Original: The Winged Ones (Version 3)
I've wanted to go over this story again for a while now, so I finally did. Thanks to arkan2 and all the others who pointed things out.
Of course, if you see any glaring errors, those are my fault. Especially in the little scene I added. >.>
Title: The Winged Ones
Word Count: 3,556
Summary: A young boy goes on a journey and pride drives him to commit a fatal mistake.
The Winged Ones
The Winged Ones lived a long time ago in a place called Altus Terra, where houses arrogantly stretched upwards in an attempt to catch the stars. Atop the mightiest houses were spires adorned with bright banners that proudly displayed family crests as they crackled in the wind. Rich culinary perfumes coloured the otherwise crisp mountain air. The inhabitants took pride in the musical diversity of their city, and visitors from the North were always amazed when the different beats blended together harmoniously.
To the North were seven mountains, each bearing the name of a god. Of these, Triumphus was the youngest, its great cliffs sharp and devastating to the unwary. In front of it was the Winged Ones’ favorite, Lux. In addition to being a source of the Great River, the gently sloped mountain contained a significant amount of the beautiful white stone that their houses were composed of. A long time ago Nex was its identical twin; but now it was stunted and dark, as if the formerly beautiful landscape had been twisted in a great disaster. It also sported a river mouth, one that joined the Great River further down, making a large ‘Y’ between the mountains.
To the South were the Lower Lands, a place where Those With Fur muddled about their lives. The Winged Ones ignored Those With Fur for the most part, unwilling to taint themselves by associating with those who use primitive weapons against each other. Those With Fur did not even have songs to teach their children about great events such as the collapse of the Eastern shelf, when part of the granite hill near Altus Terra fell into the sea. It was a horrible event, and only the ignorant did not shudder at the thought of something similar happening.
Nobody spoke of the West without making a sign against evil. It was a hot and barren place, devoid of the riches of Altus Terra and its surroundings. The dunes of red sand seemed to change all the time, and the Winged Ones could never see anything green in the vastness that was the Western Desert. All they knew was that when the West seemed to become a red haze, it was time to retrieve their valuables from outside and wait out the storm.
It was on such a day the High Defender’s son was born. He and his mate had been waiting for a long time for the birth of their son, Addo Verum, and they were relieved when the baby’s first cry pierced the crisp morning air. The Deliverer was stunned as she beheld the baby’s black hair, something unseen in the Winged One’s population. A sense of foreboding rubbed against her soul as she noticed the child’s hair, but she delivered the cleaned baby to his parents without a word.
The mother was the fairest Winged One in the capital. Even in the standard white hospital robes she looked like a queen. Her soft, sky blue wings wrapped around her and her mate as she held her child. Sapphire eyes grew a little warmer as she looked at her offspring. With a smile, she started to sing a short little welcoming hymn, her velvety voice embracing the child like another blanket. It was not the first or the last time the Deliverer heard her sing; but it would always be the occasion she remembered. Never had the emotions in the High Singer’s voice seemed so raw, though they were always potent. Aurel could not have stolen the hearts of the people from the priestess of Professio otherwise.
The father had strong facial features, and sharp gray-blue eyes. He sat next to his mate, forgetting to adjust the folds of his formal indigo robe to prevent wrinkles. His pure white wings almost glowed in the sun’s light, making the Deliverer see spots. Most Winged Ones had tints at the ends of their feathers, an undesired trait that appeared with the mating of a One With Fur and a Winged One. His wings were actually the deciding factor in his elevation to High Defender by the population -- second only to the High Priest in terms of power.
The Deliverer watched the two noble beings take inventory of the child: counting fingers, toes, looking into his eyes, examining the area between his shoulder blades where his wings would grow when he matured. These actions made them seem more real to the Deliverer, more like the parents of her own class. She walked over to the window to give them some privacy.
As the child started to suckle at his mother’s breast, the Deliverer saw a large wave of sand spiral up from the Western Desert. It climbed through the air like a possessed thing trying to reach the sun. For the first time in two thousand years it succeeded, casting a reddish taint on all that the sun touched. In that supernatural light, the High Protector’s pure white wings took on the colour of blood, and his son’s dark eyes reflected nothing.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
The child became the greatest athlete among his peers, able to run and jump as if he already possessed wings at five years of age. His singing abilities were above average, but he could never quite master the dexterous movements required to play the more delicate instruments. Following tradition, his father trained him in the art of fighting once the boy reached his sixth birthday. He was not disappointed. The child seemed to have an inborn talent for swordplay, archery, and hand-to-hand combat.
Like every other boy his age, he was sent to Triumphus with instructions to bring back one of the obsidian cores planted on the other side of the mountain by the elders. His father flew him past Lux, pointing out various mines as he did so, and set Addo down at Triumphus’ base. Leaving his son with only a packsack containing some food, a map, and a sling, the High Defender returned to Altus Terra.
After a day of walking, he reached an unmapped pass. The prospect of finding undiscovered land appealed to his ego, so he decided to follow the pass. As he walked along the edge of the mountain he did not see the fault line, a portion of rock that was simply waiting for something small to come along and upset its precarious balance.
Addo Verum panicked as he felt the world shift under his feet, throwing him over the side. The wind tore through his hair, deafening him to everything but his own screams. Through a haze of tears, he could see a shallow river below him, sharp rocks sticking out from its bed. These were shards of Triumphus that had fallen in the recent past, waiting to be carried away in the next flood.
It was then that he felt the Change take over him: a hot surge of energy in the core of his being. The area between shoulder blades started to itch as bones lengthened, rubbing insistently against skin and tissue. His screaming intensified when something broke through his skin, sending a spray of blood into the air.
Instinctively, he spread his half-grown wings, angling away from the cliff-face and the still-falling rocks. At first, the small wet wings were inefficient; the air smashed against the hard feathers, sending reverberating shocks through his system. As wet feathers fell away and his wings continued to grow, Addo thought he was going to pass out.
He did not, and soon he had a wingspan equivalent to twice his height. He was still falling, but not very fast; his light bones and his wings were resisting gravity’s pull with increasing efficiency.
Dry feathers finally replaced wet ones, and Addo Verum started to fly. Instead of screaming in pain and terror; he hollered in exhilaration, finally understanding all the songs of his people. When he sang, it was without proper words, but his voice ranged from the earth to the heavens. Birds joined his chorus, and laughter leaked into his song. Had another Winged One been present, he or she would have fallen in love with the dark-haired youth immediately.
Eventually, the adrenaline wore off and he had to struggle with his body to stay aloft. He spotted a grassy plateau nearby and swooped down tried to land gracefully. He failed miserably, almost smashing into a nearby boulder; but the scrapes on his arms and legs weren’t serious enough to break his spirit. Collapsing onto the soft grass, the fifteen-year-old fell asleep to the sounds of grass whispering in the breeze and gurgling water.
When he woke up, the sun was rising. Blearily rubbing his face with his half-torn cotton shirt, he took a closer look at his surroundings. There was a small stream at his feet, which explained why they felt wet, and a wall of gray stone to his left. His surroundings were all but forgotten when Addo saw what first appeared to be a clump of rocks. Then, he recognized the obsidian cores.
He took one of the shiny black rocks from the pile, an orb about the size of his head, and almost dropped it. It must have been at least fifteen pounds! With a curse, he placed it in the packsack and felt the straps grow taut as he held it in front of him. He stood there for a moment, just staring into a piece of the earth’s heart, utterly mesmerized. Grinning madly, he ran off the edge of the cliff, wings already poised for flight. The exhilaration was as potent as the first time, and he worked his wings furiously to accommodate the extra weight.
He saw something glowing in a crevice near Lux’s river mouth. Shifting the angle of his wings, he went to investigate. He managed to land on a nearby boulder without losing his balance this time. It was almost as if he had always had wings.
The glowing object was a crystalline orb mounted proudly on a pedestal of purple quartz. It pulsed with a regular beat, its light bouncing off the water.
Instinct told him to leave it alone, a feeling in the back of his mind that spoke of red sands and blazing heat, of screams and high winds. However, the orb seemed to call to him, its light banishing his hesitation. He thought of how his luck seemed to always bring him to safety and his pride grew, overpowering his sense of caution.
The world seemed to darken as he picked it up, but he didn’t notice. He was completely enchanted. The light extended from the orb into his body, making him glow like something from another world. Reluctantly, he put the orb into the packsack next to the obsidian core, knowing that he needed to leave this place. He started to fly and did not notice the shadowed sun.
Addo Verum managed to fly halfway to the city’s core before he yielded to the hunger in his stomach. Recognizing the statue of Alexis the Defender, he chose to land in front the fountain it loomed over. Children paused in the middle of jumping contests and games of skip-rope to point out flecks of blood on his clothes and skin. The adults who supervised them barely managed to stop them from swarming around Addo Verum. They knew what the symbol embroidered on his packsack meant. The orb lying in the palm of a hand represented his task, and no one was permitted to talk to him until it was complete.
That did not stop him from showing off a little as he left. He wanted to do a loop de loop, but the weight of the packsack made him decide not to. Instead, he started singing the usual hymn children sang for the jumping game, increasing the pace of the song as the children joined him. He pranced around the fountain three times, wings on full display, before he started to sprint. Children screeched as he started to fly at the apex of his jump, running behind him and jumping enthusiastically until he was out of their sight.
With a smile on his face, he headed for the tower of the Defenders, his father’s seat of power. It was the tallest building in Altus Terra, with a giant balcony six stories above street-level. Great windows adorned its turrets and indigo banners flapped in the wind, all of them with the symbol of a diving hawk embroidered in gold.
Addo landed on the balcony and walked into the Inner Sanctum. The shocked faces of the Winged Ones in the tower of the Defenders appealed to him, and he started to strut, wings fully extended to catch even more stares. The blue-robed Winged Ones stared at his new wings, a white more pure than his father’s despite specks of dried blood. He ran up to his father and gave the man an enthusiastic hug. When he felt his father’s arms around his shoulders, he looked up, beaming.
“I have brought my stone of passage.” He intoned the ritualistic words with a smile, removing the obsidian core from his packsack. Kneeling, he presented it to his father, the High Defender. “By the seven gods whose names have been given to the almighty mountains, I present the core of Triumphus to you.”
“I, the High Defender of Altus Terra, the capital of the Green Lands, accept this core in the name of the seven gods who protect us all. Rise, son of Altus Terra, and tell us of your journey.”
And so the child called Addo Verum, the first fifteen-year old to grow wings in the history of the Winged Ones, spoke of his journey, leaving nothing out. His elders seemed impressed until he spoke of the orb; then their faces spoke only of horror. It was only when he removed it from his pouch that he noticed their expressions. “What’s wrong?” he asked; dread smothering the pride he felt at his elders’ surprise.
“That is the orb of Anima, the soul of this land. It is what makes the plants grow and the water run into our wells without spoiling.” The High Defender’s tone of voice was that of a man whose life had just been destroyed. “You have taken the life of the land from its place.”
Addo Verum backed away from the High Defender, fear destroying his self-confidence making his face look years younger, vulnerable to everything. His wings wrapped around his body, making an isolating cocoon. “I’ll put it back,” he said fearfully, his usual melodious voice breaking into shards of dissonance. “I’ll go right now!”
Death used his sire’s face to look at him.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
Addo Verum did not know what happened after his father sent for the High Priest, but he woke up on a lumpy cot. Groaning, he opened his eyes. His vision blurred for a moment as nausea hit him, and he closed his eyes.
The scent of musty air penetrated the fog in his head, confusing him. Every building in Altus Terra had great air circulation and the only place that did not was-
“…the dungeon.” His throat was so dry it hurt to speak. Addo opened his eyes again, and what he saw confirmed his theory. He was in a room with bare gray walls on three sides and a door made of widely spaced iron bars on the fourth. There were no windows in sight, only a series of flickering torches every six feet.
The High Defender was on the other side of the door, looking more downtrodden than Addo Verum had ever seen. His wings seemed to droop, the longer feathers almost brushing the floor as he paced, and there were wrinkles in his usually pristine robes. His father’s eyes seemed more gray than blue in the torchlight. “You’re awake.”
“Daddy?” the boy croaked. “What’s going on? Did they bring the orb of Anima back?”
“They tried.” The High Defender’s wings seemed to droop even more as he spoke. He paused for a moment before continuing, trying to find the right words and knowing that there were none. “But its resting place no longer exists. The second mouth of the Great River collapsed seconds after they arrived. To be precise, the whole side of the mountain collapsed. We lost five Defenders… and your mother lost her voice. She and the priestess of Professio were praying as the Defenders helped the High Priest walk. A piece of debris fell and hit her throat. She’s still alive and they’re treating her in the medical wing.”
“It’s my fault for not telling you about the orb,” his father continued, meeting his son’s eyes, trying to take the boy’s guilt away. He was only a child; he did not need to deal with the guilt of a grown man. “I was going to tell you in a few years when you grew your wings, when you could actually get there. I’m sorry.” The High Defender’s voice wavered, his façade crumbling despite his best effort.
“Torel,” a voice called from the right, someplace beyond Addo Verum’s line of sight. “It’s time to go.”
“I know.” The High Defender took one last look at his son and walked away. He held his back straight and kept his chin high. He had made his choice.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
Addo Verum woke from a nightmare full of death and blood with a start. Tears were still running down his face when he heard someone walk up a few minutes later. It was a Defender he had never seen before. “Where’s my father?”
“Same place as your mother.” The Defender unlocked the door to the cell and started to lead the boy away, refusing to say anything else.
It was only when he saw his father’s second-in-command dressed in the robes of the High Defender that he understood what had happened. “Why?” He started to sob once again, barely able to stand. “Where are they?”
“She would not continue on without her voice and he wanted to spare you. It did not work.” Harsh gray eyes stared down at him. The boy flinched as he felt a wave of hate from the Defenders around him. “The people believe that the gods will only be appeased by the blood of he who brought this upon us,” the man continued, extending his grayish-black wings to their full width. “You made me sacrifice Torel to save your stupid hide. I did not want to go against his last wish but the people leave me no choice. They want your blood or they’ll kill us all, and themselves too, most likely.”
Before the boy could think of anything to say in his defense, two guards grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back as another bound his wings together. Two other defenders secured his ankles, rendering him helpless. The High Defender led the procession to the balcony, wings fully extended and gleaming in the sun. They flew towards Lux, ignoring the boy’s pleas and his tears. People looked out the window, unaccustomed to hearing a young child screaming for mercy. When they saw the High Defender in full uniform, an indigo robe made of the finest wool found in the Green Lands, they closed their windows and their hearts.
Soon, Addo Verum found himself kneeling on a boulder, staring at the remaining mouth of the Great River. The water flowing from Lux seemed to have lost something, looking flat and sickly somehow. The High Defender then started to chant a prayer of forgiveness, unsheathing the ceremonial dagger that they used to slay lesser beasts.
And then he slit the child’s throat with it.
The water absorbed the child’s lifeblood, sweeping it downstream. The red stain remained visible through the High Defender’s prayer, a testament to his sacrifice. As he sheathed the blade, a drop of innocent blood dropped onto the orb of Anima.
In the desert, the winds started to blow.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
As it turned out, the five Defenders, Addo Verum and his parents were the lucky ones.
Those With Fur huddled in the homes as devastating winds from the West blew through Altus Terra. Banners were ripped from their anchors, shredded within seconds. A small group of Defenders returning from the North were ensnared by the red winds, which tore their wings from their bodies. Blood, feathers, severed wings, and bodies fell from the crimson sky. The singing in the capital became screams of terror and pain as the western winds tore through the city, blowing through the towers, using windows to gain access to the space within. Most of the houses in Altus Terra fell that day, either blown down by the powerful winds or knocked down by other towers. Many Winged Ones were crushed under the stone; other’s wings were ripped away before they died with sand the colour of blood in their lungs.
The shinning population Fell on that day. Their soaring songs were lost to the winds, their poems and other stories destroyed as the people able to read them were killed. The name Altus Terra was lost along with the true name of its population.
By the time that Those With Fur learned the art of writing, the tales of what had happened had been forgotten, replaced by the deeds of the living.
Of course, if you see any glaring errors, those are my fault. Especially in the little scene I added. >.>
Title: The Winged Ones
Word Count: 3,556
Summary: A young boy goes on a journey and pride drives him to commit a fatal mistake.
The Winged Ones
The Winged Ones lived a long time ago in a place called Altus Terra, where houses arrogantly stretched upwards in an attempt to catch the stars. Atop the mightiest houses were spires adorned with bright banners that proudly displayed family crests as they crackled in the wind. Rich culinary perfumes coloured the otherwise crisp mountain air. The inhabitants took pride in the musical diversity of their city, and visitors from the North were always amazed when the different beats blended together harmoniously.
To the North were seven mountains, each bearing the name of a god. Of these, Triumphus was the youngest, its great cliffs sharp and devastating to the unwary. In front of it was the Winged Ones’ favorite, Lux. In addition to being a source of the Great River, the gently sloped mountain contained a significant amount of the beautiful white stone that their houses were composed of. A long time ago Nex was its identical twin; but now it was stunted and dark, as if the formerly beautiful landscape had been twisted in a great disaster. It also sported a river mouth, one that joined the Great River further down, making a large ‘Y’ between the mountains.
To the South were the Lower Lands, a place where Those With Fur muddled about their lives. The Winged Ones ignored Those With Fur for the most part, unwilling to taint themselves by associating with those who use primitive weapons against each other. Those With Fur did not even have songs to teach their children about great events such as the collapse of the Eastern shelf, when part of the granite hill near Altus Terra fell into the sea. It was a horrible event, and only the ignorant did not shudder at the thought of something similar happening.
Nobody spoke of the West without making a sign against evil. It was a hot and barren place, devoid of the riches of Altus Terra and its surroundings. The dunes of red sand seemed to change all the time, and the Winged Ones could never see anything green in the vastness that was the Western Desert. All they knew was that when the West seemed to become a red haze, it was time to retrieve their valuables from outside and wait out the storm.
It was on such a day the High Defender’s son was born. He and his mate had been waiting for a long time for the birth of their son, Addo Verum, and they were relieved when the baby’s first cry pierced the crisp morning air. The Deliverer was stunned as she beheld the baby’s black hair, something unseen in the Winged One’s population. A sense of foreboding rubbed against her soul as she noticed the child’s hair, but she delivered the cleaned baby to his parents without a word.
The mother was the fairest Winged One in the capital. Even in the standard white hospital robes she looked like a queen. Her soft, sky blue wings wrapped around her and her mate as she held her child. Sapphire eyes grew a little warmer as she looked at her offspring. With a smile, she started to sing a short little welcoming hymn, her velvety voice embracing the child like another blanket. It was not the first or the last time the Deliverer heard her sing; but it would always be the occasion she remembered. Never had the emotions in the High Singer’s voice seemed so raw, though they were always potent. Aurel could not have stolen the hearts of the people from the priestess of Professio otherwise.
The father had strong facial features, and sharp gray-blue eyes. He sat next to his mate, forgetting to adjust the folds of his formal indigo robe to prevent wrinkles. His pure white wings almost glowed in the sun’s light, making the Deliverer see spots. Most Winged Ones had tints at the ends of their feathers, an undesired trait that appeared with the mating of a One With Fur and a Winged One. His wings were actually the deciding factor in his elevation to High Defender by the population -- second only to the High Priest in terms of power.
The Deliverer watched the two noble beings take inventory of the child: counting fingers, toes, looking into his eyes, examining the area between his shoulder blades where his wings would grow when he matured. These actions made them seem more real to the Deliverer, more like the parents of her own class. She walked over to the window to give them some privacy.
As the child started to suckle at his mother’s breast, the Deliverer saw a large wave of sand spiral up from the Western Desert. It climbed through the air like a possessed thing trying to reach the sun. For the first time in two thousand years it succeeded, casting a reddish taint on all that the sun touched. In that supernatural light, the High Protector’s pure white wings took on the colour of blood, and his son’s dark eyes reflected nothing.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
The child became the greatest athlete among his peers, able to run and jump as if he already possessed wings at five years of age. His singing abilities were above average, but he could never quite master the dexterous movements required to play the more delicate instruments. Following tradition, his father trained him in the art of fighting once the boy reached his sixth birthday. He was not disappointed. The child seemed to have an inborn talent for swordplay, archery, and hand-to-hand combat.
Like every other boy his age, he was sent to Triumphus with instructions to bring back one of the obsidian cores planted on the other side of the mountain by the elders. His father flew him past Lux, pointing out various mines as he did so, and set Addo down at Triumphus’ base. Leaving his son with only a packsack containing some food, a map, and a sling, the High Defender returned to Altus Terra.
After a day of walking, he reached an unmapped pass. The prospect of finding undiscovered land appealed to his ego, so he decided to follow the pass. As he walked along the edge of the mountain he did not see the fault line, a portion of rock that was simply waiting for something small to come along and upset its precarious balance.
Addo Verum panicked as he felt the world shift under his feet, throwing him over the side. The wind tore through his hair, deafening him to everything but his own screams. Through a haze of tears, he could see a shallow river below him, sharp rocks sticking out from its bed. These were shards of Triumphus that had fallen in the recent past, waiting to be carried away in the next flood.
It was then that he felt the Change take over him: a hot surge of energy in the core of his being. The area between shoulder blades started to itch as bones lengthened, rubbing insistently against skin and tissue. His screaming intensified when something broke through his skin, sending a spray of blood into the air.
Instinctively, he spread his half-grown wings, angling away from the cliff-face and the still-falling rocks. At first, the small wet wings were inefficient; the air smashed against the hard feathers, sending reverberating shocks through his system. As wet feathers fell away and his wings continued to grow, Addo thought he was going to pass out.
He did not, and soon he had a wingspan equivalent to twice his height. He was still falling, but not very fast; his light bones and his wings were resisting gravity’s pull with increasing efficiency.
Dry feathers finally replaced wet ones, and Addo Verum started to fly. Instead of screaming in pain and terror; he hollered in exhilaration, finally understanding all the songs of his people. When he sang, it was without proper words, but his voice ranged from the earth to the heavens. Birds joined his chorus, and laughter leaked into his song. Had another Winged One been present, he or she would have fallen in love with the dark-haired youth immediately.
Eventually, the adrenaline wore off and he had to struggle with his body to stay aloft. He spotted a grassy plateau nearby and swooped down tried to land gracefully. He failed miserably, almost smashing into a nearby boulder; but the scrapes on his arms and legs weren’t serious enough to break his spirit. Collapsing onto the soft grass, the fifteen-year-old fell asleep to the sounds of grass whispering in the breeze and gurgling water.
When he woke up, the sun was rising. Blearily rubbing his face with his half-torn cotton shirt, he took a closer look at his surroundings. There was a small stream at his feet, which explained why they felt wet, and a wall of gray stone to his left. His surroundings were all but forgotten when Addo saw what first appeared to be a clump of rocks. Then, he recognized the obsidian cores.
He took one of the shiny black rocks from the pile, an orb about the size of his head, and almost dropped it. It must have been at least fifteen pounds! With a curse, he placed it in the packsack and felt the straps grow taut as he held it in front of him. He stood there for a moment, just staring into a piece of the earth’s heart, utterly mesmerized. Grinning madly, he ran off the edge of the cliff, wings already poised for flight. The exhilaration was as potent as the first time, and he worked his wings furiously to accommodate the extra weight.
He saw something glowing in a crevice near Lux’s river mouth. Shifting the angle of his wings, he went to investigate. He managed to land on a nearby boulder without losing his balance this time. It was almost as if he had always had wings.
The glowing object was a crystalline orb mounted proudly on a pedestal of purple quartz. It pulsed with a regular beat, its light bouncing off the water.
Instinct told him to leave it alone, a feeling in the back of his mind that spoke of red sands and blazing heat, of screams and high winds. However, the orb seemed to call to him, its light banishing his hesitation. He thought of how his luck seemed to always bring him to safety and his pride grew, overpowering his sense of caution.
The world seemed to darken as he picked it up, but he didn’t notice. He was completely enchanted. The light extended from the orb into his body, making him glow like something from another world. Reluctantly, he put the orb into the packsack next to the obsidian core, knowing that he needed to leave this place. He started to fly and did not notice the shadowed sun.
Addo Verum managed to fly halfway to the city’s core before he yielded to the hunger in his stomach. Recognizing the statue of Alexis the Defender, he chose to land in front the fountain it loomed over. Children paused in the middle of jumping contests and games of skip-rope to point out flecks of blood on his clothes and skin. The adults who supervised them barely managed to stop them from swarming around Addo Verum. They knew what the symbol embroidered on his packsack meant. The orb lying in the palm of a hand represented his task, and no one was permitted to talk to him until it was complete.
That did not stop him from showing off a little as he left. He wanted to do a loop de loop, but the weight of the packsack made him decide not to. Instead, he started singing the usual hymn children sang for the jumping game, increasing the pace of the song as the children joined him. He pranced around the fountain three times, wings on full display, before he started to sprint. Children screeched as he started to fly at the apex of his jump, running behind him and jumping enthusiastically until he was out of their sight.
With a smile on his face, he headed for the tower of the Defenders, his father’s seat of power. It was the tallest building in Altus Terra, with a giant balcony six stories above street-level. Great windows adorned its turrets and indigo banners flapped in the wind, all of them with the symbol of a diving hawk embroidered in gold.
Addo landed on the balcony and walked into the Inner Sanctum. The shocked faces of the Winged Ones in the tower of the Defenders appealed to him, and he started to strut, wings fully extended to catch even more stares. The blue-robed Winged Ones stared at his new wings, a white more pure than his father’s despite specks of dried blood. He ran up to his father and gave the man an enthusiastic hug. When he felt his father’s arms around his shoulders, he looked up, beaming.
“I have brought my stone of passage.” He intoned the ritualistic words with a smile, removing the obsidian core from his packsack. Kneeling, he presented it to his father, the High Defender. “By the seven gods whose names have been given to the almighty mountains, I present the core of Triumphus to you.”
“I, the High Defender of Altus Terra, the capital of the Green Lands, accept this core in the name of the seven gods who protect us all. Rise, son of Altus Terra, and tell us of your journey.”
And so the child called Addo Verum, the first fifteen-year old to grow wings in the history of the Winged Ones, spoke of his journey, leaving nothing out. His elders seemed impressed until he spoke of the orb; then their faces spoke only of horror. It was only when he removed it from his pouch that he noticed their expressions. “What’s wrong?” he asked; dread smothering the pride he felt at his elders’ surprise.
“That is the orb of Anima, the soul of this land. It is what makes the plants grow and the water run into our wells without spoiling.” The High Defender’s tone of voice was that of a man whose life had just been destroyed. “You have taken the life of the land from its place.”
Addo Verum backed away from the High Defender, fear destroying his self-confidence making his face look years younger, vulnerable to everything. His wings wrapped around his body, making an isolating cocoon. “I’ll put it back,” he said fearfully, his usual melodious voice breaking into shards of dissonance. “I’ll go right now!”
Death used his sire’s face to look at him.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
Addo Verum did not know what happened after his father sent for the High Priest, but he woke up on a lumpy cot. Groaning, he opened his eyes. His vision blurred for a moment as nausea hit him, and he closed his eyes.
The scent of musty air penetrated the fog in his head, confusing him. Every building in Altus Terra had great air circulation and the only place that did not was-
“…the dungeon.” His throat was so dry it hurt to speak. Addo opened his eyes again, and what he saw confirmed his theory. He was in a room with bare gray walls on three sides and a door made of widely spaced iron bars on the fourth. There were no windows in sight, only a series of flickering torches every six feet.
The High Defender was on the other side of the door, looking more downtrodden than Addo Verum had ever seen. His wings seemed to droop, the longer feathers almost brushing the floor as he paced, and there were wrinkles in his usually pristine robes. His father’s eyes seemed more gray than blue in the torchlight. “You’re awake.”
“Daddy?” the boy croaked. “What’s going on? Did they bring the orb of Anima back?”
“They tried.” The High Defender’s wings seemed to droop even more as he spoke. He paused for a moment before continuing, trying to find the right words and knowing that there were none. “But its resting place no longer exists. The second mouth of the Great River collapsed seconds after they arrived. To be precise, the whole side of the mountain collapsed. We lost five Defenders… and your mother lost her voice. She and the priestess of Professio were praying as the Defenders helped the High Priest walk. A piece of debris fell and hit her throat. She’s still alive and they’re treating her in the medical wing.”
“It’s my fault for not telling you about the orb,” his father continued, meeting his son’s eyes, trying to take the boy’s guilt away. He was only a child; he did not need to deal with the guilt of a grown man. “I was going to tell you in a few years when you grew your wings, when you could actually get there. I’m sorry.” The High Defender’s voice wavered, his façade crumbling despite his best effort.
“Torel,” a voice called from the right, someplace beyond Addo Verum’s line of sight. “It’s time to go.”
“I know.” The High Defender took one last look at his son and walked away. He held his back straight and kept his chin high. He had made his choice.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
Addo Verum woke from a nightmare full of death and blood with a start. Tears were still running down his face when he heard someone walk up a few minutes later. It was a Defender he had never seen before. “Where’s my father?”
“Same place as your mother.” The Defender unlocked the door to the cell and started to lead the boy away, refusing to say anything else.
It was only when he saw his father’s second-in-command dressed in the robes of the High Defender that he understood what had happened. “Why?” He started to sob once again, barely able to stand. “Where are they?”
“She would not continue on without her voice and he wanted to spare you. It did not work.” Harsh gray eyes stared down at him. The boy flinched as he felt a wave of hate from the Defenders around him. “The people believe that the gods will only be appeased by the blood of he who brought this upon us,” the man continued, extending his grayish-black wings to their full width. “You made me sacrifice Torel to save your stupid hide. I did not want to go against his last wish but the people leave me no choice. They want your blood or they’ll kill us all, and themselves too, most likely.”
Before the boy could think of anything to say in his defense, two guards grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back as another bound his wings together. Two other defenders secured his ankles, rendering him helpless. The High Defender led the procession to the balcony, wings fully extended and gleaming in the sun. They flew towards Lux, ignoring the boy’s pleas and his tears. People looked out the window, unaccustomed to hearing a young child screaming for mercy. When they saw the High Defender in full uniform, an indigo robe made of the finest wool found in the Green Lands, they closed their windows and their hearts.
Soon, Addo Verum found himself kneeling on a boulder, staring at the remaining mouth of the Great River. The water flowing from Lux seemed to have lost something, looking flat and sickly somehow. The High Defender then started to chant a prayer of forgiveness, unsheathing the ceremonial dagger that they used to slay lesser beasts.
And then he slit the child’s throat with it.
The water absorbed the child’s lifeblood, sweeping it downstream. The red stain remained visible through the High Defender’s prayer, a testament to his sacrifice. As he sheathed the blade, a drop of innocent blood dropped onto the orb of Anima.
In the desert, the winds started to blow.
~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~%~
As it turned out, the five Defenders, Addo Verum and his parents were the lucky ones.
Those With Fur huddled in the homes as devastating winds from the West blew through Altus Terra. Banners were ripped from their anchors, shredded within seconds. A small group of Defenders returning from the North were ensnared by the red winds, which tore their wings from their bodies. Blood, feathers, severed wings, and bodies fell from the crimson sky. The singing in the capital became screams of terror and pain as the western winds tore through the city, blowing through the towers, using windows to gain access to the space within. Most of the houses in Altus Terra fell that day, either blown down by the powerful winds or knocked down by other towers. Many Winged Ones were crushed under the stone; other’s wings were ripped away before they died with sand the colour of blood in their lungs.
The shinning population Fell on that day. Their soaring songs were lost to the winds, their poems and other stories destroyed as the people able to read them were killed. The name Altus Terra was lost along with the true name of its population.
By the time that Those With Fur learned the art of writing, the tales of what had happened had been forgotten, replaced by the deeds of the living.