Caprion's Wings (15 page)

“No!” Caprion shouted
through cracked lips. “
No!
”

The demon roared furiously again. Its
voice shook the cavern. Its claws shredded Caprion’s back, ripping
through muscle. The pain sent Caprion pitching forward. He saw
flashes of white before his eyes. His vision flickered. Soon, he
would pass out.

I have failed,
he thought.
I will never
have my wings. I will die here in the earth.

And perhaps the Matriarch, and the
entire Harpy race, would die with him.

Then, as the demon raged and dust
rained down around them, he thought he heard a sound on the edge of
his hearing. Not the demon’s voice…this was something else….But no,
it had to be an illusion, the twisted echoes of the
cave….

But the sound continued at
the edge of his hearing and Caprion thought of his Song. He thought
of his fight with Sumas, how those unknowable chords had leant him
strength. On his last strand of consciousness, he turned his
attention inward, digging through his terror, desperately
searching. He imagined himself plummeting through the dark abyss of
his dreams. He saw stars glittering in the distance, far above. He
tried to reach for them.
I need
you,
he thought.
Please help me. Please don’t let me fall!

Then a great pressure swelled in his
chest. It surged up through his gut and his lungs. It burned his
throat like fire.

The Song was in him now—in him like a
building storm, like a rain-driven hurricane fighting for release.
His ears rang with the force of it.

He opened his mouth. Sound poured from
his throat. He did not hear the melody. He could not taste the
vowels on his tongue. He did not feel like he sang—but rather, that
a great hand struck his body, emitting some ultimate, inescapable
chord. His muscles, his skin, his very bones vibrated; his teeth
cracked in his mouth; his ribs broke. He thought, perhaps, that his
body snapped open like a shell.

He did not feel the earth roll beneath
him, nor the rocks fall from the ceiling, nor light flood the
chamber like an exploding star.

* * *

Beyond the dark hole in the ground,
beyond the standing shadestones and the amassing soldiers, beyond
the forest to the crippled streets of Asterion, where weeds
trembled between crumbling flagstones—

Beyond the quaking buildings, the
shuddering walls of the Academy and the great bowl of the Singing
Chamber, rattling in the ground—

Every fledgling, every matron, every
husband and wife, store keeper, seamstress, and tutor paused in
their work.

Every head turned.

Chapter 9

Caprion didn’t remember climbing to
his feet.

But he found himself standing upright,
gazing at the sunstone chamber. Chunks of rock littered the floor.
A great, jagged crack ran down the center of the ceiling. It was a
miracle the chamber still stood.

Before him, the demon lay sprawled on
the ground. He could see an aura of sickly, black energy around it,
clashing with the light of the sunstones. A great hole of flesh
gaped through its stomach, splitting its massive body almost in
two. Traces of its spine and the beast’s inner workings lay tangled
on the ground. Black and gray organs bubbled and steamed. Blood
flowed freely from its body, sparking fire in the air. It seemed to
be dissolving.

Caprion stared, unable to look
way.

The demon coughed and snarled at him.
Its face was badly damaged, a gaping hole in its cheek, several
teeth snapped in half. The creature grimaced, unwilling to die.
“You may kill me, but my Master stirs,” it spoke, blood oozing from
its mouth. “The darkness shall come for you. This is not over,
little bird.”

A calm silence dwelled in Caprion’s
body. He felt resolved. “Bring the darkness,” he murmured, “and I
will meet it.” He picked up his broken sword, stepped up to the
demon, and jammed the blunt blade into its skull.

Blood spurted. Phlegm sizzled. The
demon’s head fell back against the ground.

A putrid smell rose from the dead
body, clogging Caprion’s nostrils. He wrinkled his nose and tossed
the ruined blade to one side. Then he stood, staring down at the
beast, watching its body slowly disintegrate.

Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind
him—soft, resonant, as smooth as rain. “Tell me your name, my
warrior of the One Star.”

Caprion turned sharply in
surprise.

Behind him stood the raised dais of
stone, but the shield of light had fallen. The top of the dais
stood empty. Next to it, dressed in a simple white gown, stood the
Matriarch.

He stared. He had never been this
close to her before. He could see an aura of light glimmering
around her body, occasionally emitting a soft rainbow of color,
like the shiny surface of an opal. Her hair fell loosely to her
waist in a cascade of moonlight and pearl. She appeared both young
and old, with pale, glowing skin stretched over a matured face, her
cheekbones pronounced, her eyes a deep-set, luminescent
blue.

Her feet did not touch the ground. Her
wings, a broad span of twenty-five feet, flickered once in the air
before slowly vanishing. She had the ability to hide her wings like
the Madrigal, a natural defense. To constantly emit such light
would drain her energy.

“My Lady of the One Star,” Caprion
gasped. “M-my name….” He stumbled over it. “Le’Nasir Caprion, my
lady.”

“Ah, Le’Nasir, I know your mother,”
the Martiarch murmured. She beckoned him forward with an
outstretched hand.

Caprion crossed the chamber swiftly to
her side. He took her hand and bowed over it, lowering his head in
reverence. Then he stared down at his feet in amazement. He didn’t
stand on the ground. He hovered, instead, in the air.

He straightened abruptly and dropped
her hand. Then he looked back to the ground, to his feet, to his
arms. His skin glowed. But why? His mind resisted for a moment,
then it all rushed back to him: the Song, his body pulsating with
sound, excruciating pain, exhilarating bliss, then light flooding
his vision….

The Matriarch appraised him with her
ancient eyes, a soft smile curling on her lips. “It has been many
centuries since a seraphim was born,” she murmured.

“A seraphim?” Caprion repeated,
confused.

Her eyes widened, then her smile
turned into a laugh. “Have you not noticed your wings?”

Caprion glanced over his shoulder.
Bright light met his eyes. He squinted at the gentle slope of
feathers, the long, broad limbs protruding from his back. Yes,
wings. And yet there seemed too many. He thought he was seeing
double, but he counted again, looking over his other shoulder. Four
wings…six wings…? Six! What Harpy had six wings?

He knew he should feel
relief at the sight—or joy—or any number of excited emotions. But
he kept counting his wings, trying to understand it, trying not to
worry.
Too many,
he thought.
Too many to be
normal.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured,
turning back to the Matriarch.

Her smile turned wry. “You are one of
the seraphim,” she explained. “Graced with strength and ability
beyond many of our race. The One Star heard your Song, and so it
replied. Yes, your star is the great golden orb that gives life to
this world. You alone, young warrior, could have killed that
beast.” She looked to the steaming corpse behind him. Now half the
size, it was slowly evaporating into the air.

“The One Star?” Caprion murmured,
stunned. He had heard of such things in legends and stories, all
from before the War of the Races. He recalled the six-winged
statues on the Road of Remnants; they were symbols of the island’s
past, not true history. He glanced over his shoulder at his wings
again. Many wings. Then down at the ground, inches below his feet.
He hovered effortlessly, without a thought.

Then his eyes traveled past the
Matriarch, to the mouth of the earthen tunnel, and he saw several
figures gathered there. The Madrigal, tall and thin, a knowing
pride upon his face. Talarin, her helmet in one hand, her lips
parted in awe. And Sumas—tight-lipped, stone-faced.

The moment their eyes met, Sumas took
a step forward into the chamber, asserting himself. His voice rang
out like brass. “My Lady of the One Star,” he said briskly,
addressing the Matriarch. “We came as fast as we could. We are
relieved to see you awake and well.” Then he bowed down to one
knee.

The Matriarch turned. Her eyes swept
over Sumas, noting the badges on his armor. “Ah,” she paused
gracefully. “Another Le’Nasir, if my memory has not failed, and a
new captain as well. Your mother must be proud.”

Sumas flushed with pride, then quickly
composed himself. He nodded to Caprion. “This fledgling released
the demon that almost killed you. We found him consorting with the
Sixth Race in the underground prison. He should stand trial for his
actions.”

The Matriarch raised one white,
sloping eyebrow. “Is this true?” she asked the Madrigal.

The old man consented, though his
expression remained troubled. “Yes, my lady, from what I have
heard.”

She glanced back to Caprion, who
stared at his brother angrily. He no longer felt afraid of Sumas.
White energy burned within him. He had finally gained his
wings—becoming a seraph, whatever that implied—and his brother
could only condemn him.

“Consorting how?” the Matriarch
asked.

Sumas thrust out his jaw before
Caprion could speak. “He befriended and released a slave from the
prisons. Luckily, we caught her. And he unleashed the very demon
that attacked you, leading to this whole mess! What he’s done is
inexcusable. He cannot be trusted.”

Caprion felt his gut turn
suddenly cold.
Moss.
They caught her? So soon? He felt himself slowly sink
downward. His wings flickered behind him, and he sensed them fold
in on themselves, vanishing from sight—just like the
Matriarch’s.

His feet touched the
ground.

The Matriarch looked at him keenly. “I
wish to hear the full story,” she said. “Both sides of it, and
soon. But first we must take care of business.” She glanced at
Talarin. “I sense a large number of soldiers accumulating above
ground. Tell them the demon has been killed. Have them wait for me.
I will greet them in a moment.”

Talarin saluted and turned, dragging
her eyes away from Caprion. She retreated quickly down the
tunnel.

As soon as Talarin left, the Matriarch
faced all of them with a hard gaze, completely transformed from her
serene self. “Darkness rises on the mainland,” she said directly.
“In my dreams, I saw it. I felt it rolling through the earth. It
has yet to manifest, but mark my words—it comes.”

Caprion blinked, taken
aback, reminded of the demon’s final threat.
This is not over, little bird.

The Matriarch continued. “I must
confer with the Madrigal on this matter, but I think we will have
need of a seraphim soon. Caprion, it’s no coincidence that now, as
darkness gathers on the mainland, you have manifested. I fear we
will face many more of the Sixth Race in the coming years.” She
paused, her lips tightening. “I do not wish to sound ungrateful.
You have saved my life, and I will not forget that. But our new
captain has thrown your loyalty into question, and I can only
imagine his soldiers feel the same. I wish to know all the details.
Tell me, Caprion: do you sympathize with the demons?”

Caprion opened his mouth, then shut
it. He thought of his battle with the beast. Its burning blood, its
venomous teeth. A wave of disgust surged through him. At that
moment, he wished he could kill it all over again. He felt
strangely called to the task. He wanted to hunt down another
creature of darkness. He craved it.

And then he thought of
Moss.

Brave, defenseless little
Moss.

He wouldn’t have found his wings
without her.

Worry creased his brow. What would
happen to her now? The power of his Song seemed to have healed his
body completely; he felt renewed, reborn. And yet that didn’t erase
his vow. No, deep in his bones, that song-spell still bound him to
her. She had fulfilled her half of the bargain, but he had yet to
fulfill his.

She was not yet evil. She was nothing
like the gruesome, twisted corpse of the demon.

He didn’t know how to put that all
into words.

The Matriarch’s face hardened at his
silence. She turned swiftly and signaled to the Madrigal. “Come,”
she said. “We have much to discuss. Captain, hold the seraphim for
now. Keep him under watch. We shall speak after the celebration
feast.”

Sumas saluted curtly, his wings aglow
at his back. He wore the composed face of a soldier, and yet
Caprion could see an aura of red light around him. He had never
seen auras before, but now he could clearly perceive the flickering
pride and smugness that drifted about his brother’s fat
head.