Windrunner's Daughter

by Bryony Pearce

  She remembered exactly where they had fallen and her eyes followed their remembered trajectory. There, right at the back, her wings lay waiting.

  She resisted the urge to scramble over the pile and edged carefully around, pushing wings to one side with her hands and knees rather than risk treading on the delicate membranes and bone-like struts.

  The wings rustled at her touch and whispering silver material fluttered as if gasping for the missing air.

  “They’re coming back.” Wren murmured as her back rubbed against the wall that hemmed the restless pile. “They’re coming for you.”

  Finally she was at the back of the room and could get no closer to her wings without disturbing the whole bank.

  As she stood thinking how best to reach them, voices rang in the corridor.

  “I’m sure our wings were this way.”

  Wren’s eyes widened. The wall hid her from view, but for how long? The Runners were coming for their wings and she was completely exposed.

  Instinct took over. Wren wasn’t going to leave her wings for anyone else. She dived over the silver drift and her hand closed over the straps. Her ears strained for the sound of cracking struts, but the mound of silver slid beneath her and did not break.

  Dragging her wings she slithered to the rear of the pile just as the voice echoed in the doorway. A large storage chest was half buried beneath the wings. It was half full of tools and wire, but there looked like just enough room.

  She swiftly slid inside, hugged her wings close to her and pulled the lid down. Sharp edges dug into her hip and back and she hoped the Runners wouldn’t take long finding their wings.

  “Look how they’ve treated them!”

  As the leader raged, Wren ducked lower and squeezed her eyes closed. What if someone looked inside the chest?

  Whether the Runners believed that she had brought the plague or not, it didn’t matter. The Runners would kill her without a second thought.

  She bit the knuckles of one hand to muffle her terrified panting. With the other fist she pulled her wings closer. She curled herself as small as she could and listened.

  “They’re not my wings.” One voice whined.

  “Put them on.” The leader’s spoke again.

  “I won’t. It’s disgusting.”

  “Do you know where yours’ are?”

  An aggrieved silence filed edges on the air.

  “We don’t have time to each find our own wings. This floor could go at any second and a scrum could damage them. This isn’t a bleeding free-for-all.”

  “Who put you in charge?”

  There was a sudden report, flesh on flesh, and a sharp inhalation of breath, then the leader spoke again. “We’ll agree to meet at Convocation in seven days. We can sort out the wing-sets there. … All right?”

  His question was met with silence; then Wren heard the distinctive rustle and slither of straps which meant wings were being donned.

  “You’ll be giving them out?”

  “I’ll take that task on.”

  “What if some are damaged beyond use?”

  “It’ll have to be first-come-first-served.”

  “And you’ll tell everyone to meet in a week?”

  “I want my own wings as much as you do. Now, go.”

  Footsteps rang from the room and Wren knew at least some of the Runners were escaping. She bit her lip: would they make it to the platform? Fires were raging and the colonists would likely kill any they caught.

  She pressed her forehead against the wall and listened as more men entered the room.

  “Strap on these wings, don’t look for your own. Convocation in a week to sort it out.”

  This time no-one protested, although sounds of disgust followed them out. Wren wished the other Runners would speak, it was the only way she’d be able to tell if her brothers had been and gone, but it seemed these Runners had nothing to say.

  A distant concussion and a shower of debris on the chest lid told her that another fuel tank had blown up. Would she be buried here?

  She did not dare lift the lid to see how many wings were left.

  “You need to go, man. We’re out of time.”

  “I know.” Weariness weighed on the lead Runner’s tone. Wren felt for him. “There are still a few wing-sets left, some Runners who haven’t been through here.”

  “Not everyone got out of the arena.”

  Wren’s heart seemed to stop. Was he talking about Colm and Jay? What about Raw?

  Steps pounded from the room and Wren held her breath at the sudden silence. They had all gone. She could get out now too.

  Trying to swallow her grief she began to move her stiffening limbs and lift the lid.

  “That way to the wings. Convocation in a week.” She heard the shout and immediately ducked back down.

  Again the sound of booted feet intruded on the wing-room. The noise echoed more strongly, reminding Wren that the wings had almost all been taken. She held her breath and felt a familiar tickle in the back of her throat. This blasted cough would literally kill her.

  Frantically she bit her own hand to take her mind from the irritation. When that didn’t work she tried to swallow, but her mouth was desert dry. The cough was coming.

  She shuddered beneath her wings.

  Perhaps these Runners would leave quickly. Sweat burst on her forehead and her chest heaved and quivered as she fought to suppress the traitorous cough. They had to.

  “We can’t just leave her.” The voice was muffled, but Wren’s head lifted at the sound. Her brothers were alive.

  “She’s gone, you saw it yourself. We have to get home. Wren made sure I got a dose of the cure, so Mother has a chance. If we can get it to her.”

  “You don’t know it’s real. That old bastard could’ve given you anything.”

  “Even so. Find some wings and put them on.”

  “By the skies, Colm,” Jay’s voice. “They’ve pissed in here.”

  “Convocation will hear about it. We have to get moving.”

  Over the screaming of her lungs, Wren heard the distinctive snap of Colm donning wings. He always swung them on so hard the straps slapped together. She wished that she could jump up and let them know she was all right, but she wasn’t sure what Colm would do to her and there was no guarantee that they were alone.

  She was about to move the lid, just enough to check, when another voice intruded and all her muscles clenched again.

  “Why haven’t you left yet?”

  It was Raw; Wren couldn’t stop his name from trembling on her lips and a tiny bark escaped her throat, bringing a measure of relief.

  “You!” Jay yelled over the sounds she was making. “It’s your fault she was here.”

  “I followed her,” Raw hissed. “Now I’m stuck in this cursed hell-hole, while you get to go home, so back off.”

  “Stuck … you broke the wings!” Horror pushed through Jay’s voice.

  “Trying to protect your sister. She had no idea what was out here.”

  “Neither did you.”

  “I’m better equipped to deal with anything than she is.”

  “Was.” Colm’s voice was soft. “Don’t you mean ‘than she was’.”

  “Yes … that’s what I meant.”

  Wren clenched her fists. Raw was lying for her. Her eyes ached with the need to see what was happening out there and her chest heaved again as a cough lurched towards her lips.

  “You two need to get out of here.” Raw again. Pushing her brothers away.

  “We’re leaving as soon as Jay puts some wings on.” Colm’s voice receded and she sagged with relief. But then she heard his indrawn breath. Yet another Runner had appeared: someone who shocked him.

  “What’re you doing here?” Jay snapped.

  “I’m just leaving.”

  Wren’s lips tingled. Perhaps they always would at the sound of Orel’s voice. He had his wings already, why had
he come to the wing room?

  “You get lost, smarmy boy?” That was Raw.

  “A little turned about is all.”

  “Grab him,” Jay yelled.

  The coughing fit Wren had been fighting to hold inside, exploded with the force of an eruption.

  She curled beneath her wings and coughed until she thought her lungs would burst. Then she lay limp and exhausted.

  The lid of the chest lifted and light met her eyes before it was cut off by a looming figure.

  She clutched her wings and her lips twitched into an apologetic half-smile. “I was trying to get away,” she whispered.

  Raw shook his head. “Great job.”

  As she sat up, Jay and Colm stared as though she had risen from the dead. Orel dangled loose-limbed in Colm’s grasp.

  He gaped. “You’re alive.” Then he straightened. “See, everything turned out all right.” He turned to Colm with a charming smile and a toss of his pitch dark hair. “Now we can all get out of here.”

  Wren looked only at Colm. “Colm?” She left her question hanging.

  Colm shook his head. “I can’t make any decision right now, Wren. You know what you’ve done and what should happen, but …”

  “The Runners think she’s dead,” Raw hissed. “If you can let it go, she’s got a pass.”

  “She’s our sister,” Jay murmured.

  Colm groaned. “I know. But what she did – letting a Grounder have wings.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Raw snarled.

  “Raw saved your life, Colm,” Wren insisted. “You’d be burned in the Council chamber if it wasn’t for him. ... What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, all right,” Colm yelled. “I’m not Patriarch. Let Chayton decide.”

  “So we’re all going home?” Wren’s shoulders lightened.

  “Yes,” Colm nodded. “All of us who can.”

  Wren stared around the near empty room. There were three wing-sets left on the floor. Colm was ready to go, but Jay and Raw remained wingless.

  “Raw - you can take one of the last wings,” she pushed him towards the pile.

  Raw shook his head and gestured. Finally Wren saw what he meant.

  “They’ve been left behind because they’re too badly damaged.” He shrugged. “Only one decent set left and that’s Jay’s.”

  Wren’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair.”

  Raw gave his twist of a smile. “You want me to take Jay’s wings?”

  “No!” Wren jerked. “But … Orel’s already home, isn’t he?”

  “What?” Orel jerked in Colm’s hold. “Let me go.”

  Colm smiled down at him, a revelation of teeth that Wren saw her father use almost every time he dealt with the Council. “You tried to have our sister killed.”

  “To save the Runners,” Orel cried. “She understands.”

  “First, he tried to kill me off.” Raw swung from Wren and sweat bloomed on Orel’s forehead, caking his hair to his face.

  “No, I-”

  “There was no way you thought I’d make it through that gap."

  Wren glared poisonously. “You never intended to go back for him.”

  Orel grinned manically. “I would have returned -”

  “Would you really? After I was dead?”

  Raw showed his teeth in a mirthless grin. “When I realised he meant to leave me behind, there was no way I was going to let him.”

  “So it was you following us before,” she whispered.

  “You think I’d leave you?” Raw frowned at her. “I spent all night trying to think of a way to get you out once you got arrested.”

  Wren shook her head; then coughed again.

  “That sounds-" Jay’s expression as he looked at her changed to concern.

  “Nasty. I know.” Wren wiped her head with the back of her hand. “It’s the smoke. It’s getting hot in here.”

  “The fuel tanks are still burning.” Colm nodded at the doorway. “We have to get going.” He showed his predator’s smile to Orel once more. “Are you going to make this easy?”

  Orel shrunk back. “The Runners think she’s dead. If you take my wings I’ll tell Convocation she’s alive! It won’t matter what decision Chayton makes about her then.”

  Colm hesitated and his eyes flickered towards Raw.

  “He isn’t even a Runner,” Orel oiled. “You said so yourself. He’s a Grounder. As soon as they’ve finished with her, Convocation will kill him. They aren’t worth it.”

  Smoke billowed into the room and Wren coughed. Raw grabbed her wings, swung her round and tossed them onto her back. “Do them up,” he snarled.

  With fumbling fingers Wren tightened the straps around her chest. As they compressed her lungs, the cough eased. “I’m not leaving without you,” she grabbed his arm.

  Raw looked helplessly at Colm and then his shoulders drooped like windless wings. “Get her out of here,” he said.

  Chapter twenty-four

  Jay’s knuckles whitened around Orel’s forearm. “Colm?” His eyes were wide with panicked indecision.

  “For the sake of the skies, Jay, get some wings on, I’ve got this bastard.” Colm clamped his arms around Orel’s neck, and Jay ran across the room.

  Wren pressed her lips together. “I’m not going without Raw.”

  Colm glared at her. “You’ll do as I say,” he snapped. “You’re lucky to be alive. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to keep you that way when Chayton finds out…” He tailed off then continued grimly. “The Vaikunthan Runners know whose daughter you are. If Orel tells them you’re not dead, Convocation will send someone for you … ”

  Orel began to kick and Wren realised Colm was tightening his grip. “What are you doing?” Alarm turned her voice to a squeak and suddenly Raw’s arm was around her.

  “He’s doing what he has to,” he murmured. Jay kept his eyes averted as he did his wings up.

  “No!” Wren shrieked.

  Raw clapped his hand over her mouth. “You want the guards here?”

  Wren bit him hard and struggled free. She ran to Colm’s side. “Stop this.”

  Orel’s face was puce and he was clawing frantically at her brother’s arms with ragged nails.

  “This makes you as bad as him,” she gasped.

  Colm’s expression was distant as he turned his eyes to her face. “Do you want to die?” he asked.

  Stunned, Wren shook her head.

  “Then he has to.”

  “There must be another way.” Wren was frantic.

  Raw stood at her back. “There is no other way.”

  Orel’s brown eyes latched onto hers’ and his knees buckled. Trails of smoke blew around him, dark fingers that seemed to be dragging him to his knees.

  “Colm, stop it. He won’t tell.” She dropped to the floor in front of Orel. “You won’t tell, will you? Tell him you won’t.”

  Orel’s mouth gaped, fish-like.

  “He can’t talk, Colm. Let him talk.” Wren grabbed Colm’s arm, trying to free Orel’s throat.

  “Get her out of here.” Colm’s tone was granite and if anything he pressed harder strongly on Orel’s windpipe.

  “Don’t you dare,” Wren snapped at Raw and he stopped his movement towards her. “Let him talk - let him promise to keep quiet,” she begged her brother. Then she turned to Raw. “How does this make you different from Father when he did that to you?”

  Raw’s eye narrowed and he raised his hand to touch his scarred face. “He’s a liar, Wren. He’ll promise all you want, but as soon as you’re gone he’ll tell the Runners about you.”

  Orel’s struggles were weakening and one arm hung at his side, he was barely even trying to pry Colm loose any more.

  “Why would he tell?” Orel’s eyes were closing. “Orel did what he did because he was trying to save the Runners but now they’re free. There’s no reason for him to give me up now.”

 
“Unless we take his wings.” Finally Colm engaged with her. “If you want wings for Raw this is the only way to get them.”

  Wren gasped. “I-I didn’t mean -”

  Raw shook his head. “We know you didn’t. Let him go, Colm. I already said I’d stay.”

  Colm didn’t move.

  Orel reached up with one arm and fumbled weakly at the straps over his chest.

  “Look.” Jay's wings swished through smoke as he stepped towards them. “He’s giving up his wings. Let him go, Colm.”

  For another series of heartbeats Colm made no move. Then with a suddenness that made Wren jump backwards, he dropped Orel and stepped to one side.

  Orel thudded to the floor, gasping. Then he rolled, pulled his wings off and threw them at Raw.

  Raw didn’t even try to catch them. They skidded across the floor to knock against his boots. Instead he stared down at Orel. “You won’t tell?”

  Orel shook his head, hands around his own throat, as if his palms could soothe the bruising.

  “If you do …” Raw crouched.

  Wren coughed as Orel nodded his understanding.

  Then Raw touched the discarded wings. “If you stay quiet, I’ll get these back to you. Colm can bring them.” His face hardened. “He will be coming back, one way or another.” Then his expression softened again. “I just want to get home, do you understand?”

  Orel nodded again, it was all he could do.

  “He won’t tell.” Wren pulled at Raw’s shoulders and he grimaced. “Sorry.” She whipped her hand away. “Can you put wings on over your injuries?”

  Raw showed his teeth. “You just lead the way.” He swung the wings up with a flourish that made swirls in the darkening air.

  Wren’s gaze lingered on the two wing-sets lying broken on the floor. “Are they still alive, the last Runners?” she whispered; then she coughed again.

  “I doubt it." Colm looked at Orel. “But if they are, will you hide them?”

  Orel rolled to his knees and nodded. “I only wanted to save the Runners. I’m glad you’re alive.” He raised one hand to Wren.

  Wren looked away from the offered hand. Her fingers crept to her lips as if the ghost of his traitorous kiss remained.