Children of the Sky

‘Speak to me about clouds.’

‘What can I say? They’re big, white and fluffy.’

A sigh sounded. ‘Child, you must look beyond the obvious. Look within.’

She tried hard, she really did. But the clouds remained just that, obstinate and obscure. ‘I don’t see anything.’

‘Nonsense! You were born to see!’

They were sitting outside a cave, well above the mountain village. Wind gusted around her, snapping her dark hair to and fro. She sat atop a small rock, legs folded; next to her, the tiny village Elder paced. He was worried, she could tell, but he would never admit it.

Leila released a pent up breath. ‘Master, perhaps I was never meant to... perhaps-‘she paused, unable to finish. But the words hung between them: perhaps you were wrong. The old man paused; sun browned skull shining in the light, and stared up at her.

‘You’re sure you can see nothing?’ he said.

Sweat was trickling down her back and her neck hurt from staring upward for so long. She didn’t even bother glancing up again, only nodding tiredly. He shook his head worriedly, turning away.

Again they had failed.

**

Leila walked slowly back to the village, choosing her path carefully down the steep and winding track. The air was thin and cold, lancing into her lungs as she breathed in deeply. It felt good though, helped her clear her mind and keep her heaving stomach settled. It always hurt to hold back the visions. As she rounded the bend, the sun was just setting, bathing the bone white buildings in a riot of fiery gold and red. There were only a few people out, waiting for the hunters to return from the lower forested part of the mountain and her mother was among them.

‘Well?’ she said, arms folded against her formidable bosom.

Mutely, Leila shook her head. She heard her mother expel air from behind clenched teeth, and knew without looking the expression of terminal disappointment that even now would be plastered over the woman’s dark, weathered face. Her mother was the strongest Seer to grace the Sky People in over a thousand years, making Leila’s inability even more frustrating for her. It was the subject of spiteful gossip amongst the sewing women and worried muttering among the men; she was a disgrace to them all.

If only they knew.

‘Get inside with you then, there’s a storm coming,’ she heard her mother say. Leila glanced up into dark grey eyes, surprised. Was that what she could feel thrumming in her bones? Was this the source of the sick feeling of anticipation that had been building up inside her, that made her nights restless and fitful? Something bad was coming she knew then, and she trembled for the fear of it.

‘The sun is a subtle deceiver, Child, the summer storms can be upon us at any moment, you know that,’ her mother said, mistaking her glance for disbelief.

Leila shook her head, coming back to the present. ‘Yes of course, mother,’ she said with forced formality, hating the title ‘child’. She was fifteen summers gone now, and near as tall as her father, with the same ranging stride and slim frame. Her failure to See, however, prevented her from receiving her Name. She rushed toward her home, the tallest and most spacious house in the centre of the small village. Angry tears glimmered in her emerald green eyes, finally spilling out as the door slammed shut behind her.

She knew she was being childish, knew that behind her mother’s scorn was a very real fear for her future. But that meant little at this moment, months of harried sleep, of bottled up frustration and isolation boiled up inside her and finally spilled out now, and she collapsed sobbing, leaning against the door. She didn’t know for how long she sat there, arms curled around her knees, despairing of her place in the world.

Gradually her shoulders relaxed, tears dried, and she dozed.

Flames blazed all around. She peered down on the battle, the screams of dying people, of murder and hatred, resounded – crashing against her ears. One man stood in the midst of it, gleaming metal sword only a silver flash in the night as he created a deadly dance of death. Magic thrummed in the air, little demons and mages throwing arcane power at one another, with little care for the tens of thousands of men incinerating around them.

She felt numb, a dull horror clawing through her body. This couldn’t be happening, not again, not now.

Leila’s body tossed and turned, hair stirring around her shoulders, no longer lifeless, crackling with pent up power. It was always so for late bloomers, the Wilders, as they were known. Years of pent up power, of repression would break at a particular stressful point. Such moments were always feared for the chaos they inspired, and worse, for the dread omens they revealed. But this was different. Even induced in trance, she fought. Any rank novice knew to do this was suicide, but she couldn’t help it. On some base level, her body rejected the vision being shown to her, couldn’t—wouldn’t accept what it was telling her: that war was coming.

Explosions ripped through the air. Bodies, loose limbs, neighing horses all flew from the impact, as blood spurted, drowning the sky, the ground; all was red.

Her facial muscles rippled, lips twitching back to reveal bared teeth. Her chest heaved, trying to draw in air, and failing. Severe pain gripped her chest, and Leila screamed for the agony. It felt as if the vision was literally clawing its way out of her body, a demented beast that would stop at nothing. Sweat slicked her forehead, as outside, the storm picked up pace. Blazing forks of bloody lightning tore through the darkness, gale force winds picking up at a screaming pace.

She was standing on a promontory, a ledge of mountainous rock above the plains, yet she could see clearly. Alien tongues jabbered, and cursed, squealing demons died and fought, rising and falling again. Human soldiers wept for helplessness, calling on the gods, on family and kin to empower them. Above, the gods answered the call.

There was a massive boom, and the door shook, wooden shutters rattled and broke allowing the howling winds to tear into the room.

She had eyes for one only. His form, so clear, a tall figure of grace and power was dealing death out casually, almost with ease. Her heart ached painfully for him, she knew this man; he was no animal. A victim of manipulating forces, a pawn gone horribly wrong, his state at present was testament to that. His laughter rose suddenly, bursting out over the din of the battle. Around him, the cruel voices of taunting children rose in response, sadistic demons the source of such sadistic calls. They were enjoying this.

Bam!

The door shook beneath the force of the blow.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Leila’s eyes fluttered, her body tensed, she should have awoken. Something was desperately wrong, something that needed her attention but she couldn’t think, couldn’t help, was trapped in the holds of Dream. It was too strong.

As if he sensed her scrutiny, the man turned, and for just a moment, one dread instant, their eyes locked. And she despaired: only madness lurked in those once lucid eyes. It was too late then. She whispered his name then, softly, and dived.

With a terrific roar, the building around Leila’s body tore off and hurtled away. Standing before the trembling girl’s body now, Iris was revealed, her own ruby red hair flailing in the storm. There was nothing in her eyes but a burning white glow as she battled the elements to save her daughter. Iris bent down, grasping Leila’s arm. Immediately, her daughter’s eyes snapped open and despite herself, Iris gasped: they were pools of blood.

She shook of the fear, hauled the body upward and over her shoulder, running into the system of caves that had always protected their people when the summer storms were upon them.

**

Leila awoke.