Wings of Boden

by Erik S Lehman

  A few minutes later we were approaching the spot, so I slowed my pace, bent my knees into a walking crouch. “They’re right up here,” I whispered.

  Crouched behind an alder bush, we observed the dreks.

  “I told you,” I said on a half breath.

  “That’s so weird. I see what you mean.”

  “How can I shoot them? I mean …”

  “Well, think of it this way, you see what they’re eating. What do you suppose that is? A rabbit? Squirrel maybe? Or, could that be parts of an angel, like Steffunnie for example.”

  Oh, flap, NO! In one motion I nocked an arrow pulled back and let it fly. An adult drek disappeared into a pool of goo before the fire, my arrow skipping off the ground and hitting the cliff behind them. Without wasting any time, the other adult was finished off. Angie fumbled with her bow beside me.

  Eyeing the smaller dreks, I stopped. The young dreks appeared different, hazy—not dreks at all. They were angels! Oh, my Source, what did I do? “Angie, are they—”

  Angie let an arrow fly. A little one disappeared. One left. I grabbed Angie’s arm, stopped her as I locked my gaze on the blond “child.” It was looking back at me, blinking blue eyes. “Angie, I think those are angels.” My voice wavered, stomach wanted to empty.

  “What? No. They’re playing with your mind.”

  Just as Angie finished saying that, the young one began a drekavac yowl. Mouth gaped wide and filled with needle teeth. The horrific scream ricocheted off the stony Crags. I covered my ears, wincing with pain. Angie ripped an arrow out of her quiver. A few seconds later, the dreks were no more, the last remnants of scream fading and drowning out through the woods.

  Gentle smoke plumes lifted from the smoldering pit. Sounds of nature began to return, peaceful, as if nothing was ever there. A squirrel chittered. A bird sang. The hawk called.

  Angie slid the extra arrow into her quiver, a slunk as it hit bottom. “Well, that was fun,” she said with a smug grin. “Let’s go check it out.”

  We stood before a circle of stones that held the snuffed fire. Skewered on the ends of four sticks were the charred remains of what looked like squirrels. Smells of burnt toast, a hint of pine, and something like cinnamon lingered on the air, weird.

  As she swirled a stick through one of the pools of syrupy drek liquid, Angie’s face squinched up with a gross look. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this foul stuff.”

  “What are those?” I asked, eyeing down on two, coiled-up snake-like things.

  “I think those are whips, remember, from the books.”

  Images of angel whippings flashed in my mind, sending the hairs on my neck to attention. Those were no angels. Lesson learned. I started to bend down to pick one up when Angie stopped me with her sharp comment, “Don’t touch it, Ellie.”

  Half startled, I straightened up, eyeing the whips while pulling some hair behind my ear. “What are they made of?” I wondered out loud.

  “Well, the books said the dreks dry out boar skins, and twist them up, or something.”

  Animal skins? The thought slid breakfast around in my stomach. A bird sent some twittering notes through the air, and the hawk called above, kee-eee-aar…

  Angie said, “Maybe we should bring them back, to show Dad, you know?”

  “I’m not touching them,” I spouted.

  “Oh, come on, Ellie, you were just about to pick them up.”

  I snapped a look. “Yeah, and you stopped me. Besides, that was before I knew what they were.”

  “I guess, but we should probably take them though. I mean, we wouldn’t want other dreks to find them.”

  She was right, I wouldn’t want that. “Okay, yeah. I know.” I pulled an arrow from my quiver. “I’ll pick it up with this.”

  “Good idea.” Angie pulled one of her own arrows.

  We stood there, whips coiled up and dangling off the end of our arrows.

  “Now what?” I said, both of us staring in confusion at the whips as the bird sang again.

  “Let’s put them in our backpacks.”

  Back at “base camp,” we slid the whips off our arrows and into our backpacks.

  Standing in the meadow, I shaded my eyes with a flat palm and squinted at the bright sky, noticing the hawk soar the high thermals in wide circles as I asked, “What time do you think it is? Do you think we should go home now?”

  “It’s only about eleven. We should explore a little.”

  Not the answer I wanted, but, whatever. “Okay,” I replied. “Maybe we should put our packs on, though. So we can head back when we’re done.”

  Backpacks on, we unfurled our wings and lifted off from the meadow. A few bleach-white clouds resembled giant heads of cauliflower as we soared around the mountains and towering cliffs, scanning the pine forest below. From this height, the cherry grove looked like clumps of pink cotton candy. In the far distance, just this side of Boden, Quake Lake mirrored the blue sky. It felt wonderful, free, pushing through the thin air with the sun soaking into my skin. This wasn’t so bad.

  “Let’s go up to the cave,” Angie called out as she banked right to fly beside me.

  There went that good feeling. “Really, um, no. Why would you want to go up there?”

  “Because, remember those eyes we saw. Dad said there are no hunters in the caves, so I wanna know what that was. Besides”—she lifted her bow as if to cheer—“we are fearless drek hunters. We go where others do not.” She shook her bow and shouted, “Du-da-da!”

  Did I remember those eyes? Duh, I couldn’t forget them. Now she wanted to go see what they were? What the flap?

  “I don’t, Ang. I don’t really like—”

  “Just c’mon, follow me.” Angie was off and climbing.

  Ugh. Fine. A few wing pushes, and I was following her to the flappin cave.

  Angie was already on the rocky ledge while I floated down. As my shoes settled with a light crunch, she gave me a big-sister smile and stepped over to me, then placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “There’s nothing to worry about, sis.”

  “Yeah, yeah, enough of the little Ellie stuff. Let’s go.” I tried to sound strong, though my voice did crackle a bit.

  Angie grinned, drew her hand back, then wheeled around and hiked toward the cave.

  After a deep breath, and a long sigh, I followed.

  The cave was worse than I remembered: A frigid stone tunnel that lived in shadow, smelling of dirt and mold—the kind of place that could chase my sanity away. Due to my studies, I knew all the cataclysmic earthquakes and volcanos created the Crag Mountains, and I imagined lava spilling out of this place in rivers of flaming liquid rock. However, this cave was probably the result of ice and erosion, snow melting through the cracks. Probably there was some kind of water pool somewhere deeper down in the mountain. And the old movie cliché came to mind of some grotesque beings that have never seen the sunlight, waiting to consume all who enter. I remembered the movies and how I would yell at the screen at some stupid girl, Don’t go in the cave, you idiot! Now I was the idiot. And I couldn’t turn around for fear of sister ridicule.

  As I took cautious crunching steps into the dim, the cold seeping through my shoes, Angie said on a whisper, “Do you see any eyes?”

  “No, nothing yet. How far back are we gonna go? It’s really dark and that smell, eew.”

  “I don’t know. Let’s just keep going for a little while.”

  Not the answer I wanted. I stayed silent, my eyes widening to gather light. For some reason, my legs insisted I follow her. I’d have to have a little talk with them later.

  “Look,” Angie said. She was too far ahead of me. My legs weren’t cooperating with her pace as I crunched along. “There’s light up here.”

  She waited for me as I caught up. Light glowed ahead on the left. We made our way, slow and careful, until we stood before a jagged-arched hole in the cave wall—like a rotten mouth leading to the gullet of the mountain, a rancid, dirty-sock smell billowing
out. I don’t belong here.

  “You go first,” Angie had the gall to say to me.

  “You’re flappin kidding me right. There is no way you’re going to—”

  “Okay, okay,” she cut me off, and then started to take a step—

  I stopped her with a sharp tongue, “Fine. I’ll go first.”

  After stepping through the opening and walking for what seemed like forever, the room expanded into a castle-sized cavern. Massive mineral spikes hung from the ceiling like stained fangs. The air was moist, motionless. Stale. Water sounds dripped, ploop … plip … ploop. A myriad of little floating sparks of light filled the space with a greenish glow. Fireflies. Awesome.

  Something moved near the far wall, freezing me, tying my guts into a tight knot as bugs crawled under my skin. I couldn’t tell what it was, too far away, but it was tall and thick. With the firefly light on its back, it seemed to be busy picking things off the wall, foraging maybe? My bow hand trembled as I brought it up.

  Even with my pulse hummingbird-fast, buzzing in my ears, I began to aim, swallowed a lump.

  The thing turned, started walking toward me. My heart punched at my chest.

  “What are you doing in here,” it asked, polite and familiar—in Vyn’s voice.

  The drek was messing with me. No, not this time. I pulled the string.

  “What are you doing, Ellie?” The voice muffled in the shrinking, claustrophobic room.

  I held my aim. “I’m taking you out of this world, that’s what I’m doing.”

  “You’re not, Ellie, are you? You’re a flappin drek, aren’t you?”

  “Me! You’re the dirty drek, and I’m gonna end you.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Long strides, before it stopped and said, “Wait. Dreks don’t carry bows, especially pink ones. Ellie, settle down now.” One foot at a time, it stepped, arms and hands outstretched in front of it as features became clear. My bow arm trembled in choice. The thing spread its wings out wide. “See, Ellie, it’s me, Vyn.”

  Okay, that was convincing. I knew every detail of those. The white wings held a stretching glow, firefly sparks bouncing off them. I lowered my bow.

  Angie’s steps behind me, crunch, crunch, crunch, squish. “Eew, I stepped in something.”

  “Source, Vyn,” I said. “I almost killed you. What are you doing in here?”

  “What’s going on in here?” Angie wanted to know.

  “Oh, nothing,” Vyn replied. “Ellie was just about to make a Vyn kabob, that’s all.”

  “Vyn?” Angie questioned, standing beside me. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I needed samples. Collecting fireflies, and whatever these things are.” He gestured to the walls and all the luminescent light objects that covered them.

  “What are those?” I asked.

  “I don’t really know yet, they’re like cocoons or something. I just get the feeling they must be useful. Here, I’ll show you.” He crossed the cave, returned with a cotton-wrapped light thingy in his hand, interesting, but whatever.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty neat.” I gave him a polite nod. “I can top that.” I set my bow down, took my backpack off, pulled the whip out and held it up. “Check this out.”

  “Wow. Where’d you get that?”

  “Took it off a dead drek.” I tried to toughen my proud little voice.

  He snatched it from me, unfurled it and rolled it out across the cave floor. Then pulled it back, swung it forward, let it almost straighten out before he snapped his hand back.

  Wha-tish! The loud crack echoed through the space. Vyn filled with excitement, wings flittering.

  Didn’t care for that sound; it sent a cringe through me and I did not want to hear it again.

  Wha-tish!

  “That’s enough, Vyn,” I said.

  “What’s wrong, Ellie?” Wha-tish!

  “I’m warning you, Vyn, enough!”

  Wha-tish!

  Okay, he asked for it. I cocked my arm back, curled my hand into a girl fist in preparation.

  Wha-tish!

  My fist flew and punched the side of his forehead, a girl-powered light thunk.

  He stopped, stared at me, dumbfounded for a moment, while I held my scrunched-up, tough face on him.

  Angie was the first to break out into laughter. Vyn followed with a string of chuckles even as he rubbed his fingers over the side of his unhurt head.

  Vyn said, “I guess you weren’t joking, huh?”

  “Was there some reason you thought I was?”

  “You’re not our little Ellie anymore, are you?” said Angie.

  “I just don’t like that sound, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, I guess not.” Angie laid a hand on my shoulder, said on a snicker, “My tough little sister.”

  I asked Vyn, “How’d you know how to use that?”

  “I don’t know. I just did.”

  After we told Vyn about the drek campfire experience, I put the whip away and we helped Vyn fill his pack with glowy things. We sauntered out of the lighted room. Upon entering the main cave, I noticed the eyes in the distant darkness. Yellow dots—they blinked. Strange, but I didn’t get that frightful feeling like I had the first time. A twinge, yes, but I was able to gather myself in just seconds.

  “Hey,” I whispered, “there’s those eyes again.

  “Yep,” Vyn said, “there they are. You ready to go home.”

  “Should I shoot them?” I asked, leaning forward with a squint.

  “No,” Angie said. “Just put the bow down. You don’t have to shoot everything, you know. Besides, it’s probably just an animal. You wouldn’t want to shoot an animal, would you? The eyes are yellow. It’s probably an owl or something. Even if it was a drek, I’m not going down there to find out.”

  “But, I thought you wanted to find out what they were? That’s why we came up here.”

  “Well, yeah, but. I changed my mind. Sorry.”

  She did have a point. Owls do have yellow eyes, right? I wouldn’t want to hurt one of those beautiful creatures. And if those eyes belong to a drek, down there would be a bad place to be. “Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s get outta here before I get creeped out again.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Wha-thoop, the whip sounded out, after someone who doesn’t know the first flappin thing about whips attempted to make it crack. That would be me.

  Okay, so now I had to learn how to use one of these ghastly things, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it back. Earlier, Dad had said, “I haven’t seen one of these in a while. I think you should learn how to use it.” He wouldn’t take no for answer, though I’d tried to convince.

  So there I was, standing on the dirt driveway, swinging the whip by the target, cringing in anticipation as I waited for the cracking sound that proved I might be learning something. It would happen occasionally, no idea how. But, whatever. The problem was, every time I would swing, I’d have to jump out of the way because the flappin thing would come right back at me.

  Swing … cringe … Wha-tish! “Eek!” I squealed and did a little hop and skip to get out of the way. That was a good one; it cracked the air and sent bits of tree bark flying.

  “Yay!” came from behind me. Angie was on the porch deck, while she encouraged me with comments such as, “Woo hoo!” or “Nice one!” or “Got em right in the eye!” Although her first comment was, “Watch where you’re swingin that thing, you almost snapped my ear off!” Immediately following that comment, she’d pulled a chair on the deck and sat.

  That’s enough of this. I’m not a machine, Dad.

  After trekking back to Angie, I said, “I’ve had it for today. That thing is evil. I think it’s after me.” I dropped the coiled whip to the deck, flopped to a chair and rested back on my wings.

  Time slipped by in discussion with my sister, until hues of magenta on the horizon caught our attention and forced us into silent awareness. As I gazed up off the porch, the most powerful sunset I’d ever witnessed bombarded my senses. Dad
was ending his speech to the team, the sound through the trees. Earlier, while I was practicing, I’d caught bits and pieces of it: A new world is dawning!—wha-tish!—Our time now! … The regular speech lingo, I assumed.

  Even as Angie and I lounged on the porch deck, the guttural sounds from hundreds of males began to chant in unison through the forest, climbing in volume: “Hah-Ooh! Hah-Ooh-Ooh!” They finally finished with a deep bellow that shook the pine trees: “StarWings, Hoo-Hoo!” The sound boomed through the air. I was sure even the city below had to hear that.

  And there they were, the team, lifting off in waves out of the woods. Their stretching wings pushing the air down with such force, sending the tops of the pines to sway in the roiling wind. Wave after wave of muscle lifted into the sky, each angel with a combat belt around the waist that held flight-serum syringes. My Source, how many were there? Too many to count, but I could’ve guessed around five hundred, blocking out the horizon as they flew into the beginning of the first night mission.

  Wartime was now—that fact unburied from the back of my mind and brought to the front.

  “I didn’t know there were that many,” I said to Angie while keeping my eyes to the sky.

  “I know, right. It gave me shivers.”

  “Well, I’m gonna go get cleaned up and change. Then I’m gonna grab some chips and tea and watch off Mom’s balcony.”

  “Yeah.”

  A half hour later, we were on the balcony in our pastel flannel PJ pants, fluffy slippers and T-shirts, our chairs near the open french door just in case, the lace drapes feathering behind us. The fragrance of Mom’s flowers mingled with the sound of wooden wind chimes clicking on an evening breeze. We had settled in with a bowl of daisy chips and iced teas. I knew it wasn’t supposed to be entertainment. But we had to watch, maybe learn something.

  In the distance, silhouette wings pushed across the cloudless night sky. Pinpoints of stars formed glittering constellations. A faint hint of light pollution lifted from the city below. Angels were easy to spot, with their new nightglow. The hunters were shadows, until they’d pass before the half-moon with an angel on their tail.