by D. E. Morris
“Please.”
Cavalon followed the châtelain over the wooden walkways that were built into the outside of the trees. He glanced into quarters and rooms as he passed, recalling not a single day since his first time there that it had been so quiet. If he’d been a man that spooked easily this nearly deserted village would have given him the shivers. Doors were darkened and lights were so dim they were almost out completely. By the time they found Ories, Cavalon was ready for some more answers. The châtelain bowed and left the two men to return to his duties.
“The Isle of Contest,” Ories explained as they walked, “is a small island off the western coast of Braemar. To the outsider it would look to be just a tiny uninhabited piece of land.”
“But what is it really?”
“It is a place where the Volarim carry out their own justice. I feel I must warn you: what you will witness tonight, if you choose to accompany me, will not be pleasant.”
The Volarim were a peaceful people as a general rule. They avoided confrontation when possible and got along well with practically everyone, no matter their race. They were easily forgotten as people of the background and it was how they wanted to live. When no one paid you much attention they never bothered to think of you as an enemy. Seeing something unpleasant was not something Cavalon was too worried about indeed. What he was concerned with was getting there.
“Is there a beach big enough for me to land on?”
“It is a small island,” Ories reiterated. “What about traveling through fyre or your Element?”
Cavalon shook his head. “That doesn’t actually work unless I know where I’m going. I need to have been there before. Not knowing my destination would just be asking for trouble. I’d end up somewhere in the middle of the ocean. I could move through light, but the moon is almost new and that doesn't give me much to work with.”
“What about shifting to have only your wings and not to become a full dragon. You can do that, can you not?”
“I can,” confirmed the Badarian with a sigh. “It’s just not the most comfortable thing in the world. You might want to step back.” Ories did take a step back and off the walkway to hover a few feet away, black wings flapping in rhythm to keep him in the air. Taking in a deep breath, Cavalon tilted his head one way, then another to crack his neck. He rolled his shoulders back, then stared ahead in concentration. He could feel the ripples of motion through his muscles, the tremors in his bones as new appendages began to form on his back. Little spiny nubs shot through cloth, ripping the fabric and unfurling like rosebuds. White wings with thin, translucent skin stretched between the bones reached out to cover a span of eight feet before being pulled in. Cavalon glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “This was my favorite tunic.”
“Come, we will be late.”
Cavalon took to the air and flew after Ories with an unsteady gait. This was not a thing he’d ever done before and flying with a human body was very different from being a full dragon. He felt heavier, clumsier, like he bobbed up and down way too much with every wing beat. He over corrected when he felt he was turning and veered off to one side. When he finally straightened himself out, Cavalon scowled at the smirking man beside him in the air.
“I was about to say you would blend in well now.”
Cavalon teetered in the air, his hands shooting out as if it would help steady him. “Listen, I don’t fly like this on a regular basis. Cut me some slack.”
The small island Ories had described was indeed tiny. It appeared as a speck on the ocean, dark evergreen in the scant light of the moon. At first Cavalon wondered how far out it was, but when the texture of the thick trees began coming into focus he realized they were closer to it than he thought and saying it was small was a generous description. The two men landed on a thin strip of beach and Ories grew serious once more. “I apologize, but I cannot allow you speak with the queen until she returns to the capital.”
“Okay,” Cavalon said slowly, not quite understanding but unwilling to question it. “Where should I go then?”
“Straight ahead. There is a path just behind that willow. It will lead you to the ceremony grounds.” With no more preamble, Ories returned to the sky and slipped away above the Badarian. There was no other choice for Cavalon but to head past the willow tree and find the spoken of path. Though it was dark and even darker once away from the beach there were the unmistakable sounds of people leading him onward. Laughter, chatter...whatever it was they were all there to see could not have been too terrible if the atmosphere was so light.
He broke through the treeline and emerged at the very back of a wide circle of spectators. No one looked terribly worried or ill at ease. It appeared to be a simple social gathering, but for the pit they all surrounded. With the stadium style seating he could easily see down to where the forest floor was empty, save a four foot tall wooden structure that looked like a giant slingshot without its launching bands and cradle. At the opposite end of the arena he could see, high above everyone else, a balcony built into the treetops and lit from behind with several torches. As he was, Cavalon could only make out silhouettes. A shift of his eyes would only help a fraction since it was so dark, but he decided to give it a try anyway.
Golden irises grew, pupils going to nothing more than a thin slit that quickly widened, searching for more light by which to see. The silhouettes gained a bit more contrast, became a bit more familiar in facial features and body shapes. He could see Ories arriving from the back and leaning over to whisper in the ear of another winged creature sitting in a tall ornate throne. It looked to be on fire with the torches at its back, reflecting off the polished wood. Sitting securely there was a woman Cavalon almost didn’t recognize.
Nuala wore a simple white gown with an elaborate fiery cloak draped across her shoulders. There were jewels about her neck and on her fingers, a fine golden crown resting gently on her brow. Her expression was grim, cold and detached. Whatever it was Ories said to her was met with a simple nod and nothing more. As Ories moved to the back, Cavalon concentrated on Nuala’s face. It was the first time he’d ever seen her look so commanding, so intimidating...so queen-like.
The talkative audience was quieting in slow waves. Cavalon blinked and his eyes returned to normal. Faces turned toward the center of the pit and a nervous energy charged the air. He looked around for whatever sign they had that it was time to pay attention but found none until he looked into the pit directly. A door directly in the center of the floor of the pit the ground, unseen before, had been pushed back to reveal a hidden staircase. No one was coming up yet and a quick glance to Nuala’s balcony revealed nothing further. He took a step back and skirted along the outside, trying to get closer to where Nuala sat. He was only a few hundred feet away when the first person climbed up into the pit.
He was a tall man, slender, wearing the garb of a court guard with wine colored filmy wings tucked up tight on his back. Another man followed, dressed the same with purple and black leathery wings. Next came a woman, her clothing dirty, her face twisted in grief, and her hands bound. She was crying, pleading with her guards who looked at her without a trace of emotion. Cavalon looked up toward Nuala to see the same stoniness on her face. It made a lump rise in his throat and he wasn’t sure why.
The woman was led to the dais in the middle of the pit, one guard holding her wrists, the other moving behind her to grasp her wings, beautiful full plumage in multiple shades of blue and green, and pull them out to extend them. The woman wept harder, her pleas becoming more audible. Again Cavalon looked up at Nuala and again her expression was completely unreadable. What could this woman have done and what was about to happen? He could make his own guesses, but they didn’t seem to fit in with all he knew of the Volarim.
Casting aside any doubt he had, he watched in silent confusion as the woman had her wrists untied and rebound but to the Y this time. While one guard disappeared back down the stairs the other left behind carefully draped the woman’s wings over the back of th
e Y the way a woman pulls her hair from under her collar. The missing guard came back with a large double bladed felling ax. Ories warned him what he would witness would be unpleasant, but Cavalon had not been prepared for this.
“Please, Your Majesty!” the woman wailed, straining against her bindings. She eyed the ax with panic. “Please have mercy!”
Nuala’s lips parted to speak and for the first time there was a flicker of emotion in her turquoise eyes. Those not watching the woman in the pit had their attention on Nuala and for a moment, Cavalon wondered if this would yet end well until he realized the emotion he saw from her was anger. She stood, her fiery cloak not a cloak at all but her brilliant Phoenix wings spilling down her shoulders and her back like silk. She was cool as all sound but the woman’s cries fell silent.
“You ask me for mercy,” she began, detached again, “when you would not give it yourself to one who had no way of asking for it.”
“Forgive me,” the woman wept, pulling against the ropes holding her. The guardsman with free hands grasped her shoulder firmly and tugged her back. “Forgive me, please.”
“It is not from me you should be seeking forgiveness!” Nuala's voice rang clear and loud. Though he was too far away, Cavalon could have sworn he felt the angry heat radiating from her body. Those on the balcony with her must have, for they all took a few steps back, one of her advisers wiping his brow. “You have already pleaded your case before a council of your peers and they have deemed you guilty. The time for forgiveness has passed.” She gave a slight nod of her head.
The man with the ax stepped forward, raising it high above his head as the woman’s sobs turned into shrieks and curses. The ax fell with one crisp swipe and severed the beautiful wings right from the woman’s shoulder blades. She screamed in pain, her legs giving out from under her and leaving her half standing, half dangling in a bloody mess. Cavalon felt vomit rise in his throat, visions of his family being slaughtered before him flashing into his vision. He had to get away from there before he lost it.
With his muscular form all it took was a few shoves for people to realize he was trying to get away. Most had their eyes still transfixed on the weeping woman, but a slim path was made for him and Cavalon took it without looking back. As soon as there was enough room his legs pumped and he took off in a run. He reached the shore before his dinner came up. The sound of metal crushing bone and severing tendon still rang in his ears and he heaved again, hands on his knees. Nothing about what he’d seen made any sense. The violence of it all, the seemingly eager energy of the crowd, the anger from Nuala. He needed to talk to her, for her to explain it and make him understand, but Cavalon tried to imagine seeing her face to face and felt his insides twist. She certainly had grown stronger in his absence, but cold and cruel? Was it his leaving that changed her?
The sound of wing beats in the air made him backtrack and hide himself in the protection of the forest shadows. A mass of bodies passed overhead, all of them heading back to the mainland of their home. For a time the sky was completely blotted out by bodies and wings of every size, shape and color. He searched for Nuala among them or even Ories but it was near impossible to pick out a familiar face. When the crowd passed and he thought it was over there came a small caravan overhead. The now wingless woman on a cot with two men flying her home, then Ories, Nuala, and her consorts. There was no sign of Lucien and for this Cavalon could not have been more thankful. He must have been left on the mainland with a wet-nurse and protected from the terrible night. Would Nuala now go straight home and hold her son as though nothing was wrong? Wasn’t that what all good leaders did?
The last of the Volarim forms faded into the inky black of the night sky and Cavalon exhaled. He walked down the beach and stooped to scoop cold ocean water into his hands and splash it on his face. The salt coated his skin and his lips, dominating his sense of smell and taste for a minute, but the chill of the water helped him center himself. He allowed himself a few minutes to just stand there, to breathe and clear away the memories of his own family. They had no part in this and he didn’t want his anger over what had been done to them to mix with his need for clarification and explanation from Nuala.
Shifting again as he had earlier, wings grew from his shoulder blades and made him wince. It would have been easier to shift completely, but the only place for him to land would take him farther away from the capital and he’d have to walk a ways for the second time that night. It made more sense to just use his wings and go directly to Nuala’s home. As before, the Badarian took to the air in a clumsy, wobbling ascension. It didn’t take him as long to find his balance this time and he found the flight a little easier. There was certainly something about flying and not having to keep his entire massive form afloat. He could navigate through tighter places and didn’t need as much elevation to stay air bound. Even as he approached the mainland he could tell this was a form that would come in handy.
All of the lights were blazing in Nuala’s quarters. Cavalon was stopped occasionally by someone who recognized him and wished to welcome him back. Most who saw him recognized the look of a man on a mission and let him be. By the time he was climbing the ladder to Nuala’s apartment he was certain she must already know he was there. One of the house girls, a small thing with black filmy wings and long cornsilk hair, was coming out of a room and saw Cavalon. She smiled and bowed her head as she’d started doing before he left.
“Master Cavalon. It is good to see you again.”
“Lyra. How are you?”
“Well, thank you. I am on my way to feed the dauphin before bed if you’d like to see him.”
Cavalon hesitated, glancing down the open balcony hallway. “I think I need to talk to the queen first. Can you show me where she is?”
Lyra gave him a small grimace. “She’s bathing.”
“Oh.” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, let’s go see Lucien, then.”
They walked side by side, Lyra closest to the railing that served as a half wall and kept anyone from dropping off the sheer edge. “You’ve been gone so long,” she said casually. “This place was beginning to feel somewhat empty without you.”
The compliment made Cavalon smile and he looked down at the girl. “That’s kind of you to say.”
“Volar or not, you’ve become as much as part of Braemar as the rest of us. I don’t care what anyone else says.”
He didn’t say anything but kept walking with her. No one had ever said it directly to him or to Nuala, but he was more than certain there were those who opposed his being there. More importantly, they opposed how close he’d become with their high queen. Not that Cavalon could blame any of them. This was the kingdom of the Volarim. To have him, a man, come in and stay as though he intended on making the capital of Braemar his permanent home was not something to be taken lightly. Cavalon knew he was only allowed to stay because of Nuala. Without her they’d have tossed him out long ago. Lyra’s saying she thought him part of their people was a compliment indeed.
“You’ve always been kind to me, Lyra. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I appreciate it. There are many who smile and give me polite words but only because of my friendship with the queen. Sometimes I get the feeling you actually like me.”
She grinned up at him, dark blue eyes glittering with laughter. “Sometimes I actually do.”
He laughed quietly, but the levity could not hold his questions about what he’d seen at bay for too long. “Lyra, what happened at the Isle of Contest tonight?”
Her happy expression darkened instantaneously. “I stayed here with Lucien.”
“But you know what happened.” She nodded slowly and looked down at her feet but didn’t answer. Cavalon grabbed her arm gently to stop their travels. “I don’t understand what I saw.”
“It's not for me to explain. Forgive me.” She glanced past him to the open doorway to Nuala's sleeping quarters just a few feet away. “Please. The dauphin will be waiting for his supper and the girl watchi
ng him now needs to get home to her family.” He hesitated only a moment before letting her go. As she slid past him and disappeared into the nearby room, Cavalon leaned his hands on the railing and sighed. Apparently all of his questions would have to wait until he could see Nuala.
A squeal of sheer pleasure came from the open door and sent ripples of memory through him. He turned, suddenly feeling nervous. Would Lucien remember him? It had been almost a month, after all. How much would he have changed? Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward the door and paused just inside, leaning against the door frame.
The little cherub Cavalon left several weeks ago was sitting on the floor playing with toys that he knew once belonged to Nuala. He still had the chubby cheeks of a baby, but even sitting down Cavalon could see his legs had gotten a little longer. Not even a year and a half old and it was obvious he was going to be just as fair and beautiful as his father had been. His little white wings were more than simple stubs now, ruffled and rumbled with the down of a fledgling bird. As he let out another peal of laughter they fluttered excitedly. Lyra, on the floor with him, looked to Cavalon. “Who’s that, little prince? Who stands in your doorway?”
The baby was having entirely too much fun and wasn’t really old enough to follow the words of the young woman so he babbled back at her and stuck a toy in his mouth. It made Cavalon chuckle. The new sound in the room made the baby turn his head to look for the source. Seeing the man at the door made him squeal, but then he was back to playing.
Cavalon entered and crouched before Lyra and Lucien, his trepidation at this reunion easing. “Hey, little man.” Lucien drooled and offered up the wooden horse he was chewing on. Cavalon laughed and accepted it. “Thank you. You have no idea who I am, do you?”
“In a babe’s timeline, you were gone for quite awhile.”
The Badarian nodded knowing Lyra’s words were true. Some part of him had been expecting as much, but there had been a hope he’d clung to. Still, he couldn’t help but grin when the little boy looked up at him. “You may look a lot like your papa, but you definitely have your mother’s eyes.” Lucien answered with his own language then doubled himself over in an effort to get to his hands and knees.