Caprion's Wings

  When he finished, she sat quietly and lingered on his story, or perhaps thought of something else entirely, he couldn't know for sure. The lizard chose that moment to escape from her hand. It darted agilely up her wrist into the sleeve of her shirt, and she snatched it with her left hand through the fabric. With a slight grimace, she pulled it out of her sleeve, then set the lizard back on the ground, allowing it to scurry away.

  Caprion stared. Her hand moved so fast, he hardly even saw it.

  Then she answered him. “Since I came here, I’ve heard a voice, too.”

  Caprion paused at her words. On impulse, he knelt down to her level, bringing them eye to eye. “A voice?” he asked. “Like what I described?”

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It comes from deep in the earth.”

  “What does it say?”

  She looked troubled. She shifted, her chains clinking. He had to wonder, briefly, if she was lying. Her face remained a perfect mask, impossible to read. “It calls to us through the shadows,” she finally said. “It says find me. I’ve only heard it twice; I haven’t been here very long. But perhaps it’s the same voice you hear.” She hesitated and gave him a searching look, as though deciding if she could trust him. Finally, she said, “The voice isn’t natural. I don’t trust it. I think…I think it’s a demon."

  Caprion sat back with a sigh. “Well of course,” he said. “These halls are full of the Sixth Race.”

  “No,” she said abruptly. “I don’t mean an assassin. I mean a demon. Don’t you know anything?”

  Caprion looked at her questioningly. Her words reminded him of the conversation between the Harpy soldiers. A demon in the crypts. He didn’t know where the crypts were, but by the soldiers’ words, they had to be deep underground.

  The girl struggled to keep her stoic, close-lipped facade of the Sixth Race. But she couldn’t maintain it; perhaps she was too young for that. “We are children of the Dark God,” she finally said. “Inside each of us lives a demon, a shard of the Dark God’s power. We train long and arduously to keep the demon under control, but sometimes, we let go, we lose ourselves… and the demon comes out….” She hesitated. “Some assassins choose to become the demon. They embrace its dark and violent power—and the human part is lost. Do you understand now?” she pressed. “This is a demonic voice.”

  Caprion understood—as much as he was able to. He had learned this before, but he hadn’t studied the Sixth Race in several years, not since graduating from the Academy. He hadn’t realized the assassins and the demons were two separate entities, somehow contained in the same body. In his mind, they were one and the same.

  He thought of the demon’s sibilant voice and its threats against his race. His mind worked quickly, considering his possibilities. If he went to Sumas with his suspicion, his brother would call it a poor excuse for failing his Singing. The demon was only a ghost story, after all. And if he admitted to sneaking into the dungeons and speaking with a slave, he might be imprisoned for treason. His trespass would not be taken lightly.

  Florentine might listen, but he knew she would turn to the Madrigal first, and they would want to consult the Matriarch before taking action. He wished that were possible, but the Matriarch wouldn’t wake up for another few days. Somehow he felt the pressure of losing time, like a silent hourglass sucking away the minutes. He couldn’t wait on this; he needed to take action now. Once he left the underground prisons, he knew he wouldn’t be able to return.

  “I need to seek out this voice,” he finally concluded.

  The girl’s eyes widened, her assassin’s mask completely forgotten. “That would be very foolish. Whatever is speaking to you isn’t human in the slightest. I would stay far away from it.”

  “I only mean to confront it,” he said. “Not to fight it. And certainly not to help it.”

  “Demons are deceptive,” she said quietly. “And it’s unusual that you can hear it. You’d do better to leave it alone.”

  No, he thought immediately. The word leapt from his heart, vanquishing his doubt. He had played the coward before, bowing down the Sumas, acquiescing, obeying the rules of others. But he couldn’t do that now. No, I can’t let myself fall. I have to stand my ground….

  And in that second, an immense stillness washed through him, like the silence before a great symphony. In his mind, he suddenly stood on the edge of Fury Rock, the ground solid beneath him. The crevasse lay before him. Iron courage rose unbidden from his heart; his throat swelled with a Song summoned deep from his chest. It pressed against his ribs, an immutable chorus not yet realized. He didn’t know this Song, and yet it seemed born within him, staunching his fear.

  No, he wouldn’t be pushed from that ledge—he would leap for his wings, and he would take them.

  He looked at the girl. He realized he was smiling.

  “What?” she asked, watching him curiously.

  He didn’t know how to answer, didn’t truly understand it himself, but somehow this young, fettered slave had set him free.

  “Do you have a name?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. Of course, children of the Sixth Race were born without names. They had to earn them through combat, a custom that seemed needlessly cold. “Then what shall I call you?” he asked.

  “Whatever you’d like, I suppose,” she said. “In the Hive, they called me savant. But they call everyone that.” She hesitated, then looked away.

  “I don’t think it suits you,” he replied, observing her wide, slanting eyes and dark hair.

  She glanced up at him strangely.

  “I think I’ll call you Moss,” he said.

  “Moss….” she echoed, trying the name on her tongue. “It’s not very fierce.”

  Emboldened, he reached out and touched her lightly on the nose. “For your eyes,” he said. “And your darkness. Moss can only grow in shade.”

  She smiled at him then, quick and sudden, like a bird taking wing. “I like that,” she said.

  “Will you help me find this voice?” he asked. “I’ll need the light of your sunstone, and your knowledge about the demon.”

  Moss thought for a moment. “But…” she said slowly, almost sadly, “I like you without wings.”

  Something about her tone softened him. He touched her again on the arm, drawing her gaze back to his. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. No one had ever told him that before. “I wish I could stay longer, but I am running out of time. It doesn’t seem right to leave you here. Let’s make a deal.” He knew it was a foolish thing to do—more than foolish—but the softness in his heart drove him to it. He couldn’t leave a small child in this place.

  As he spoke, he said the same words deep within himself, lacing his promise with the power of Song. “Help me find my wings, and I will make sure you’re freed,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. She heard the resonating tone of his voice, the binding contract that lay between them. “You will take me back to the mainland?”

  Caprion hesitated only slightly. He had never been there before, but he would do that for his wings. He would do that for her. “Yes,” he said.

  The word hung between them. She gazed at him intently, as though trying to see beneath his skin. Slowly, she frowned. “This is a spell, isn’t it? You will be bound by your word.”

  He nodded. Foolish, his thoughts murmured, but he hushed them.

  “Why would you do such a thing?” she finally asked.

  “Because you shouldn’t be in a place like this,” he said, hoping she saw his sincerity. “And I want you to trust me.”

  Finally, she nodded. “Then I’ll help you.”

  Caprion grinned and stood, drawing his sword. “Hold your hands out over the stone,” he said.

  She looked up at him, surprised, then did as he asked, planting her hands wide apart on the firm ground. Her rusty chains did not look very strong. He picked out the weakest link. Taking careful aim, he swung his heavy blade down and snapped the chain in two with a shower of sparks. Mo
ss gasped and flinched back, then raised her freed hands before her eyes, flexing her wrists.

  “Now your neck,” he said, indicating the chain that bound her to the wall. Moss scuttled to one side and he repeated the action, hacking three times before the chain finally shattered apart.

  “Can you remove the collar?” she asked.

  He knelt next to her in the dark room, not thinking twice about her freed hands or the possibility of an attack. A natural rhythm seemed to fall between them—a trust born of silent need. In this cold and gloomy place, they only had one another. He moved her thick hair out of the way and inspected the metal collar around her neck, looking for a clasp. He couldn’t find one. It took him a moment to realize the sunstone worked as a lock; in order to free her, he would have to deactivate it, and he couldn’t do that unless he had wings. Without his star, he had no power over the Light.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, sitting back on his heels. “I need my wings first. But once I get them, I will take this off.”

  She looked at him, searching his face doubtfully; in that moment, she looked painfully small and vulnerable. But his promise, made of words and Song, could not be broken. In many ways he had chained himself to her fate, and she seemed to realize that. She would have sensed it when he spoke the words.

  She nodded, still holding his eyes.

  “We should begin our search,” Caprion said, realizing how long he must have spent in this dank cell. Talarin had given him an hour. He still had some time, but not much. He had to hurry before Sumas noticed something amiss, or before Talarin grew worried and came looking for him.

  "Can you find the source of the voice?" Caprion asked.

  The girl shrugged. “I can lead you to where the shadows accumulate the thickest. That is where the demon will hide.” She hesitated. “This is very dangerous,” she repeated.

  Caprion stood and lifted his sword, swinging it easily in his grasp, then sheathed it. “I can stand a bit of danger,” he said.

  That secretive look slipped across her face again, her eyes glinting. “Then let’s go,” she said.

  Moss stood and walked silently across the room. Caprion couldn’t help but notice her smooth, liquid movement, like a well-trained dancer. Her chains barely rustled with each step. She moved in a way he didn’t expect from a young girl, controlled and assertive. Trained, he realized. So young, and yet already knowledgeable in the ways of an assassin. It confirmed his earlier suspicion. She was not as harmless as she appeared.

  Using the sunstone’s light, they exited the small cell and entered the long, stone hallway. Moss paused for a moment, glancing back and forth, concentrating…then she turned to the left and headed down, deeper into the earth.

  Chapter 5

  Caprion and Moss walked for quite a distance. The tunnels became darker and steeper, the stone crumbling with age. These corridors had to be at least a thousand years old, protected from the elements by layers of earth. On the higher levels, moisture clung to the walls, seeping through the rock as though squeezed out by a giant, unseen hand. But as they traveled farther, the air became stiff and dry, the tunnels smooth and sandy, like worn-out husks of ancient bones. Shadows became more solid and took on a menacing cast, like gauzy black veils drifting in the air, almost tangible. Caprion pushed through them like thin cobwebs.

  As they walked, the strange sensation grew in Caprion of being watched. The thickening shadows seemed to contain entities and forms that he could not divine with his eyes. Sometimes they seemed to move, shying away or pushing forward against the light of the sunstone, which grew steadily muffled, illuminating only a few feet around them.

  This deep in the prisons, they didn’t run across any guards. The halls seemed widely abandoned. Finally, after almost a half-hour of walking through immeasurable darkness, the tunnel came to an end. Caprion stepped down into a wide, long chamber. Moss hung back behind him. The shadows expanded outward like leaves blown into empty space. The sunstone brightened, casting a broad circle of white light. Solid blocks of granite defined the walls of this new room, dark and heavy, impenetrable. The ground evened out, paved with broken slabs of flagstone. The ceiling to his left had partially caved in and a great pile of rubble blocked the second half of the room.

  Caprion observed it all silently. This is it, he thought. The crypts. The air felt dense and hot, difficult to breathe, like plunging into a furnace. It shouldn’t be this hot underground. Sweat immediately sprang to his brow. The back of his neck tingled. His eyes searched the visible corners of the room, the collapsed stones and crumbling mortar to his left. He could see no sign of a living thing, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, of subtle movement at the corners of his vision. A sense of unease crept down his spine. Go back, his instincts murmured. This is not a place for you.

  Moss took a step closer to his side. Her expression drew into a tight frown, her eyes searching the room cautiously.

  Caprion turned to their right, the only direction they could travel. He immediately saw two large stone blocks. His breath caught and his eyes narrowed in curiosity. He walked to the nearest one, a massive tomb more than eight feet long and five feet high. The lid had been carved into the impression of a body, a carefully chiseled face and folded hands; in the near darkness, he couldn’t tell if it portrayed a man or a woman. Six wings protruded from its back, embedded in the stone. The tomb appeared to be sealed tightly shut.

  Caprion studied it, unnerved. Harpies were not buried in the earth like this. Over time, their bodies grew brighter and brighter until they slowly faded into light, returning to the One Star. If killed in battle, they were burned and the ashes released to the wind. These tombs held something other than Harpy remains—but he couldn’t guess what.

  His eyes traveled to the second tomb. He stared at it for a long moment. The far side was broken, as though someone had taken a heavy sledgehammer to it…or, he hated to think, smashed through from the inside. Crumbled rock littered the floor around the damaged corner. The carved lid was split down the middle, blackened and stained by soot. Scars from an ancient fire? His glanced upward and noticed similar blighted stains on the walls. No wood resided in the room, nothing that could naturally hold a flame.

  “Caprion,” Moss whispered.

  “What?” he replied.

  “I hear him.” Her voice faded to a thin tremor. When he looked at her, he could see fear naked on her pale face. She stared at the far right of the room, her eyes transfixed on something unseen.

  Caprion shifted uncomfortably. His shirt became damp with sweat, sticking to his skin. He tried to listen, but his ears filled with the rush of his own blood, his heart pounding eratically. He tried to suck in a deep, calming breath, but the shadows seemed too dense to breathe through, like inhaling smoke.

  “What does he say?” Caprion murmured.

  Moss’s mouth moved silently as though trying to discern the words. Then she flinched. “Hateful things,” she murmured. “Madness. We should go. We can’t be down here.”

  Caprion drew his sword and held it before him, taking comfort in its long, sturdy length. “Where is he?”

  Moss nodded to the far right of the room with a slight jerk of her head.

  Caprion started in that direction, straining his ears for the voice. The shadows moved to encase him. “I need your sunstone,” he said softly to her.

  Moss followed him reluctantly, keeping a step behind. He wished he had a weapon to give her, anything she could use to defend herself. He didn’t like how the gloom shifted around the crypt, wavering on its own accord, responding to his presence or perhaps that of the sunstone. Shadows shouldn’t move like that—not in this deathly, slumbering place.

  He climbed over a small pile of rubble and found himself before a large granite wall—the end of the chamber. A solid metal door stood embedded in the stone, slightly bent and crushed inward, as though a heavy force had pounded it shut. Darkness seemed to gather around it, seeping from cracks in the morta
r like dense mist. He paused, watching the shadows waver. He passed a hand over his eyes, trying to clear his vision.

  “Over here,” he called to Moss, who hung back as far as she could. She crept up and paused just behind him, slightly to one side, displaying the light of the sunstone.

  He knelt and brushed the dust from the door. The metal felt as hot as an iron brand; he gasped and he quickly drew his hand away. Old Harpy runes marred the door’s surface. He read them silently with a growing frown.

  “What does it say?” Moss asked softly.

  “It’s a song-spell,” he murmured. “A very old one.” He touched one of the letters again briefly and shivered. “This door has been sealed.”

  Sssssssss. A sound reached his ears like steam escaping through a pipe: a long, drawn-out hiss. Caprion stood abruptly and raised his sword, sensing a new presence before him, one that made his hackles rise. He gritted his teeth against it, unwilling to show his fear.

  “Who’s there?” he called.

  The hiss slowly faded into silence. Fear crawled up from his chest to his throat. He swallowed hard, then called again, resonating his voice. “Who’s there? Answer me!” He laced his tone with a silent command.

  The echoes of his voice faded, extinguished by the dense fabric of shadows. Then, in the new silence, a low murmur reached his ears. A hoarse chuckle grated along his skin, causing goosebumps to rise on his flesh. When the voice spoke, it was no more than a croak issuing from the ancient stone.

  “You’ve come,” it murmured.

  Caprion steadied his shaking hand. I’m out of my depth, he thought suddenly, knowing he had been quite foolish to come here. But he couldn’t run. Fleeing would solve nothing.

  He forced himself to call out again. “Why do you speak in my dreams?” he demanded. “Why did you interfere with my Singing?”