Caprion's Wings (2 page)

"Rise," the man said
briefly.

Caprion straightened, wishing he had a
minute more to rest. The Madrigal was very tall, very thin. His
hair was long and billowing. Creases lined his face. His skin had a
slight glow about it, a white sheen hardly visible to the eyes. As
Harpies aged, they eventually dissolved into light; his glow was an
indicator of his years. Madrigals lived longer than most. Some said
that he was a thousand years or older. He had lived before the War
of the Races―before their current Matriarch even came to
power.

His wings, for that moment, remained
hidden. The most powerful Harpies had the ability to hide or
display their wings at will. Caprion glimpsed the Madrigal’s only
once, years ago at the One Star’s Dawning, the first day of Spring.
Fully manifested, his wings were so large, so bright, that Caprion
had been forced to turn his eyes away or else go blind.

"I'm sorry-" Caprion
started.

"No time to speak," the Madrigal said.
"We shall discuss it when you are done. The hour has grown late.
You must sing before the sky changes further. Have you prepared
your Song?"

Caprion nodded. Last year,
the Madrigal suggested he practice a new Song since his old one was
not working. It was a huge embarrassment. His mother hadn't spoken
to him for weeks, muttering always to herself,
"I taught him to sing well. He knows how to use his voice.
What is wrong with my boy?"
She prayed to
the God of Light over and over again. Finally Caprion left the
house, moving into the novice district where the wingless
fledglings resided. He couldn't stand to hear her pray anymore. He
couldn't even look at her face.

He entered the outer halls of the
Singing Chamber. Unlike the rest of the city, the hall around the
chamber was built of thick granite. The rock had to be dense and
heavy to keep extraneous noise from interfering with the Singing.
Usually the halls were full of wingless fledglings practicing their
Songs, learning about the sacred bond between Harpy and star. But
this morning the halls were silent. Eerily so.

Caprion sighed. He had a feeling the
Madrigal requested it. Probably to help him concentrate, but it
only reminded him that he was different―close to an outcast. All of
his friends had gained their wings and moved on to other pursuits,
becoming soldiers, medics, song-casters, and architects. Some were
already expecting their firstborn children. A Harpy's life was
long, but only if one found their wings. Otherwise, he'd be lucky
to last a few decades. His days of childhood were almost over; once
he finished developing into an adult, it would be too
late.

The Madrigal led him without ceremony
to the very end of the hall, where a tall statue of the God of
Light stood. The statue was carved of white marble and stood more
than fifteen feet high. The God of Light's face was beautifully
masculine, tilted upward toward the sky. In one hand, he held a
long scepter raised slightly above his head, the symbol of a sun
perched at its top: the One Star, a sign of His strength. It was
thought that the God of Light carried the sun across the sky on a
mighty scepter. In the other hand, the statue held a long stone
sword.

A metal tuning fork was placed on a
dish before the statue. Caprion knelt on the ground before it,
bowing his head in respect. The Madrigal picked up the fork and
struck it firmly on the side of the dish. A loud, pure tone
resonated from the metal, echoing around the empty halls. Then he
turned and held it above Caprion's head.

Caprion could feel the
vibrations resonate off his skin like a small shower of rain.
"
May His light shine upon you, may His
voice speak your name,”
the Madrigal
prayed. "
May the shadows flee, may the
mind know peace, may the heart speak clearly.
” He struck the tuning fork one last time.
“God of Light, we ask that you listen, that you
accept this Song as an offering. Show your son, Le'Nasir Caprion,
his star.
" He struck the fork one last
time, its tone resounding off of the vaulted ceiling.

Caprion felt the pure vibration in his
bones. His skin tingled. He whispered his own prayer to the One
Star, hoping he would be heard.

The sound faded. Caprion climbed to
his feet somberly. Contrary to the Madrigal's prayer, anxiety
clamped down on his stomach. After this Singing, he would no longer
be a child. The magic would fade from his body and he would be too
old to find his star.

The Madrigal led him behind the statue
to a stone archway. A long, dark corridor sloped downward through
the rock. This hall would lead him to the Singing
Chamber.

“Remove your robes,” the Madrigal
ordered.

Caprion slipped the smooth silk from
his pale body. He was young and strong from daily sword practice,
his muscles taut and defined, though he had yet to reach the width
and height of a fully-grown Harpy. He bowed one last time to the
Madrigal, then started down the long hallway.

* * *

Carved completely of sunstone, the
Singing Chamber formed a perfect bowl scooped from the earth. Of
the six races, only Harpies could use the sunstones to enhance
their magic. Before the War of the Races, the Harpies used the
stones to create advanced technology: great floating ships,
long-ranged weaponry, elevators, locks, and impenetrable shields.
But all of that ended with the fall of Aerobourne. The Harpy race
lay scattered across the mainland, much of their knowledge lost,
with only this shred of their great heritage remaining.

After entering the Singing Chamber,
Caprion slid the stone door shut. The door fit perfectly into the
rock; it was almost indistinguishable from the wall. The One Star
shone strongly above him, close to high noon, and the floor of the
chamber radiated warmth.

He walked across the wide base of the
bowl—hundreds of yards in length, the size of a coliseum. He paused
at its center, the very lowest point. The floor had a slight
indentation from the countless Harpies who had stood there before
him.

He straightened his back and filled
his lungs with sweet, fresh air. He felt his skin prickle. Warmth
spread through his belly and lungs, pooling with the magic of his
voice. He drew the Song from deep within himself, beginning at his
solar plexus, then flowing up through his chest and throat like a
bubbling mountain stream. The voice was the cornerstone of Harpy
magic―not their wings, but their ability to Sing and manipulate
nature through sound.

The aria burst from him in a warm
alto, lowering and rising, loosening his vocal chords. The wave of
sound curled through the bowl of the Chamber, spreading outward
like a ring of water. Vibrations followed in its wake, causing the
ground to tremble and clouds of dust to scatter into the air. And
as the Song spread, Caprion felt himself travel with it. His mind
and heart joined the music and were carried outward and upward to
the sky. The melody was bolder than his last attempt: stronger,
eager, and insistent. He paused at the end of the first refrain,
pulled in another massive breath, and continued. The Song didn’t
just rise from his throat, it also poured through his entire body.
He became part of it, completely consumed.

Chapter 2

He stood at Fury Rock, but the stars
were gone. The wind remained cautiously still. Stiff grass crunched
beneath his feet. Frost.

His eyes searched the sky for any kind
of light. Where were his wings? His star? Impenetrable darkness
greeted him. It stood like a solid thing, filled with unknowable
intention—a black curtain concealing some lethal, biding presence.
And he, alone on the ridge.

The sight struck him deeply. Here, on
the rock, his star had vanished. He had nothing left to
find.

Your kind is dying,
a voice spoke. It seeped up beneath his
boots.

He looked down at the earth with
uncertainty, crushing more grass.

Little lights, slowly
fading away....Even stars must die....

Caprion stepped back, alarmed. “Who
are you?” he called, searching the heavy, suffocating
blackness.

I will bring an end to
your kind.

The voice held a threatening edge,
almost mocking. The hair prickled on the back of Caprion’s neck.
His eyes searched blindly, gazing over the cliff at his feet. No
ocean, no bottom―nothing.

"How are you speaking to me?" he
demanded, trying not to sound as fearful as he felt.

The real question,
fledgling, is why you can hear me. I have been speaking a long
time, but Harpies are not good listeners.

"You..." Caprion turned,
searching the ground, the sky. His eyes widened, then narrowed,
unable to pierce the darkness. He took a deep breath and tried to
think logically. Somehow, this voice had blocked him from his
star.
It is evil,
he thought. He felt frightened, but his anger rose to hide
it. He would not give up so easily. "You're of the Dark God!" he
called out, certain of his words. “What do you want with
me?”

No response. He felt like he was being
watched. Caprion knelt, putting his hand to the ground where the
voice seemed to emanate. “Why are you here?” he
repeated.

Find me, and I will show
you.

He frowned. “Where?”

Find me...down, down in
the earth....

* * *

Caprion's eyes snapped open. He lay on
his back; he didn’t remember falling. An orange sunset lit the sky.
His throat felt parched, his skin burned. How much time had
passed?

Across the bowl, he heard the slide of
a stone door. He sat up slowly, his head throbbing, then turned to
face it. The sunstone had dimmed with the setting sun, and he
easily made out the Madrigal's blue robes. The old man stood next
to the door, a thin figure in the distance, his hands clasped
before him, waiting.

Caprion climbed to his
sore feet.
My feet.
He looked down at the ground, then glanced over his shoulder,
his heart sinking like a rock.
No wings.
No flight.
His Song hadn’t taken him to
the realm of starlight and sound. No, he had been filled with
darkness, like the pit of a grave.

I failed.
The thought crashed over him. He staggered under
its weight, hardly able to breathe. He felt his dreams shatter, his
last thread of hope torn away.
I will
remain wingless forever
. He couldn’t truly
believe it.

Leaving the Singing Chamber felt like
the longest walk of his life. He approached the Madrigal
reluctantly, his feet as heavy as stone, his shoulders slumped,
head bowed. He couldn't meet the man's eyes. As he passed, the
Madrigal's gaze followed him, but no words were spoken, no hand
offered in comfort.

They entered the granite halls.
Caprion paused to gather his robes and dress himself. The Madrigal
joined him as soon as he tied his belt. The old man stood before
him, blocking his path to the exit.

Caprion dropped his eyes, staring
resolutely at the floor. He felt like an empty shell. “I've let you
down,” he murmured. “I...I tried my best.”

"You fell," the Madrigal said
abruptly.

Caprion blinked and glanced up.
“What?”

The Madrigal had a grim look on his
face, which slowly softened in thought. “You collapsed. I saw you.
Your mind did not travel upon waves of sound, but sank to somewhere
else. What happened?”

Caprion stared in surprise. After a
speechless moment, he muttered, “I was at Fury Rock. There
was...blackness.” He hesitated before mentioning the voice. What
would the Madrigal think? If the Dark God had spoken to him, then
it might be interpreted as a bad omen. A sure sign that the God of
Light had abandoned him; that he would never receive his
wings.

"Speak to Florentine," the Madrigal
finally said. "A heaviness taints your Song. Your voice wavers,
your pitch falls flat; you’re not harmonizing with your star. It
could be lack of clarity, a curse, or even a spell from one of the
Unnamed. Unusual, but such things exist. See Florentine tomorrow
and perhaps she can get to the bottom of it."

Caprion frowned. “Then…then there is a
chance I could still reach my star?”

The Madrigal gazed at him solemnly. “I
can’t give you false hope. You are almost an adult and the chance
is slim, but we must do everything we can.” He paused thoughtfully.
“I’ve known your family for generations. Your mother’s bloodline is
strong. You have a Matriarch in your mother’s line, do you not? A
great-grandmother?”

Caprion nodded, feeling a sense of
pride, then an even stronger sense of failure.

The Madrigal rested a hand briefly on
his shoulder. “Your bloodline is strong,” he repeated. “Speak to
Florentine. Something is troubling your mind. Perhaps you can clear
it. We could always try an uncharted Singing.”

Caprion nodded numbly. Florentine was
a soothsayer and a fortune teller who also happened to be excellent
at Resonating. She could detect imperfections in the aura by sound.
All Harpies carried an aura of light around their physical bodies
that caused sound vibrations in the air. She would inspect the
energy around his body, note any abnormalities, and hopefully
deduce their source.