To Fly Without Wings (You Jump Off a Cliff) - Prologue - Transience

Prologue

Transience

Evenfall is coming.

Hushed whispers fill the shadowed corners of the streets, drifting through the air on a chill-ladened breeze. Hundreds of murmurs blur together in an amalgamation of noise that sweeps over ever corner, every nook and cranny, like a tide wave that rises and falls and crests in the heart of Nether-Sresta. No one knows who first uttered the tidings but gossip travels faster than light, especially in the seedy belly of the underworld. By nightfall, everyone hears, and everyone knows.

Evenfall is coming.

Chills run up Seraphina’s spine at the thought. Evenfall. In Nether-Sresta. In her current state. It is as if someone dived deep into the recesses of her mind and pulled out the worst of her fears, then implemented the ones that are most hazardous to her health. A shiver. She pulls her cloak closer to her body, burrowing into the ash-grey folds as if the fabric could protect her from the harsh reality. A grim smile crosses her face. Seraphina has no illusions about her chances at continued survival; not now. 

Once upon a time, though, she was strong and able to defend herself. Once upon a time, even the worst of Nether-Sresta’s scum could not bother her. Once upon a time, the prospect of Evenfall was one easily accepted as a part of the natural cycle. But once upon a time is not now. And now, now she must be constantly on her guard and as unobtrusive as a shadow if she wants even a chance at living.

It is because of this wariness, perhaps, that they do not see her at first.

A small figure flies past her on feet of wind and darts nimbly into the alleyway in front, rounding the corner with an urgent speed that speaks of desperation. Seraphina pauses, her concern piqued. The figure was small enough to be a child…

More footsteps, then two burly men thunder past her without a second glance. The one in the lead, a broad-shouldered, ridiculously tall man with hair dirty enough that she can’t even tell its original colour, stops and looks around wildly. “Where did it go?” he snarls, frustrated rage radiating from his posture. His calloused hands clench around the hilt of his sword, looking seconds away from drawing it in anger.

The other man, shorter but equally as brawny, frowns. “It couldn’ta got far,” he says, the scars crossing his cheek dancing as he speaks.

Seraphina’s features darken. She could be wrong, and she desperately hopes that she is wrong, but she knows enough about Nether-Sresta that she can recognise Silencers when she sees them. These two men? They bear all the tell-tale signs of a Silencer. And from what Seraphina has seen thus far, their target can only be-

“Found it!” The dirty-haired man exclaims in triumph, beady eyes gleaming. “Thadda way.” He jerks his head in the direction of the closest alleyway. A savage smile spreads across his face, twisting his features into something horrific. “It’sa dead end.” His smile widens even more, exposing a row of even, white teeth. “It’s got nowhere ta run.”

-the child.

Both Silencers draw their swords in a fluid movement that belies years of practice and start moving towards the alleyway. Serphina feels vaguely sick at the idea of just how they got so proficient.

Now, the smart thing to do would be to move away from the situation and pretend she never saw it. In Nether-Sresta, such happenings are not uncommon, and it’s not as if Seraphina has the ability to make a difference anyway. With her abilities tied away, the only difference would be two dead bodies instead of one. But Seraphina’s always had an unwavering moral compass and a stubborn temperament to match; it’s what got her into her current state in the first place. So she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even pause, before slipping into the alley as well.

The first thing that registers is the life-weave. Burning brilliantly golden against the thin, gossamer surroundings, the child’s life-weave eclipses even the adult Silencers, far, far stronger than it has the right to be. The thick threads thrum with power and Seraphina would be mesmerised under any other circumstance.

The second thing that registers is the child. He’s a tiny slip of a boy with wide, luminous green eyes set in a too-thin face and he looks as if a single gust of wind would blow him over. Cowering against the back wall, he seems utterly helpless against the two burly Silencers who tower over him. Horror courses through her. Void forbid, he doesn’t even look ten years old!

Without thinking, Seraphina lunges forwards. Her appearance catches the Silencers by surprise and she has one instant to feel viciously grateful for her shadow-coloured cloak before she whips around and slams her heel into the back of Dirty-Hair’s knees. He crumples with a very satisfying cry of pain. She darts in closer to knock him out but her instincts scream at her to fucking duck and she throws herself to the ground just in time to avoid getting her head lopped off.

Shit. She forgot about the other one.

Cursing, she flings herself to the side to avoid getting stabbed, then bitterly regrets anything good she’s ever though about her cloak because Voids curse the thrice damned thing it’s fucking tangling with her limbs and she can’t get up and she’d going to fucking die. “This is a stupid way to die!” she screams because why the heck not. She’s going to die anyway; might as well indulge herself.

Cold steel meets her throat. Seraphina instantly shuts up, cringing at the feel of the metal, fighting down a wave of revulsion. It’s a dead zone to her senses, and it’s utterly disgusting to have so close to her skin.

“Well, what have we ‘ere?” A strong hand grabs her cloak and hauls her up roughly, the sword never leaving her throat. Blue eyes glint with malicious glee. “An abomination-sympathiser or-” Dirty-Hair, now recovered from her kick, tears her hood back, exposing a scalp full of glittering golden hair. “-An Abomination itself.”

Crap. She got found out. Taking a deep breath, she centres herself and because she’s going to die painfully and horribly no matter what she does, she smiles sunnily up at them. Well, no one ever told her that she has much of a survival instinct anyway. “Ooh, abomination. I like it. It’s very…” Pretending to search for words, Seraphina takes a small victory from the rapidly darkening expressions of the Silencers. Flashing them a wolfish grin, she leans in closer. “Awe-inspiring. Or fear-inspiring. I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”

A moment later and she’s struggling for air. Shorter-Guy evidently does not appreciate her cheek, she thinks as she fights his chokehold. Spots begin to appear in her vision and darkness creeps into the edges of her view. Hope the kid got away…

And suddenly she’s able to breathe again. As she drinks in lungfuls of precious, sweet air, Seraphina realises that Shorter-Guy is collapsed on the ground, unconscious. How…?

A strangled cry and she turns just in time to see Dirty-Hair crumpling to the ground as well, hitting the cobblestones with a meaty thunk. Golden threads are just untangling themselves from his life-weave. Impossible… With disbelieving eyes, Seraphina’s gaze follows the threads to their originating point. Half hidden in the shadows, the small child is crouched with his tiny hands extended, golden magic streaming from his fingers.

“A natural seiðrmenn,” she breathes, fervent awe lacing the words. Large green eyes blink up at her warily and the boy shrinks a little more into the shadows, curling his hands up against his chest. Seraphina resists the urge to laugh madly at this turn of fate. How ironic, that in the heart of the greatest ‘normal’ city-state where all ‘abomination’ is persecuted, she finds a natural seiðrmenn.

“Hey,” she says to the child gently, holding her hands up in the universal surrender gesture. It’s doubtful that he understands what it means but there’s always a chance. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A small step closer. Seraphina takes it as a victory when the boy doesn’t shrink away. Another small step, and she crouches down, moving with deliberate slowness so as not to startle him. Up close, he looks even smaller and a rush of protectiveness wells up inside of her when she realises that he’s not even ten. That means he’s still a toddler.

Okay, she decides. He’ll come with me. There’s no way she can, in good conscience, leave a child as young as this on the streets of Nether-Sresta, especially when Evenfall is just around the corner. Not to mention, he’s a natural seiðrmenn. He’ll be targeted by every Silencer that sees him.

Slowly, Seraphina extends a hand to the boy. “Come with me?” she asks softly. And perhaps he understands her intention, or perhaps because she intervened on his behalf, or even perhaps he identifies with her instinctively mage-to-mage, but whatever the reason, his small hand comes up to meet hers, and Seraphina feels joy for the first time in a long while.

Evenfall may be coming and they might be a lone pair of mages in the heart of Nether-Sresta, but they’ll get by. Somehow.