by Sara Kincaid
Halay and Rina walked silently through the market streets, taking care with their steps to avoid loose stones or other rubble from the earlier skirmish within the city. The dead had been removed and taken to be burned on pyres as their tradition demanded. But the rubble from broken carts and smashed buildings still littered the streets. The city of Burga was doe-eyed and sleepy with few people out and about given the late hour and the recent battle. After the Mystics had been taken, the troops immediately drew back out of the city.
The sisters had walked many times together late at night. But now, the market district felt different, tainted. Halay’s dark hair wafted down her back in a sleek waterfall of black, pinned expertly in key spots with pink spring flowers. She wore a flowing tunic speckled with hand-printed flower petals. She’d dressed formally to see the Regent. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Halay whispered in the dark.
“You too.” The voice of the mountain wind echoed even here, sending icicles of fear down her back. Rina shuddered. “I was worried. Raze had us up in the north tower. There was nothing I could do.” Rina wondered what their brother had been like as a commander. Did he reserve the Aviators for special occasions? Or, would he instead have been out among the fray? Rina suspected that Niko would have never kept his troops behind the front lines, believing in their oath no matter who controlled Burga.
“It’s lucky your team saw the Kaldarians on the mountain.”
Rina nodded in agreement, though her heart constricted. Unbidden, thoughts of Eli arose. His breath on her ear. The sparkle in his mysterious blue eyes. Though the wind played with her, berating her for the loss of the Mystics, she straightened her spine. She would bring them home.
The sisters wound through the residential area of the city and began the ascent to Eagle Palace. They walked along the edge of the wide stone path, their route edged by tall trees, ripe with the new green of spring.
About halfway up the hill, the path diverged. To the right, they would enter the lower barracks of the militia. Continuing up would bring them to the gates of the palace. Without hesitation, Halay turned to the left and squeezed between a pair of particularly tall trees. They ambled around nettle plants, leaving behind the stone path for the soft forest floors littered with leaves. This path was unlit and meant to be obscure. “How did you know about this?”
Halay looked up at her sister, her eyes dancing merrily in the darkness. “Really, Rina?” Of course Halay had been expertly trained in pathfinding. She spent days on end alone in the wild. Such skills were essential to her survival and the survival of her flocks.
The path led them around the limestone outer walls of Eagle Palace. Craning her neck, Rina could barely see the tops of the fortress. The forest encroached on the palace grounds, edging ever closer to the walls, though the palace gardeners worked constantly to keep it at bay. It was not to be tamed.
Night sounds echoed around them, heralding the awakening of the animals that had slumbered during the lengthy winter. The air was tinged with the breath of a steadfast winter, not yet ready to relinquish its hold. Halay shivered, her breath coming in rhythmic clouds of white.
Finally, they approached a dark door carved from the heartwood of an ancient evergreen tree. The rough pine was thick and the door had been erected long ago. Rina knew from experience that it required three soldiers to move it. Halay raised her hand and knocked heavily on the timber.
A few moments later, they could hear the groans of palace guards on the other side as they struggled to pull the door open. Finally, when there was enough space for both Halay and Rina to slip through, the soldier beckoned them inside and then pushed it closed behind them.
The leader of the small group smartly pushed a fist against his chest in salute. Rina recognized his closely cropped curly hair and short eyelashes. “NightWind.” The soldier spoke around a big smile, his tone full of honey, though his voice was thick with smoke. He hadn’t smoked when she’d been a recruit, but he now claimed that the pipe helped soothe his nerves so he could sleep. “Seargent Grabel.” Rina returned the salute.
“Glad to see you on your feet. Rumor has it, you had a nasty dive.”
The corners of her mouth quirked into a self-deprecating smile. “The dive would have been fine had I not taken a shot to the shoulder in the process.”
“Will you fly again?”
“That remains to be seen. For now, I’m grounded.” Grabel took a torch from a burnished brass holder on the wall and led them down a narrow staircase, each person squeezing through a narrow doorway and ducking beneath the low ceiling. As the door closed behind them, darkness bloomed, batting at the torchlight like cat paws.
Rina and her party ascended from the underground path, pulling cobwebs from their hair and brushing dust from their uniforms. They stepped into the lighted corridor of Regent Arayna’s private quarters. The Regent looked up from her writing desk and laid her quill on its side when they appeared at the hidden doorway, not the least bit surprised to see them.
She was dressed in parrot blue dressing robes that billowed like a summer breeze and contrasted sharply with her golden eyes. Her long, dark hair was parted severely down the middle and pulled back in a voluminous bouffant that reminded Rina of a bird. The kohl around her eyes was thick and dark as night, meeting at the outside corner of her eye and extending to her hairline. Rina immediately touched her fist to her breastbone in salute. “Regent Arayna.” Grabel and the other soldier followed suit while Halay remained mute, her eyes turned downward in a gesture of respect.
Arayna’s full lips turned up in a smile, though her eyes were dark with worry. Her voice was warm and sweet. “NightWind. Sergeant. Everyone. Thank you for your quick and efficient work.” She turned to Grabel who had moved across the room to extinguish the torch. Arayna followed him with her eyes and when he’d completed his task, she continued. “Sergeant, I trust that everything was done as I requested?” She arched a single, perfectly plucked brow, awaiting his answer.
“Of course, Regent. Completely by the letter. Even sent NightWind’s own sister after her.” The sergeant gave a self-satisfied nod and rubbed some dust from his round nose.
“Sergeant, you and your guards are dismissed. I’ll be meeting in private with NightWind and Halay.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled demurely. “I thank you for your services and trust you will hold all accounts of this evening to yourselves.”
The soldiers gave a salute. “Yes, Regent,” they responded in unison.
Once the soldiers had gone, Arayna turned her full attention back to her remaining guests. She swept a hand forward, the fabric of her gossamer robe floating as she moved, and gestured to a small table and plush chairs near the fireplace. “Ladies, please join me by the fire. Spring is here, but it’s still frightfully chilly.”
Glancing in the direction that the Regent had indicated, Rina noticed a strange man sitting in silence and shadows. Though he was folded into one of the Regent’s expertly embroidered chairs, it was apparent that he was quite tall. His hair was brown and shaggy and he wore a bristly goatee along with knee-high boots.
Rina, kept her face smooth and followed in the Regent’s wake. The three women each took a chair and Rina sat rigidly with her hands folded lightly in her lap. “NightWind, I’m sorry to have summoned you during your recovery. But, as you are doubtlessly aware, we are facing a matter of some urgency.”
The loss of the Mystics was not simply of some urgency. It was a monumental loss. Without the Mystics, the Aviators had no way to repair their wings, the Burgans had no connection to the spark which was so much a part of their culture and way of life. While the spark would last forever once captured, a crack in a lightning tube or a dropped sconce and the spark would dissipate back into the ether. Without the Mystics, the spirit of Nia would be furious and others in tune with her voice in the wind would soon hear her whispered wrath. Rina breathed out slowly. “Of course. I’m
eager to help in any way possible.”
Arayna nod. “Before we continue, NightWind. I’d like to ask you a question, a perhaps rather personal question.” Rina waited, aware of her sister’s eyes on her, but refusing the desire to exchange glances. “How do you feel about FireStorm?”
Rina swallowed her surprise. “There are many things about which FireStorm and I disagree,” she started, her eyes drawn to the scruffy stranger.
“Don’t be diplomatic, NightWind. I want the truth.”
Rina shifted uncomfortably in her chair and chanced a glance at her sister. Halay shrugged unhelpfully. It was a test of loyalty. Arayna hadn’t forgotten about the coup, even as the Aviators tried to suppress the memory of that tumultuous time. Rina had effectively ended it before anything truly happened. But her name would forever be connected to it in some fashion. “I know Firestorm was our brother’s third in command and the two were very close. But honestly, I don’t know what Niko saw in him.”
Arayna smiled once more. This time, the warmth reached her eyes and she leaned back slightly in her chair, relaxed. “Excellent. FireStorm’s shadow has already loomed in my doorway, advising me to abandon the Mystics and to protect our people against further attack. But, Opher has what he wanted. I believe the attacks will now cease.”
Arayna gazed into the crackling fire and rested a finger against the side of her face. The flames danced across her golden irises and she took a shallow breath before continuing. “Ladies,” she began, addressing only them despite the presence of the stoic stranger. “Our infrastructure relies on the Mystics. Without them, we have chaos. Without them, the legitimacy of my position is called into question. Are we all in agreement?” She looked about the circle awaiting nods of agreement before facing Rina directly. “Good. Then, you’ll be pleased to know, NightWind, that you will be going after the Mystics and bringing them back to Burga.”
The moment of silence stretched between them. Displeasure crossed the Regent’s face. “Regent Arayna,” Rina began to buy more time to collect her thoughts. She steepled her fingers. “I am most grateful for this for it was my initial intention to go after the Mystics. My only concern is how this will affect things among the Aviators. FireStorm has already forbidden me from going after the Mystics.”
Arayna waved her hand, her face lacking concern. “Don’t worry. Leave all of this to me.” She nodded in the direction of the silent man with the dark whiskers. “And Bransen Nash will guide you to Bear Palace.”
Halay stepped forward then, her eyes downcast. “Regent Arayna.” She paused, the question in her throat.
“Yes?” The Regent leaned back, waiting.
“May I accompany the party on this journey?”
Rina took a sharp breath, a protest on her lips. But she dared not interrupt the Regent. Halay was no soldier. She knew how to survive in the wild, but she’d never faced an enemy soldier. But the Regent was allowing her to go rescue Eli as she had wanted. To argue with her ran the risk of losing the opportunity to save him and the other Mystics from whatever terrible fate the Kaldarians had planned.
Arayna smiled broadly. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”
“Regent Arayna, while I am most grateful for your support in this mission, I am worried for Halay’s safety. She has no formal training as a soldier and the Kaldarians are very dangerous.”
“But she does have training as a healer, correct?”
Rina paused. “Yes, Regent. She does.” Halay had long been apprenticed to a local goat breeder and farmer. She loved the animals and was a great midwife. The livestock flourished despite the frigid winters on the side of the mountain because of her.
“And besides, Bransen, WaveRunner and IceRider will all be with you. So you won’t be lacking in reinforcements should you face any resistance on your travels.” Arayna gave a throaty laugh. “I have faith in all five of you. The spark and our future depend on your success. Now gather your things. You leave before first light.”
Rina nodded and prepared to stand, but then sank back into her chair. “Regent, if I may.” She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Why do you allow FireStorm to remain in charge of the Aviators?”
“I suspect my reasons are similar to your brother. FireStorm is a great tactician, albeit a little biased in my opinion. But for me, it’s more about keeping friends close and your enemies closer.” She waggled her eyebrows though her golden eyes were sharp and piercing.
Chapter Eleven
Malik
The bite of alcohol and the stench of blood and gore circled like two courting birds around the makeshift camp. Burgan uniforms, covered in blooms of red, littered the ground outside many of the tents. Inside, soldiers lay alternately head to toe, some groaning, some frighteningly silent as the healers made their rounds.
Malik was a soldier born and he’d served in his share of battles, but he swallowed bile as he visited his soldiers. “Holy Nia,” he muttered as he pushed back the tent flap and made his way inside. The hour was late and his limbs quaked with exhaustion, but Malik felt it was his duty to visit the fallen. Only Nia knew how many of them would still be around when the sun rose.
A pair of deep-set green eyes greeted him as entered. His chest was little more than a cavern of wasted flesh and congealing blood, but the man was lucid. “Sergeant,” the soldier said through gritted teeth. His fair skin had moved beyond white into a deathly gray, his hair matted with blood. “All’s well?”
Malik hid a grimace. “Aye, soldier. The Regent is safe.” No use in telling him that the Mystics were gone. It would only serve to agitate the fallen man further and, truth be told, the worries of Burga wouldn’t be his much longer.
The soldier smiled, pleased, much of his pain hidden under a wave of powerful medicinal herbs. “Praise, Nia.”
“Aye,” Malik responded absently. “Praise Nia.” The soldier quieted and Malik continued down the line, greeting row after row of fellow Burgans cut down cruelly and much too soon. Many of the men Malik observed he’d grown up with in the streets of town, each of them looking up, awestruck, at the great Eagle Palace.
Members of the healing staff bustled around him. They kept their eyes down, their tunics whispering against their skin as they moved. Malik paused as one of them ripped open the tunic of a bloody soldier, his needle working quickly to stitch a wide gash in the man’s bicep. In these strange quarters, flesh seemed like clothing, something to be sewed and stitched like the spun cotton garb they wore, covering whatever lay within.
“Sergeant.” The gruff greeting startled Malik, drawing him from his reverie. General Khalid Shin strode down the aisle, his strong arms somehow at odds with his tall and narrow frame. Despite the battle, his hair was still oiled flat, not a strand out of place. His nostrils flared at the stench of blood and death that surrounded them.
“General.” Malik stood stiffly touching his fist to his chest.
“How goes?”
“The night vigil?” Malik frowned. “Perhaps we should step outside?”
Khalid smiled grimly. “Of course.”
The two officers exited the tent, giving a curt nod to soldiers who acknowledged them as they passed. Beneath the glow of the moon, Malik’s breath clouded. “A score are dead and a score more are likely to follow. Plus your abundance of less severe injuries.” He shook his head.
“They got what they came for though.”
“Aye. And they won’t be back.”
“How did we miss it, Sergeant?” Heavy circles marred his face and his stubble was at least three days gone.
“We all thought it was a power play. Such actions fit Opher’s character.” Malik gave a thin shrug. Since the Mystics had been taken, all fighting had ceased and the Burgan forces had been too much in shambles to give chase. “What does Regent Arayna say?”
Khalid crossed his arms and tapped his boot against the dirt in frustrati
on. “So far she will see no one. And don’t even ask about FireStorm. You know he won’t answer to me.” Khalid paused and cleared his throat. “Have you had a chance to visit NightWind?”
“Rina? No. I’ve been busy seeing to our soldiers. I heard she was discharged yesterday afternoon though.”
“Good for her. See if she’s heard anything. She’ll be in the thick of it given her connection to the Mystics. First, Sergeant, get some rest. They’re not going to harm those Mystics. They’re too valuable. We’ll get them back. The Council of Delos won’t stand for this type of aggression. We’ll have the entire nation on our side against them. Trade embargoes. The whole bit.”
Malik nodded. “Aye, General. Will do.”
Duties at the palace kept Malik busy for much of the morning, reformatting the guard rotations to account for injuries and loss of life and ensuring that each soldier got the rest and attention they needed. By the time he could slip away, it was nearly nightfall.
Leaving his uniform behind, Malik donned a gray, homespun tunic and his favorite worn boots lined with rabbit fur. Snowflakes swirled in the crisp air like tiny stars fluttering from the black expanse above.
He’d known Miyabi’s shop even before he came to know Rina. As a child, he often left fingerprints on her windows as he gazed at the dozens of pots glimmering like candy in the welcoming light.
The hour was late and the sun had already settled behind the mountain for the day. Miyabi’s shop windows were dark, though that didn’t mean the sculptor wasn’t at home. He knocked heavily and waited.
Minutes passed, but finally, Malik heard the tell-tale step-tap of Miyabi’s walk and cane. She opened the door and blinked at him owlishly. “Well then, who do we have here?”