19

  Caru couldn’t look away from Drend’s drawing, couldn’t suppress the hope racing through his mind. Pass through a shaft of light to get his wings back? Without hesitation. To return to his true self—to regain his identity as an erman—he would run through as many beams as Drend showed him. To have his wings back, he would dive into the sun.

  It was a long shot, he knew, but it was a possibility. He looked the drawing over a few more times to make sure he really understood. He patted his chest and then made that same flapping motion with his hands hooked by thumbs that Drend had made earlier. Drend nodded.

  Mieta’s fingers laced between his own before he realized his mouth was moving silently. She squeezed tightly, and he remembered to blink. His heart still pounded. “I’m so happy,” she said quietly.

  “I,” he began, speaking to Drend, “thank you.” He added with a nod, “I know you don’t understand, but I have to say something.” Mieta laughed and released his hand. Caru placed his palms together and bowed to Drend, who only sat wearing a solemn grin. Drend returned the nod, but then he pointed a finger to the ceiling. Caru noticed Drend’s expression and felt his optimism fade. With a single motion, Drend dragged the tip of his index finger across his own exposed throat. Even with a language barrier, a motion like that couldn’t mean anything good, and it likely meant death.

  But Drend still smiled. Maybe he meant there was only the risk, not a certainty. Otherwise, why bother letting Caru know he could have his wings back at all? Even against tremendous odds, he knew he would go through with it. One chance in a thousand, and he would do as Drend said. “Anything,” Caru said. Even if he didn’t understand the word, maybe one so wise could hear the determination.

  “Caru,” Mieta whispered.

  Caru turned and saw worry in her eyes.

  “You’re sure?” she asked.

  “Yes. I have to try.”

  “Even at the risk of death? Don’t you want to try to find another way?”

  Being honest with himself, he had given up on having wings back days ago. What chance of finding a donor for a transplant? Yes, he’d sought passage back to Edaria, but to what end? To ease his mother’s heartbreak only to provide her with another? His options were to either live there as an earthbound erman or to pretend to be human in some other country. He had been still undecided, but now… “I need to be who I am again. If he’s able to make it happen, I mean to see it happen. I’ve been grounded for almost a month, and I’ve had my fill. I’ll be an erman again at all costs, even if I have to die trying.”

  Mieta glanced to Kimke, who was still unconscious. Kimke could have passed for dead if not for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Mieta’s lips quivered, but she reached out to Caru, pressing the palm of her hand against his leg. He feared Mieta’s feelings. Drend watched silently; surely he knew what was happening.

  “Mieta,” Caru said, “nothing will stand in my way.”

  She nodded. “If your path is set, then I will walk it with you. I’ll find some way to protect you, to protect Kimke. I…” She swallowed, looking to Drend’s sketch. “I’m not going to let either of you die if I’m able. All I’ve done is watch, and I hate myself for it. I watched your surgery and stood by. I stood by and watched as Martel died. I can’t keep doing that. I can’t keep watching.”

  Caru sighed, and though he sensed her resolve, he still pressed on. “This is our burden,” he said. “Mine and Kimke’s. We knew this path would probably lead to death, and we still walk it anyway. It’s fine. We’ll be fine.”

  Mieta set her jaw and shook her head. “I thought Martel would be fine, too. I couldn’t help him, but I promise to do what I can for you two.” She stood. “I’m not going to be dead weight. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but you’re not going through this alone. Know that.” She turned, bowed to Drend, and then was gone.

  “Caru!” The voice was deep, resonant. He turned to see Drend leaning forward, holding an open palm facing out toward him. Drend shook his head and leaned back on his heels. Caru exhaled, shifting back into the cushions. Drend spoke more in his own language, reciting what Caru assumed was a local proverb about facing death.

  Caru knew Mieta wouldn’t go very far; the guards on the lower floors would see to that. His wings would be worth any risk—even death—but he didn’t want to put Mieta at risk. She had suggested she was dead weight, but they would all still be stuck in Garenesh and probably recaptured without her efforts. Instead of going after her, though, he sat with Drend, exchanging sketches with one another. Sometimes they drew weapons, or plants, or animals, anything to keep his mind from wandering back to the challenge before him. After a series of drawings, Caru was able to explain that he was a sculptor, much to Drend’s obvious delight. It was pleasant to find someone who appreciated the arts, especially in such a strange land. Drend replied with a series of sketches that Caru interpreted as a life of leadership. He couldn’t decide if Drend had earned the role or been born into it, but the role seemed to fit him well enough that it didn’t matter.

  A lucky thing. Caru had nearly expected a chopping block at the end of his escort from the Portal.

  Time passed, and eventually Kimke groaned. She shifted a moment later, and Caru darted from his cushion to her side. He put a hand beneath her head and tilted her up until he could see into her fluttering eyes. Drend stood, looking over Caru’s shoulder with anticipation.

  “Kimke,” Caru whispered. “Kimke!”

  She coughed weakly. Caru brushed hair away from her face. Maybe it was best that Mieta had left, after all.

  “Caru?” she said. Her voice was surprisingly strong. She may have cried herself hoarse in the storm, but it seemed that Belara had healed that as well. “Is it you?”

  He nodded and flashed a smile. “Who else would it be?”

  Kimke laughed and sagged against the cushions laid out beneath her. She tensed as Caru withdrew his hand, then leaned forward and screwed the heels of her palms against her eyes. “I thought I was lost forever.” She wasn’t crying, but Caru suspected that came with force of will. He nearly cried himself. Kimke had vanished and nearly died, and now she was back. The joy was overwhelming. There would still have to be a mending between the three of them, but at least she had survived the Tempest.

  Drend relaxed against his cushions again, crossing his legs at the ankles.

  “Who are you?” Kimke asked. She brought her hands away from her eyes and looked at the raven-winged erman.

  “Drend,” Caru said. Drend looked up at the mention of his name but remained silent. “He’s a leader or a wise man, something like that. He does a good job, whatever it is.”

  Kimke frowned. “You don’t know?”

  “We can’t understand each other.”

  “I guess there are a few different languages still scattered somewhere in the world,” she said. “You don’t understand each other at all?”

  Caru took a deep breath before beginning the explanation. Kimke listened patiently as he told her of the powered Portal miles within the Eternal Tempest, of how he and Mieta had stumbled through before passing out in a nearby field. Kimke grimaced when she learned how she’d been discovered, but she did seem comforted when she heard of Belara’s healing and the transport. She made a fast promise to repay Belara’s generosity. The location fascinated her especially. She leaned in the direction of the balcony doorway, peering through to glimpse the world beyond, to see that there was no sky but instead a stone ceiling that covered everything and a column of light some distance away. Caru leaned forward as well, but he couldn’t see upward beyond the eaves of the outer wall. The soft light still permeated the land, though.

  “How long have we been here?” Kimke asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Caru said, turning back to her. “Maybe as much as half a day. There’s no sun, moons, or stars, so I can’t tell, and I don’t think they care so much about time down here.”

  Kimke sat back on some cushions and nodded politely to Drend. “Thank you for watching over me,” she said. His feathers ruffled in response, but he said nothing.

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  “He doesn’t understand,” Caru said.

  “I think he does.” In fact, he was grinning widely at Kimke. She nodded again before turning to Caru. “Where is Mieta?”

  “She left earlier, but she’ll be around. As far as I can tell, we’re being detained, even if we’re not prisoners.”

  “I see.” She lowered her eyes and wrung her hands slowly. “I should probably talk to her.”

  Caru grinned. “Dropping your vendetta?”

  “No!” she said. Danger flashed in her eyes. She took a deep breath, then shook her head. “Well, against her, yes. I only want to apologize. Funny, the things bad weather can make you realize.”

  “I think she’d love to hear that.”

  “I hope so. Why did she leave anyway? She’s been stuck on your hip since the train station.”

  “Kimke,” Caru said, “I might have good news, but we’re going to have to risk our lives. Drend and I will show you some of his drawings here, and I’ll see if you make the same conclusion as me. We’ll probably have some time to figure this out, so we don’t have to rush into anything. Mieta said she was going to find some way to protect us. I don’t know what she’s planning, but I’m not sure what I’m planning, either. So Mieta is off looking for her own answers.”

  Kimke raised an eyebrow. “What’s going to kill us?”

  Caru sifted through stacks of papers, finally drawing out the one Drend made earlier with the pillar of light and the erman. Kimke studied the paper for a moment. She scrubbed tears from her eyes as she burst into laughter.

  —

  The heavy Seranian lance felt right in Theop’s grip, more than a sword ever had. He rapped his fingers rhythmically against it. The weapon felt as though it was a part of him instead of some ceremonial decoration. If he could show mastery of the weapon, though, that may endear him on a more personal level to the Seranian troops several hundred feet below. He felt their eyes on his back, watching him through gaps in the dense Dresk forest cover with a certain reverence for their Blood-Emperor. Leading this excursion would ordinarily have been cause for a speech, but he could not summon the words. Yes, there would be a killing done here today, but it would be the smallest of many steps taken to unite humanity. History must sometimes build upon the bones of the dead.

  He released his grip on the lance, and a lashing of aether stopped its descent, bringing it back up and holding it steady at his side. Time enough for that later.

  With luck, the humans ahead would never see their approaching deaths. Regrettable, but Theop knew a declaration of power would speed unification between Serana and Dresk. Only a high signal tower meant for ermen poked above the massive trees. They would likely not see him from the ground so far away, but word may have already spread to this border town if anyone had noticed and reported on the army of tens of thousands of soldiers to the west.

  Theop splayed his wings wide, not needing to flap them as aether alone held him aloft. Raw aether could drive him forward with alarming speed as well. Controlling that speed took some time to manage before he could shift without feeling nauseous. Yet now, he descended slowly toward a town whose name he had never learned.

  As Blood-Emperor, he had witnessed many battles—skirmishes, mostly—but three of those had ended with deathflares, from a bloodmage either taking a fatal wound or opening his wrists. Theop had never spilled enough blood for a deathflare, though he had learned how to craft them as a part of his childhood education.

  Aether bled from his fingers, coalescing into a single expanding point. The fury of it hummed in his ears—hummed in his soul—as the ball of light grew, rotating, glowing a white brighter than the sun. The flare before him fed hungrily on aether as he poured more into it until he could no longer see the signal tower ahead. Theop maintained his link with the spell as hepushed it away. Trees burst into flame, froze into glass, and shattered as the flare descended. With a great shrieking howl, it crashed into the town. Through the spell’s link, Theop could feel it as buildings were destroyed and lives ended. Determination, he told himself. He pushed until the flare was in the ground before severing his link. The flare instantly winked out of existence to reveal a glassy crater below.

  He barely heard the horrified screams coming from around the impact site. He reminded himself that their deaths advanced history. If history paved over the bones of the dead, he meant to see the bridge to unity made wide. He drew his wings back in and prepared a multitude of smaller attacks. Balls of fire cut through trees as though they were paper. Forks of lightning split the open sky, stabbing the ground below, filling the air with the scent of ozone. Theop’s heart ached as more cries arose in the city. Regrettable, but necessary. Each attack wounded his heart as they struck, but sacrifices had to be made. Unification was humanity’s most important goal.

  Fire ripped through the forest below, shooting up from the ground at Theop. This town had no Portal, but the high beacon tower had been built to let ermen know that trade was welcome, and there were always a few erman merchants and other visitors about. He canceled his own assault and shifted aether into a protective barrier. Attacks crashed against the shield, making it shrink slightly each time before he spread his wings again and forced the barrier to expand. His compassion wore thin as he flung more fire to the ground. Tall trees groaned before collapsing into shattered trunks. Aether rushed into him as he formed a second flare, this one nearly as large as the first. Erman attacks arced to him once again. Theop held the flare but drew enough aether to shift his body to the right. He had to play at evasion, realizing he did not have the strength to form a deathflare and keep himself shielded at the same time. Even as he shifted, he felt his link with the flare waver, but, thankfully, he was able to reconnect and keep it where it was.

  Then the few ermen were above the trees, wings flapping as they wove aether into their own spells. Ten, fifteen, then more than twenty of them, crafting fire and ice, quickly expelling their attacks. Theop shifted in rapid succession, the world blurring each time. He tried using the deathflare’s location as a compass, but each shift shook his link and tested his concentration. He rushed the flare to a weak completion and pushed it down, ramming it into the earth with greater speed than the first. Theop finally released his connection to it once it was fully beneath the ground. If there were more screams, he did not hear.

  Spells flew at him with alarming speed. Theop shifted through the sky, weaving a path through the attacks. His speed left the spells against him confused, wavering, and vanishing as their controlling ermen tried to find their target. The ermen abandoned their failed attempts but remained alert.

  As he flashed through the sky, he formed more spells. A line of fire split a brown-winged erman into two pieces, and both halves spiraled into the remaining trees below. Shards of ice impaled a blonde erman woman and the amber-winged man at her side. Their skin turned blue beneath crystalline frost as they died. More spells lashed out from Theop with fervent frequency. Many of them missed, but enough struck true against the ermen as they bolted in all directions in haphazard escape attempts.

  Theop shifted after the survivors with lance in hand. The steel tip bit and ripped through bodies and sent them into the forest below. More fireballs launched from the western forest now as the Seranian bloodmages entered the fray. A quick glance showed him broken ranks of his men spilling forward toward the glassy craters. Riflemen mostly, aiming their weapons at any human survivors on the other side who might think to resist.

  Grinning, Theop chased the eastbound escapees, flinging more attacks in pursuit, slaying more ermen than he’d expected. A ball of flame ripped through a red-winged erman’s torso to leave a hole of charred gore through the man, and Theop realized that no more ermen remained. Their flights had been quick, but none had been a match for Theop’s speed. It seemed that the method of flapping wings was inferior to aether-driven flight. He tightened the grip on his lance and turned to see himself less than a mile from the holes in the forest canopy. Trees burned nearby in all directions. If the fire went unchecked, they could take out many miles of surrounding forest. They might even burn another town or two in their paths before sputtering out.

  Screams drifted from below, but it would be wise to leave survivors. Human deaths were regrettable—reprehensible, even—but they would expedite the process. Witnesses would hopefully tell others that the Seranian military had triumphed over an erman assault in the skies above Dresk.

  Theop descended to his soldiers, wings never moving as he came to rest on the ground. Trees already groaned as soldiers took their trunks with heavy axes, carving a path into the remaining city wreckage. Dreskians may revere their trees, but they were cumbersome obstacles. Theop would turn his attention to the trees in time, helping the men clear their path to the next objective. Cheers came from some of the soldiers, mostly from cavalrymen in unstained uniforms and officers whose names Theop did not know. The enthusiasm was appreciated, but Theop wished the cries were as enthusiastic from the common enlisted. He wondered how many of the officers had killed men themselves.

  It was regrettable that his own hands were stained with blood as a supreme leader, but this was different. This was about unification, liberation, and independence.

  “Blood Emperor.” General Hibranth stepped forward, pounding a gauntleted fist above his heart as he approached.

  “General Hibranth,” Theop said with a single nod.

  The general smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “A decisive victory,” he said. “I am glad to have witnessed it myself. The dawn of the human age is upon us.”

  Lip service, Theop assumed. The man was loyal, but none of that ever reached his eyes. Of course, Hibranth had seen killing. Tales of his youth pictured the man with a blood-smeared past, a terror on the battlefield. After this assault, Theop admitted to himself that he did feel a newfound kinship with the man.

  “It is a shame humans had to die,” Theop said. “I could hope for another path.”

  “As you say, my lord,” Hibranth said. He turned his gaze to the fire at the forest’s edge. “Your orders?”

  Theop knew the general’s loyalty was wavering after this display. “I’ll assist in clearing a path and containing the fire. Give the order to march the men forward and offer aid to any humans in need. We’ll see this done, general.”

  Hibranth nodded. “And of the erman survivors?”

  Theop scowled and saw Hibranth’s plastered grin disappear. “Exterminate them if you find any. Make examples if you need to. We may lose some men, though. If the bloodmages cannot handle the survivors on their own, send for me. Ermen will have no quarter from Serana.”