The Unfinished Song (Book 5): Wing (29 page)

Now every step is twisted, upside down, backwards. I
dance, not with pleasure, or even with insolence, but to convince
my captor to spare my life one day more. To lead him closer to his
unnamed goal concerning the White Lady, which I can only imagine
must doom her along with me. And at the same time, dancing has
become this wretched, depraved thing, it has also become my only
hope of salvation, not of my own existence, but for the
resurrection of the Aelfae. If there is even the finger-pinch of a
chance that I could save my ancestress’ people from extinction, I
must snap it up. I must dance. But a part of me screams inside at
the thought. My dancing belongs to
me
, it is the one thing
that is all my own—and now it isn’t mine at all.

It’s
theirs
.

It belongs to those I must help.

Or it will belong to those I must fight.

Either way, it isn’t
mine
anymore, mine alone
to cherish or squander, to hide or flaunt. Worse, I feel like even
I
am not mine anymore.

He’s making me
his
.

I almost gave myself away to a man wearing that face
once before. Almost. I couldn’t completely give myself to Kavio
because I did not know myself enough, or love myself enough, or
trust myself enough, to trust myself to him. That’s all that saved
me. That part I held back, that strength I didn’t know, that’s what
kept me together when Kavio tore me apart. He smashed me to pieces
when he smashed the marriage bowl at my feet. But I was stronger
than either of us knew.

I want to kill the man in black, to kill Umbral,
even though he wears Kavio’s face and it feels like I am killing
Kavio.

No.

The truth is I want to kill Umbral
because
it
feels like I am killing Kavio.

And this is the most upside down thing of all. The
thing that makes no sense, the thing that makes me hate myself.

I want to kill Kavio.

I tried so hard to forgive him, but I never could.
Even as I fall to my death, I still can’t forgive him.

I can’t forgive him for not loving me. I can’t
forgive him for not protecting me. I can’t forgive him for leaving
me.

I can’t forgive him for dying.

Dindi floated in blue.

She had no sensation of falling. If it were not for
the wind whistling through her clothes and hair, she would hardly
have believed she was falling at all.

The bird made from darkness had popped like a
bubble, just as the horse had. Dindi did not know if it had simply
fizzled out, or if Umbral’s seizure had released it from its bond
to the world.

She spotted Umbral. He fell parallel to her, a span
away. Whatever strange fit had overcome him had passed and she
watched him recover his awareness, followed by shock and then panic
as he realized he was falling. He reacted wildly, and the movement
made his whole body spin. He recovered and spread his arms and legs
out as far as possible to slow his fall.

Their eyes met as their bodies circled around each
other, floating ever gently down. They would die together.

He stretched forth his hands and drifted close
enough to clasp her in his arms.

“Spread your wings,” he said.

“What?” She was certain the roar of the wind had
distorted his words.

“Spread your wings!” he shouted. “If you don’t,
we’ll both die.”

“I don’t have any wings!”

“Yes, you do!”

“I do not!”

“Dindi, you are descended from Aelfae. You can
manifest wings!”

“I don’t know how!”

“Just…think about flying!”

All she could think about was falling.

“Wings, wings!” he shouted. “Pretend you’re a bird.
Spread your wings!”

She shut her eyes. She tried to imagine dancing a
tama
with an Aelfae role, only instead of a costume with
basketweave wings, she imagined real wings sprouting out the center
of her back. Her back tingled.

She opened her eyes, but they were still
falling.

“I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“Dindi, you did it! Look at you! You’re flying!”

Startled, she fluttered the two large feather
obtrusions at her back. To her shock, the things responded to her
will like limbs, though she still had her human legs. She still
clasped Umbral in her arms.

“Now try to catch the breeze to guide our fall,”
Umbral shouted in her ear.

“I’m trying!”

“Tack into the wind!”

“I’m trying!”

“To the left!”

“Will you be quiet so I can concentrate?”

He stopped shouting. Dindi focused on the wind. When
it felt right she tilted her body to let the wind slip under her
wings and slide her weight down an invisible funnel of air. The
ground still seemed to rush toward them too quickly. She caught
another breeze and lifted up again, to avoid a sharp bunch of
rocks.

“Too close! Too close!” shouted Umbral. He clutched
her like a drowning man.

When she saw a soft field of grass and snow, she
aimed for it.

Moments later, they both rolled across the icy
meadow. Umbral landed on his back, with Dindi sprawled across
him.

He grinned up at her. “Good job.”

She grinned back. “I’m amazed I had it in me.”

“I’m not.”

Something in the way he said it made her feel
self-conscious of her position. Reddening, she unpeeled herself
from across his chest. She could feel the wings, not heavy exactly,
but with a certain heft, at her back, changing her usual sense of
balance; but almost as soon as she became conscious of them, the
weight seemed to fold back into her normal stance.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“A few bruises. How are you?”

She shrugged. She reached to feel her spine. The
wings were gone.

“What did they look like?” she asked. “Like swan
wings?”

“Butterfly wings.”

“I still can’t believe it.”

“You must be the first person in your family since
your Aelfae ancestress to fly.”

She nodded, suddenly sad. Poor Mayara had yearned to
fly her whole life, and always been too afraid to dare.

Umbral misconstrued her melancholy. He stiffened,
and the warmth left his voice.

“Are you sorry you saved my life? Don’t waste your
regret. You had no choice. Without me, you never would have
discovered your wings.”

“Without you, I never would have fallen from the
sky.”

“True.” He cracked the barest smile. “We’ll call it
even.”

“What happened up there?”

“The shadow magic was not as strong as I expected.
The raven fell apart.”

“That’s all?”

“What else would there be?” He crossed his arms,
face stony.

“Nothing.”

They both let it drop. Umbral pointed to the
mountain peak towering over them. The top was oddly cloven, like a
goat foot.

“We fell just short of our goal, it seems. The
Orange Canyon tribehold, Cliffedge, is at the top of Orangehorn
Mountain, over Eagle’s Canyon—right there. Our best course is to
find a settlement and get directions from the locals.
Unfortunately, the paths to the summit are probably impassable
right now. Only wolves and fools travel the mountains on foot in
the winter.”

Finnadro woke feeling more alive than he had in a
week. The air tasted clean for the first time in days. The foul
magic lately tainting the air and earth had evaporated.

Umbral was gone.

Finnadro had missed his mark. His body had betrayed
him. If he had not been taken in by the false trail. If he had only
been able to force himself to keep going one more day. If only.

Fox crouched next to him. She placed a brace of
roasted birds in front of him without comment. Neither of them
talked while Finnadro devoured the birds.

“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” he said after
he’d licked the last bone clean.

“Your wolf friends caught up with you. They’re
around.”

“All the more reason.” Among wildlings, wolves and
the other shifters did not get on well.

“You’ll let those curs help you, but not us?”

Finnadro shrugged.

The work of retracing his steps until he found the
true trail was tedious and ate up more time. In his heart, though
he knew the trail was cold, he still felt frustrated when he
reached the edge of a swamp and the trail dried up completely.

Under a deliberate pile of sticks and grass,
Finnadro found symbols scratched in the dried mud: Lost Swan Clan,
Deathsworn, and a stick figure.

What did it mean?

He knew the Deathsworn had been here with Dindi, but
try as he might, he could not find any indication which direction
they had taken on their departure. He searched the campsite again,
for some clue, and found nothing. The wolfpack and Fox’s crew fared
no better. They sniffed out the whole area, but found nothing but
the path they had already followed and a trail to the lake.

Fox and Keen, the wolf, bickered.

“They took a boat,” said Fox, changing to human form
as she crouched at the water’s edge. “There’s no other
explanation.”

“Why would he bother?” asked Keen. “This puddle
isn’t that big. Besides, your friends haven’t found a trail on the
other side.”

“Neither have yours,” snapped Fox.

Keen shook his head. “I’m sorry, uncle. We can’t
smell any trace of them. It’s as if they just vanished from this
spot.”

Finnadro returned to the scratched symbols. The
third symbol looked like a dancer in the position of Flight. He
smacked fist into the dirt.

“That’s exactly what they did.”

How could Finnadro follow a trail that crossed into
the sky?

You will need wings
.

He knelt and clutched the Singing Bow.

“My Lady,” he murmured. “I need you. I am ready to
do things your way.”

They found a footpath, probably used by the sheep
drovers. The bean-thin, rocky track led up steep slopes and down
into crevices cut by swift, cold water. Passing through canyons
with striated rocks in a thousand shades of orange, it was easy to
see how these tribelands had acquired their name. It was a harsh
land, especially this time of year, caped in winter white, but it
teemed with life. The pines bore snow patiently. The ridges were
thick with the nests of eagles, with wild asses and big horn sheep.
Once they saw prints in the snow of a moose stalked by a mountain
lion.

The air on the slopes was thin but bracing. The
scent of fresh snow invigorated Umbral. The unsettling episode of
falling from the broken shadow raven felt unreal, and Umbral almost
convinced himself it had never happened, until he heard the voice
again.

You can’t kill her, Umbral. I won’t let
you
.

Umbral shook his head, as if he could shake away the
voice.

Dindi glanced at him oddly. No one had spoken out
loud. He scowled and hunkered under his hood, so she could not see
the struggle going on inside him.

You’re dead, Kavio
, Umbral retorted silently.
There’s nothing you can do about it.

Isn’t there?
mocked the voice.
Don’t be so
sure
.

It was a bad idea to talk back to the voice in his
head but it seemed to Umbral that the strands of Kavio’s memories
inside him were getting stronger. He was certain it had been Kavio
who had attacked him with some strange kind of fit, the convulsions
that had made Umbral lose control of the shadow bird. Kavio must
have known Dindi had wings and would survive, while Umbral, who did
not, would plunge to his death.

How could he escape the revenge of his nemesis if he
carried it inside him? How could he unknot Kavio’s memory from his
own memories? No matter how Umbral turned the problem around in his
mind, he could not find a solution. Why had Kavio’s memories not
dissolved like the others Umbral had swallowed? Why did he seem to
grow stronger with each passing day?

Umbral glanced sidelong at Dindi.

It was her fault, he was sure of it. She’d told him
that Kavio had not loved her, but Umbral didn’t believe that. Kavio
wouldn’t let go as long as Dindi still lived. Kavio’s threads were
as much anchored to Dindi as to Umbral. Only the strongest love
could survive death itself.

At first, they had enjoyed several clear days of
travel, but today a nasty wind had plagued them all morning. The
storm looked to grow only worse, so Umbral bent all his craft to
finding a clanhold where they could stay. Orange Canyon was a
populous tribe, but their clans were spread thinly over the
mountain range, which meant settlements were sparse. The drover
trails connecting them were long and often led to empty camps no
longer in use.

He could see the cloven peak of Orangehorn Mountain,
frustratingly near, yet impossibly far in the winter weather. All
the regular paths, both human and Deathsworn, were snowed over.
There was no way to reach the tribehold.

There
is
a way
,
whispered the unwanted thread of Kavio.
I
remember it
.

Tell me!
Umbral ordered Kavio.

Feed me.

Never!

Umbral clenched his fists, forcing the snake-like
thread of Kavio’s memory to retreat deeper into his Penumbra. The
last thing he wanted to do was strengthen Kavio’s memory.

At last, through the falling snow, he caught sight
of a few stone buildings in the valley over the next ridge. He
motioned to Dindi, and she nodded. They trudged toward it.

The clanhold was built in the typical tribal style
of Orange Canyon. One big, square wall surrounded dozens of log
cabins and sheepbooths. The buildings had tall, pointed roofs,
painted with orange stripes, prickled with horns from sheep and
other beasts. Warriors kept watch in a single boma built over the
gate in the log wall. One sounded a ram’s horn as soon as he
spotted the strangers.