Chapter one: Nightmare in the Clouds
The bitter wind was edged in ice, stinging like the talons of a raptor; the slate stratus clouds an omen of the torrents that would soon slice the air. Verdeyan thought for a moment of retreating back to the island. The haven of trees was like a beacon, the broad branches of pines and gums stretching out in the expanse of limbs that she called home. Her wings stroked up, down, up, down, just like a bird’s. All true people had wings; they were the Fleirzon, the dwellers of the sky that flew with hawks, eagles and songbirds.
Verdeyan glimpsed down, thinking of what it would be like to be one of the Hamoiin; creatures of myth, said to dwell in the darkness below the Chamelaen Forests. It was rumored that they had faces like the Fleirzon, although flatter, uglier and crueler with harsh, awful voices. But most of all, they had no wings. The Hamoiin dwelled far down, past the known reaches of the cerulean sky and the branches of the Chamelaen Forests that Verdeyan’s universe was composed of.
Verdeyan shook her head, clearing her mind of the idle myths that she had often listened to. The Hamoiin didn’t exist, she knew, yet she still wondered with a defiance of fact that was unhealthy for a young woman. Now is not time to be fanciful! She chided herself, narrowing her eyes against the wind.
Her hair streamed behind her, knotting in endless tangles as she soared through the clouds, powerful, free, and alive.
As the sleet began to fall, it dashed against the dark flier’s cheeks and face. In the distance, he saw the flash of wings. Another Fleirzon. Looking though a far-sight lens, he saw pale silver wings and long hair that gleamed like flame; the features of a true Sleveten. He gave a feral cry, and swooped down, his wings tucked in tight, aiming for the Fleirzon below.
Verdeyan gasped, and swooped downwards as well, seeing the dark form of the Raptein above her. Rapteins were just one of the many Fleirzon tribes, but no tribe was as callous as the Rapteins. Verdeyan had known a girl called Pontash whom had been captured. Her captor had cut off the tips of her wings and flown away with her, while her friends and relatives watched, helpless against the guard of Raptein warriors that hovered in the way. Now a Raptein was after her. Would she live? Verdeyan knew not.
With the memory of her friend’s fate flaring in her mind, she plummeted twisting herself into a tight spin as she fell. Slevetens were wonderful acrobats, renowned for their grace and speed, but not for their fighting skills. The Rapteins had spartan lifestyles, moving and conquering whatever parts of the forest they could. Their all-men squadrons and patrols were ruthless and precise in fighting and attacks. Few ever survived the attacks, unless they were they captured. If one was captured, they were never seen again, but no one knew precisely what happened. Many had disappeared never to be seen again.
As she dropped, she heard the whistle of wings behind her, and knew the Raptein was closing in. In a last resort effort, she flared out her wings, nearly crying out at the pain of the stopped descent that was like lead in her veins. She wheeled and threw out her feet, the tips of her steel toed wooden boots spearing him in the stomach. The Raptein released a roar and seized her in his arms, crushing her in his clutch.
Verdeyan struggled, kicking him with her heels, until he pressed a nerve point on her neck, rendering her unconscious. He could’ve dropped her then, but he didn’t. Instead, he extracted a knife from his rucksack, and began to shave off her feathers.
When Verdeyan first came conscious, she was aware of a throbbing in her head and a horrible apprehension. Slowly, as her coherence increased, she remembered the past day, leaving the haven of her home thicket to follow the others that had left her behind in the early morning confusion, shanghaiing her in the open sky. Then the capture came searing back in vivid memory. She screamed in terror, and stood up, her entire body protesting as if her bones were breaking at the sudden movement. She recognized the oasis of a platform built atop a tree, and hurled herself from the edge, and opened her wings. Her muscles sang with pain that suddenly brought back the nightmares she’d had after Pontash’s capture. That she too had been captured; now, that was the truth. She suddenly realized that she wasn’t flying; she was falling...
Chapter two: Painful Empathy
As she plummeted, a sensation unlike any she’d ever felt arose in her mind. She was ready to vomit, although her stomach groaned, empty of all but bile.
She was falling, past the trunks of the Chamelaen Forest, down, down, down…into the blur below. She screamed, suddenly afraid of the open air that only the day before she’d cherished. Her wings still sang with pain, and she realized what must’ve happened. Her wings had been clipped.
A dark figure pierced the blur of blue sky and green trees. Solid arms suddenly enclosed her abdomen. She shrieked again in terror as the Raptein, her captor, lifted her back to the platform.
“Sit. Do not speak,” said the man, his deep green eyes narrowing at her from the shadows of his brow. He was handsome in a harsh, rugged way, his ebony hair cut short in layers, his skin pale in contrast. His clothing was like that of most Rapteins; a tunic of and pants of woven fibers dyed to blue grey like the clouds, a cloak of raptor feathers that surrounded his shoulders, a rucksack made of bird’s skin slung one shoulder.
“I am Gattlin, of the tribe Raptein. You are a Sleveten, I know from your orange hair. Now tell me you name.”
“I will not,” Verdeyan defied him, her voice thin, high and cracked instead of its usual steady tone.
“Fine.” Gattlin shrugged. He didn’t seem too deterred.
Even if he lost interest and left her on the platform, it wouldn’t do much good. She couldn’t fly, the feathers sheared from her skin, and a few portions of her flesh missing due to his knife’s work.
He went to a hut built near the center of the platform, and after shuffling through a crate of various items, removed a large, torn bed sheet. Gattlin motioned to his captive to sit at his feet. Then, tearing strips from the sheet, he bandaged her wings.
“Why?” she whispered.
“What?”
“Why?”
“Why I have captured you? A Sleveten captured my sister. He forced her to gather branches, climbing in the trees, her wings cut off. Now I have captured you. I will not treat you as others have treated prisoners. You will not be harmed, and you will be fed. But you will work. You can work, I know. You’re strong, a good flier. Wings will not help you now, though, without your feathers.”
“Will you tell me you name?” he repeated.
“Verdeyan,” she sobbed, rolling from the sitting position onto her feet, fleeing to the hut.
Gattlin didn’t follow her into the hut, but instead flung himself from the platform, into the open sky. With the cold wind flying past his feathers, and through his hair, he felt so strong and free, that he regretted having cropped her feathers, paralyzing her in so detrimental a way. His mind went back to the day before, when he had first seen her, soaring below him, so beautiful. When she had heard him approaching, she had dived so swiftly, so naturally, and wheeled to defend herself even when capture was imminent. He rubbed the dark bruises that covered his stomach; product of Verdeyan’s boots. In his mind, he began referring to her as Vern, the name of his sister. Vern, he thought, and Verdeyan, with names so similar, and the same grace and beauty. It was almost as if he had re-captured his sister.
Chapter three: On Shared Wings
Back on the platform, Verdeyan sat on the rough boards, stroking the ragged stumps of her shorn feathers. When her fingers brushed the bandage, she jerked her hand away as if the bloodstained cloth had bitten her. In a rage of injustice, she snatched the bandages off of her wings, wincing as the sudden motion jarred the sore muscles. Then, she ran from the hut, and pitched them down out into the sky, watching the strips of cloth float downwards into the blur below.
She hated all the things that related to the enemy and his tribe. She resented him bandaging her wounds like he had, so hypocritical that it drove her mad trying to make sense of his motivation. If he was avenging his sister, why hadn’t he tortured her as he claimed his sister had been? It wasn’t that she wanted to be mistreated; it was the simple fact of not knowing, not understanding that ate at her gut, adding to the deep injustice that she felt. And why had he picked her? Couldn’t he have avenged his sister by capturing someone else? Or was it her that he hated? She knew that it was a foolish thought; he had never laid eyes on her, nor even heard of her before yesterday. It was the way of life; when one tribe raided another, the victim raided back.
Did the Hamoiin do that as well? She wondered. But if so, would they paralyze each other as wretchedly as the Fleirzon did? She found the concept dubious. Now she realized with irony that she could indeed empathize with the Hamoiin. Now she couldn’t fly at all; just walk, run and climb.
When Gattlin returned, Verdeyan was lying on her side, staring blankly at the sky. When she heard him land, she sat upright, blue eyes like lightening.
“You.”
“Yes, I have returned,” he stated, setting down the carcass of a hawk. “I suppose you’ll need a cloak, since the chill is setting in. You could start with this one’s plumage, and some of your feath-”
Verdeyan leapt at him, clenching her arm around his neck. His hand darted to his belt in search of his hunting knife, but not quickly enough, for she brought her foot up his back and kicked him in the head. The girl’s subjugator collapsed beneath her.
“Now whom is captive, you wretch?” She spat the words. On an impulse, Verdeyan grabbed his knife, and made cuts on both his forearms in the shape of crossed arrows; the Fleirzon word-symbol for evil. After a few minutes of gloating, she built a fire and plucked the hawk. She cut off a portion of meat that she cooked. The part that she didn’t eat, she flung off the platform along with the innards. After her meal, she threw the plumes into the flames, watching them burn. As the smoke drifted up, she found herself empathizing with the last of the plumes that stuck up from the coals, cornered, about to be burned. That was how she felt; trapped, with no way to escape.
When Gattlin came conscious, he realized that he was lying on the platform, and his head ached awfully, along with lacerations on his forearms. He felt like he’d been attacked by a forest leopard. Then, seeing his knife, he remembered what had happened. The girl. She had attacked him. Her arm had locked around him, and she’d kicked him senseless. She would pay. Oh, yes, she would pay! Then, in the glint of the full moon, he noticed the lacerations on his arms. Evil, the symbols read. She would pay, oh yes. He’d make her wish she had never learned to fly, had ever existed. In his mind’s eye, Gattlin saw her lying on the platform, hair covering her eyes, a look of horror on her face. He could almost hear his own maniacal laughter…
