

  “Don’t plead favors from me; it’s beneath you,” his brother intoned. “And in these prisons, I am Captain Sumas.”

  “And I’m the warden,” the woman rebuked. “Shall we call each other by title now? I thought we’d grown past that….”

  “Watch your tongue,” Sumas hissed. “We use the weakest slaves tonight. I can't have another incident like last week. I almost lost my promotion because of your sloppy work. The Matriarch might be slumbering, but the Madrigal watches us closely.”

  Caprion could sense the woman’s displeasure. "Yes, Captain,” she sneered. “I assure you, our slaves are firmly under control. There’s no chance of them slipping loose."

  “I am more concerned with the stupidity of my new recruits,” he said sourly.

  “Then I’ll let you do your job,” she growled.

  "Good," Sumas grunted. Then, without wasting a breath, “Prepare ten prisoners, only the broken ones. I want them on chains in fifteen minutes.”

  "Yes, sir," came the cold response. There was no salute. Then a bright light illuminated the hallway; Caprion sensed a vibration pass over him. The Harpies had spread their wings. A moment later, the light faded down the corridor. The tunnel returned to shadow.

  "Imagine that," Talarin muttered. “Warden Dahlia in bed with your peacock of a brother. I should have seen that coming. Can’t wait to spread this news around the barracks.”

  Caprion frowned. “Warden Dahlia?”

  “A spiteful hawk of a woman,” Talarin said. “Watch out for her—she has talons.”

  “Sounds like Sumas’ type,” he replied.

  They sniggered at that.

  They waited a half-minute longer to ensure the tunnel was empty, then continued. Caprion followed her pace and tried to step silently. Because of her wings, Talarin could glide a few inches off the ground for several paces, making stealth much easier, but he didn’t have that luxury. The tunnel branched off into numerous directions, creating a maze of passages that could very well continue across the entire island—but they remained on the main path, moving steadily forward.

  Eventually the tunnel connected to a large, open chamber. He and Talarin paused again, clinging to the shadows and peering out.

  Caprion blinked in surprise. A massive underground stadium stood before them, carved entirely out of granite. The ceiling arched far above, inlaid with rich veins of malachite. By the style of the hard-stone carvings, he could see that it dated back to the founding of Asterion, long before the island ever crashed into the sea. Large, jagged chunks of sunstone had been hammered into the walls at uneven intervals, casting light every few-dozen meters. Even then, the majority of the massive chamber
lay steeped in shadow. The chipped, worn floor appeared discolored in places, and Caprion's eyes lingered on the dark stains. Blood, sunken into the rough rock after centuries of spillage.

  A group of forty soldiers lingered at the center of the chamber, Sumas not yet among them. By the shape of their helmets, Caprion could see that most were second-year soldiers, the new cadets his brother had mentioned.

  "I'll mingle at the back," Talarin murmured. "Be quick, alright? An hour tops, before anything potentially dangerous happens."

  "Of course," Caprion murmured, already spying a corridor toward the back of the room, barred by an iron gate. The most likely route to the prisons. He could slip through the shadows between the jagged sunstones and make his way, unseen, as long as the soldiers remained distracted.

  Talarin left his side and strode casually into the room, coming to an inconspicuous stop near the rear of the soldiers. No one seemed to notice or care about her arrival. A few of the cadets nodded to her, but they all seemed too nervous to say much. Caprion watched from the shadows of the corridor, waiting for the ideal moment to slip along the back wall.

  Then the distant iron gate slid open. Caprion crouched low to stay hidden. He recognized Sumas' large wings and barrel-chested armor. His brother strode through the gate and into the room.

  A tall, angular woman entered after him. Warden Dahlia, he assumed. She had a sharp face with a pointed kind of beauty—as Talarin described, a hawk of a woman. She wore armor embedded with sunstones, her wings folded tightly against her back, a long leash in hand. Behind her, ten slaves entered the chamber with their heads obediently bowed. A thick iron chain linked them together at the neck, with sunstone shards embedded in their metal collars. The slaves looked terrifying: old, skeletal, grimy and underfed, with sunken cheeks and claw-like hands that were discolored by permanent scars. More like corpses than people.