Caprion's Wings (3 page)

But Caprion remained uncertain. He had
never seen an aura and he didn’t even have wings. Perhaps his aura
would be too small to detect. He wasn’t sure how useful a Resonator
would be.

But he would follow the
Madrigal’s advice. His mind dwelled on his dark vision in the
Singing Chamber.
Even stars must
die.
Perhaps Florentine would have some
sort of solution.

The Madrigal moved to one
side. Caprion bowed in respect and then stepped past him down the
wide, granite corridor. His steps quickened as he walked. He needed
to find a quiet patch of sunlight and get hold of his tumultuous
thoughts. His failure seemed insurmountable. No stars had greeted
him in the Chamber, no wings, no Light. His mind had been consumed
by darkness—by an evil, insidious voice that played with his fears.
He felt somehow abandoned, as though the God of Light had turned
away His face. But why?
Why did I
fall?

He frowned, hardly seeing the granite
floor beneath his feet. Had he committed some transgression against
the Light? Was he too selfish? Too filled with envy for Sumas, or
arrogance, or pride? Had he harmed an innocent? He thought back on
silly fights at the Academy, his oneupmanship, the occasional
skipped class. All things considered, he had been a fairly tame
student. It just didn’t fit. How could he be any worse than his
older brother?

Still, uncertainty filled him. He left
the halls of the Singing Chamber and entered the quiet light of
sunset. A few birds flitted by overhead; the wind brushed past,
carrying a stray leaf. Everything reminded him of the open sky, of
flight. It suddenly seemed a terrible thing, never to fly, like a
great mystery he would never quite solve. He placed a hand over his
chest, pressing against the heavy, hopeless feeling.

As he approached the Road of Remnants,
he saw a familiar silhouette waiting by the nearest statue: the
small, slight form of Esta. He sighed, dropping his gaze back to
the ground, wishing to turn invisible. He didn’t want to think
about tomorrow, when news would spread through the city. Singings
were public knowledge, and his family well-known. Yes, word would
spread, and many would speculate.

He lifted his eyes in time to see the
smile falter on Esta’s face. His throat tightened, mimicking her
disappointment.

"Oh, Caprion," she murmured, her gaze
flickering over his shoulder, witnessing the ghastly absence of
wings. She met his eyes. "The Madrigal must have made a mistake, a
miscalculation. I mean, six years now? It has to be the wrong day.
He should redo your charts-"

"He already has. Twice. They're
accurate," Caprion said quietly. He paused next to her, his face
turned away. “This was my last Singing. I'm too old
now.”

Esta frowned. He could tell she didn't
know what to say. She finally cleared her throat. “What do you
think Sumas will do?” she asked softly.

Caprion's jaw tightened.
“Hopefully nothing,” he said. They both knew that was unlikely.
Sumas wasn’t passive. Last year, he had jumped Caprion after his
Singing and snapped his collarbone and four ribs.
"If you shame our family again, I will crush your
throat,"
his brother threatened, choking
Caprion to the ground until he passed out, certain of his own
death.

After returning to consciousness,
young Caprion kept to his hut for several weeks, avoiding the city,
worried that Sumas would send his soldier friends to finish the
job.

Esta gave him a worried look. “He'll
find out soon,” she said. “The entire city has been asking me about
your wings....”

“Then I'll deal with him,” Caprion
replied. His eyes turned to the shining towers of Asterion,
following the Road of Remnants to the distant buildings. The sky
darkened, the sun sinking deeper in the horizon. Entering the city
at night would be risky, and without wings he would be forced to
take the streets. Not a lot of cover. Sumas would find him
easily.

Caprion shook his head slowly. He
would never understand his brother. Sumas loved stories of war,
glory, and conquest. The more Sumas won, the more he sought to
conquer, as though no amount of victory would satisfy him—the ideal
soldier. And when his brother ran out of rivals, his eyes always
returned to Caprion.

Perhaps their mother bragged too much
about her eldest son’s strength, or perhaps Sumas didn’t need her
encouragement—perhaps he was just a bully by nature. Either way,
his brother was capable of an efficient brutality that went beyond
Caprion’s comprehension.

Caprion shifted, suddenly
worried about Esta. He didn’t think Sumas would attack her, but
Esta might try to defend him and put herself in danger.
I can’t let that happen,
he thought.

"I'll walk myself home," he said
shortly. “I'll visit you soon to speak with our mother.”

Esta nodded. After a slight
hesitation, she rushed forward and gripped him in a hard hug.
“You’re still my favorite brother,” she said, her voice muffled by
his robes. Then she turned and flitted across the ground, carried
away by her wings.

Caprion found himself smiling,
watching her disappear over the city. But as her wings faded from
view, the smile drained from his face. He turned to the narrow,
broken road through the woods, circumventing the city. Sumas would
be looking for him tonight. Best to avoid him
altogether.

* * *

Caprion circled around the
woods to his hut, taking an extra hour on his walk home. His
thoughts lingered on the black dream and the oily, slithering voice
from the ground.
Your race is
dying.
What did it mean? True, the Harpy
race was struggling; birthrates were on the decline and Asterion
was startlingly underpopulated. But the voice seemed to suggest a
larger plot, a greater enemy. Who? The Unnamed?

It was the most likely answer. Harpies
were children of Wind and Light, the First Race created by the
Elements at the beginning of the world. They were the sworn enemy
of the Unnamed, the Sixth Race, the Dark God’s children made of
Shadow and Fire. Inside each of the Unnamed lived a shard of the
Dark God, a race of demons walking the earth, manifestations of His
presence. The Harpies saw it as their sacred duty to rid the world
of such evil.

But how could one of the Unnamed be on
their island? Where would it hide? Asterion had remained isolated
for centuries. Surely their soldiers would detect a demon’s
presence. And did the Sixth Race possess the ability to infiltrate
his dreams? He had never heard of such a thing.

Caprion shook his head, pressing
through a thick tangle of jasmine and poppy. He needed to speak to
Florentine.

He paused at the fringe of trees
behind his hut. His home stood at the very edge of the builders'
district, far from the glowing sunstone lanterns and flagstone
streets. Usually he liked the isolation, but now it made him
nervous.

He searched the darkness, listening
intently; his eyes weren't good in the shadows. He had walked
through the woods based on memory alone, following a familiar deer
trail. Still, a Harpy's wings usually glowed softly against the
night and he didn't see any figures standing around his hut, nor
any light from inside. No one in sight.

Caprion stepped from the tree line
toward his small round house. He felt exhausted from the whole
ordeal, his mind the worst off. A headache throbbed behind his
eyes, still present from the Singing Chamber.

Suddenly, a large shape stepped from
behind his neighbor's wall. The man’s wings became visible,
stretching casually behind his shoulders. Caprion recognized them
immediately. They spanned just under fifteen feet, though Sumas
often rounded up in front of pretty girls or superior officers. And
family, of course.

Caprion paused mid-step, fear settling
in his gut, awakening his senses. No sense running―Sumas could fly
much faster. He searched his brother's face, illuminated by the
soft white glow of his wings. They shared the same high brow and
angular cheeks. Sumas had a heavy, proud jaw and a twice-broken
nose, which seemed to increase his appeal to the girls. His short,
shock-white hair bristled back against his head. Caprion’s features
were slightly narrower, what some might call sensitive or
aristocratic.

Sumas’ mouth was set in a firm
line—his usual expression. Caprion hesitated at that. All things
considered, his brother appeared to be in a good mood.

“Sumas,” he said quietly.

“Captain
Sumas, now,” his brother replied. A tight grin
cracked those lips.

Caprion frowned, hardly able to think
through his anxiety. “You’ve been promoted?” he asked
carefully.

"Just this morning," Sumas said. His
voice held a rich, heavy baritone. It matched his hulking shoulders
and barrel-chest.

"Congratulations," Caprion said
softly. "You'll be a captain now? In charge of your own
men?"

Sumas nodded, unable to keep the proud
tilt from his chin.

Another long pause. Caprion cleared
his dry throat. “Did you only come to tell me that?”

"No," Sumas said solidly. "I came
because my little brother failed again."

Caprion braced himself, wishing he had
his sword, but it rested against his bedpost inside the hut. Sumas
noted his distress and grinned, crossing his arms in front of him.
“Don't worry, little brother. I expected this.”

Caprion waited. He already knew what
his brother thought of him.

"Mother is very upset,” Sumas
continued. “She spoke to the Madrigal an hour ago. She hasn’t said
a word since."

Caprion tried not to react.

“She thinks she failed you,” Sumas
sneered. “But we both know that’s not true.”

Caprion's hands clenched into fists.
After his last failure, his mother had worried about him
incessantly. Their conversations always wandered back to his wings,
to his Song, to the next Singing and his future. Eventually it had
pushed him from her house, and they hadn't spoken since. He didn’t
know how he would face her again. From this point on, he would
always be a burden to his family. How would he find work? Who would
he marry?

Sumas glanced at Caprion's wingless
shoulders and then to the ground, as though embarrassed for him. "I
don’t understand you. Have you no pride? No honor? How could you do
this to our family?” He shook his head, his voice thick. “I'm so
angry at you, I want to pound you into the dirt. You don't care
about anyone but yourself."

"You think I did this on
purpose?" Caprion said defensively. "I
tried,
Sumas."

"Esta said you slept late this
morning. You missed the greeting hour." He glared. "Lazy,
irresponsible Caprion. You deserve some sort of punishment. If a
soldier sleeps in late, he has to answer for it." He glanced over
Caprion's shoulder again. "But you'll never be a soldier, will
you?" he finished softly. "You've already paid enough, I
think."

Caprion took a deep, short breath. His
head ached. He wanted to launch across the grass and wrench the
smug look right off Sumas' face―pummel him to the ground, crack his
teeth, and break his proud jaw. But his brother would welcome a
fight, and Sumas was bigger and stronger. He could still crush
Caprion's windpipe. That one thought held him back.

Sumas finally turned away. “Don't let
me see you around,” he said, his voice thick with hatred. It
vibrated across Caprion's skin, a shiver of magic both a warning
and a threat. “Next time, I won't hold back.” Then Sumas spread his
wings and lifted swiftly into the air, flying away quickly over the
round, white huts.

Caprion watched him go until the glow
of his wings vanished against the stars. He felt it keenly in that
moment―his inability to follow, as though chained to the
ground.

He let out a long, deep
sigh and walked to his hut. His body felt twice as heavy as before.
He entered his dark room through the open archway and lay down in
his bed, his brother's voice resonating through his
thoughts.
How could you do this to the
family?

He clenched his jaw. Anger,
frustration―no solution in sight. He needed to speak with
Florentine and find out what was wrong with him. He needed to prove
himself. He needed to fix this.

Chapter 3

Caprion headed into the city at the
break of dawn, before the mist had a chance to lift. Florentine
opened her shop early and closed around mid-afternoon—eccentric
hours for an eccentric woman. He covered himself in a gray cloak
and pulled the hood low over his head, wary of being noticed. Only
his neighbor saw him, a younger fledgling who studied at the
academy. The boy nodded quickly and walked past, hardly meeting
Caprion’s eyes.

Caprion frowned, put off
by the boy’s reaction. How many people could possibly know about
his Singing?
The whole city by the end of
the day,
he thought grimly. Their family,
Le’Nasir, was a long and prominent bloodline. Sumas was well-known
around the city and their mother could trace her roots far back to
the very founding of Asterion. His great-grandmother had served as
Matriarch for a time, centuries ago. There was bound to be
speculation. Another reason to reach Florentine’s shop before
mid-morning when local markets opened and the streets became packed
by curious faces.