Caprion's Wings

by T. L. Shreffler

  Caprion caught himself on the rear wall of the cell, pain erupting from his injured sternum. A strangled gasp escaped his throat. He paused for several seconds, struggling to regain his breath. Finally, he turned to face the soldiers. By their flickering, restless wings, he could tell they were eager to flock back to the barracks and spread the latest news. He almost groaned at the thought. Now the city would think he’d lost his mind—or that he had some strange, unspeakable perversion. His reputation, or what little remained of it, was as good as finished. And there’s a demon loose, he wanted to yell at them. Don’t you understand? A real demon! The Matriarch is in danger! But of course they wouldn’t listen to him. Not now.

  The squad leader shut the iron door firmly and then locked it using a quickly spoken password. It didn’t matter that Caprion overheard the password—he couldn’t duplicate the man’s voice. Then the soldier turned to his men. “Stand watch outside the door. No one leaves or enters!” he commanded.

  Caprion watched the guards’ faces fall in disappointment. Now they couldn’t rush to the nearest pub and share the scandal. Caprion’s lips twisted. “Poor little birds,” he called sarcastically. “Don’t stay on my account! Go on, head back to the city. You'll have much more fun!”

  The squad leader turned back to him. “Harass my men and I will report you to Sumas!” He flashed his wings threateningly.

  Caprion glared. “Good!” he said, and he approached the bars, his chains dragging. “I have a message for my dear brother,” he said. “Perhaps you could pass it along?”

  “Shut your arrogant mouth,” the soldier barked. His voice resonated with a tone of command, but Caprion shrugged it off, unaffected.

  “Florentine, a friend of the Madrigal’s, told me about the crypts,” he said. “She suggested I go there, and a demon escaped.”

  “I can see that,” the soldier sneered, his eyes flickering to Moss.

  “No,” Caprion said, trying to spell it out. “A demon. A full-blooded demon from the crypts.”

  The soldier gave him a strange look and then barked out a laugh. “You must take me for a fool,” he sneered. “There’s no demon in the crypts. That’s a child’s story!” Then he turned away abruptly, heading to the exit. “To your posts!” he ordered the other soldiers.

  Caprion watched them fall into rank and glide away, coasting across the floor on the grace of their wings. For once he didn’t envy them. No, his thoughts remained on the slumbering Matriarch and the demon’s wrath. It made him sick to his stomach. This is all my fault.

  The soldiers exited the building and slammed the heavy doors shut; he heard the metal bar slide back into place, locking them inside. Once the Harpies were gone, the sunstones on the walls visibly dimmed to a dull twilight glow, hardly enough to see by. Deep shadows filled the large chamber, hiding the fountains and statues from sight.

  Caprion sighed and turned away from the bars, placing a hand over his sore sternum. The cold, moist chill of the night seeped up through the rocks. When he walked, the chain at his wrist dragged across the ground, strung to Moss’s collar. She still lay on the floor in the center of the cell, curled on her side, staring absently into the darkness. Trickles of blood leaked from beneath her sunstone collar, staining the floor. She blended perfectly with the shadows, turned almost invisible by her dark clothing.

  He circled her, unable to move far from her body—bound together by chains and by words. He felt like a wild hawk tethered to a post. He wondered, suddenly, if this would be his life until he fulfilled his half of his promise and rescued Moss from the island. What would happen to her if he failed? Would she be outright killed or would Sumas make it slow and painful? I’m a bastard for dragging her into this, he thought. What was I thinking?

  In the darkness of Moss's underground cell, it had seemed so simple, so straightforward—one favor in return for another. He had been heady with determination, filled with a sense of duty and purpose. Now…now I've dragged her into worse danger. He would never be able to leave this cell without his brother’s permission. Sumas and the Matriarch could easily sentence him to death for releasing one of the slaves. And then what would happen to Moss?

  He gazed at her sadly. She looked so alone. So small. Despite his troubles, she was in a much worse situation than him. He wished fervently that he could whisk her away from the Lost Isles and leave this mess far behind. He would much rather try his luck on the mainland. He would have done so immediately—if he had wings.

  Pity tugged his heart and he stepped to her side, gently sliding his arms under her. She flinched at his touch as though expecting a blow, but he didn’t let her pull away. He picked her up, as he might his own sister, and then carried her to the rear of the cell where the shadows were darkest. He pressed his back against the hard wall, sliding down into a sitting position and settling her against him.

  He winced against his aching sternum and drew in a slow, experimental breath. Not bad. He could take shallow breaths comfortably, but large gasps split his lungs like a dagger. He wouldn’t be able to run well with this kind of injury. Flight, he thought, wry humor twisting his face. Now I’m perfectly useless. His sternum would heal eventually, but not soon enough.

  After a moment, the chain tugged at his wrist and Moss sat upright against the wall. Her small, thin body pressed against his arm tightly with no hesitation, no thought of personal space. She felt warm—warmer than expected in such a cold room. It made him think of her race’s heritage, formed of Fire and Darkness. Did all of the Sixth Race emit so much heat? He remembered the demon in the crypts: molten red flesh glowing through cracked and blackened skin, like a creature made of lava and scorched earth.

  He wondered, suddenly, what her own demon looked like, if she could summon it at will or if she was still too young to control it. The thought almost made him nervous. Could she turn into her demon-self right here, in the darkness of this cell, while his chains rendered him defenseless?

  No, he thought, glancing at her sunstone collar. As much as the stone seared her skin, it also kept her demon in check. And he felt a little guilty, doubting her intentions. Even without the collar, he didn’t think she would attack him. She had helped him against the demon in the crypt, dragging him to safety when it broke loose. She had followed his orders in front of Sumas, remaining calm, resting her hand on his shoulder despite her vulnerable position. She trusted him—perhaps because she had no other choice. And he would have to do the same. In this moment, she might be his last ally on the island.

  “Why do you want to be like them?” she asked softly.

  Caprion glanced down at her, catching the reflection of her cat-green eyes. “I don’t,” he said, surprised by his own realization. For the last six years, he had planned to become just like the other Harpies. He had dreamed of becoming a soldier, of conquering Sumas and proving himself the better man. For so long he had craved it, built his plans and his ambitions around it.

  But after yesterday’s failed Singing, his hope had drained out of him. Years of plans had fallen to nothing more than intangible dreams, drifting farther and farther out of reach. He felt that loss keenly within himself; he no longer knew who he was, where he fit. And now, seeing how his own kind treated the Sixth Race—especially young Moss, a child destined to suffer and perish—he wondered why he had yearned for such things. Why had the life of a soldier seemed so noble?

  He understood why they needed to practice against the Sixth Race, and yet why use children? Why target those who couldn’t defend themselves? Why not fight true demons, like the creature he had released from the crypts? Caprion’s face drew into a bitter frown. His race abused their power. The Harpies made nothing but demands from him: find your wings, become stronger, sing better, live up to your family’s reputation, be like Sumas. Moss took him as he was. She didn’t ask anything from him at all. In fact, she wanted quite the opposite—for him to remain the same.

  “Give up your wings,” she said softly, a pleading edge to her voice, as though
reading his thoughts. “You don’t need them. They’ll ruin you. I like the way you are now. You’re brave and honest and….” Her voice faded at her last words, as though revealing too much of herself. She dropped her gaze and pulled away, shifting her position.

  Without thinking, Caprion gently tugged the chain at his wrist, keeping her close. She glanced up at him, her eyes flickering suspiciously, but he didn’t let her go. In that moment, he felt incredibly protective. He wanted to shelter her, to stand as a shield between her and the corruption of his race. I can’t do that without wings.

  “I must be able to fly,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I don’t agree with Sumas and his soldiers. I never thought my kind was capable of such evil….” He paused. “I can’t change anything if I'm wingless. I can’t protect you or fulfill my promise if I'm tied to the ground.”

  “You’ll change if you gain your wings,” Moss said quietly, almost sadly. “You’ll become like them.”

  “I won’t,” he murmured.

  She remained silent. And in that silence, an entire conversation seemed to pass between them, conflicting tides of hope and distrust, doubt and despair. Forget about me, she seemed to say. I didn’t ask for your help, and I don’t expect it.

  I won’t break my word, he wanted to reply. I’ll prove it to you. My wings won’t change me. They’ll only make me stronger. And he felt that Song stir within him, the one he had yet to voice aloud, moving through his chest and throat in a swelling wave. At that moment, he felt like he could release it. Like the tones and vowels lay on the tip of his tongue.

  He shifted, resettling his weight, his gaze returning to the empty, solemn chamber before them. Moss moved again to pull away, but he reached down and took her hand, their chains resting between them, connecting them in the darkness. He wanted to give her strength…but really, her presence reassured him of his purpose, reminding him that in the face of losing everything, he still had one reason to live.

  * * *

  He stood at Fury Rock, gazing at the darkened sky. No stars. No light.

  He knew this dream. He peered over the cliff, met by a black, featureless curtain. Yet he could feel the crush of grass beneath his feet, the soft indentation of dirt.

  He turned away from the cliff and looked down the hill on its opposite side. A gray, narrow trail led downward through the scrub-grass, cutting down the side of the hill like a long scar. Far below at the bottom, he could see the lumbering bulks of the shadestones, darker than darkness, thrusting up against the sky like massive spear-heads.

  Where are you? he thought. Where do you hide?

  He walked down the hill. In the faded, transient way of dreams, he did not feel afraid or even fully present. As he walked, his eyes searched every dip in the ground, every deep patch of shadow, straining and seeking. Iron determination filled each breath.

  Finally he reached the wide, flat area at the base of the hill. The shadestones towered before him, solemn and foreboding. He entered the circle of stones. As soon as he set foot inside the circle, he felt the air change to become thicker and hotter. The back of his neck prickled. He paused, listening, his breath quickening. Fear rose beneath the surface of his skin. He tried to quell it, to summon his courage, but the air became difficult to breathe in. The demon seemed to loom on every side, its presence as tangible and silent as the sacred stones.

  A twig snapped somewhere behind him. He whirled, his hand reaching instinctively for his sword, but he grasped empty air. Sumas took it, he realized, his gut sinking like a rock. He was defenseless. Fully open to attack. Now his heart hammered against his ribs, his lungs constricted. He took an uncertain step backward, his courage slipping away with each desperate, gasping breath. I can’t, he thought. I can’t fight him without wings.

  And then that voice seeping up from the ground, emitting from the stones, bleeding through the air. Or what?

  “Get back, demon!” he yelled. His voice hitched in fear.

  Or what? The demon murmured, slipping up from the ground, through the air, through the stones. A wicked, terrible laugh penetrated the night, seeming to emanate from every direction. Or what, fledgling? You will kill me? The voice cackled with mirth. Your people are dying and I am here to end them!

  “No!” he yelled, furious and hopeless. He whirled around, trying to find the source of the voice, but it was impossible. Darkness on every side. “Where are you?” he demanded. “Face me!”

  At your back, child.

  He turned, raising his hands. A harsh, smoldering wind blasted through him, burning his skin, bowling him over. He stumbled backward. The ground seemed to crumble and cave beneath his feet. He cried out, losing balance. He fell…and kept falling, the demon’s laughter ringing in his ears….

  * * *

  Caprion awoke to the sound of a door slamming.

  He opened his eyes as the sunstones flickered to life on the walls, illuminating the long hall of the prison.

  A vibration passed over his skin. Sumas.

  Then he heard his brother’s voice: “Josephi, open the cell. Be quick about it before any other fools come snooping around.”

  Caprion stirred. Early morning sunlight fell through the open door at the end of the hall and a few long, narrow windows toward the ceiling. The rest of the building was illuminated by sunstones. In this light, he could almost imagine the elegant, upper class jailhouse it had once been, reserved for the rich aristocracy.

  Then Sumas’ blocky, armored figure glided through the doorway, heading swiftly in his direction. Behind him trailed Josephi, the soldier who had originally sealed Caprion’s cell. Caprion glimpsed several more soldiers standing outside the doors of the prison. A few wingless fledglings knelt in the grass before them, looking scared out of their wits. As he watched, the soldiers bound the fledglings’ hands and escorted them away. Trespassers? Caprion felt mildly amused. Word of his venture must have spread like wildfire. Apparently some had come to investigate.

  Moss shifted at his side. He gripped her hand tightly to keep her from moving, muffling her chains. He didn’t want Sumas to know they were awake just yet. It seemed his brother intended to open their cell door. I need to get out of here, he thought. He couldn’t remain imprisoned. A sense of urgency pounded in his blood. The demon was on the move, he could feel it, and he knew he couldn’t waste any more time. No, his body seemed fueled by fire and light, his muscles twitching with unreleased energy. He needed to find it. To hunt it down.

  “When I break the chains,” he said very softly, no more than a murmur. “Run. Run for your life and don’t look back.”

  Moss’s eyes flickered, looking up at him. She didn’t question what he meant. “Where shall I go?” she asked.

  “Hide and I will find you,” he whispered. Then he closed his eyes again, pretending to be asleep. He felt Moss relax against his shoulder, mimicking his position. He could feel her pulse quickening beneath his thumb on her wrist.

  The vibration of Sumas’ great wings passed over his skin, closer, stronger. He heard rustling from the door of their cell. Josephi’s voice spoke the password, releasing the sunstone lock.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Josephi asked, obviously indicating Caprion. “He just slouches there like a dead thing.”

  “My brother is a coward,” Sumas snapped. He said it loudly, intentionally trying to provoke Caprion into a response. “If he won’t cooperate, then make him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Josephi agreed. Caprion could hear the relish in his tone. He braced himself, eager for action, for release.

  He sensed when Josephi knelt over them. His bright wings cast a pink light against Caprion’s closed eyes. “Wake up!” Josephi snapped. The man grabbed Caprion by the hair and yanked his head up forcefully.

  Caprion grabbed Josephi’s saber from his unprotected sheath, then stabbed down into his thigh, purposefully avoiding the major artery.

  Josephi roared and fell back, his wings lifting him upward and away. Blood splashed the ground in his w
ake. Caprion yanked the saber free and leapt to his feet. He turned, striking down on the chain that connected him to Moss. Once, twice—snap! The chain sprang apart with a sharp, metallic twang. Then he grabbed Moss’s hand and hauled her out of the cell.

  Sumas watched all of this, a look of shock on his face. Then his chest swelled in anger. “Stop!” he commanded, his voice resonating around the room with powerful magic. “Stop this, Caprion! Surrender your blade!”

  Caprion struggled against the compulsion. A burst of pain split his forehead. He felt blood trickle from his nose and ears, but his own Song rose in his chest. He could feel its melody coursing through his body and mind, almost audible. He kept walking forward, out the cell door, and directly into Sumas’ face.

  His brother looked completely dumbfounded. It finally registered that his song-magic was not working, and Sumas reached for his sword—too late. Caprion swung his saber wildly and Sumas leapt back. His wings carried him several meters away.

  Caprion shoved Moss toward the entrance of the prison. “Go!” he yelled. He didn’t have to say it twice. She gathered her chain and bolted, running swiftly and silently over the stone, weaving through the chamber like a rogue shadow.

  “Stop her!” Sumas roared, pointing after Moss’s shape. Caprion watched breathlessly as Josephi took off after her, gliding swiftly through the air, one hand clamped to his bleeding leg. Moss passed through the door and into sunlight—gone. She’s already reached the trees by now, Caprion thought fiercely. He won’t catch her.

  Sumas drew his heavy broadsword and faced Caprion, livid with rage.

  Caprion lifted his saber just as his brother lunged forward, gliding on his wings. Sumas swung at his head in a wide arc. Caprion raised his blade just in time—shing! He staggered. The force of the blow jarred his arm.

  His brother stabbed outward again, a roar of fury ripping from his throat. Caprion stumbled back, barely deflecting the second strike. He couldn’t match Sumas’ agility and strength. His brother’s wings gave him too much leverage.