Skyborn

by David Dalglish

  “You don’t know that.”

  Luke’s haunting words said otherwise. Kael watched as the army flew closer. The Seraphim were broken into V-shape formations, each seven strong, and Kael began counting up the total number of such groups. Twenty-one in total. Almost one hundred and fifty strong. Sparing a glance at their own forces, he feared they had maybe a hundred and twenty at most. But they had Argus Summers leading them, and he alone counted for at least twenty. Despite his fear, Kael wished he could be with them, but with so little training, he’d fall out of formation, and a lone Seraph was easy pickings for a well-trained squad.

  “Look there,” Bree said, pointing. Kael traced the line of her finger until he saw them, a trio of theotechs flying in from Center. As for all battles, Galen had requested the attack, outlined their reasons, and then launched upon receiving permission. The theotechs would oversee the battle, reporting the results to Center as well as guiding the fleet of vultures, younger members of their order who served on reclamation teams to recover the technology from the dead. Seeing them hovering there, mere observers to the coming bloodshed, made them appear so much more frightening. It was as if they had hearts of stone and condoned the coming death.

  “They’re launching,” Kael said, glancing to his right. The Weshern Seraphim were also dividing into V formations, though theirs were nine strong instead of seven. Kael counted fourteen of them, which meant they were as outnumbered as he feared. One after the other they charged the Galen forces, the Seraphim maintaining their tight formations with brilliant control. Kael spun as they flew overhead, accompanied by a deep thrumming sound, the combined volume of more than a hundred wings pushed to their maximum. He wondered if they’d be safe on the wall, but before he could voice his question, the battle erupted.

  Massive chunks of stone flew from the lead Seraphim on each side, forming walls, disrupting formations, and colliding into each other with cracks like thunder. Walls of ice joined the stone, flying outward for brief moments before falling. Both sides dove beneath blasts and above hurled earth, and as the distance between them shrank, the fire and lightning were unleashed. It was like a great storm in the sky, and the sound of its rumble took Kael’s breath away. In those first few moments, he saw Seraphim from each side go tumbling to the ground, bodies smashed by stone or struck dead by fire and lightning.

  Despite the battle raging above the field to their west, it was still impossible to follow individual Seraphim, only formations. Now that the head-on exchange was finished, the forces began to weave and circle one another, seeking out advantageous positions. Kael watched one group of five Galen Seraphim dive low, shooting lances of fire and ice into the path of one of Weshern’s formations below. Instead of fleeing, the other formation banked hard and rose, a barrage of boulders forcing the five to veer away… and right into the path of Argus Summers’s formation. It was the only one Kael could identify from such a distance, for Argus’s wings and those of his elite had black stripes painted across the sides to distinguish them from the rest. Two blasts of lightning tore into the squad of five, followed by thin spears of fire aimed directly into their path of evasion. Galen’s formation scattered, several fliers dying in the vicious barrage.

  Bree reached for Kael’s hand, and he took hers gladly. As they both watched the battle, it seemed time rewound itself, and they were eleven years old, watching the battle that would claim both their parents.

  Kael spotted Seraphim from both sides veering off and then hovering in place. They were snipers, men and women who lurked on the fringes of the battle, watching for an advantageous moment to strike. Sometimes they were spotted and had to flee a counterbarrage, while other times they’d swoop in behind and kill a Seraphim before he or she realized they were in danger. Kael watched one Galen sniper knife up from far below the battle, shards of ice shooting from his gauntlet at stunning speed. Two of Weshern’s Seraphim died as the shards tore into their stomachs. Two of the remaining three of the formation fled, but one remained behind, diving toward the sniper. Kael saw dots of fire and ice fly between them, and he had no clue who might win.

  When it was the Weshern Seraphim who veered back to the sky, and the Galen sniper who plummeted to the ground, Kael breathed a sigh of relief.

  “This is wrong,” Bree said softly. “So many dying, and for what? For me?”

  The sky was filled with shards of ice and bursts of flame, punctuated by blasts of lightning that shot with frightening accuracy throughout the entire chaos. The sounds merged together as a constant rumble, one so deep Kael felt it in his teeth. His earlier desire to join in was long gone. He couldn’t imagine how he’d react in such madness. Likely he’d have already been one of the many dropping to the ground, wings broken, bones shattered, flesh burned and ripped open.

  Though it felt like an eternity, the battle ended as quickly as it began. Two long blasts came from a horn somewhere in the mess, and just like that, both sides veered away from each other. It was the horn of surrender, which both twins immediately recognized. The theotechs, who’d remained still all throughout, sprang to life, flying between the recovering forces.

  “Which side?” Kael asked, trying to decipher where the horn had come from. “Which side surrendered?”

  Bree stared a moment longer, watching the theotechs.

  “They did,” she said, not hiding her relief. “We won.”

  The Galen Seraphim flew west, now scattered and spread out instead of in tight formations. Kael counted, and of their initial hundred and fifty, it looked like they’d lost more than twenty. A devastating loss, certainly, but when he turned to their own number, he saw similar losses. At least Galen had surrendered. If Bree had been the reason, a surrender by the Weshern forces would have meant immediately handing her over for torture and execution. The thought chilled him to the bone, and that he’d watched the battle for even a moment like it was some sort of game flooded him with shame.

  “Let’s go,” he said as their fellow Seraphim fluttered back to the ground near the armory. Bree reluctantly followed him down the ladder and across the field. By the time they reached the shacks in the center, the academy was abuzz with movement. A steady stream of Seraphim flew overhead, some bringing wounded, others bodies to bury once the vultures had picked them clean. Kael found several of his classmates gathered together not far from the bridge, Brad among them.

  “Hey,” Brad said, jogging over the moment he saw them. “Look, now is not a good time. Bree, maybe you should go back to your room.”

  Bree pushed past him, and when he reached for her arm, she broke out into a run.

  “Shit,” Brad said, and together he and Kael chased after her. They crossed the bridge, passed the mess hall, and then turned south toward the armory and apothecary. In the open space between the buildings the wounded were gathering, for there were too many to fit inside the tiny building. Bree slowed, for mingling about were the rest of the Seraphim. Kael caught up and grabbed her wrist.

  “Bree, stop,” he said.

  “I have to know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I have to.”

  Wishing there was another way, Kael let her go. She wandered into the Seraphim, some removing their wings and swords, others remaining armored. After a moment, Kael reluctantly followed. People made room for her, and Kael saw the way they looked at her. Few seemed to recognize her. Of those who did, the reaction was split between pity and disgust. Her steps slowed, as if she realized for the first time she had no idea where to go.

  “Was this for me?” she asked, in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper. No one heard. Hands clenched into fists, she leaned back and shouted it again. “Was this for me?”

  The gentle buzz of conversation halted, and now all eyes were upon her. No one said a word as Bree spun, meeting their gazes. So many were unreadable. Did they hate her, Kael wondered? Pity her? Willingly protect her?

  “Yes,” said a familiar voice. Kael turned to see Loramere pushing his way through the crowd. He bled from a
cut across his forehead, and blood soaked through a bandage tied around his left bicep. “They wanted you for an execution, and we gave those Galen bastards a good lesson on what happens when they try for one of our own.”

  Halfhearted cheers rose from a nearby few. Bree clenched her fists as if in pain.

  “So this is my fault?” she asked the giant man.

  “Of course not,” Loramere said, sliding beside her and putting a hand on her shoulder as he tried to guide her away from the wounded. Bree, however, would have none of it. She pulled away from him, spinning to stare at the many lingering eyes.

  “How many died?” she asked, and when no one answered, she shouted it louder. “How many died!”

  “Seventeen.”

  Kael and Bree turned to see a man push through the crowd. Black stripes were on his wings. His hair was dark and cut short, his smooth skin tan, his eyes an icy blue. Across his forehead was a single scar running up from his left eyebrow and vanishing into his hair. Though he had seen him only at parades, Kael immediately recognized Commander Argus Summers, leader of all Weshern Seraphim. An escort of two came with him, muscular men with stripes on their wings as well.

  “Seventeen,” Bree said, tears building in her eyes. “Seventeen dead, and for what? Why didn’t you ask? I could have turned myself over. I could have stopped this!”

  “It wasn’t your decision to make.”

  “I don’t want this,” Bree cried, the tears falling. “I don’t want any of this. I’m not worth it. Seventeen? Goddamn it, seventeen…”

  Argus put his hands on her shoulders, and he leaned down to look her in the eye.

  “We don’t hand over one of our own,” he said. “We’ll die for you like we’ll die for any other Seraph of Weshern. One day, Bree, I pray you’ll fly into battle ready to do the same for us.”

  If any had disagreed with the decision, they didn’t anymore. Kael couldn’t believe the respect Argus commanded, the sheer authority every word he spoke carried. He remembered his fear of combat, and he realized that if he could follow a man like Argus into battle, he wouldn’t be afraid. If anyone could guide him safely, if anyone could lead them to victory, it was him.

  Bree sniffled, and she lowered her head.

  “May I be dismissed?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  She pulled away, eyes to the dirt. When she reached Kael, she brushed right past him, ignoring his pleading for her to stop.

  “Let her go,” Brad said beside him. “I think she needs to be alone.”

  Kael watched his sister emerge from the other side of the crowd, then break out into a sprint. His throat felt tight, and tears were forming in his own eyes. She’d looked broken, torn to pieces inside. She looked like she had when Dean died.

  Turning about, Kael saw that a theotech had flown in from the west, landing beside Argus. The two were conversing quietly, and the sight made Kael’s hands shake.

  “Brad,” he asked. “Were there theotechs at your six-month evaluation?”

  “What?” Brad asked, confused. “Of course not. Why?”

  Of course not. As if it was obvious. As if it was ridiculous to conceive.

  “I thought so,” Kael said, putting his back to the two and weaving out of the group of gathered Seraphim.

  “Where are you going?” Brad asked, hurrying after.

  “To the library,” he said.

  “The library? But why?”

  Kael almost answered but caught himself. Looking once more to the theotech, he shook his head.

  “Too many ears,” he whispered, suddenly wondering if Bree’s paranoia might be well-founded after all.

  CHAPTER 24

  The next day, Bree walked the path to the obstacle course, fighting to remove the echoing number in her mind. Seventeen. It’d haunted her long, sleepless night. Seventeen dead, all for her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t justify it. Her life for so many? It was ridiculous. Damn Weshern’s pride and Argus’s insistence. Seventeen lives for her own was seventeen too many.

  A lump grew in her throat as she reached the obstacle course. Nearly every day she’d made at least one attempt to break the record. Nearly every day, Dean had been her witness in case she accomplished it. Now there was no one, just an empty field.

  Bree shook her head. She didn’t need a witness, for she’d never beat it anyway. Her fastest was always five to six seconds off Argus’s record, and she’d made no gains on it for two weeks. Perhaps it was a small defiance, but she’d make the run, resuming a normal part of her day despite the absence of the smiling young man who once waited for her at the very last ring.

  Lining up at the start, she released the cord to begin the timer and then dashed forward, her wings thrumming to life. Bree could do the course blindfolded by this point, each twist and turn coming perfectly naturally to her. A gentle curve to the right shot her through the first two rings. Before she’d even passed through the second, she was already twisting left and killing her speed for a split second. Once straightened out, she flared her wings back to life, diving through the third ring while rolling to correct her aim for the fourth. The next few rings she dipped and weaved through, losing hardly any speed.

  It was only when she reached the ninth ring that she debated how to respond. The ring was fairly close to the ground, and she slowed as she approached it. Dipping low, she arched her back so that she was rising even as she slipped through. The tenth ring was so much higher, and mentally cursing, she saw she hadn’t lost enough speed and ended up overshooting the ring. Bree shut off her wings completely, twisted so she faced the other way, and then rose back up. She passed through, dropped down so she could arc through the low eleventh, and then shot through the final ring, angrily smacking the side with her hand to dislodge the hook to stop the timer.

  Bree looped back around to the start to check her time.

  Not even close, she thought, and she faced the course with her hands on her hips while she recovered her breath. It was that terrible stretch of nine through eleven, she knew. With how close together nine and ten were, she had to kill too much of her speed to climb from the low nine to high ten. If only there was a way for her to slow down faster without sacrificing her positioning…

  An idea sparked in her mind based on her previous run, and Bree dared to smile. Maybe, just maybe, she had a shot. She hurriedly reset the timer, then returned to the start position, cord in hand. Before starting, she saw that she had a spectator, a lone Seraphim without his wings watching her from far down the road.

  Good, thought Bree. I’ll have a witness.

  She stretched her back and shoulders one last time, bent at the waist, and released the cord.

  Bree streaked through the initial rings, pushing herself even faster than before. This would be it, she decided. The last real idea she had to beat Argus’s record. Wind flew through her hair as she curled left and right, knifing through the rings with perfect precision. As she crossed eight, she lowered her angle and pointed herself straight at nine. Unlike before, she did not slow her speed at all. Instead, just before passing through, she twisted her body, putting herself feet forward and face to the ground, and then shoved the throttle to its fullest.

  The wings thrummed nice and heavy, and with Bree pointed the opposite direction of her movement, they killed her momentum almost instantly. Bree screamed, feeling as if her body were being torn apart. She used that scream to focus, continuing it as she pulled back her shoulders and neck. Her new path caused her to fly a loop, and head first she flew through the high tenth, her body already on a downward dive. She twisted, banked through the eleventh, and then shot toward the twelfth. Most Seraphim slowed down to strike the final ring lest they harm their hand, but this time Bree did no such thing. Grabbing her left sword, she flew closer to its edge and then flung the scabbard out to the side so that her blade smacked against the thin wooden ring, dislodging the timer.

  Bree cheered as she looped back toward the start. Her witness had moved
beside it as well, and as she flew close, she felt her heart suddenly halt upon realizing who it was: Argus Summers himself.

  “How’d I do?” she called out to him, trying hard not to be intimidated.

  “Come see for yourself,” he said, gesturing to the timer.

  Bree landed, and as Argus stepped aside, she stood before it and checked the hand. One minute thirty-five seconds. She’d beaten him by a full two seconds.

  “I did it,” she said, and she felt torn on how to react. At last she’d taken down the record, but Argus was right there. Would he be upset? She glanced his way, trying to judge his reaction, but his face was like a statue’s, those blue eyes of his analyzing her every move.

  “Well done,” he said. “It took me until my third year to realize that backward trick at the ninth ring. Adam’s reports do not exaggerate when they call you a prodigy.”

  Bree smiled, and she wiped sweat from her brow. Before she could thank him, he offered her a rolled piece of paper he’d been carrying in his left hand. Curious, she took it and unrolled it. Whatever happiness she’d felt immediately vanished.

  Drawn in charcoal was a crude mockery of herself. Her face was narrower, her eyes slanted, and her lower lip far larger than the upper. Thin lines along her eyes and neck made her look emaciated. Written above in bold letters was her name, while below was a single word: unpunished.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “This was brought to us by one of our traders,” Argus said. “Similar ones are posted throughout Galen. You’re the face of every lie they’ve ever told about our people, and forgive my boldness, but this one here is the kindest of the lot. The others bear far crueler words.”

  Bree felt her pulse begin to race.

  “I told you I should have been handed over,” she said. “How many people will continue to die for my sake?”

  “And how many times must I tell you we do not hand over our own?” Argus said. “Besides, if it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else. They wanted a battle, Bree, and you were merely the excuse. While we fought Galen’s forces, they sent a small division alongside Candren Seraphim to attack our allies in Sothren. While we achieved a hard victory, Sothren suffered a massive defeat. Whatever balance we had, it’s now been lost.”