Caprion's Wings

by T. L. Shreffler

  He entered the deeper tunnels of the prisons and tried to remember the way to Moss’s cell. He didn’t know if she would be there, but he had to start somewhere. The faint glow of his skin illuminated the cracked stone hallway, the moisture that streaked the stone, and the occasional rat scurrying underfoot. He turned once or twice, backtracking. Finally he found an old wooden door that looked right, but when he slid the bolt open and checked inside, the cell was empty.

  His eyes combed the small, dark room. In the corner, he saw the crack near the floor where the brown lizard had once appeared. He took a few more steps and found the rusted chains snapped by his sword. Yes, this was the right cell. But where was Moss?

  His lips turned grim. This didn’t bode well. He had to find her.

  What if she’s dead? a small, nagging voice whispered. He felt sick at the thought. No, she couldn’t be dead. Not after all he had gone through to find his wings. Why become a seraphim if he couldn’t save her life?

  At that moment, a large net of vibrations passed over his skin. He knew a Harpy soldier approached, and he decided to wait. He wouldn’t find Moss by wandering these cells alone; the prisons were vast and maze-like, almost impossible to navigate. No, he would need to ask the guards, but he couldn’t let himself be captured.

  He thought of the voice-trick he had used on Sumas’ men. He still wasn’t fully confident it would work, but he had no other choice. He paused in a shallow alcove of rock and waited, watching the corridor ahead.

  Eventually, a soldier rounded the corner and came into view. He walked at a swift pace, his eyes focused straight ahead, hardly scanning the hallway, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. He probably just got off duty, Caprion thought. The Harpy looked younger than himself with eight-foot wings, very humble for a soldier.

  Caprion waited until the man was a few feet away, then said loudly, “Halt!”

  The Harpy froze in his tracks. He blinked his eyes, then glanced down at his feet.

  Caprion stepped out of Moss’s cell into plain view. The soldier relaxed slightly when he saw him, then frowned, gazing at Caprion’s glowing skin, his strangely absent wings, and his hovering feet. Caprion didn’t wear any armor and had no markings of a soldier.

  “Who are you?” the young man said. “Citizens aren’t allowed down here! You need to return to the surface.”

  Caprion raised an eyebrow. “I will, but first I want you to show me where the girl is.”

  The soldier frowned. “What girl?”

  “A slave. The one who escaped. Sumas and his men captured her a few hours ago. Where is she?” He concentrated, his voice resonating. “Where is she?”

  The young soldier wavered in confusion and alarm. Then he began to speak. He looked surprised as his lips moved. “The west block,” he said. “In the blood-chambers. She’s already been dealt with.”

  Caprion’s face darkened ominously. “What do you mean, dealt with?”

  “Punished for her transgressions,” the young soldier blurted, still alarmed by his own words.

  “Take me to her. And keep quiet,” Caprion snapped.

  The soldier turned automatically and started back the way he came. Caprion followed swiftly.

  As they traveled through the dungeons—deeper underground, in a much different direction than Caprion’s last excursion—thoughts of Moss consumed his mind. The blood-chambers. What sort of place was that? He thought of her lying on a cold stone floor, wounded or brutalized, and fury rose within him. If she was dead, he would never forgive his own people.

  * * *

  The blood-chambers were located in the west wing of the dungeons. Caprion could smell their destination long before they reached it: blood and rust in the air. Salty. Bittersweet.

  They turned a corner. Heavy iron bars blocked the path forward. The gate spanned impassably from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. A series of gears rested at its base—a rope and pulley system activated by a tall lever. Caprion could see ancient letters ingrained in the iron bars. A sealing spell.

  The Harpy soldier murmured a few words of power, causing the old runes to glow with yellow light. Then he pulled twice on the lever. The gate creaked and groaned, then slid into a crack in the stone floor, disappearing from sight. They walked forward. A few sunstone baskets hung from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the mold-stained walls. Here the corridor spanned three meters wide. Dark, rough-hewn stone made up the floor and ceiling, low and heavy, claustrophobic. Solid metal doors lined the walls on either side.

  Most of those doors stood open, empty, but a handful were closed and bolted. Caprion stared at them. Low sobs and moans echoed from under the cracked frames, chilling him. He could see old pools of dried blood at the foot of each door, sunken into creases of stone.

  Caprion swallowed the bile in his throat. “And which cell is hers?”

  The Harpy pointed to the last door on the right. Caprion approached it swiftly. A few old runes marred the door’s surface, another sealing spell. He chanted softly under his breath. The runes glowed, then faded. He undid the bolt and thrust open the door.

  The stench struck him first. Mold. Rat feces. He saw bones; his eyes scanned over them, not daring to look too long. Dense shadows packed the small room, but as he set foot inside, several sunstones flared to life on the walls. The floor was stained black and brown by old blood.

  Against the far wall, a small figure lay curled on the ground.

  She looked…dead.

  His sucked in a sharp breath. In three strides, he crossed the room and knelt at Moss’s side. His hands hovered over her small body, shaking, unsure where to touch. Her hair was chopped jaggedly short. Her clothes were ripped, covered in dirt and grime. Her face was turned away from him, but he glimpsed a large bruise across one cheek, swelling her eye shut. He could see fresh blood staining the ground around her. It almost made him retch.

  Fury rose within him. Cold rage—he had to contain it. He needed to move her, but he didn’t know the extent of her wounds. He knelt next to her on the stone and turned her gently, searching for broken bones. Nothing obvious that he could see. Then he lifted her gently into his arms. Her body felt smaller and lighter than before, like a mangled bird.

  She winced and stiffened at his touch. He turned her in his arms, looking at the scrapes along her chin, her ravaged neck, the dried blood around the sunstone collar. Her left eye was swollen shut. A trickle of blood leaked down her chin from a cut on her parched lips.

  He knew what he had to do. With a simple thought, he summoned the magic of his wings, the power of Light. He gently touched the sunstone and spoke a single command: “Off.”

  The stone dimmed, losing its glow, then the collar abruptly snapped open. He eased it off of Moss’s neck and tossed it to one side. The skin beneath looked raw and bloody. Angry blisters circled her neck where the collar had rested.

  Moss stirred when the collar came off. Her slight movement made his heart leap. “Caprion?” Her words sounded painful, spoken through sandpaper.

  “I’m here,” he said quietly. Gently, he tried to wipe the blood from her face. She flinched at his touch, drawing away, fearful. He hated her fear. She seemed far from the mischievous, secretive girl of the previous day. “What did they do to you?” he asked softly.

  Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t reply.

  He frowned. “Moss,” he murmured. “Moss, open your eyes.”

  She winced again. “The light hurts….”

  He put his thumb to her brow and tried to lift one of her eyelids. She tilted her head away, weakly resisting. His arms grew firm and he continued to open her right eye; it appeared bloodshot and irritated, her cornea bright green in contrast. The pupil widened, then dilated, and she winced in the light.

  He checked her other eye, touching her bruised flesh delicately. She grimaced but kept still. Her left eye appeared cloudy and dull, its color faded. Her pupil didn’t respond to the light. He let out a slow breath, allowing her eye to close. Blind, he thought coldly. P
ermanently damaged by the sunstone.

  He listened to her low, ragged breathing. She would die in this room if he didn’t get her out. But in that moment, he was afraid to move her. She might be bleeding internally. The stress to her body could kill her….

  “You glow,” she said, squinting her good eye open. “I hoped…I hoped you wouldn’t find your wings. Now you will be like them.”

  He shook his head, unable to compose his thoughts. “Never,” he replied.

  “Did you kill the demon?” she asked softly.

  Her words struck him. He felt almost ashamed. “Yes,” he murmured.

  “Then…then we are enemies.”

  Her words disturbed him, and he bit his lip, shaking his head vehemently. “No. That demon was something else, something evil. I’ll never be your enemy. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  She grimaced. “You can’t,” she said.

  “Yes, I can. I have my wings now. I made a promise to you. I’ll take you over the ocean, back to the mainland.”

  “And then what?” she whispered. “It’s over, Caprion. My own race won’t have me now, not if I’m blind. There’s no future for me. I might as well die.”

  He paused. Her words didn’t seem to fit such a young girl. But she was one of the Unnamed. Death was no stranger to her race. She no longer seemed afraid. No, she seemed defeated, and that worried him even more.

  “I don’t want to survive this,” she murmured. She coughed lightly and winced, dragging in a painful breath. “Put an end to it before they come back. Please….”

  He gripped her shoulders. She wanted him to kill her? The thought made him sick to his stomach. “No,” he said fiercely. “I won’t abandon you. I owe you these wings. I’ll never forget that.”

  She gazed at him through one half-closed eye. “It’s over, Caprion,” she murmured. “They said you would come…and now you are here…I wanted to see you one last time. Please, please end this….”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “They got here…before you….”

  A chill went down his spine. “Who?’ he asked. “Sumas?”

  At that moment, a strong vibration passed over his skin, and he looked up, recognizing the energy. He couldn’t see his brother yet, but he knew the captain approached. He noted the soldier from earlier had disappeared. Damn! he thought. He should have ordered the man to stay put, but he had been too distracted by Moss. I thought I had more time!

  He didn’t have a choice—he would have to move her. He eased his arms gently under her and stood up, gripping her firmly to his chest. Her head lolled against him; she was losing consciousness. She felt light and small, as delicate as porcelain. I have to act swiftly. He left the cell, moving swiftly down the hall. But just as he approached the gate to the blood-chambers, he heard the rattle of armor. The vague glow of wings lit the corridor.

  Three Harpy soldiers rounded the corner, dressed in full armor, sunstones embedded on their helmets and chest plates. They stopped when they saw him. Their eyes fell to Moss.

  “It’s true,” one murmured in disgust. “Sick bastard.”

  Then their leader brandished his spear. “Halt!” he ordered. “You’re under arrest by the Matriarch’s decree!”

  Caprion glared, angered by the way they looked at Moss, as though she were too dirty to touch. With a furious thought, he summoned his wings, thrusting them powerfully from his back. Light burst through the chamber and the soldiers stumbled against the wall, shaken by its force. Two wings…four wings…there, he would have to stop. He couldn’t channel any more energy.

  He flew forward, striking one soldier with his left wing, bowling him over. The two other men scattered before him. It took a moment for Caprion to find his balance, then he glided into the next corridor, trying to remember how to get to the surface. He didn’t travel far before he was forced to stop. A squad of soldiers crowded the passage ahead, eight of them, perhaps more.

  No way to go back now. He had to hold his ground. “Stand aside!” he commanded, resonating his voice. He hoped it would work.

  A few of the guards hesitated, but their leader came on. “The Matriarch has ordered us to waylay you,” she said, a tall woman who stood at the front. She held a short saber in one hand, a dagger in the other, prepared for close combat. Her lip curled. “Put down the slave. Surrender yourself at once or we will use force.”

  Caprion’s eyes darkened. He held Moss protectively. “You’ll have to take her from my dead hands,” he growled.

  “Then we will,” a deep baritone replied, echoing down the corridor.

  Caprion recognized the voice, of course, and experienced a surge of anger. Sumas stood behind the band of soldiers. They stood aside, allowing their captain to pass. As he neared, Caprion’s anger grew.

  Sumas paused a few meters away, now at the fore of the group of soldiers. He smiled coldly. His brother appeared broad and lethal in the dark corridor, lit by the glow of his wings. “Go on. Give me a reason to kill you. Then what will happen to your precious little slave?”

  Caprion grimaced at Sumas’ words. His brother was right; if he died, Moss would be left to a terrible fate. His eyes darted around the soldiers. Eight in front, three behind. Too many to fight, especially with Moss in his arms. He didn’t want to set her down. If a soldier grabbed her….

  “You knew I would come for her,” Caprion said softly.

  Sumas sneered. “Not quite, but I hoped you would. Now the Matriarch has all the evidence she needs. You’re a traitor. A sympathizer. You’ll be imprisoned for this. Executed, if I have my way.”

  Caprion gritted his teeth. He hated his brother so much in that moment, he wanted to crush his throat. “Why?” he growled.

  “What?” Sumas asked, and raised a mocking brow.

  “Why are you doing this?” Caprion seethed.

  Sumas let out a bark of a laugh. He seemed to forget the soldiers behind him. He glared at Caprion in malice. “Why?” he demanded, as though it were the most apparent thing in the world. “Why? Because you’re my shameful, useless little brother—a coward and a traitor to our people! And the One Star chooses you? You, over me? You don’t deserve wings, never mind those of a seraphim!” Sumas thrust an accusing finger at him. “How many times has our mother wept for you? How many times did you disappoint her? How many times have you failed?” His voice rose in outrage. “And yet she favors you! She weeps for you, and yet she favors you, her weak little bird!”

  Caprion’s face flushed. Words of denial pressed his lips. No, his mother always bragged about Sumas, always encouraged him, always took his side. Each time Caprion failed his Singing, his mother would cry for days on end, and now they couldn’t even speak to one another. But perhaps that was the key. Perhaps Sumas hated her sorrow. Or, strangely, perhaps he coveted it. Perhaps he saw her distress as a sign of greater love.

  His brother spoke again in a fierce tone. “And now the Matriarch has taken notice of you. Now she wants you by her side. No, you don’t deserve that. I’ve worked hard for my rank and status, and I will take your head gladly. And then I’ll make sure that little slave dies a long, tortured death.”

  Caprion stood in silence, too furious to speak. His body vibrated with anger, his arms shaking. He wanted to wipe that look off Sumas’ face. He wanted to bring his brother to his knees.

  Sumas smirked. “What’s that, little brother? Lost your voice?”

  “Get out of my way,” Caprion growled.

  Sumas laughed. “And you think I’ll just stand aside?”

  “Yes,” Caprion said, his voice thick with rage. He felt his Song swell inside of him, pushing for release. His wings unfurled at his back, growing brighter, stronger. “Stand down!” The words burst from his throat in a hoarse shout, ringing about the corridor with unexpected force. The stone shuddered.

  Sumas’ eyes widened. His balance wavered.

  “I said, stand down!” Caprion roared.

  Cracks split the floor, spreading to S
umas’ feet. He gasped. His sword rattled from his hands and Sumas fell to the ground, crashing to his knees. Blood trickled from his ears, his nose, and his lips.

  The rest of the soldiers stared in shock. They stepped back as one.

  Caprion walked forward purposefully. The power of his Song thrummed within him, fueled by a bright, clear anger that glowed like a torch. He paused by Sumas’ cringing body and looked down at him. “If she dies,” he said coldly, his voice ringing with command, “you shall take your own life.”

  Sumas coughed up blood.

  Then Caprion kept walking, using his wings as a shield to push the soldiers aside. They stepped out of his way, hesitating, looking back at their fallen captain. A few followed Caprion down the corridor, maintaining a safe distance.

  Caprion strode purposefully, still seething. The light of his wings guided him through the earthen tunnels into the cavernous practice chamber, then toward the land above. Moss remained quiet in his arms, perhaps unconscious, but he couldn’t be certain. He carried Moss from the caves and flew with her to the surface of the island, landing gently in the grass amidst the shadestones, beneath the shadow of Fury Rock. Not even the salty, moist ocean breeze caused her to stir.

  The soldiers followed. They hung back awkwardly, reluctant to attack. Caprion stood silently in the grass, considering Moss in his arms and the ocean before him. He needed to carry her over that wide, blue expanse, but the journey could take several days, and he didn’t think she would survive the cold, or the lack of food. He didn’t know how many small islands lay between here and the mainland. She needed to rest and recover in a safe place.

  Damn, he thought darkly. He had been too furious, too desperate to reach Moss’s side. He should have planned this better. Sumas would come for him soon, and once the Matriarch discovered his transgressions….

  Too late.

  He felt the Matriarch’s vibration long before he saw her. Her cool, sweet tone washed over his skin, calming him, easing the tension in his shoulders. Her vibration carried a noticeable weight, that of age and experience.