On Wings of Air (Earth and Sky Book 1)

by J. L. Griffin

  A little later into the second week of his captivity, he had another chance to speak with Gusty. Unfortunately, this second encounter reinforced his original impression of the young man. Gusty was undeniably downtrodden and submissive and less than inclined to do anything the Groundbreathers would dislike. Still, there appeared to be enough of a spark left in the young man that he might eventually be of some assistance to Skye’s plans.

  Their second encounter happened late in the evening when Skye was ready to bed down for the night. He was returning to his small quarters, which were situated near Tierra’s rooms, when Gusty came around the corner from where Wisteria’s chambers were located.

  Motioning to the other man, Skye said in a low voice, “Lead me to your room. I need to speak to you.”

  Though Gusty glanced around nervously, he clearly did not wish to gainsay his prince, and he nodded after a moment, leading Skye to a room like his own. It was bare apart from a narrow bed and a small dresser to place his clothes, the latter of which likely consisted solely of colorless work smocks and trousers. Skychildren, who were viewed as nothing more than savages, merited little in the way of personal effects. Skye did not mind the lack of property nearly as much as he did the size of the slave quarters. Skye much preferred large spaces, and the smallness of his and Gusty’s quarters made him quite uncomfortable.

  The only fortunate part about their quarters, Skye felt, was that Gusty’s quarters were close to his own room. While such a thing was unsurprising since the two princesses were situated close to one another in the family wing of the castle, Skye was pleased at the convenience, knowing he might need Gusty’s help to escape this wretched place.

  “Yes, Your Highness?” Gusty asked once the bedroom door was closed behind them. His eyes darted back and forth between Skye and the exit, betraying his apprehension.

  Skye suppressed an exasperated sigh. He did not desire a subject at this point; rather, he was more interested in a confederate. “You don’t seem to want me here. Do the Groundbreathers have some sort of rule against their slaves being in one another’s rooms?”

  “Not that I know of, Your Highness,” Gusty replied with a nervous laugh. “But we tend to avoid doing things that might be considered forbidden. We’re not really supposed to be speaking to one another.”

  Skye favored him with a contemptuous smile. “I don’t care much about their punishments. But I’d prefer not to have anyone overhear you calling me by my title, so please just call me ‘Skye.’”

  Though he appeared uncomfortable, Gusty nodded and waited for Skye to speak again.

  “You asked me why I was here,” Skye said, “and the reason is a dark one. I was betrayed by the Seneschal and the king and accused of a crime I did not commit, and then I was banished here.”

  Gusty gasped. “You were betrayed by your own father?”

  Nodding, Skye continued. “I’ve never really seen eye-to-eye with my father. We’ve always had a distant relationship. But he’s . . . changed recently. I . . . well, I don’t know him anymore.”

  In truth, it was painful for Skye to discuss such things, but he had to force himself to continue. For the good of the sky realm, Skye must either make his father see reason or force him aside so as to avoid his destructive behavior being unleashed on the people.

  “Do you think the Seneschal was involved with what happened?” Gusty’s voice interrupted Skye’s thoughts.

  The prince made a face of distaste. “Without a doubt. My father has been acting more and more erratic lately, and it has something to do with Hawkins. He’s . . . Well, the man has always made me feel uneasy.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Gusty replied. His eyes moved to the door once more, and he licked his lips before he continued speaking. “I don’t know what you can do now. You’re a slave of the Groundbreathers. Skychildren don’t escape from Groundbreathers.”

  Skye’s look of displeasure made Gusty pale. “Perhaps they haven’t before, but I intend to be the first.”

  “What about your honor?” Gusty ventured.

  “What about it?”

  “Umm . . . well . . . you can’t return when you’re dishonored, can you?”

  “I have done nothing wrong,” Skye snapped. “I was betrayed . . . and captured due to that betrayal. As a result, I don’t consider myself dishonored.” He stood straighter and said darkly, “I am a prince of the Skychildren, and regardless of what the Groundbreathers might think, I consider myself to be as high above them as the highest clouds are above the lowest valley. And I have no intention of giving them the satisfaction of holding me prisoner here for the rest of my life.”

  Gusty dipped his head down and then chanced a glance at Skye. “Well, I wish you the best, Your H—I mean S-Skye. But it’s late, and I have early morning duties tomorrow, so I should probably go to sleep.”

  “Of course,” Skye said in a low voice, trying to hide his irritation. “I am certain we shall see one another around the castle frequently.”

  And with that, Skye left the room. As he shut the door, he witnessed the expression of consternation that had come over Gusty’s face at the promise of meeting him often.

  * * *

  That encounter made it quite clear that Skye had not found someone to abet his escape as he had hoped. As a Skychild who had lost his honor, Gusty likely believed he did not deserve to return to his people, so he had resigned himself to his fate. Skye was not certain that anything could convince Gusty otherwise. He thought of further playing up the idea that he needed Gusty’s help to return to the sky realm and save the kingdom from destruction, but he doubted his petition would be successful. He would need to work Gusty up to that, which would take time that Skye simply did not have. He had begun to work on a plan to escape almost immediately after he was captured, and he was unwilling to wait any longer.

  Some experimentation had proven what he had initially been told about the slave collar. The device acted as a sort of ground magnet, for lack of a better term; it was as if it wanted to be near the ground. While Skye could use his powers normally when walking in the Groundbreather domain, the further he got away from the ground, the weaker his powers became . . . until they were finally nullified.

  He experimented several times when he was certain no one was watching, and he found that regardless of his attempts to summon a wind to bear him up in the air, he would rise until his powers became useless, and then he would fall back to the ground. While his Skychild heritage protected him from injury when he fell back down, that did not help him to escape. On one occasion, he had even attempted to conjure a great gust to shoot him up to the clouds, but he had found he simply could not summon a gale with sufficient power to do what he wanted.

  He had then turned his attention to other means of escaping. Of course, fleeing the castle on foot was difficult, as there were members of the Iron Swords patrolling the corridors at all hours of the day and night, and beyond that, those hideous garms were everywhere, watching him with their feral eyes. It was difficult to understand why anyone would want to keep a weapon on the back of a dog, but since a sword was completely safe from being stolen when in the garm’s possession, and Skye had witnessed more than once the speed at which a guardsman could draw the lethal weapon, he was forced—grudgingly—to admit that it did make a certain sense. Even if he managed to sneak out, it seemed probable that the garms, with their superior sense of smell, would track him down long before he was able to escape for good.

  Of course, that did not prevent him from trying. In fact, Skye was eager to test the Groundbreather defenses. The inhibiting collar was the primary kink in his plans, but he figured that if he could simply escape the Groundbreather castle and get as far away from it as possible, then he could determine how to remove the collar or at least disable it. Maybe the garms would not even prove to be as big of a problem as he feared.

  It was almost two weeks after he had arrived in the castle that he made his escape attempt. Thou
gh he had wanted to flee the castle immediately, he had waited, hoping that the Groundbreathers would become complacent when it came to watching him.

  He thought his plan had worked, for while both Groundbreathers and Groundwalkers had looked at him with suspicion the first few days of his enslavement, now most of them passed him without even a glance, as if he were unworthy of even that level of scrutiny. The queen and Tierra were the exceptions, though their reactions were so different as to be laughable. Tierra would usually give him a smile and a nod, whereas Queen Sequoia would typically favor him with a scowl and narrowed eyes. He wanted to tell the queen that if she was so disapproving of the slaves under her roof, then she should free them all and be done with it, yet he knew expressing such a sentiment would not improve his situation. So he had stayed silent, trying to avoid any delays to his schemes. Now, however, he was ready to leave this place for good.

  Skye waited in his bedroom until it was late into the evening. His clothes were already drab enough that they would not stand out in the darkness, so at least the Groundbreathers had done him a favor there. He could not exactly disguise himself as a Groundbreather, so hiding in an unpopulated area was really the only option available to him.

  He had attempted to pay attention to the rounds made by the Iron Swords while he was going back and forth doing his duties, yet he had admittedly not been able to discern much about their routines during this time of the night due to the exhaustion which usually settled over him at the end of the day. Still, he thought he had a good enough handle on how things worked, and he had even picked out a few prime hiding spots along his path through the castle to freedom.

  He snuck out of his room, glancing down both sides of the hallway to be certain no guards were coming, and then he ducked into one of those hiding spots, waiting for a pair of Iron Swords to come near his position. They were talking to each other, their demeanors relaxed and unconcerned, and he waited a few minutes for them to pass before he hurried after them.

  He soon came across a pair of garms. Their heads were on the floor, as if they had been sleeping, yet they watched him with a hungry gleam in their eyes. He tried to not let their presence affect him. After all, since garms had no concept of time, they had no way of knowing that he was doing something suspicious. Perhaps they might have had some sense that there were not a lot of people in the hallways, but the Skychild slaves in this place had surely been sent on at least a few midnight errands, so the beasts would not be trained to attack immediately even if most of the castle’s occupants were asleep.

  And so he made his way to the front of the castle, hiding from guards and trying to ignore the hairs rising on his neck whenever a garm looked at him. He did not know how the Groundbreathers had infused such malice for Skychildren into their bestial guards, but it was obvious that every one of the garms knew what he was. If he tried to take a sword from one of their backs, he was likely to lose the hand that reached out. But he had known all along that he would not be able to fight his way to freedom; that was why he had chosen stealth instead. He hated the necessity of it—it seemed somehow beneath him as a prince—but the most important thing was that he return to his people.

  It was when he reached the entrance of the castle that he realized the real difficulty was getting past the guards and garms posted there. If he had been one of the Groundwalkers, he could have never done it. But there were some perks to being descended from a sky goddess.

  He moved behind a tapestry—not the best of hiding places, but it would keep him unseen by a casual glance—and it was the work of a moment to use his powers to send a decorative vase and its pedestal in the hallway opposite him toppling to the floor with a loud crash.

  “Stay!” one of the Iron Swords commanded the garms. Then both men hurried to investigate the noise.

  Skye stepped out from behind the tapestry. Holding his breath and praying to Celesta, he walked hastily toward the entrance. He could not run, or the garms would immediately be upon him. Even now, their beady eyes watched his every move.

  As he approached the large dogs, he lifted a hand. He conjured up a great wind that shot forward and picked them up. With a sharp gesture, he tossed them against the wall. Their yelps resounded in the large space.

  Skye made a run for it, rushing through the castle exit. He passed the guards posted outside. Their startled shouts rang out behind him.

  As he ran, Skye did not dare turn around. A gust of wind aimed behind him might have made his escape easier, but that assistance would have been rendered meaningless if a ground-cage sprung up around him. And so he zigzagged back and forth in a pattern he hoped was unpredictable. The earth rose and fell behind him as the Groundbreathers tried and failed to anticipate his moves.

  Skye, knowing his pursuers would soon guess correctly, began to randomly shoot himself up into the air to throw them off. Unfortunately, he was not outdistancing the garms.

  Their sharp barks and deep growls followed him. They were drawing closer.

  He redoubled his efforts, shooting higher in the air. The noise of the large dogs became louder.

  Skye sent gusts of wind behind him without looking. Unfortunately, he could not aim the attacks with any accuracy.

  There was a snarl, and then a heavy weight hit his back. He went down in a heap.

  Several of the large dogs jumped atop him. But rather than tear him to shreds, they simply pinned him down and growled. He struggled to free himself and attempted to create a whirlwind in the midst of them, but it was useless. They merely dug into the ground to stabilize themselves. His attempt had ended in failure. A string of oaths escaped his lips.

  Within moments, the Groundbreather guards had trotted up to where Skye lay on the ground. After speaking a few words to the garms, they wrenched Skye up to his feet.

  “Stupid Skychild,” one guard growled, “you cannot escape us. Why must your kind always feel like you have to try?”

  Skye glared at the man, but he did not reply. He refused to answer to the likes of a mere guardsman.

  * * *

  The guards marched Skye back to the castle and in through the gates, and while the hour was late, it seemed as though Skye’s actions had garnered quite a bit of attention. Yet he kept his countenance and ignored the gawkers. His failure truly did not signify. He would succeed another time.

  Skye was led into the throne room, where the hastily dressed king and his harpy of a queen awaited him. How the Groundbreather king could look the other way while his wife ruled the kingdom and ran roughshod all over him was a mystery to Skye. The Skychildren, while not a particularly patriarchal society, had nonetheless preserved the notion of rank to a certain extent. There had been instances in the past where a queen with a consort had ruled, and in such a situation, the queen would certainly be the authority. In this instance, however, he had heard that it was the king who had inherited the throne. To be ruled over by his consort in such a fashion spoke to the man’s weakness.

  “Well, well,” the queen said, her eyes seeking to incinerate Skye on the spot, “I was waiting for you to attempt to escape. Even the most subservient Skychild slaves will eventually try to flee, and you are certainly not that, are you?”

  There was nothing to be gained from responding to her, so Skye endeavored to be silent and not rise to her taunting. Besides, what she had said was nothing more than the truth.

  “Perhaps you have learned your lesson now,” the queen said, reaching down to pet the garm at her side, as one might stroke a sleeping cat. But that vicious-looking white beast was no docile feline. “Skychildren do not escape. If you cannot learn this, then you will be beaten for your further attempts.” She smiled unpleasantly, reminding Skye of a thunderbird perched on the walls of the Skychild throne room. He suppressed a snicker at the thought that she was about as attractive as a molting thunderbird . . . and just about as vicious. “If you still persist, then you will be put to death. Your position as a slave is not indispensable. I suggest you
do not test us, slave.” She turned her head and snapped, “Tierra!”

  The Groundbreather princess stepped forward from the side where she had apparently been standing. Her hair was in disarray, though she had, like her parents, hastily dressed in something more appropriate than her nightgown. She favored Skye with an exasperated look before she acknowledged the queen.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Make certain your slave returns to his quarters. Remember that it is your responsibility to control him. If he misbehaves, then you must discipline him. I will not have him disrupting the work of others in the castle with his antics.”

  “I understand, Mother,” Tierra replied. She turned to Skye with pursed lips. “Come with me, slave. We need to get you settled again.”

  They left the throne room, and Skye walked along the corridors, ignoring the princess, who clucked and fussed as they walked.

  The events of the evening had been unfortunate, but they had taught him something. He had learned that the direct method would not work. He would have to develop a more intricate strategy, and one of the requirements would undoubtedly be the removal of the infernal collar which kept him bound to this miserable world. It would come in time; he simply needed to change tactics.

  “Great Mother,” said Terrain, “I have been looking at the moon, and I think it needs a companion. It is pale with grief because it is alone. The sun is hot and proud and makes no proper companion. As you created me to give you companionship, may I create a great globe to serve as the moon’s companion?”

  Celesta smiled upon her son with great warmth and said, “What you say is wise. You may.”

  So Terrain created a globe the size of the moon with his mother’s guidance. But he thought it was too small, and he said, “Mother, I wish to make it larger.”

  “Do you not think it large enough?” asked Celesta.