Wings of Lomay

by Walls, Devri

  She was delicate. Her frame, her face—her heart. And yet, so strong. It never ceased to amaze him how the two could live in one person. He crossed the room. Sitting next to her, he placed his hands over hers.

  She didn’t move. Her face was abnormally impassive as she stared forward.

  “Kiora?” he whispered, trying to gain some response. There was none. “Kiora, you promised never to do this to me again.”

  She turned her head toward him but would not meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on his chest. He put his finger beneath her chin, pulling it up. Her eyes looked darker—haunted.

  Sighing, Alcander pulled her onto his lap. She resisted at first, but then threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her tight, not saying anything as she cried, letting her release the anguish that colored her sobs. He held her, his heart hurting at her pain, until she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Motivations Revealed

  KIORA WOKE TO MOVEMENT. She was still in Alcander’s lap with his arms wrapped around her. She lifted her head from his shoulder.

  Alcander’s eyes ran over her face, appraising.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  They were still sitting on the edge of the bed, right where she had fallen asleep. She slid off his lap.

  He stood and groaned, rolling his neck.

  “I can’t believe you let me sleep that long,” Kiora said. “Your back must be killing you.”

  “What is killing me is Drustan.” Alcander grunted, twisting to one side and then the other. “He must have stuck his head in that door fifteen times to tell me that the slaves are requesting your presence.”

  “Fifteen times, you say?”

  “At least.”

  Kiora laughed, running her fingers through her rumpled hair. She took a moment to feel the threads of the slaves. Having them here filled the emptiness with something she desperately needed—joy. It seeped in around her and she let it come, refusing to fight it with guilt, and she smiled.

  Alcander dropped his arms to his side and stood straight, grinning back at her smile. “Are you ready to go meet them?”

  Kiora took a deep breath and pushed off the bed, standing. She reached her hand out to him and he intertwined his fingers with hers. “Ready.”

  The sound of voices carried up from the main foyer and they walked hand in hand down the hall. When they reached the top of the stairs, she looked out over the slaves. They were bruised, battered, and dirty, but they were free.

  At the appearance of her thread, they all turned. Some of their expressions were glittering with excitement and relief, but many of the slaves retained the deadness in their eyes. If she looked closely, she could see a slight glimmer in the back—hope in its infancy.

  They dropped to their knees and bowed their heads

  Kiora’s hand began to rise to ask them to stand, but Alcander caught her by the wrist and pushed her hand back to her side. “Just let them,” he whispered. “It is their way of saying thank you. Don’t take that away from them.”

  She headed toward the stairs, letting her hand slide out of Alcander’s. At the base of the stairs knelt a Winged woman with dingy and bloodstained wings and a jagged scar across her cheek. Kiora bent down, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. The Winged woman looked nervous and confused. Not knowing how to express everything in her heart, or where to even begin, Kiora smiled and wrapped her arms around her, hugging her tightly.

  The woman gave a sigh of surprise and appreciation. She’d not seen such kindness since being taken. Kiora pulled back, then turned to the others, motioning for them to rise.

  She took her time, moving amongst them, speaking with each of them—holding their hands, accepting their thanks. But their eyes continued to distract her, revealing souls that were so broken inside, it hurt to look. She could not image what they had been through, but the attempt made her heart ache.

  She came upon the Omelian who had been the first to heed her shouts to keep moving when it looked like there was no hope, spurring the others into action. She shook his hand. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I just did as I was told.”

  The Omelian’s feathers had turned gray with age, his skin wrinkled, his voice gruff and low. The years in the camps had not been kind to him. One of his toes was missing and his leathery legs were covered with scars.

  Kiora put her hand on his shoulder. “It was much more than that. You had faith in me when you couldn’t see what I was doing. I couldn’t defend you all from Jasmine while taking time to prove my worth to each of you. Everything could have failed without you encouraging the others.”

  His small gray ostrich wings readjusted at his sides. “I could see it in your eyes, who you were. It didn’t take much faith on my part.”

  ***

  THE NEXT MORNING, KIORA tiptoed down the stairs. Many of the slaves had taken rooms around the house, but there just weren’t enough. The foyer was overflowing with her new rebels, and they stretched out wherever they could find room. Kiora stepped over Omelians and Taveans, trying not to wake them.

  Emane was squatted next to a Winged man, healing him. Kiora approached as the man leaped up, flaring his wings wide behind him. He turned and looked over his shoulder, testing his wings with two slow flaps, amazed at the miracle Emane had just performed.

  “They look good,” Kiora said, smiling at the man’s excitement.

  “Thank you,” the Winged man said. “Both of you.”

  Emane stood up, stretching. “I don’t know how many more people I can heal. I’m almost out.”

  Kiora noticed his haggard appearance. “Did you sleep last night?”

  “No. Too many in need of healing. I would do as much as I could and then wait for my magic to come back.” Emane took her by the arm and steered her toward the hall. Once in the meeting room, he shut the doors behind them.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “They have been through so much,” he said. “Years and years of abuse. Beaten, half starved, forced to endure countless indignities.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you how many wounds I saw that were pure torture. Slash marks, puncture wounds—they said it was common for the Shifters to grow talons and slash or poke at them if it had been too long since anyone had incurred disciplinary action.”

  Kiora closed her eyes, wishing she could have spared them. “They are free now.”

  “Physically. Mentally, they are a mess. Scared of every movement, every sound. They are traumatized. We can’t involve them in this battle.”

  “I agree.”

  “What are we going to do with them?”

  Kiora took a deep breath in. “We leave them here. They will be safe and protected. We will need to figure out something for food, but I think it’s the best place.”

  Emane dropped into one of the chairs. He leaned his head back, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Now what?”

  “Now you get some sleep. I need some time to think.”

  “Mmm,” was all the response she got.

  “Are you going to sleep in the chair?”

  “Yes,” he murmured. “I think I will.” His head fell further to the side.

  Kiora smiled as she gently closed the doors on the way out.

  After heading across the hall to the library, she pulled books from the shelves, spreading them across the table. She poured over books of incantations, elemental magic, and old magic. She read stories of historic battles, looking for something—anything—that might inspire an idea for how she was going to get everyone through this.

  There were many different approaches and strategies recorded, dependent upon which creatures were fighting. There was one particularly fascinating battle that happened before Nestor had given the people the Lights. A group of Shifters had been lured into a steel box. It was small, so small that the Shifters took on harmless insect shapes. Once inside, the box was too strong fo
r them to shift into something larger and they were exterminated. If only she could lock her enemies in a box, that would make things easier.

  Alcander came in a few hours later and pulled up a chair. She drummed her fingers anxiously on the table. “Good morning,” he said.

  Kiora grunted, her attention moving back and forth between three books in front of her. “We have a problem.”

  She shoved one of the books across the table with an irritated huff and leaned back in her chair. “Had Arturo and I not avoided that last shot Jasmine sent out, it probably would have killed me. So, if she is stronger than me—which we know she is because she has the Lights to pull from, and she is the daughter of a Creator—why didn’t she stop me from killing so many of her followers?”

  “Because she wasn’t expecting it.”

  “No. She saw me put my hand on the ground and some of her magic hit where I was working, opening up one of the fissures. She knew exactly what I was doing. And she stood there, letting me finish everyone off while she watched.” Kiora slammed her hand onto the table. “Alcander, she let me! When I retrieved the talisman from Meros, I heard Jasmine’s voice. She said that she would ‘destroy all the good.’ But she also said she would ‘make it her life’s work to destroy every one of those pathetic creatures that Nestor loved more than his own daughter.’ That is what she wants. Complete destruction. She has no love or concern for those who follow her. She kills them without a thought—we have seen that. She is content—thrilled, even—to let us destroy each other.

  “I was so caught up in my magic and what I was doing that I was completely unprotected. It was stupid. But she didn’t attack—she laughed. As long as I continue to do her work for her, she’s not going to stop me. Which means she’s not going to show up at the battles to fight. So how are we going to get her close enough to connect the talismans?”

  “Why do you think she appeared this time?”

  “She was mad.”

  Alcander nodded thoughtfully. “Right. We are going to need to make her very angry.”

  “What would make her that mad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kiora dropped back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Me either.”

  “We also have to worry about her followers—they aren’t going to stop. They have to be dealt with.”

  “I know. How many more does she have?”

  Alcander summoned a map, leaning forward. “Most of these villages were likely represented at the solstice celebration last night. The other villages, including Tavea, have surrounded the lake city.” He ran his finger over an area on the far side of Tavea that she had never been to. “I suspect there are more she hasn’t recruited waiting in these villages. They have been excluded from most of the fighting due to their location, and because of that, their ties to Jasmine do not run quite as deep—but they are still on her side and they will come if she calls. It would take them a while to get here from there, but their numbers could be high.”

  “There are so many variables. I just need some more time to figure this out.”

  “You could ask for help, Kiora. You don’t have to do this all yourself.”

  “I know. I just . . . it feels like the answers are floating around in my head somewhere and I can’t grasp them.” She grabbed his hand. “Emane talked to me this morning about the slaves. He doesn’t think we should include them in the battle, and I agree.”

  “Did you want to leave them here?”

  “I do. But we need to figure out how to get some food.”

  “It isn’t safe to summon food—this house isn’t as secure as the city. Especially if you’re not here.”

  “I know. While I work on this problem, could you talk to the rebels? See if they have any ideas about where to procure enough food?”

  Picking up her hand, he kissed the back of it, sending glorious tingles leaping up her arm. “I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  After Alcander left, Kiora looked through the Book of Creators again. The back page contained the spell Lomay had asked her to read in the city—the spell that gifted another with your magic, the one that had taken Lomay’s life.

  Kiora ran her fingers over the words, awful bitterness twisting inside her. She should be grateful for the sacrifices that had been made on her behalf, but Lomay could have at least given her the respect of asking.

  The nasty voice in the back of her head, which always spoke truth at the most inopportune times, whispered, Why? Would you have agreed with him?

  Of course not.

  After that spell was the beginning of another. The paragraph at the bottom read, “To remove the sealing . . .” and that was it. Whatever had been after that was carried over to the next page. Unfortunately, that page was gone.

  Kiora ran her finger over the frayed edges of the missing page along the back spine. Why would you want to remove a sealing?

  ***

  KIORA PULLED DRUSTAN AND Alcander away from the refugees for another meeting. Linking her arm through Alcander’s, she asked, “Any luck?”

  “I talked to one who said the slave masters stored food at the excavation site,” Drustan said. “There should be enough for a few weeks if the rebels ration properly, and it should be safe to summon—we think.”

  “That inspires confidence,” Kiora said.

  “Jasmine’s army can’t put tracking spells on everything, and as far as they knew, the slave pit was out of range to summon from the rebel camps.”

  Kiora pushed open the door to the meeting room. Emane was in the chair, his feet propped up on the table, fast asleep, his head lolled to the side.

  “I guess it’s the best option we have,” Kiora said. “I will summon it after we’re done here.”

  Drustan walked by Emane, pushing his feet off the table. “Good morning.”

  Emane’s feet slammed to the floor. He jerked up, fumbling for his sword amidst Drustan’s roaring laughter.

  Emane glowered.

  Alcander pulled out Kiora’s chair and sat down next to her, smirking.

  Emane ran his hands through his hair, raking it back. “Did you all come in just to wake me up? I’m honored.”

  “We have to return to the city,” Kiora said. “I notice we have more bodies to get back inside than we left with.” She looked at Alcander. “How were you planning on getting all those foxes in?”

  “I was going to let them do what they do best,” Alcander said. “Clear a path.”

  “To which entrance?”

  “One of the two we already lost.”

  Kiora frowned. “Those are going to be heavily guarded.”

  Emane leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “True, but you have the talisman.”

  “Let’s hope we can use it. Drustan, do you think you can increase the food stores by stockpiling some fish before we leave?”

  “I swore last time we were here that I would do no more fishing . . .”

  “Drustan,” Kiora began.

  “. . . But since it is not for the ingrates,” he eyed Emane and Alcander, his eyes dancing with laughter, “I would be glad to oblige.”

  ***

  THE FOOD HAD BEEN summoned and stored, and a sizable stock of fish had been collected for the rebel slaves to preserve. The four of them were ready for travel, dressed in warm jackets from upstairs. Kiora didn’t know what incantations Lomay had put on this house, but the wardrobes in the drawers were not the same as they were the last time they were here. Everything was season appropriate. And although she was grateful, the depth of magical knowledge Lomay had still boggled her. And now it was gone. She had his power, but none of his memories.

  Kiora turned to say good-bye to the slaves and found them all on their knees again, heads bowed. She looked over the crowd. They had suffered so much, and just like Morcant, they had never turned their backs on what they knew to be right. A lump lodged in her throat and no matter how many times she swallowed, it would not move. The only rebel who raised his eyes to hers was the
old Omelian with the gray feathers. She smiled weakly, his shape blurring beneath the tears.

  Emane and Alcander exchanged a look, and Alcander gently steered Kiora back toward the exit. Once outside, Kiora sucked in mouthfuls of fresh air.

  “Choose your fox,” Alcander said.

  Drustan froze. “Wait. You want me to ride one of these?”

  His eyes were glued to a fox that seemed to be looking at him with immense dislike. Kiora thought maybe she was imaging it, but the fox pulled back its lips, exposing rows of teeth before hissing and spraying green acid.

  Drustan leaped back and swiveled toward Alcander, pointing at the fox. “You want me to trust my life to that?”

  “No,” Alcander said over his shoulder. “That one hates you.”

  Emane snorted as he scratched one of the foxes behind its ears.

  “Which one would you suggest, then?” Drustan asked dryly, taking two hurried steps back as the fox in question took two steps forward.

  “My suggestion? One that’s not hissing at you,” Alcander said as he climbed onto the dominant fox. The fox stretched out its wings, flapping a couple of times in anticipation of takeoff.

  “Have I mentioned how much I don’t like him?” Drustan asked as he walked behind Kiora.

  “Alcander, or the fox?”