Beneath Stained Glass Wings

by K Kazul Wolf

  I try to remember what his markings looked like the first time I saw him, but I can’t say I’ve ever paid enough attention to notice any changes. I never understood the words, never memorized them. But now, those words…

  My arm feels almost powerful. Almost like there’s a current inside of me, coursing through me, and scraping at the surface where those black marks lie.

  “You can see it now, can’t you?”

  “See what?”

  “Yourself.”

  Do I? I trace the words over and over, those different languages and shapes. Maybe he’s right.

  “Why doesn’t my mother have them?” I can’t look away. I know them, I can practically feel them there, but it’s too strange to see them displayed like that.

  “Some people…don’t want to learn. Some people can only draw out a few words, a few truths. She wasn’t in a place where she could accept more than a few words.”

  How can you stop at a few? I squint at the markings, run a finger along them. If he’d had me do this before he’d taught me everything he had, before I had something real and true to hold onto again, would I have found any words willing to come out?

  “Now what?” I can’t bring myself to speak too loudly, like I’m afraid the markings will run away.

  “That’s it.”

  I blink. “We… We’re done?”

  He chuckles. “No, hardly. It will take you years to master your words and your illusions. But you’ve made a lot of progress. You’re fighting for something, which is more than a lot of people can say. Not to mention, you are your father’s daughter, sharp as a tack. He…he did right by you.”

  Finally, I look at him, his eyes aimed far off into the ocean. Did he just say something nice about my father?

  “Now, you can go back. You can see if this Vito of yours is still alive.” His eyes flick back to me. “But are you sure you’re ready? If you open yourself to the pool, to the truth, you’ll know it. You can cast the illusion. But ignorance is always a choice. Questions can sometimes be easier to grieve and to bear than the truth.”

  “You sound like you’re trying to change my mind.” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Maybe I am.”

  But why, after all that work? I shake my head. No more regrets. No more lies. I’ve done enough wrong already. “I flew all the way back here to be able to see, no matter what the truth is. I’m not turning back now.”

  He nods, rising to his feet. “Good. Now get up. We’d better head back—the sun’s setting.”

  “‘We?’” I get up, holding my arm like the words might slip away if I move too fast. “I thought you didn’t want to go there.” If he was going to go back, why didn’t he come with me the first time?

  “You had your lessons to learn last time. This time, I may have a few of my own. Besides,” he looks to me, “things sound like they’re about to get interesting.”

  If he says it, it’s a guarantee. Not to mention I manage to create chaos out of everything I touch lately. “All right, it’s your choice.”

  “I know. Now start walking.”

  The sand moves under my feet, slipping between my toes and shifting me forward. Dragons, not this again. I move my legs, struggling to keep up. It burns with every step, more so than even last time as the world slides by around us. Can’t we fly? Exhaustion pulls behind my eyes, and I realize the last time I slept was when Maur had made me that bed.

  Still, the journey feels faster than last time. My mind keeps wandering back to that pool, thinking about walking across that water again and having to look. It might be blank still. It might not be. My breath catches and I nearly stumble into the tiding sand. No, I know that he’s dead. He must be. Right?

  We slow. We come to the dune that separates the settlement from the rest of the desert. I can feel illusions and heartbeats on the other side. It’s all a bit sharper now, like before I was seeing it all through a fog. It scares me a little and I can’t place why.

  Finally, we stop. I don’t fall this time, though I do double over, panting.

  “Come on, serpent. We’ll have time to rest later. Maybe.”

  I glare at his back, hoping it’ll burn holes there. When it’s clear that’s getting me nowhere, I follow him up the dune.

  He stops, turning back. “No, you don’t come with me. You go to the pool.”

  “And where are you going?”

  “I have some things to take care of. I’ll be there by the time you’re finished, don’t worry. Fly—they’ll be less likely to notice you.”

  I scowl as he turns and walks away. Part of me was expecting him to come, relying on the fact that I wouldn’t have to do this alone. Now I have no guidance, no one to lean on. With a shaky breath, I crouch and jump into the sky. Tentatively, I reach into the air, feeling the water moving around me. The clarity of it almost hurts. Instead of drawing it closer with pain, I focus on my words and draw the water close, wrapping myself in a mirage.

  It feels awkward, unusual, wrong. But none of the heads below me turn as I fly over them, no one sees me as a speck across the sun. I land in the grove of green, on the shore of the pond with no incident. There’s nothing to distract me from what I have to do.

  Nothing to distract me from the truth.

  I step onto the water.

  29

  The Belief

  As I walk across the water, all I can think about is drowning. Part of me fears falling through into the depths. Another part of me is darkly curious.

  Between the splashes of rainbows spreading from each footfall, I can see under the surface of the water, the sandy ground not smothered in stars and darkness. It’s just water. How can it look so different now as opposed to at night? Even standing dead center of it, where I can’t see the bottom anymore, it feels different. Less magical, less like anything could happen. Like I’d already lost my chance and it’s all too late because of how long I took. But I can’t bear not trying.

  The water ripples a little at my feet. I grip my arm, my fingers brushing over the words spread across my skin, carved there. I kneel. I press my palm to the surface. I can feel it now, my soul, my words churning and rolling around inside. Everything that went wrong last time I tried seems blindingly clear. Pain doesn’t define me. Last time, that’s all I clung to, drowning in the pain. Last time, I smothered my words. I dug into them, buried myself in their black edges until I couldn’t see the light.

  This time, I pull at the words of mine that are for Vito; he’s such a vast part of me that I share more than a few with him. He carved them into me, created bits and pieces of me. The words from my father’s books, spanning an array of languages and meanings, and the conversations we’ve had, defining so much of my life. Maybe…maybe I’ll be able to show him which ones are his. Maybe we can laugh over them, maybe they’ll say more than my mouth ever could. Maybe he’ll show me his own words, carved across his skin. How many of his will be mine?

  Gently, almost afraid of losing them, I cast them into the depths. I share these words with the water. And in turn, it laps gently against my hand, tasting the sweet, salty words draped across my fingers. It drains me faster than anything I’ve felt before, using the words, feeling the same as stretching a muscle I’ve never used.

  And…it doesn’t change. Barely a splash of color on the surface.

  Is— Is he—

  My chest constricts, breaths hard to draw in. The water stops licking at my hand, settling around me. Completely flat. Like it’s given up on me.

  No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not again. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be painted out before me. I was going to see his face again, because the memories are getting dim and it’s scaring me.

  Tears roll down my face, their warmth distant, cutting. Ripples spread from where they hit the water, like last time. All of it the same as last time.

  No matter what I do, how hard I try, he’s not here. So why can’t I believe it? Why can’t I accept that he’s gone?

&
nbsp; The ripples spread faster, color swirling and melding around me. Maybe I could fall through, become a part of those curls and colors, contributing to the everlasting illusion of this water.

  Honestly, I almost see shapes painted in the swirling colors. I want to see him so badly, I can almost see Vito’s eyes, dark yet shining. That brown rippling underneath me is more accurate a shade than I’ve been able to recall. There are feathers, smeared in single strokes that seem to shift, reflect color like they’re real.

  And my hand…my hand is on Vito’s snout.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, I lower my other hand onto his gentle, painted face.

  This has to be a hallucination. There’s no possible way this could be happening. Finally. After so long.

  Belief. I remember Maur saying that he’s seen belief bring things into existence. This…this isn’t that, is it?

  But I wouldn’t imagine him like this. I couldn’t. I stand, getting a better look.

  It’s dark, shadowy wherever he is, but I can see he looks…worn. His scales are dull and everything on his face seems hollow, sunken. And his toe. He’s missing a toe on his right paw, the wound covered in dirty bandages. There are slashes all over his body; some are still bleeding and so deep I wince, holding myself. Whip marks have worn away at some of his scales. And the wing on the side away from me…it’s folded all wrong, and there’s blood crusted to a lot of his feathers.

  My mom was right. They’ve kept him alive, but barely. What could they be using him for like this? Why? Why would they do this to my Vito?

  “So you found him, then?” Maur’s voice.

  I jump, the image shattering underneath me. A part of me shatters, too, and I reach toward the water, desperate for Vito. But it’s only an illusion. He’s not really here.

  I turn, wanting to glare but feeling too thin to pull the expression into my face. Maur stands at the edge of the water, a small smile on his face. My mom stands next to him, seeming small next to the large man.

  “What are both of you doing here?”

  “I said I’d be here, didn’t I? And I figured it would be best if she were here, too.” Maur shrugs.

  “Polite as ever.” My mom eyes Maur. “Now, come over here and tell us what you saw?”

  I hesitate, the pull to look again, catch one glimpse. He’s alive. But he’s in pain.

  “He won’t just pop out of the water, you know.” Maur sounds almost entertained.

  With a deep breath, I turn away, keeping even steps until I’m off the surface of the water, next to the two of them.

  My mother reaches out, embracing me. I tense, the contact unexpected. Will I ever get used to this? Then I soften, hold her back. Everything feels muffled, a little distant and hard to think about. But it feels nice, if just for a moment.

  Then she pulls away. “What did you see?”

  “It was— He—” I close my eyes, focus my thoughts. “It was very dark; I couldn’t see any of his surroundings. And he was beaten, badly. I— If I’d—”

  My mom’s hands tighten on my shoulders. “No ifs. We know. Now we have to do.”

  “What exactly are you suggesting?” Maur asks, crossing his arms.

  “You have your rebellion, don’t you?” My mom looks at me, a fire behind her eyes. “You could go back, finish those wings and take the city.”

  I shake my head. “There aren’t enough. We’d need more people.”

  She purses her lips for a minute. “How many more people?”

  Is she going to grab them out of thin air? My mind stumbles, tripping over numbers. “Probably…I don’t know, the whole of Azelain.”

  “That could be arranged.”

  “What?” Maur and I both say the word, him raising an eyebrow and my mouth gaping.

  “Come on. The sun’s getting low—most of the people will be gathered at the center fire.” She turns, motioning for us to follow.

  Maur walks after her without any argument, so I fall into line. I keep my eyes down as I walk, my thoughts too heavy to take in my surroundings.

  Vito. Vito is alive. The thought of him fills me and kills me at the same time. I need him. But fear mingles with that need. It’s been so long. I left him to this. If it weren’t for me, if he’d had any other caretaker, he wouldn’t be there. He wouldn’t be in pain.

  The fear cripples me.

  I never really knew how weak I was until now. Afraid of the truth, afraid of knowledge. Things that my father taught should be rejoiced instead leave me trembling and empty.

  Maur stops and I nearly run into him.

  The flickering of the fires barely paints the tents around us, half-shadows ghosting around the fabric that outlines the wide circle in front of us. My mom was right: there are as many people here as before. And all their eyes are on us.

  My mom is still striding ahead, toward the center of the fire. I wait for Maur to move but he stands in the center of the path.

  “Are we not supposed to follow her?” Did I miss something?

  “What?” Maur takes his eyes off the crowd ahead of us, and I realize that the people aren’t really looking at my mom, or myself, but him. “Oh, yes, sorry.” And with almost flustered footsteps, he keeps walking.

  No one moves. No one says anything. Are they afraid of the three of us, two illusionists and a dragon who are all Caelum-born? Or maybe it’s respect for Maur, or my mother—though they had locked her away. Did she break out or did they let her out?

  “Hello.” My mother addresses the crowd with her voice as strong as when I first found her again, telling that story. “You have all heard of the incident that happened a few days ago, if you weren’t here. This illusionist wandered into our camp, into our fires, and hid among us for a night until chased out. I helped her escape. I was chastised, until they learned the reason I protected her. She’s my daughter.”

  Murmuring bubbles amongst the crowd, my mom pausing long enough for it to rise, and then subside. “She’s on a journey. As we all are, trying to be as separate from Caelum as we can be. But, you see, my daughter has something more than the rest of us do. Back in the ground-dwelling town she came from, her rebellion has an army, and she’s given this army wings.”

  The fire behind her flares, and suddenly, she has a pair of my father’s wings on her back, but different from the ones the hunters wore. These aren’t so cold and impersonal, though the same gossamer webbing stretches between the ribs, casting a rainbow on the people within our site. But all of the wood and the metal and the gears are painted and carved with words in at least five different languages, curled like the tattoos around my arm. Except I can read these words. These are words in languages that my father taught me. Those are his words, painted as a love letter to my mom.

  A gasp rings out, a few people scrambling away from the sight.

  My mother’s lips twitch up. “Any one of us would kill for a chance to take down that city. My daughter has brought us the opportunity to fight to take the ground back, to make it so that our little spot of land isn’t just an oasis in a desert anymore.”

  A few voices whisper a little louder than others. How could they trust me, how do they know this isn’t a trap? They think my mom is blinded by her blood ties.

  “I know that she speaks the truth.” Maur’s voice is a growl, a rumble in the air that makes me shrink back. “You would know if it were a lie as well as I would—I taught you my tricks.”

  “Then why doesn’t she speak up!” The voice sounds far too similar to that one angry man who captured me in the desert.

  Maur bares his teeth. “You think I’d be so deceived—”

  “They’re telling the truth.” My voice escapes my mouth before I think about it. It takes everything in me not to clasp my hands in front of my mouth and crouch down, all eyes turning to me. “I’m a part of a rebellion. They managed to take one of the ground-dwelling towns.”

  Silence follows my words. No one breaks their stares from me to discuss, none of them trust me enough to look away. �
��I repaired their wings. There are still more to go, but between your illusions and our fighters, we can do this. We have to do this. If we don’t take down the city, it’s only a matter of time before they find us.”

  “And you think we can’t defend ourselves?” A chorus of agreement follows the voice, and I take a step back, closer to Maur and my mother.

  “You really think we can take on all of Caelum’s dragons? There could be hundreds of them for all we know.” Hamahl. “Once they decide the towns are worthless, once enough are destroyed in uprisings, their attention will turn to us.”

  “The time to strike is now. You have a choice.” My mom’s illusion fades and I barely see her slip my father’s crystal back into her pocket.

  “You can’t expect us to decide right now.” A voice I don’t know.

  The agreement isn’t a cry or a jeer, but many people nod, or murmur their sentiments.

  “Fine,” My mom says. “We’ll decide tomorrow, then, or the next day if no one has the scales to make up their minds.”

  Conversation breaks out. I look to my mom and she smiles. “You did very well.”

  I blink. “Thanks.”

  “Now, it’s time for the two of you to get going.”

  “What are you talking about?” Maur takes a step closer, his eyes shifting around the crowd. Why is he so uncomfortable? Is he worried they’ll take revenge for when he left them?

  “You two need to go ahead, to the rebels. You need to make sure that they’ll cooperate with us—and I have every faith you will,” she cuts me off before I can protest.

  Maur hesitates, then nods.

  I look back toward my mom. I don’t want to leave her again, and yet Vito…

  She takes my hands in hers. “It will be fastest this way. You can continue working on your wings, and your Carita won’t be taken off guard by a small army of desert dwellers in her town.” She smiles. “All right?”

  I nod, feeling childish but not knowing what to say.