Half Discovered Wings (13 page)

‘
I told you to stay away from my city,
Caeles
. We agreed, after the
Conflict, to stay away from each other, to let us both live out our
lives without having to watch our own backs.’

‘
You have enough people to do that for you now,’ Caeles
replied. ‘And I’m not here to hurt you.’

‘
Like hell you’re not! Look at you! You’re a fucking
child
. A hundred and
sixty years, and you’re still a
child
.’

‘
You’re not looking too bad yourself.’

‘
Get bent
, you
fuck
.
What good is this—’ He held up his hands, and the blood vessels
under his skin burned and glowed. His hand seemed alive with fire.
‘—when I end up like
this
?’

‘
So you’re old. But you’re alive. I haven’t done anything to
harm you, even though I’ve known where you lived for the past
however-many years. I gave you life, now you give
me
consideration.’

‘
What is it you want, then, old friend?’

Caeles breathed slowly. ‘My party and I are staying at an inn
near the lake tonight. In the morning, if there’s a ferry, we’d
like to cross the Lual. We only want to stay overnight and catch a
boat. We’ll go the long way around on the way back, if you’re
really that concerned. But for now, time is of the essence, so we
need to cross.’

‘
Found yourself another little group of friends, then, have we?
You didn’t have many during the war.’ His old face dripped with
malice.

‘
Nobody has friends in war, you idiot. We all stayed away from
each other. You’d know that, if you had done any proper fighting.
You hid away like a child. You’re as pathetic as the rest of the
errant freaks you hung about with. That ship should have been your
tomb as well as theirs.’

His voice echoed a few times, bouncing from wall to wall
until it faded. In the silence, they glared at one
another.

‘
Great way to soften me up, Caeles,’ the Regent coughed. ‘But
instead of letting you cross my lake, I’ll get you and your new
chums executed. How about that?’

Caeles’ eyes
darkened with anger and he lunged forward, stopping just an inch
from Dysan’s face. He could smell the filth rotting between what
teeth he had left.

‘
I’d kill you,’ he said.

‘
Fine,’ Dysan choked. Caeles stood back. ‘Fine … As long as
you’re causing no harm, I’ll allow you to pass through. I’m a
bigger man than this.’

A nod from his unwelcome visitor. ‘I give you thanks,
Regent.’

Jason Dysan then offered his hand, stretching as far as the
weak arm would allow. He attempted a smile. Caeles looked at the
withered appendage, then up into the old man’s cataract-capped
eyes. Instead, he bowed in parting.

The Regent suddenly lunged with a high-pitched wail. His hand
snatched at Caeles’ face; it was ablaze, roaring with from within
with inexplicable organic fire, and it hissed as he brought it to
and fro, hitting nothing but air. The cyborg took a step back,
unharmed, and let the errant release his rage, screaming as he
leaned as far as he could manage, with his weak bones and
diminished energy. The fire whooshed harmlessly between
them.

Caeles turned and left, paying no attention to the guards
outside, nor the furious wailing that washed through the doors
behind him.

~

After finding the rooms booked at the inn empty, Caeles
looked for Rowan, Gabel and the magus around the edge of the Lual.
The lake danced with light, each tiny undulation catching the glow
from the lamps of the street behind. The moon’s reflection was
large, shivering on the surface. The scarred man stopped for a
moment, looking at the glow of the lake and at the
stars.

A fragmented melody drifted out from over the water. Never
had he heard song such as what he heard then, and he felt wounded
that he couldn’t make out the words. Moving closer to the shore,
Caeles began to pick up snatches of song. The words were
indistinct, about the moon, the stars, the sky … Poetic but not
immediately coherent.

He perched on
the top of a hill that sloped gently to the bank of the great lake
and saw Rowan about halfway down, looking out over the water. She
had her hands in her lap, and was gazing at the lights bouncing off
the faraway waves. Her music drifted out to meet them.

At the end Caeles realised the singing had been for the
hunter and not for him, and his heart sank. What had he been
expecting? He’d certainly not entertained the idea of Rowan and
himself together; he hadn’t thought that way for decades. It just
didn’t appeal to him. His heart had been shown the warmth for just
a few minutes, and afterwards fallen back under the ice. It was a
feeling he was glad to cover up and forget.

‘
Rowan,’ he said quietly.

She started
and turned around, saw the black-as-death silhouette crouched on
the top of the ridge, stark against the moonlit sky.

‘
Caeles?’

‘
Yeah.’ He walked slowly down and sat by her. ‘I heard you
singing. It was very nice, bouncing back off the water. You have a
good voice.’

‘
I used to sing at the church sometimes, when I was stronger. I
think I was drawn to the spontaneity of it.’

‘
You haven’t sung that song before?’

‘
No. Does that surprise you?’

‘
It was as if you’d been practising it all your
life.’

‘
Maybe I have,’ she said quietly.

It was the first time she had referred to her missing
memories; that period of nothingness, a void that stretched up
until the Father had found her, taken her back to the church and
looked after her. That had been almost two and a half years
ago.

Caeles let it
go.

Rowan stood
and walked to the bank of the lake, her feet almost in the water,
and washed her face. Caeles stood beside her.

‘
Tell me about the war,’ she asked quietly.

‘
Why? Rowan, I don’t think…’

‘
Please tell me. I want to learn as much as I can, about
everything. Before I die.’

He sighed. ‘No, Rowan. You’re just upset. There must be
something else you can do … I don’t want to talk about
it.’

She started to cry, and washed her face again. Each time the
tears fell, she washed them away with water. They stood there for
five minutes, the night getting colder.

‘
It’s just…’ he tried, but stopped.

Colours
rippled across the surface of the water.

‘
What?’ she whispered.

‘
You remind me of someone.’

Caeles stood a
few feet away, looking at her. He was unaware that he was flexing
his hands, and that his eyes were raw. She knelt and once more
palmed water up to her face, and he took the opportunity to quietly
leave. He made his way up the ridge, and Rowan turned to catch a
glimpse of his back before it disappeared. The waves of the Lual
lapped at her feet, as if telling her it was time to depart.

*

Nine

THE CASTILIAN
COURIER

Second Chief Marko Kinneas stood with his back
straight,
as he had always been instructed
to by Chief Naja. His armour glistened quietly under the starlight,
the delicate folds and stamped emblems giving the light ridges to
follow. When Kinneas finally turned – in response to the shriek
from inside the hall – the light swam in a hundred lines over his
chest.

He gleamed
when outside the hall, but as soon as he stepped through the
doorway he was dark once more. Only his eyes shone.

‘
Marko,’ called the voice of the Regent. ‘Thank you for coming
to me.’

Always polite
,
the Second Chief thought,
even when
he means to punish.

‘
I was waiting for your call, Regent.’

He moved
closer, so that they were within talking distance. Dysan sat old
and frail within the sparse light of the dim strip-lighting.

‘
Prepare a falcon and get ready to write down a dictation,
Marko,’ he said curtly. ‘Be sure to arrive back here within the
hour.’

‘
Yes, Regent.’

That allowed
for twenty minutes until the clock chimed – more than enough time,
Kinneas thought. He saluted and left, glad to be rid of the
oppressive darkness of the place and its discoloured ribbons.

Two streets away was the royal falconry, a single-storey
building rebuilt from ruinous foundations soon after the war.
Inside were three rooms: the study, the store room and the mews,
where the birds roosted with sleeves of cloth over their eyes,
waiting in the darkness to be called upon and given the chance to
spread their wings.

Each of the six birds had a leather jess, binding a claw to
the perch. None of them could escape, and if they were left untied,
as sometimes happened, they would never be able to remove the hood,
nor find their way through the corridors and out the door. Each
falcon was safe, secure, and never thought of escaping.

Marko Kinneas often frequented the falconry, more so than
duty required. It was a hobby, and the birds were his security
blanket; big and strong as he was, the man was sensitive on the
inside. He hurt whenever the birds were released, despite the
conditioning that assured their return each time.

He unlocked the heavy
wooden door and closed it behind him. A heavy bolt-action lock on
the inside prevented anything without fingers coming or going.

Behind the
next locked door he prepared the necessary equipment for dictation:
a plastic ink pen, and a scroll of treated papyrus paper that
rarely tore in the claws of a falcon. Kinneas put them together on
the table, ready to be picked up quickly if he lost track of time
with the birds. They recognised the noise of a sliding bolt and
called quietly to him, each in turn. In the almost complete
darkness the ruffle of feathers could be heard, combined with the
scratch of talons on wood. They were unnerved, perhaps sensing some
danger lurking around the outskirts of the town.

It wasn’t
Kinneas’ worry at the time. He had a job to do, and he was doing
it; the guards could take care of any trouble that might arise.

His dark hands touched the leather rufter of one of the
falcons. None had names, despite the man’s desire, but he could
distinguish them by looks. The one Kinneas touched now had delicate
strokes of carmine along its pinions. The bird raised its head at
the man’s touch, startled, probably woken from a doze. It trilled
at him, nipping his tough finger with its beak in
affection.

‘
There, my beauty,’ he purred. His voice was low, and the birds
stopped to listen. ‘There, there.’

He lifted the hood and the head turned sideways, showing off
the creature’s beautiful profile. The round watery eye blinked
sleepily, the pupil contracting ever so slightly. Another chirrup,
along with a brief readjustment on the perch.

‘
There, there. On my hand.’

His skin was thick enough so that he barely felt the talons.
In ten years Kinneas had only ever used a glove with wild birds.
These six eyas, taken at birth from their nests, were as
thoroughly-trained and indoctrinated as any good soldier. Kinneas
envied them: they never doubted their superior.

‘
Here we go.’

He carried the
bird to the study, after carefully bolting the mews door behind
him. Outside, the whole town was quiet in its somnolence, but the
study was wholly silent. Calm, away from the serene wash and tide
of the Lual, the chirp of grasshoppers in the scrub, and the sound
of the wind through the trees.

He asked the bird to drop from his finger to the back of a
chair, and did so immediately. The only other movement was a brief
shuffle along the wooden plank to find a suitable resting place. A
single, unnoticed curl of shaved wood spiralled to the floor
underneath it.

Kinneas paced by the falcon for a few more minutes, and
stopped now and again to stroke its feathered head. He could feel
its fragile skull beneath the down; he had always liked the feel,
but had never known why. Maybe it was a power thing, knowing that
he could so easily kill the bird if he wished.

The thought
disturbed him, and he was shaken for a minute until he gathered
himself and the equipment, and left the falconry with the bird on
his arm, tied there by a jess.

The hall again
beckoned to him, that huge doorway like an open mouth. The falcon
was uneasy, and scratched his forearm. Kinneas didn’t mind. The
bird didn’t know what it was doing.

He hadn’t
realised that he was holding his breath until he stepped
inside.

‘
Marko. Thank you for being quick.’

‘
Yes, Regent.’

‘
Are you ready for dictation?’

‘
Yes.’ He let the falcon perch on a disused torch bracket and
put pen to parchment, to show that he was ready.

The dictation took just over two minutes, with Dysan pausing
every now and again, as if to re-phrase in his head what he was
about to say. Kinneas was certain that Dysan already had the
message planned out, despite the show of thoughtfulness. The Second
Chief had learned the body language of his ruler.