Caprion's Wings (5 page)

Finally, he arrived home. As he
entered his single-room dwelling, he immediately caught the scent
of sandalwood. He turned, surprised, to find a familiar figure
sitting on his bed.

"Talarin," he said. He almost dropped
his bag on the ground. "It's good to see you," he
stuttered.

She smiled. Talarin had a narrow face
with flat cheeks, an upturned nose and pointed chin. Intelligent
lavender eyes greeted him. She wore her short hair braided around
her head to fit under her soldier’s helm, which currently lay on
the ground at her feet. She pressed her large wings tightly against
her back to accommodate the small space. Her long sword rested
nearby, next to the window. Full armor encased her sturdy figure.
He assumed she had just finished her patrol.

He and Talarin grew up
next-door to each other, the same age. They attended the Academy
together for several years before she earned her wings. She failed
her first four Singings, and he remembered her fear, her
trepidation. Now she wore a twelve-foot wingspan with a daring sort
of irony.
"Who knew?"
she would often say over a mug of ambrosia.
"I had the worst voice in the Academy. Always
flat. Always flat! Remember when Mistress Settia threw her song
book at me?"

Two years ago, she gained her wings
and became a soldier. Caprion hadn't seen much of her since―her
life was busy, and she often spent time with other soldiers in the
higher parts of the city. It truly felt like she had joined another
world.

"Thought you might need a bit of
cheering up," she said, and lifted a wooden jug in her lap. Caprion
guessed it wasn't water. He waited as she pulled two cups out of
his tiny kitchen cupboard and poured them drinks. Orange juice
laced with ambrosia, if he didn’t know any better.

He would have liked to sit next to
her, but her wings took up too much space, so he settled for a
large cushion on the floor.

"Cheers," she said with another
mischievous smile. A dimple stood out on her left cheek. Then she
downed the cup in a smooth swig.

Caprion looked away. He took a sip and
let the citrus flavor linger on his tongue. It was too sweet for
his mood. He set down his cup, his mind returning to his
conversation with Florentine.

"I was shocked by the news," Talarin
said absently, pouring herself another glass and gazing out the
window. "I mean, your mother is a Le'Nasir. You, out of anyone,
should have your wings by now." She looked at him. "The Madrigal
must have your charts wrong. How else could your voice not reach
the stars?" She shook her head in genuine bewilderment.

Caprion shrugged. "I ask
myself the same thing," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing
wrong. I keep calling, I feel my voice carry, but nothing answers
back."
Except a demon.

Talarin nodded. “He must have your
charts wrong,” she repeated. “You're calling at the wrong time of
year. We need to fix this before it's too late!”

Caprion sighed. “My mother spoke to
him last year, and the year before that. He redid the charts twice
and they were correct. I'm the one who is failing.”

Talarin frowned at him, obviously at a
loss for words. She paused and then changed the subject. “Your
brother is a captain now,” she said. “A dawning star, that one. My
mother thinks he’s going to be the next General.”

Caprion snorted. “Trust me, no one
believes that more than Sumas himself.”

Talarin wrinkled her nose. “He’s
really not so bad, you know, as a soldier. He would make a strong
leader...though I certainly won’t miss him in my squad.”

Caprion winced,
remembering every time Sumas and his thug-friends had jumped
him.
A leader, indeed.
“He was transferred to another squad?” he asked.

“Yes, with his promotion. We’re all
relieved. No more nasty morning temper. He’s in charge of the
fledgling soldiers now. You know, the new wingers—the baby birds. I
certainly don’t envy him that. New soldiers are the
worst!”

Caprion grinned at this. “But you just
started training!”

“Two years ago!” she laughed. “I’ll be
starting my third year soon. They might transfer me to coastal
patrol. I certainly hope so! Imagine the sunsets? It’s either that
or the jailhouse, and the jail gets boring fast.”

Something about her words caught his
attention. He shifted. Then he said slowly, “By the way, Talarin, I
heard a rumor at market this morning.…”

She looked at him
questioningly.

“Eh, this might sound strange,” he
added, and rubbed his neck self-consciously, remembering
Florentine’s warning. “I heard there is a secret prison on the
island. It’s supposedly full of the Unnamed. Is that
true?”

Talarin paused just long enough to
seem unnatural, then she glanced out the window, as though someone
might be listening outside. She dropped her voice. “I can’t really
say,” she murmured. Then she frowned. “How do you know about
this?”

"Overheard it," he said briefly.
"Would Sumas know where it is?"

"Possibly," she allowed, pursing her
lips. She fiddled with her cup for a moment, but Talarin had never
been good with secrets. Caprion could tell she had something to
say. Then she leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ve
been there only a few times,” she said in a hushed voice. “Soldiers
don't train against the Unnamed until after a year of basic duty.
They're dangerous to be around if you're new to your wings...or
wingless." She eyed him. "Why?"

Caprion considered telling her about
his strange dreams, then decided he would sound desperate, perhaps
grasping at straws. “I need to go there,” he said
bluntly.

"And do what?" Talarin
pressed.

Find my wings.
"Get some answers," he said. “Something has
been…interfering with my Singing.”

Talarin continued to stare
at him and then she grinned. “Look at you, suddenly so mysterious!”
she laughed. “What do you mean,
interfering?
”

Caprion frowned, unable to
share her humor. “Please, Talarin, would you trust me? I need to
get down there. It’s important.” He met her gaze, hoping she would
see his urgency.
Please,
he thought, willing her to agree with him.
Please understand.

She studied him closely, concern
crossing her face. Then she let out a short sigh. “I hate it when
you simper,” she said.

He balked. “What? I do not
simper!”

“Sure you do,” she teased, “and it
always works! I can never say no to that face!” She shook her head
as though greatly put upon. “I’ll take you below, but I’ll have to
go with you, wingless little bird that you are. We’ll have to be
very careful. We’ll be arrested if we’re caught. And you can’t go
near the prisoners.”

"I might have to,” he murmured. “But
I’m not defenseless. I can handle a sword.”

Talarin bit her lip. "The Unnamed are
a race of assassins," she reminded him. "They can wield swords too,
perhaps better than any of us. Would you at least tell me what you
are looking for? Perhaps I can help.”

Caprion shook his head firmly. “I’m
not truly sure myself. But I have questions. Trust me, I won’t be
long. An hour at most.”

Talarin nodded in resignation. “The
caves are underground and the soldiers practice at night. You can
only reach the entrance by flying. I’ll have to stay with you until
you’re finished."

Caprion hesitated at that, considering
the consequences. She could be demoted or worse. “You'll get in
trouble if you’re caught,” he said slowly, rethinking his plan.
“You don’t have to do this….”

Talarin shrugged. “I know,” she said.
“But I'm not one of those cruel bastards who'll turn their back on
you.” She looked at him pointedly. “I want you to find your wings,
Caprion. I don’t really understand why you’re doing this, but I can
guess it’s important. You’re not rash like your brother. Something
isn’t right and I want to help.”

Caprion’s gaze softened.
“Talarin….”

“My uncle is wingless, you know,” she
said abruptly. “But he’s still family. He's not any more or less of
a person.”

Caprion felt an unknown knot of
tension loosen in his shoulders. Slowly he relaxed, and a true
smile touched his face. “The way my family acts, you'd think I was
a criminal or a drunk. Or worse, like I'm not even a Harpy
anymore.” His smile faded slightly.

"They'll adjust," Talarin
suggested.

He didn't respond immediately. “I
haven't lived at home in a year,” he finally said.

“I noticed,” she replied.

Caprion sighed. “Sumas is
against me. My mother blames herself. Esta is sweet, but she’s too
young to help. I don't know how long this is going to last. What's
going to become of my life?” He found himself staring at the floor.
“I'm complaining too much, aren't I? I’ve had everything handed to
me except my wings. And now life is going to be hard. I might have
to fight for something, or heavens forbid,
earn
it. I sound pathetic, don't
I?”

Talarin wrinkled her nose at him.
“Maybe just a little.”

He winced.

She leaned over and punched his
shoulder, laughing. “Don’t lose hope! Here I am, two years into my
wings, and I wake up every morning still thinking they’ll
disappear. I’ve had several wingless relatives in my bloodline.
It’s passed down, I think. I never should have found my star. It’s
like our lives have been switched.” She shook her head at herself,
a wry smile on her face. “There's worry and fear in all of us.
You're just living a much different path then you imagined. Think
you can handle it?”

"If I don't find my wings?"

"Yes."

Caprion thought about it, rummaging
around, struggling against his wounded pride. He imagined five
years from now, and then ten―never learning magic, only suited to
menial tasks, like trimming bushes or cleaning streets. He would
live a quiet life, perhaps still in this very hut, read a lot of
books and start a new hobby. Eventually, he might even become good
at something, like an instrument. “I've always wanted to learn the
mandolin,” he said thoughtfully.

Talarin snorted with laughter.
“Sometimes, Caprion, you make me feel manly.”

He grinned at her in irony. He didn't
say it, but at her prompting, a deep yearning had awakened inside
of him, a sense of ultimate dissatisfaction―without wings, he might
learn an instrument, but he would never know the world of
flight.

Talarin's smile wavered at his
expression. She laid her hand on his shoulder again. "Get some
sleep, alright?" she said with unaccustomed gentleness. "You look
really tired. I'll meet you tonight and we'll follow the soldiers
out."

Caprion nodded. Talarin picked up his
cup and finished his drink for him. “See you tonight,” she called,
leaving the used cups on the floor. She picked up her sword and
whisked out the door, spreading her wings easily once she cleared
the archway. She lifted into the sky, soaring upward, and then
glided out of sight over the trees.

Caprion sighed deeply and moved to his
cot, thoroughly exhausted. He had spent the previous night tossing
and turning, reliving dreams of his Singing, except he couldn't
remember his Song. His voice felt stifled and lodged in his throat.
Yes, sleep would be welcomed, and hopefully a bit of
peace.

* * *

Caprion slept most of the afternoon
but awakened at sunset, alerted by the chorus of crickets outside
his window. He dressed in a brown vest and black pants to better
blend with the shadows. He cleaned his sword briskly, although the
blade didn’t truly need it. He always kept it immaculately clean,
the point sharp and precise. It was a utilitarian broadsword,
forged from heavy steel and meant to be wielded with two hands.
Satisfied, he strapped the weapon to his back and went to meet
Talarin at the fringe of woodland behind his house.

Talarin arrived at twilight, dressed
in a full suit of armor. “If I look the part, they'll think I
belong,” she explained, answering his questioning look. “No time to
waste; we’re running late.” Then she took his hand and a white
light surrounded him, tingling across his skin. Wordlessly, Talarin
lifted him into the air and they flew toward Fury Rock at the far
end of the isles, over acres and acres of forest. Only Harpies with
large wings could levitate objects or people. It was one of the
requirements of becoming a soldier.

The more they neared the
coast, the more Caprion became determined.
Yes, this is the place,
he thought,
nearing the tall cliff that overlooked the ocean at the very end of
the Lost Isles. Fury Rock rose above the surrounding forest like a
jutting horn. He had traveled here only a few times as a
child.

Fury Rock stood on a tall cliff above
a circle of sacred stones, planted in the ground long ago before
the fall of Aerobourne. The sacred shadestones jutted in a circle
at the base of the cliff, darker than night, like thick, black
fingers thrusting up from the earth. The Harpies did not commonly
use shadestones; in fact, these giant slabs had been mined long ago
from an unknown location on the mainland. They remained a silent
eulogy of when the floating island had traveled freely through the
clouds. Unlike sunstones, which emitted light and amplified Harpy
voices, the shadestones did the opposite, absorbing all light and
nullifying sound vibrations. Long ago, this circle of land was used
for sacrificing enemies, but such rituals were no longer practiced.
No one except the Madrigal really knew what the shadestones were
supposed to do, but the old man never talked about them.