Caprion's Wings (4 page)

Once Caprion entered Asterion proper,
he immediately turned toward the merchant district, passing
two-tiered buildings with stone balconies and domed roofs. The
silent buildings sprawled on and on, many of them empty and
abandoned, fallen to disuse as the population of Asterion dwindled.
He entered a smaller market square, the storefronts decorated in
bright awnings. A handful of people walked the streets—early
merchants setting out wares or weary soldiers finishing their long
night-shifts. Caprion passed them all without a word. No one
greeted him, but he could feel their eyes on his back.

Florentine's shop resided on the
lowest level of a three-tiered building, wedged between a series of
small boutiques and a high-end pub. Hanging ivy obscured the front
of the store, shielding it from curious window shoppers. A purple,
glass-beaded curtain served as a door. He could already smell the
incense wafting from inside. It made him grimace. If the Madrigal
hadn't recommended her, he never would have approached her
shop.

Caprion entered the
building, passing through the beaded doorway. The store had a low,
domed ceiling of dark granite. Wire-wrapped sunstones hung from the
ceiling on delicate chains, like a sky full of stars, illuminating
the room. Before him stood a couch where two people could sit, a
low table, a nearby chair, and several shelves full of books and
star charts. On top of the low table rested a few thin stems of
burning incense.
Sage,
he thought, sniffing the air.

"An early visitor?" a female voice
reached him, clear as a bell. It resonated strangely across his
skin, like a cool salve. Florentine stepped out of the depths of
the store, a biscuit in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. She
was tall, even for a Harpy, with long, sloping curves visible
through a sleek purple robe. Large, striking eyes dominated her
face above wide, rounded cheeks. Her hair spilled in a series of
braids down her back. Her features were not immediately beautiful;
Caprion thought she looked something like an owl.

A shiny gold tassel hung from her
waist, tied to one side and used as a belt. She wore a small silver
tuning fork around her neck. Her wings were folded, perhaps eight
feet wide, Caprion guessed.

A disarming smile touched her face, at
odds with her stark features. “I'm not surprised to see you,” she
said quietly.

Caprion’s frown deepened. “Word gets
around fast,” he muttered.

Florentine nodded. “Esta spoke to your
brother yesterday, and he went down to the pub to announce it. He
might have done you a favor. He tackled the gossip head-on before
it could spread out of control.”

Caprion glanced at the
ground, his throat tightening in anger.
Sumas doesn’t give favors,
he
thought. No, his brother had confronted the gossip to protect his
own name. Caprion could imagine how that little announcement
went.
“My younger brother has failed
again. We taught him all we could, and now his time has passed. You
know what they say—no star can open a bad seed!”

And then a chorus of men
and women would have answered him:
“And
bad seeds bear no fruit!”

Caprion shook his head slowly. "Why
are you telling me this?" he asked.

Florentine gazed at him, her head
tilting to one side. Her eyes were a clear, pale yellow. Finally,
she shrugged. “Sumas is a difficult brother to have, I imagine. His
aura is red, heavy, lots of vitality and aggression. You're more of
a light blue, though I see a lot of gold around your shoulders―a
noble heart, it signifies. And around your head is a purple,
grayish cloud. Something troubling you?”

Caprion resisted the urge to grimace.
"It's true that I failed the Singing," he said, moving to the
couch, his feet weary from standing. Florentine glided forward
gracefully and took the opposite chair. "But I don't understand
why. The Madrigal said I 'fell.'"

"Ah," Florentine said
knowingly.

Caprion waited for her to elaborate,
but she didn't. He continued. “I had a dream while I was Singing.
It's never happened before. I mean, I've had similar dreams, but
always while sleeping, not while in the chamber....” He went on to
describe his position on Fury Rock, the black abyss before him, the
stars, and then his wings. And then he described the terrible
consuming darkness and the voice that felt like oil. Finally, he
finished, “The Madrigal told me to seek your help.”

Florentine nodded again. She set her
tea down and lifted the tuning fork from her neck. “Strange
indeed,” she commented. “This will only take a few minutes, but you
need to sit completely still. Your nose might tickle. Don't scratch
it.”

Caprion nodded.

She stood and moved next to him, then
took a small metal pick from her belt and struck the tuning fork,
holding it over Caprion's head. A strange sensation moved through
him, a buzzing vibration, like a swarm of bees. His nasal cavity
hummed and itched. He could feel a strange pressure between his
eyes.

She struck the tuning fork twice more
over each shoulder, causing prickles of discomfort over his skin.
Then she waited. She watched him closely, studying him, though
Caprion knew she wasn't really seeing his body. She focused on
something just above his head, just left of his arm, just below his
hands.

Finally, she sat back. “Your energy is
fluctuating rapidly,” she said slowly.

"What does that mean?" Caprion
asked.

She frowned. “Well...any physical
object emits a steady vibration, a certain tone that defines it.
For living things, particularly Harpies, sometimes great hardship
can send a ripple through the aura, changing the vibration,
changing the person. One can move to a higher pitch, or a lower
one.” She paused. “It usually happens right after one finds their
wings, before fully adjusting to their new magic. But that's
obviously not the case.” Her eyes narrowed further. “Are you sure
you didn't find your star...?”

Caprion felt cold at the thought of
his Singing, of the darkness that had swelled through his mind. He
leaned back and folded his arms. “No,” he said bluntly. “I didn't.
No star answered. I feel exactly the same as I always
have.”

Florentine frowned. “Well... something
is blocking you, or interfering, I can’t say which because your
aura is fluctuating so quickly. I think, perhaps, that the enemy is
in your head, Caprion.” She paused. “The Singing Chamber is a place
of very concentrated magic. It could be the chamber opened up some
unknown fear you have yet to address. What do you
think?”

He raised an eyebrow. He had thought
about the vision countless times, wondering what it meant, how he
could free himself from it. It seemed more than some nameless fear
from his past. Like most Harpies on the island, he lived a fairly
peaceful life, despite intermittent bullying from Sumas. And none
of this explained the voice. "No, it’s something else,” he said,
certain of his instincts. “Something is wrong.”

Florentine shrugged. She looked
uncomfortable. "Where did you say this voice spoke
from?"

"Under the ground," Caprion murmured.
"It said 'find me.'"

Florentine’s face grew thoughtful. She
waited a long time before answering, her eyes traveling around the
room. Finally, she said, “The Matriarch is sleeping now, I'm sure
you know. Her sleeping chambers are underground.”

Caprion nodded. Their queen did not
hold regular sleeping patterns like most Harpies since she lived a
much longer lifespan. She would remain awake for a portion of the
year, and then sleep for a period before waking again. During these
stages of dormancy, the Madrigal stood in charge. As she grew
older, her period of rest became shorter and shorter, until she
only needed a few hours a year―and then she would turn to
light.

He considered this. Their Matriarch
had slept for the last three weeks and should awaken within the
next few days.

"She can send visions in her sleep,
usually to the Madrigal," Florentine continued, echoing his
thoughts. "It could be her voice you heard."

"It was not a Harpy's voice,” Caprion
replied earnestly. “It was dark. And vile."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you
implying one of the Sixth Race? That seems unlikely…."

"I know,” he sighed. “But it’s the
only explanation I can think of. Could they be on the island? Why
else would I hear them? Where would they hide?"

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Florentine waved her hand as though to shoo the idea aside.
“Perhaps there is some other explanation.”

Caprion shook his head firmly. “No,”
he said. “If you saw the vision, you’d agree with me. The voice is
evil. It could not possibly be from another Harpy.”

Florentine poised at the edge of her
chair, tapping her foot on the ground. She remained quiet for a
long moment, her eyes sliding past him, darting back and forth in
thought. Her lips twisted in displeasure. Then she finally seemed
to reach a conclusion. “Caprion,” she said slowly. “I must tell you
something. It's a grave secret and I'm not allowed to share it,
especially with fledglings. We keep certain truths hidden from
those without wings, for your safety. If I tell you this, you
cannot let anyone know where you heard it.”

Caprion nodded, sitting up with
attention.

Florentine straightened
and focused on the table, avoiding his eyes. "We
do
keep a small number
of the Sixth Race imprisoned on this island. They are locked in a
secret location. Our soldiers use them for practice. It's for
tactical reasons…why have an army if they can't fight our greatest
enemy?"

Caprion’s eyes widened considerably,
then narrowed in thought, a grim slant to his mouth. He motioned
for her to continue, hoping he didn’t look as shocked as he
felt.

“Only the army knows the location of
these prisons,” she said, glancing at the beaded doorway as though
someone might overhear. “Caprion, if this voice is coming from deep
in the earth, then it could be one of the prisoners. Don't go
chasing after it. The Unnamed are skilled at deception, and they
have varying levels of ability―some are quite dangerous. Don’t risk
confronting them without your wings. You will have no
defense.”

"I have my sword," Caprion
murmured. He barely heard her warning. He didn’t intend to fight
any demons, but he knew he needed to confront the voice,
before it’s too late to find my star.

Florentine shook her head. “I doubt
one of the Unnamed would be strong enough to interfere with your
Singing. We should wait for the Matriarch to awaken and consult
her.”

“Where is this prison of the Unnamed?”
he asked.

Florentine’s eyes hardened. “I can’t
tell you,” she said. “Do not seek it out. We must wait for the
Matriarch to awaken. She will know what to do. It should only be a
few more days, Caprion. Be patient.”

Patient?
Caprion thought incredulously. Each passing
minute took him farther away from his star. He couldn’t put this
off for another hour, let alone several days.

His thoughts returned to Sumas. His
brother must know of this practice ground; it explained where he
disappeared to at night. He seemed to remember subtle references to
it. He recalled Sumas speaking to their mother in low tones, saying
he would go “below” for a while. He would cut short those
conversations whenever Caprion entered the room.

He suddenly wondered if these prisons
were located underground, perhaps close to Fury Rock. He couldn't
find them on his own, he would be too limited without wings, but if
he could follow his brother somehow....

"Don't consider it," Florentine
cautioned again, her voice grave. "We'll consult the Matriarch
after she awakens in a few days."

If she awakens.
Caprion couldn't speak the words aloud, but he
felt suddenly cold with dread. The voice had threatened the entire
Harpy race, after all.
Even stars must
die….

He nodded again and stood up, too
distracted to say farewell, his mind already busy making
plans.

* * *

Caprion bought a bag of
sweet-rolls from the market and returned to his hut around noon. At
the very least, speaking to Florentine had given him a sense of
purpose. He could ignore the many side-glances he received, the way
people quieted when he approached, then broke into loud whispers
behind his back. The guards on patrol were the worst; most had
trained with Sumas or at least knew of the new captain. They stared
down Caprion, stepping purposefully in his path, forcing him to
walk around their large wings. He ignored them stoically, unable to
do anything else. He kept a wary eye out for his brother, but
didn't see him. As a Captain, his brother would be occupied with
more important business than street patrol.
As important as business can get on a small island,
he thought ironically.

Caprion took his usual detour home,
traveling through the woods to give himself time to think. His
thoughts wandered to the Unnamed and the secret underground
prisons. He couldn’t wait around for the Matriarch to address his
problem. No, he needed answers. The sooner the better.