Let Me Fly Free (5 page)

I don’t know the name of the dead sprite
before me, only that he was a husband and father with three young
children. I’ve seen them before, going about their day, my eyes
drawn to their distinctive magenta hair; they’re one of many sprite
families who live in the caves along Kristakai’s northern
border.

Now the father lies sprawled on the floor of
their home with his lilac-toned skin drained to a dull gray and his
shimmering silver wings broken upon his back.

If he were alive and standing, he would
probably come up to my shoulder, which is tall for a sprite. Though
I know his life is no more or less important than that of the frog
that died in my hands, seeing him with his limbs ripped off—an arm
torn from its socket, a leg chewed off at the thigh—shakes me far
more. His golden eyes remain open but lifeless, frozen in an
expression of shock.

Elaia!
Cyim’s voice grows louder in my mind, and his hooves suddenly
clack against the cave’s stone floor as he approaches. I don’t know
if he arrived before or after I did, nor could I count how many
moments I spent ogling the scene of death. I seem to be frozen in
place, my eyes fixed on that which he does not want me to see. I
dare not picture what kind of monstrosity could have caused such
horror.

“
Where are the others?” I
wonder aloud, my voice barely a whisper. A chill streams through me
and I cast my eyes around the cave dwelling, hoping to find the
rest of the family standing behind me or obscured by a shadow. But
all I see are the simple wood furnishings and still-burning torches
embedded in the walls.

My gaze falls upon Cyim,
who gives me a stern look.
You should not
be here
, he says.

I take a step toward him. “Where’s the rest
of the family?”

Cyim lowers his gaze and bows his head, and
I sense his profound sorrow as though it had landed in my own
heart. Upon realizing the meaning behind that deep well of
melancholy, I soon feel it myself. More lives have been ripped out
of our homeland, and whatever took them left nothing behind but the
torn body by the hearth.

A whole family—gone.
I shake my head. Such atrocities belong to the
human world; they’re not supposed to be possible here. Nothing bad
happens in Kristakai—not ever. Until today.

Fear not, my child.
Cyim’s calming voice slips into my
consciousness.
We will find and destroy
the beast.

“
Do you know what did
this?” I ask.

We cannot yet be
certain
, he replies.

I bite the inside of my cheek. The unicorns
are supposed to be as all-knowing as any creature other than the
Divinity Herself can be, and Cyim already convened with the others.
If he still doesn’t know what’s attacking our land, that means the
beast’s identity does not lie within their collective
knowledge.

I wonder abruptly if the centuries they
spent safeguarding an already safe domain has made them complacent.
They may be immortal, but they are not infallible, and any memory
left neglected long enough can wither.

The lack of information makes my mind itch.
I want to know more—I want to be able to name this monster and know
what it looks like. If it were a thing I could picture instead of a
formless shadow in my head, it might not seem so terrifying. The
mystery of it, though, looms over my mind like nothing else ever
has.

“
Perhaps the answer lies
outside Kristakai,” I murmur.

That is
possible
. Cyim gives a slight nod.
But you must go from here. This is not a place
you ought to be.
With his nose, he gives
me a slight nudge toward the cave’s round entryway, through which
the waning light spills in golden tints.

I grimace. He’s trying to protect me, like
he always does. To cover my eyes and tell me not to look because
I’m too delicate to handle anything awful. But I’m not a little
girl anymore, and I’m stronger than he gives me credit for. I start
to say so, then glimpse a spot of pure white, accented by brilliant
flashes of silver, approaching through the forest outside. Though
distance and the trees obscure her form, it doesn’t take much to
recognize Amdyth—the unicorn who created Kiri. Her gleaming mane
and tail rival the glory of the moon, and her pristine coat seems
to reflect all the light of the stars. No other creature in
Kristakai glows as she does.

But the sense of awe I usually experience in
her presence is absent as she draws closer. Instead, indignation
fills my chest.

“
Why must I leave when
others are arriving?” I put my hands on my hips. “What could Amdyth
offer that you did not already glean? I was the one who discovered
the creature’s presence, after all. Perhaps I could help you find a
clue to its identity.”

These are matters beyond
your knowing.
Cyim’s voice in my head
carries infinite patience, yet it makes my irritation spark
brighter. I’m sick of being coddled and told to let superior beings
take care of everything.

“
So
let
me know!” I turn defiantly away
from the entryway, catching the sprite’s mangled body in the edge
of my vision. The sight casts a net around my gaze and drags it
down to the carnage, and I once again find myself unable to look
away. Sprites and nymphs are not so different; even our abilities
are similar. Like us, sprites draw their power and life forces from
nature, and the magic they’re capable of is no weaker than
ours.

Without the shock I felt
upon arriving, a new realization seizes me in its chilling grasp.
“That could have been me.” My body threatens to start trembling
again, and I clench my fists tight. “That could have been
any
of us, and we would
not even have known what attacked, nor had any way of defending
ourselves.”

Calm yourself.
Cyim sounds infuriatingly placid.
While these are troubling times, such fear and
panic—

“
I have the right to
panic!” I snap, scowling. “There’s a beast prowling these woods,
and I can’t even run away, thanks to laws created millennia before
I was born!”

Cyim meets my gaze, and
though his amber eyes usually hold the prudence of his many years,
all I can see right now is a stifling authority that keeps holding
me back.
We will protect
you
, he says, but for the first time, I
find no comfort in the power of his kind.

“
How?” I demand. “You don’t
even know what’s happening! And I don’t want protection—I want
answers. I want to know what you know, and I want to be allowed to
search for them as you are doing.”

I appreciate your desire to
help, but as I said before, this is beyond you.
The continued serenity in Cyim’s voice seems condescending,
and I feel my scowl deepening. Though I know as well as anyone that
the unicorns are greater than the rest of us, with their Celestial
nature and years of wisdom, I can no longer accept that they are
simply above me. I may be Terrestrial, and the time I’ve spent
alive may be but a blink of an eye to an immortal, but I am still
an intelligent being in my own right, and I will not be talked down
to, even by the one who created me.

Before I can retort, a shrill cry pierces
the air. Startled, I whirl to find Kiri standing in the cave’s
entryway beside Amdyth, who pauses just outside and turns to face
her. Though I cannot hear the psychic words the unicorn is speaking
to my lover, the look in her deep violet eyes speak of tranquility,
and I can almost hear her telling Kiri to calm down.

Certain that Kiri screamed for the same
reason I did when I arrived, I wonder how the blazes anyone is
supposed to be calm in a time like this. The unicorns’ eternal
placidity once brought me comfort, but now it makes me want to hurl
fireballs at the walls. Perhaps then they’d understand that my fury
is real—and that I’m no delicate butterfly in need of
shielding.

Kiri, on the other hand, seems to be just
that. Despite Amdyth’s apparent efforts to calm her, she buries her
face in her hands and begins sobbing. Maybe I was wrong about that
quiet strength I perceived in her.

For a moment, I simply stand there watching,
uncertain about what to do. I’ve never excelled at being kind,
though that doesn’t mean I lack sympathy. On the contrary, the
sight of Kiri’s tears causes the anger to drain from me, and turns
my thoughts toward her and her alone. She’s clearly in great
distress, and I feel helpless to do anything about it, despite a
deep-seated desire to take away her sorrow.

She shouldn’t be
here.
Cyim’s voice resonates in my
head.
Neither should you. Take her and
go.

“
Where?” I turn to face
him. “There’s no place that’s safe, and we’re trapped within these
borders.”

I promise, I will not rest
until this danger is eliminated, and you are all safe.
Though Cyim’s words are strong, they bring me no
comfort. Especially since he did not answer my question.

“
We should be able to flee
Kristakai like everyone else. The unicorns must have the power to
break whatever magic binds us here. You should release us, instead
of keeping us in a cage with a monster!”

Matters are more complex
than you understand
. Cyim’s words are
stern this time, and I can tell he’s not happy with me for
arguing.
Now is not the time to discuss
them.

I start to respond, then feel a soft hand
take mine.

“
Please, Elaia.” Kiri looks
up at me, her tears making her pale blue eyes gleam like frost.
“Let’s not linger in this place of horror.”

Though I want to continue arguing, I realize
I’ve run out of things to say. As much as I wish I could, I’m not
going to persuade Cyim to lift an enchantment that’s stood for
thousands of years. He has no reason to listen to me. Thinking that
makes me want to flame bright and set everything around me on fire
for no reason other than to prove that I can. And that I’m not
helpless, as they would have me believe. But a grounded whisper in
my mind tells me that such histrionics will accomplish nothing, and
that I should go before I do something I will come to regret.

Also, despite what I told Cyim, I’m not sure
if there’s actually anything I could do here to help find the
monster. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why I was so intent on
staying in the first place, other than because I hated being told
that I couldn’t.

My time would be better spent seeking
answers, searching for a way to gain knowledge even the unicorns
lack.

Another tear escapes Kiri’s
eye, and I place my hand on her silky cheek and brush it away.
Seeing her so distraught pains me.
She’s
not as strong as I am
, I recall. If the
bloody sight in the cave shook me, it must have come close to
wrecking her. I may not need protecting, but she does, and she’s
such a lovely, sweet girl that I don’t need to be in love with her
to think,
I’d do anything to end her
grief.

So, with that desire in my
heart and reason nudging me from within, I let her lead me away in
silence. The soft grass coating the forest floor barely rustles as
we pad through the forest, though I don’t know where we’re
going.
There’s no place that’s safe, and
we’re trapped within these borders.
The
thought echoes through my head with each aimless step we take, and
it’s soon joined by Kiri’s earlier words:
There’s no justice in holding us to an agreement made so long
ago.

If ever there were a time to argue that,
it’s now, when keeping us in Kristakai means endangering our lives.
Yet, instead of voicing the views I know she shares with me, Kiri
stood silent, then led me away.

I stop in my tracks and give her hand an
abrupt tug, pulling her to face me. “Why didn’t you say
anything?”

She knits her slender brows. “What do you
mean?”

“
When I was telling Cyim
that the unicorns should release us from Kristakai, you did
nothing, yet I know you feel as I do. Why didn’t you speak
up?”

She gives me an arch, knowing look—one that
I recognize and find somewhat maddening. “It wouldn’t have made a
difference. Especially not now, when they’re focused on the
Infernal creature. Arguing would only have distracted them—and
accomplished nothing.” She lowers her eyelids, a look of shame
crossing her face. “But perhaps you’re right. I should have at
least made my views known.”

My irritation fades as I remind myself,
again, that Kiri’s a more fragile being than I am. I shake my head.
“I suppose one more voice would hardly have swayed Cyim when
neither he nor Amdyth nor any of the other unicorns trusts us to
make our own decisions.”

Kiri purses her lips.
“I
want
to
believe what our guardians have told us. I used to, and I miss that
certainty.” Then she brightens abruptly, as though struck by an
idea. “If the unicorns won’t tell us what’s going on, perhaps we
can find out ourselves.”

“
What do you mean?” I
ask.

“
The library.” She gestures
widely toward the sinking sun, indicating the direction in which
the library lies. “Those shelves contain volumes that date back to
the Age of Unicorns, to the days before Kristakai’s borders were
imposed. They could contain forgotten knowledge.”