“I don’t understand,” he murmured, turning back to the Matriarch.
Her smile turned wry. “You are one of the seraphim,” she explained. “Graced with strength and ability beyond many of our race. The One Star heard your Song, and so it replied. Yes, your star is the great golden orb that gives life to this world. You alone, young warrior, could have killed that beast.” She looked to the steaming corpse behind him. Now half the size, it was slowly evaporating into the air.
“The One Star?” Caprion murmured, stunned. He had heard of such things in legends and stories, all from before the War of the Races. He recalled the six-winged statues on the Road of Remnants; they were symbols of the island’s past, not true history. He glanced over his shoulder at his wings again. Many wings. Then down at the ground, inches below his feet. He hovered effortlessly, without a thought.
Then his eyes traveled past the Matriarch, to the mouth of the earthen tunnel, and he saw several figures gathered there. The Madrigal, tall and thin, a knowing pride upon his face. Talarin, her helmet in one hand, her lips parted in awe. And Sumas—tight-lipped, stone-faced.
The moment their eyes met, Sumas took a step forward into the chamber, asserting himself. His voice rang out like brass. “My Lady of the One Star,” he said briskly, addressing the Matriarch. “We came as fast as we could. We are relieved to see you awake and well.” Then he bowed down to one knee.
The Matriarch turned. Her eyes swept over Sumas, noting the badges on his armor. “Ah,” she paused gracefully. “Another Le’Nasir, if my memory has not failed, and a new captain as well. Your mother must be proud.”
Sumas flushed with pride, then quickly composed himself. He nodded to Caprion. “This fledgling released the demon that almost killed you. We found him consorting with the Sixth Race in the underground prison. He should stand trial for his actions.”
The Matriarch raised one white, sloping eyebrow. “Is this true?” she asked the Madrigal.
The old man consented, though his expression remained troubled. “Yes, my lady, from what I have heard.”
She glanced back to Caprion, who stared at his brother angrily. He no longer felt afraid of Sumas. White energy burned within him. He had finally gained his wings—becoming a seraph, whatever that implied—and his brother could only condemn him.
“Consorting how?” the Matriarch asked.
Sumas thrust out his jaw before Caprion could speak. “He befriended and released a slave from the prisons. Luckily, we caught her. And he unleashed the very demon that attacked you, leading to this whole mess! What he’s done is inexcusable. He cannot be trusted.”
Caprion felt his gut turn suddenly cold. Moss. They caught her? So soon? He felt himself slowly sink downward. His wings flickered behind him, and he sensed them fold in on themselves, vanishing from sight—just like the Matriarch’s.
His feet touched the ground.
The Matriarch looked at him keenly. “I wish to hear the full story,” she said. “Both sides of it, and soon. But first we must take care of business.” She glanced at Talarin. “I sense a large number of soldiers accumulating above ground. Tell them the demon has been killed. Have them wait for me. I will greet them in a moment.”
Talarin saluted and turned, dragging her eyes away from Caprion. She retreated quickly down the tunnel.
As soon as Talarin left, the Matriarch faced all of them with a hard gaze, completely transformed from her serene self. “Darkness rises on the mainland,” she said directly. “In my dreams, I saw it. I felt it rolling through the earth. It has yet to manifest, but mark my words—it comes.”
Caprion blinked, taken aback, reminded of the demon’s final threat. This is not over, little bird.
The Matriarch continued. “I must confer with the Madrigal on this matter, but I think we will have need of a seraphim soon. Caprion, it’s no coincidence that now, as darkness gathers on the mainland, you have manifested. I fear we will face many more of the Sixth Race in the coming years.” She paused, her lips tightening. “I do not wish to sound ungrateful. You have saved my life, and I will not forget that. But our new captain has thrown your loyalty into question, and I can only imagine his soldiers feel the same. I wish to know all the details. Tell me, Caprion: do you sympathize with the demons?”
Caprion opened his mouth, then shut it. He thought of his battle with the beast. Its burning blood, its venomous teeth. A wave of disgust surged through him. At that moment, he wished he could kill it all over again. He felt strangely called to the task. He wanted to hunt down another creature of darkness. He craved it.
And then he thought of Moss.
Brave, defenseless little Moss.
He wouldn’t have found his wings without her.
Worry creased his brow. What would happen to her now? The power of his Song seemed to have healed his body completely; he felt renewed, reborn. And yet that didn’t erase his vow. No, deep in his bones, that song-spell still bound him to her. She had fulfilled her half of the bargain, but he had yet to fulfill his.
She was not yet evil. She was nothing like the gruesome, twisted corpse of the demon.
He didn’t know how to put that all into words.
The Matriarch’s face hardened at his silence. She turned swiftly and signaled to the Madrigal. “Come,” she said. “We have much to discuss. Captain, hold the seraphim for now. Keep him under watch. We shall speak after the celebration feast.”
Sumas saluted curtly, his wings aglow at his back. He wore the composed face of a soldier, and yet Caprion could see an aura of red light around him. He had never seen auras before, but now he could clearly perceive the flickering pride and smugness that drifted about his brother’s fat head.
My wings are greater than his, he realized. It felt like an epiphany. He no longer had to fear his brother. He could stand against Sumas, face to face, and win.
Caprion almost smiled.
Sumas approached him, obeying the Matriarch’s orders. He bound Caprion’s hands behind his back and shoved him forward down the tunnel. Before gaining his wings, Caprion might have stumbled, but now his feet lifted effortlessly off the ground. It took a great amount of concentration to bring himself back to the earth. He wasn’t used to moving so quickly or easily. At times he felt off-balance, like he might slide into the wall.
Sumas, the Madrigal, and the Matriarch followed him up the earthen steps, then outside into sunlight.
* * *
Caprion found himself once again en route to the gilded prisons. It seemed the ideal place for Sumas to hide him from the city. He went complacently, docilely, biding his time. The sun hung heavy in the sky, nearing mid-afternoon; less time had passed than he thought. He felt as though he had spent hours under the earth, battling the demon.
The Matriarch and the Madrigal continued onward to Asterion proper. Caprion knew from prior years that the Matriarch would give a speech at the God of Light’s temple, full of glamorous and uplifting words to remind the Harpies of their noble roots. Then tomorrow would be a day of celebration and feasting.
If all went according to Sumas’ plan, he would spend the next few days in prison and then quietly submit to a private trial. The Matriarch wouldn’t include the city in these matters. It would be his word against Sumas.
Caprion didn’t expect flying to feel so natural. After a lifetime rooted to the ground, he felt exhilarated to launch into the skies, his body as light as air. His wings flickered around him as he flew, never fully manifesting. He experimented a bit, weaving through the air, adjusting his speed and altitude. He stopped when the soldiers became antsy. No one seemed to know what to think of him, and they remained tensely silent.
Eventually, they arrived on the prison grounds, then his brother and the squad of soldiers marched him into the gilded hall. A nameless second-year soldier escorted Caprion into a cell, then locked it with a quick pass-phrase.
“Watch him carefully,” Sumas growled after seeing Caprion secured. “Seraphim,” he spat. “This is a demon�
�s trick. The One Star would never respond to your voice.”
Sumas’ soldiers stood at attention, but Caprion saw them cast nervous glances in his direction. He doubted any of them knew what a seraphim was, but they could sense the difference in his vibration. Although Caprion’s wings stayed hidden from sight, his skin held the same ethereal glow as the Matriarch. He could feel his new aura emitting from his body, pushing against the air.
He tested his wings, flicking them in and out of existence. The soldiers watched; a few turned more fully to stare. He could summon his wings with a simple thought, and yet it seemed to take a great amount of effort to manifest all six at once. His body didn’t seem well-made for the task. He remembered the first manifestation of his wings, when their white-hot energy had almost burned him alive. He didn’t think his body could be restored twice. He imagined that if he summoned too much power, his entire body might dissolve into light.
He wondered, suddenly, if seraphim had died in the war like that—exploding with the full strength of their stars, sacrificing their lives to take out legions of enemy soldiers.
“You’re very quiet, brother,” Sumas mocked, drawing his attention. “Did you think we would forget it all after you gained your wings? I am loyal to the Matriarch. You released a demon from the crypts. I am only trying to protect our people.”
Caprion gazed at his brother coldly. “I killed that demon as well,” he said. “Have you ever killed a full-blooded demon, Sumas?”
“Captain Sumas,” his brother snapped.
Caprion smirked. For so long, Sumas had won by asserting himself, by playing the bully. How terrible, Caprion thought wryly, to be shown up by your worthless, bumbling, wingless little brother. He didn’t expect Sumas to be happy for him, to congratulate him or show any sort of support. No, if the Matriarch celebrated Caprion as a seraphim, the first battle-Harpy born in generations, then Sumas would live the rest of his life in Caprion’s shadow. He would be completely overlooked.
“I won’t let the Matriarch forget your treason,” his brother snarled. Then he whirled around and marched toward the door, his wings flickering angrily.
A familiar figure joined Sumas at the entrance to the prison, and Caprion recognized Warden Dahlia from the underground dungeons. They left together. With his new eyes, Caprion could see the way their auras melded together, the warden’s fierce purple against Sumas’ dark red fire. Their auras overlapped, intertwining. Lovers, he thought, knowing it instinctively. At least casual ones.
His brow darkened. They were plotting something. He could already guess what the warden thought of the Sixth Race. She would back up all of Sumas’ claims. They were probably corroborating their stories right now.
The thought left him chilled. Even if Talarin and Florentine came to his defense, he didn’t know if the Matriarch would take their word over Sumas. The Madrigal might be helpful, but he couldn’t count on that. By this point, the entire army had probably heard of Caprion’s involvement with the Sixth Race. They would all question his loyalties. And the Matriarch was not a young, gentle, forgiving queen. No, she had ruled since the War of the Races with an iron hand. She would protect her people at all cost. His status as a seraphim might gain him some leverage, but how much? What if the Matriarch decided he was guilty of treason?
He doubted she would execute him, but he might be imprisoned for a long, long time.
He couldn’t let that happen. Moss needed him.
He waited until Sumas’ and Dahlia left the grounds. Three guards remained inside the prison, two at the entrance, one outside his door. He watched them warily, wondering what he could do to escape. He didn’t have much control over his wings yet and they wouldn’t be very useful behind closed bars.
His voice, on the other hand….
“You,” he said, resonating his voice, lacing it with a command. “Come here.”
The nearest soldier turned automatically and approached the cell. He stopped only a few inches away. Then he blinked, surprised. “What?” he asked. He looked bewildered by his own actions.
Caprion felt a rush of possibilities. His voice grew stronger in his throat. “Let me out,” he ordered, infusing his words with a song-spell.
The soldier frowned at him. “We’ve been ordered to keep you confined,” he replied.
Caprion considered this. So he could influence the soldiers by resonating his voice, but he couldn’t control them completely. He would have to find a way around his brother’s orders.
He noted how close the soldier stood to the cell, to the sunstone lock. “Speak the password,” he tried again.
The soldier hesitated, then a strange, horrified look came over his face. In a muffled voice, he spoke the password to the sunstone. The cell door clicked open. “Stay calm,” Caprion ordered as he left the open cell. He kept a careful eye on the guard. “Don’t move. Don’t draw your sword.”
“No,” the soldier resisted, his hands tightening into fists. “You can’t just walk out of here! Help!” he yelled. “The captive is escaping!”
His fellow soldiers turned in alarm. “What are you doing?” one demanded from across the prison. “Stop there! The Matriarch has ordered your arrest!” Both guards drew their swords and charged toward him.
Caprion wondered if he had overplayed his card. He grabbed the first soldier and drew the man’s sword from his sheath. They struggled for a moment, but Caprion let out a blinding burst of light from his wings, stunning the guard. Then he shoved him into the cell. The man tripped over his own feet and fumbled to the floor, squinting uselessly, momentarily blinded.
Caprion turned to face the oncoming soldiers. “Stop and put down your weapons!” he commanded. Their wings were small in comparison to his own, only ten feet on average compared to his largest set of wings, which spanned almost twenty feet when fully unfurled. He laced his voice with a strong compulsion.
The two Harpies hesitated only a few meters away. Caprion flew forward and used his sword to knock the blade out of one soldier’s hand. He bowled the second one over with the force of his wings. He wasn’t sure what to do next; his mind scrambled for ideas. He didn’t want to hurt the soldiers, but how else could he waylay them? He needed to lock them up somehow, stop them from reporting to Sumas….
Levitation, he thought, remembering how Talarin had once carried him through the sky. He focused on that image, hoping it would work, and it almost did. He felt the intensity of his wings change, growing brighter and wider, and one of the soldiers began to glow. He tried to lift the soldier off the ground but failed miserably, and sent him crashing into his partner instead. They stumbled together in confusion.
Just as well, he thought. He grabbed them both by their chest plates and dragged them around, then shoved them into the open cell. They staggered into the first soldier and all three fell to the ground. Then Caprion slammed the door shut. He locked it using a low, melodious word. When he stood back, perspiration dotted his brow and his voice felt hoarse from so much resonating.
One of the soldiers untangled himself from his companions, then faced the bars. “You won’t get away with this!” he threatened. “When Sumas returns…!”
“When Sumas returns, you’ll say nothing,” Caprion said boldly, meeting each of their eyes. “Now shut your mouths and sit quietly.” His voice ached from the command.
The soldiers sat there, stunned. Caprion finally turned away and started toward the exit. He shook his head as he walked, a little unnerved by his new abilities. I’m too strong, he thought. By the One Star…why did you make me this way?
The Song shifted inside of him, and he heard its call as clearly as a struck bell. Protect them, it murmured.
And he knew, then, that the ancient lore of his race was true. The seraphim were meant to be warriors, to defend their people, to hunt down and destroy the Sixth Race. He could feel it in his body, in his wings, in his voice and Song. And he knew, suddenly, that generations of seraphim had sacrificed their lives—activated their six wings in
an explosion of light—to destroy the demons. There is a history here, he thought. A history I must uncover…but now is not the time.
If he made it out of this situation, he vowed to dig up every single piece of information he could find on the seraphim. He had seen statues of six-winged warriors along the Road of Remnants, but had never wondered about them. Now, he would need to know. He had a feeling that it wouldn’t be so easy to destroy the next demon. A brilliant energy had consumed his body when his wings first emerged. He wouldn’t be able to summon that kind of light again—not without serious consequences.
He paused at the door to the prisons. No soldiers stood outside; the grounds appeared empty. He had to wonder at that. It didn’t seem like Sumas to leave him with only a few guards. After a cautious moment, he started into the forest, careful to hide his presence.
He slipped quietly through the evening twilight. As the stars appeared in the sky, he felt a new connection to them. He found, if he listened hard enough, he could almost hear faint strands of music, changing as he settled his eyes on different stars. It was as though he knew them. As though he could hear every Harpy’s unique Song.
A chill passed over his skin. How will I ever learn to be a seraphim? he thought. How can I ever control this?
Once he felt certain he had not been followed, he lifted easily into the air and headed for the underground dungeons where he knew Moss was imprisoned.
Chapter 10
The underground dungeons were surprisingly empty, though Caprion could detect the faint vibration of Harpies moving about the tunnels. They stayed far out of sight, patrolling the dark pathways of the deeper prisons.
He traveled swiftly through the wide stone practice chamber where Sumas had trained his soldiers. His feet hovered an inch above the ground, completely silent. He didn’t bother to hide himself as he once had. He wasn’t afraid anymore, not after facing the demon. He felt certain, no matter what happened, that he would be able to find Moss and get her out of this place. No one could stop him from this.
Caprion's Wings Page 11