Category: Free Fiction

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 5, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch5.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Derry’s back and he’s got something important to say.

Five

9th Blizzard

“I don’t know what you’re worrying about,” Mherrin told Mhysra three days later as they ambled through the Cathedral market. “You’ve got an official letter from Mam already, which should be enough for even the highest sticklers.”

“Except that sniffy clerk,” Mhysra grumbled, slapping her gloved hands together to generate some warmth. It had snowed heavily over night, making her doubly grateful that Cumulo now had other miryhls to huddle up with. “He wants a letter from my father.” And deep down she wanted one from him too. Surely after all these years of ignoring her, the earl could do this one small thing to secure her future happiness. He’d done it for Kilai.

“I can write you a letter from your father,” Mherrin assured her blithely, as though forging an earl’s seal was no small feat. “I’ve been practising.”

He sounded so pleased with himself that Mhysra had to smile. “What would your mother say?”

Mherrin grinned. “It was her idea in the first place.”

Knowing she should be shocked, but unable to summon up the energy, Mhysra smiled wanly. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Forgery carried heavy penalties, since it was ever-so-slightly illegal.

“We won’t get caught,” he said confidently. “And it’ll save you from banging your head against that brick wall. You know he’ll never change his mind.”

“I know,” she sighed, but she still couldn’t stop hoping. It was all so underhand. She hated starting out her Rift Rider career based on a lie, but what choice did she have?

“Well, well, look what the pyrefly dragged in.”

The cousins stopped as a young skysailor stepped into their path. Mhysra tilted her head back to stare up and up into a pair of merry brown eyes.

“Derry!”

The skysailor caught her in a great bear hug, while Mherrin slapped him on the shoulder and started asking questions, “When did you get back? Did you come on the Illuminai? Was my aunt with you?” Looping an arm around Mhysra’s waist, he hauled her backwards. “Let the man breathe, cuz.”

Laughing, Derrain ran a hand over his ruffled hair. “We got back this morning. Yes, I was on the Illuminai. And yes, the Countess is home.”

Mhysra shared a grimace with her cousin, before smiling at Derrain. Having essentially grown up aboard the Kilpapan fleet of skyships, from a nine-year-old cabin boy to his current seventeen-year-old midshipman, Derrain had been a regular part of Mhysra and Mherrin’s life, when he often sat out the Storm Season at Wrentheria. In fact, outside of her family and Cumulo, Derrain was probably Mhysra’s closest friend, always ready to lead or follow her into trouble.

“It’s good to see you, Derry.”

“You might not think that in a month or two.” He winked at Mherrin.

Mhysra frowned, knowing she was missing something. “A bit late for the Storm Season, aren’t you?” That autumnal month seemed far behind now, though the memory of the horsat obstacle course relay still made her smile. “Or has the captain finally seen sense and pensioned you off?”

“In a way,” Derrain agreed mildly, with an infuriating smile.

She narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?” At a chuckle from her cousin, she turned to glare at him instead. “What do you know, Mherrin?”

“Plenty,” Mherrin said, highly amused. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to Derrain and poked his broad chest. “Spill it.”

Catching her finger, he swung her arm wide, twirling her in the middle of the busy market square. “You know how you talked and talked and talked my ear off on the way from Wrentheria, about becoming a Rift Rider?”

Stumbling to a stop, she frowned. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Yes, you were,” the boys chorused.

“You weren’t even there!” Mhysra cried indignantly, elbowing her cousin in the ribs.

“But I can imagine,” he retorted, and gave a theatrical shudder. “Ai, Maegla, can I imagine.”

Chuckling, Derrain grabbed Mhysra’s hand before she could punch Mherrin, and spun her around again. “Ignore him, I’m talking. You need to know that all your words worked.”

Grabbing his hands, too dizzy to think straight, she shook her head. “What?”

“I’ve decided to become a Rider too.”

The world seemed to whirl again as she stared up at the familiar face of her friend. “But you’re a skysailor,” she said, confused. “And besides, enrolment closed days ago.”

“A marvellous thing messenger post,” he said lightly. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I – I am,” she stuttered, though in truth she felt shocked. “But I don’t understand. You love being a skysailor.”

Smiling again, Derrain shrugged. “I’ve been doing that for ten years now. I fancied a change, and like I said, all your talking worked on me. You made it sound so wonderful and I’ve always wanted to feel how a miryhl flies.”

Both cousins looked sceptical. Not once in all his years of staying at Wrentheria had Derrain shown the slightest interest in flying a miryhl. In truth, he’d often said he preferred his flight with a solid deck beneath him.

Derrain’s smile faded again and he ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. “I thought you could use a friend. I know you have Cumulo,” he added, before she could interrupt, “but he can’t be with you all the time, and well, this girl Rider thing is so new. I thought it wouldn’t be so bad if we did it together.”

A great rush of affection swelled inside her as she hugged the big, brawny sailor. Any miryhl he tried to ride would have to be enormous, but there would never be a truer-hearted Rider. “You’re the best, Derry.”

“Hey,” Mherrin protested mildly. “I thought that was me.”

“You’ve been usurped,” she told him with a sniff.

“Fickle female,” he grumbled, pretending to be offended, then shook Derrain’s hand. “I think you’re both fools, but good luck with it anyway. Who’d you get to recommend you?”

As the elite force across the Overworld, the Rift Riders had long been a stronghold for well-born second sons and rich families, but that didn’t mean it was entirely exclusive. Anyone could join, as long as they had a letter of recommendation from someone trustworthy. In times past these letters had come from sponsors, who paid for a young Rider’s education. These days taxes took care of that, but the recommendation tradition remained.

“Oh, the countess wrote one for me. She said it was a fine ambition for a young man, and wished me well of it.”

The cheerful words caused a physical ache in Mhysra’s chest. She was happy for Derrain, truly she was, but the idea that her mother could so easily wish him well, while denying her own daughter a similar chance at happiness, was hurtful.

“Where will you be staying in Nimbys?” Mherrin asked Derrain, their conversation carrying on oblivious to her pain. It pulsed afresh when her friend explained about the room the countess had given him in the Kilpapan mews. He’d be sharing with two footmen, but still, it was a roof over his head that enabled him to stay and attend the selection school.

It wasn’t much, Mhysra knew, just a small thing compared to everything the Kilpapans had, but the opportunity it represented was more than her parents had ever done for her.

“So I’ll be seeing you in a few days,” Derrain said, squeezing her shoulder. “Bright and early, outside the mews. Don’t be late. It won’t look good on our first day.”

He was so cheerful about it all, so happy, when he’d effectively changed his life for her. It wasn’t his fault how it had come about. All that really mattered was what he had done. So Mhysra dragged a smile up past the ache and nodded.

“Can’t wait.”

Saying something about shopping for new gear, Derrain gave them a wave and vanished amongst the milling crowds.

Taking a tight grip on her arm, Mherrin steered her in the opposite direction. “Breathe,” he ordered softly. “It’ll be all right, just breathe.”

“I’m fine,” she told him numbly, massaging the ache in her chest. Actually, now that she was moving again she was starting to feel better. When he urged her onto the crowded steps of the cathedral, she roused enough to shake him off. “Mherrin, I’m all right.”

“Your face went as blank as the clouds,” he muttered, pushing her down and crouching in front of her. Taking off his gloves, he patted her cheek for some unknown reason. “You even swayed. I thought you were going to faint.”

“Well, I didn’t,” she grumbled. “Thankfully. Poor Derry, he didn’t deserve that. I think he expected me to be more excited.” Groaning, she rested her forehead against her drawn up knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I’m a bad friend. I don’t deserve him.”

“He is better than you, I agree,” consoled her loving cousin, ruffling her curls. “But you’ll have plenty of time to make it up to him. Shame he’s already sent his letter in. It would have been much easier to copy his. Alas, our forgery will have to start from scratch. Whose signature is easier, the countess’ or the earl’s, do you know?”

Lifting her head, she peered at him through his curls. “You are a bad man.”

Grinning, he hauled her to her feet and linked his arm through hers. “And you don’t deserve me, either.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 4, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Roll up! Roll up! For the extra Wednesday update!

Marvel at Nimbys From Above! Gasp at the Antics of a Bumbling Pup! And shake your head at a certain grumpy lieutenant showing how not to make friends and influence miryhls.

WIND RUSHED UP to meet them, tugging at feathers, hair and clothing. Hunching over to protect the pup, Mhysra forced her skirts as flat as she could and held on for the ride. Closing her eyes against the rush, she buried her face against Cumulo’s shoulder and laughed, waiting for the lift of her stomach as he spread his wings and swept up into the sky.

Atyrn’s sharp cry reached them over the swirling winds and Cumulo screamed his reply, the pup yipping along. Mhysra opened her eyes as they wheeled away from the high mountain and skimmed down towards the city. Rocks, snow and ranks of trees whizzed beneath them, until, suddenly, the mountain seemed to open its arms. Cradled protectively against the valley’s heart, the city of Nimbys sparkled in the late afternoon light.

It wasn’t the biggest city in the Overworld, nor the most populated. It wasn’t the oldest, nor the most holy. It wasn’t the highest, it wasn’t even the warmest, but it was beautiful. Tucked at the top of the Imercian landmass, Nimbys was surrounded on three sides by the indomitable Cloud Sea. The east was protected by other mountains, but none contained a place as wondrous as Nimbys. Home of the Stratys – ruler of all Imercian – it was a place of administration, intrigue, politics and stunning architecture.

Shaped by the contours of its mountain, Nimbys rippled and undulated more gracefully than any other settlement Mhysra had seen. Sparkling towers rose from the haze of buildings and, at the open end of the city, the Cathedral of Maegla dominated as only the Storm Goddess could.

The northern edge of the ravine belonged to the Stratys Palace. Like a collection of snowflakes frozen on the edge of a waterfall, it glinted in untouchable glory. Everything about it spoke of riches, power and perfection.

The city between the two wonders was a mismatch of society and styles. The docklands throbbed with life and business, while skyships bobbed serenely at their mooring posts or were beached forlornly in the dry docks. The miryhls rushed effortlessly above them all, casting shadows across the markets and streets below, before lifting high to crest the ridge on which the palace and Flying Corps HQ stood.

Following Atyrn’s lead they swooped around the HQ and drifted onto the wide field beyond. Off-duty Riders ran out of the eyries and offices, bundled up against the cold, eager to view this newest curiosity.

Eager to be admired, Cumulo landed with a series of bounding hops, head high, chest puffed out, freshly preened feathers gleaming. Mhysra muttered dark things behind his proud head. Such a landing might look impressive, but it was horribly uncomfortable, especially when one was trying not to drop a squirming, brainless pup.

“That’s why it loves you,” Cumulo remarked as Mhysra released the dog. It flapped once before dropping like a stone. “It hasn’t enough intelligence to do otherwise.”

Sliding from his saddle, she jabbed his ribs with her toes on the way down and set about taming her skirt. “You’re such a charmer,” she grumbled, unbuckling his saddle and harness, before pulling them free. When she stepped back, he lowered his head and unhooked his bridle with a talon, tossing it to her with a flick.

“Very clever,” she drawled. He was showing off, trying to prove that Wingborn were so much smarter than ordinary miryhls. The only way he really outdid normal miryhls, in Mhysra’s opinion, was the size of his self-consequence.

“Let the gawping commence,” Lieutenant Stirla chuckled, heading towards the eyries.

As Mhysra approached the watching crowd, Cumulo strutting at her side, she had a sudden attack of nerves. It was one thing to storm the HQ and demand admittance, but this was different. Then she’d had a goal and nobody could stop her. Especially not a stuffy paper-pusher who could no more fly than dance on the Cloud Sea.

Here, however, she was under the eyes of the experts, and while she knew Cumulo was a superior specimen, she also knew she wasn’t. Too tall and scrawny to be girly, too flimsy to be boyish. To strangers she looked weak. Unworthy.

“Buck up,” Cumulo murmured. “You’re my Wingborn. Without you I’m nothing.”

The unexpected compliment straightened her spine and raised her chin. He was right, they belonged here. With these men in their well-worn uniforms, their hands and some of their faces scarred by the lives they lived. These were Rift Riders, real Rift Riders.

How would she ever belong here?

Cumulo nudged her with his wing, making her realised she’d shrunk against him again, like a chick hiding behind its mother. She straightened up and glanced towards Stirla for guidance. He was grinning as the crowd parted to reveal the other lieutenant. The blond one with the cold eyes. He nodded at Stirla and stepped forward to study the new miryhl. Whistling softly, he walked slowly around the newcomers.

Cumulo’s beak crackled in annoyance and Mhysra touched his wing, surprised. After all, he’d shown no such objection when Stirla had done the same.

“Impressive,” the lieutenant announced, his inspection complete. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I see why you were so determined to join us, my lady.”

Uncertain of what was expected, she bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, sir.”

“Lieutenant Lyrai.” He gave a curt bow. “Grounded until the Choice, my miryhl retired to stud. Wounded.” He looked at Cumulo again, unable to hide his covetous envy. “I know your name, my lady, but what about this fine fellow?”

“Cumulo,” she replied, as her miryhl curled his beak protectively over her shoulder, tugging her against his chest. She tickled his cheek just below his eye in his favourite spot, making him purr. “My Wingborn.”

A ripple ran through the Riders, word spreading to those who hadn’t already heard the news.

Ignoring the talk, Lieutenant Lyrai studied her and her eagle, taking in Cumulo’s protective stance and her affectionate touch. “Welcome to the Riders, Lady Mhysra and Cumulo. We hope you like it here.”

Something nipped her ankle and she glared down at the puppy, wondering if she was to be plagued on all sides. Disapproving lieutenants, stubborn parents, prideful miryhls and stupid puppies – Maegla aid her to a simple life.

Sighing, she nodded to the lieutenant. “Thank you, sir.”

From his faint smile and the occasional mutter from the crowd, not everyone was keen on readmitting women to the Riders.

Mhysra lifted her chin at the challenge. She was Wingborn. She belonged here – and she would prove it.

“Come on, Cue, let’s get you settled.” Hefting his tack, she scooped up the puppy and followed the chuckling Stirla inside. It was going to be a long winter.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 4, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Cumulo has a bath, Stirla is impressed and poor Atyrn feels left out.

“YOU KNOW, I’M not sure you should bathe in a reservoir,” Mhysra said later that afternoon, as she scrambled around her soggy miryhl, riffling her fingers through his damp feathers, getting out the dirt and encouraging them to dry. “It’s not very hygienic.”

Pulling his head up from preening his flight feathers, Cumulo sniffed. “Where else am I supposed to bathe?”

Mhysra turned to view the world around them. Nimbys was just one of many mountains making up the northern edge of the Imercian range, but it, like all the others, was doused in a heavy blanket of snow. Most of the mountains had some source of water amongst their craggy peaks, but likewise the majority of them were frozen. The only reason this lake above Nimbys wasn’t was because the city worked very hard to keep the water flowing.

“Good point.” After all, a bird of Cumulo’s size could hardly be expected to roll in the snow, like a pair of playful ravens were currently doing on the slopes above them. Especially considering the state Cumulo had been in.

“It’s too late now anyway.” Cumulo sniffing, giving himself a thorough shake and fluffing up like an oversized chicken. He squawked in dismay and frantically began preening his feathers flat again.

“I suppose,” Mhysra sighed, helping to smooth him down. He was so vain.

“And I could hardly turn up at the Rider eyries looking like I did. It would have created completely the wrong impression.”

She certainly couldn’t argue with that. “Well, you look splendid now.”

He puffed up his chest with pride.

“Apart from your tail, but I’m sure it’ll grow back soon.”

Cumulo deflated, peering over his shoulder and waggling the offending appendage. The feathers were bent and ragged, but the rest of him looked good. The shore around them was scattered with broken feathers, several of which had been carried off and partially chewed by the nakhound pup.

A shadow swept over them and they both looked up, Mhysra shading her eyes against the pallid sun, Cumulo half-mantling his wings in protective readiness. An enormous miryhl circled above them before coming into land. It wasn’t the first they’d seen this morning, but all the others had been part of Rider patrols and flown onwards with curious glances. Mhysra soon realised why this one was different.

Not only was the almost-black female the largest she had ever seen – and since female miryhls were normally bigger than males, this one had to be female – there was also a familiar Rider on her back. Tall, broad across the shoulders with merry green eyes and a scar across his brown cheek, his was a form she could hardly forget. The stripes on his uniform only made him more memorable.

“Lieutenant Stirla,” Mhysra greeted, as the grinning lieutenant slid down from his saddle and ruffled his miryhl’s neck feathers. “What brings you up here?” She hoped it wasn’t to tell them off. She’d told Cumulo he shouldn’t bathe in the reservoir, but when had he ever listened to her?

“Looking for you, of course. I was starting to think you’d got lost,” the lieutenant replied, laughing as the nakhound puppy bounded over to say hello. After leaning down to stroke her, Stirla straightened and eyed Cumulo with an admiring whistle. “Stamp me impressed and ship me to Havia, that is one good looking bird.”

Ever ready to be admired, Cumulo puffed up his freshly preened chest, knowing how to tilt his head just so to make golden highlights glint across his feathers. Behind the lieutenant, the big female gave an affronted ruffle of her wings and glowered at her Rider.

“What’s his name?” Stirla asked, glancing at Mhysra to confirm the gender before coming closer to inspect Cumulo, the nakhound pup dancing around his feet. “He looks fully grown already, but if he’s your Wingborn he can’t be more than, what, fifteen? Does that mean he still has five years of growing to do?”

A little offended on behalf of the female eagle, Mhysra folded her arms and called her fawning puppy to heel. “Cumulo and I are sixteen,” she corrected. “As a Wingborn his growth matches mine, so rather than maturing at twenty, he’ll probably peak in a year or two.” The glance she shot her miryhl suggested that though he might have almost finished growing physically, mentally he still had a lot of work to do.

Cumulo winked at her and obligingly spread his wings for the lieutenant. Show off.

Shooting him a withering glare, Mhysra approached the neglected female. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name, sir?” Offering up her palms, she waited for the miryhl to lower her head, then began stroking the bird’s face.

“Hmm?” His stream of low voiced compliments interrupted, Stirla glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s Atyrn. She’s great.” He went back to admiring Cumulo.

Smiling, Mhysra slid her hands down Atyrn’s neck to the shoulder joint, and dug her fingers into the muscle. The big bird’s wings sagged and Atyrn shivered with an ecstatic purr. “What a gorgeous girl you are,” Mhysra crooned. “I’ve never seen such a strong, fine miryhl.”

Huffing, Cumulo snapped his wings closed and stepped away from the lieutenant. When Atyrn turned her head to run an affectionate beak through Mhysra’s curls, the young male actually growled, stalking across the lakeshore and tugging his Wingborn away.

Yanked backwards by a proprietary beak, Mhysra found herself being hustled beneath a jealous wing and laughed into his damp feathers. “You’re such an idiot, Cue.”

Watching their antics with amusement, Lieutenant Stirla turned to soothe his miryhl’s ruffled pride. “You’re still the most beautiful girl in the world to me,” he assured her. “But it’s always nice to make new friends.”

Atyrn huffed sulkily but didn’t protest when her Rider stroked her neck.

The lieutenant smiled at Mhysra. “If you’re ready, I think it’s time to move into the eyries. Everything’s been prepared for you,” he added to Cumulo. “And though I was curious to see how you settled in before, I now can’t wait to set this pyrefly amongst the sheep.”

Mhysra looked at Cumulo, unsure if that was a good thing. They were going to cause enough of a stir as it was being Wingborn. Impatient to be admired some more, Cumulo gave her a hurry-up nudge.

So she sighed and fetched his tack. “We’ll be there soon, sir, if you wish to go on ahead.”

Leaning against Atyrn’s shoulder, Stirla gave a lazy wave. “We can wait. I wouldn’t miss this for the Overworld.”

That was what worried her, but she said nothing, lifting the saddle and its blanket onto Cumulo’s back instead. Settled just behind his wing joint, the leather seat was light and padded, ensuring comfort for both of them. As well as the stirrups found on an ordinary saddle, it also had cups towards the back for a Rider to tuck their ankles and feet into. This enabled them to lean forward against their miryhl’s neck in secure comfort, while also keeping out of the wind.

Giving Cumulo time to make sure the saddle sat right, Mhysra looped the breast harness into place and fastened the top buckles against the front of the saddle. Then she leant down to fasten the girth behind his legs, sliding it through the strap that ran down from the harness.

“Good?” she asked.

Cumulo flexed his wings and nodded. “Good.”

Slipping the bridle over his head, she secured the strap around his beak and another behind his head. It was more of a head collar than a bridle and was not intended to control the miryhl or impede the opening of the beak. Mostly it helped the Rider stay on and occasionally suggest a change of direction, but few miryhls appreciated being guided.

Looping the reins back over Cumulo’s neck, Mhysra grabbed the puppy, hiked up her skirts and clambered astride. It wasn’t particularly dignified, nor her favourite way to fly, but at least the skirt was full enough to cover most of her legs.

“All set?” Lieutenant Stirla asked, politely averting his eyes while Mhysra arranged her clothes for maximum modesty. Thankfully the puppy was smart enough not to fuss, and simply lay down across Mhysra’s lap.

“Whenever you are, sir,” she agreed, and waited while Atyrn – the senior miryhl – hopped towards the cliff edge and dropped out of sight.

“I hate it when you fly in skirts,” Cumulo grumbled, as they waited for the other eagle to swoop back up into view.

“I’m not that fond of it either,” Mhysra sighed. “But this’ll be the last time, I promise.”

Giving a disapproving sniff, Cumulo shuffled to the edge of the cliff. “It’d better be,” he told her. “Now, shall we show them how it’s done?”

Without waiting for a reply, he leant forward, opened his wings and kicked off into the empty air below.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 4, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Just what is so bad about those city eyries anyway?

Four

At first glance there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the city eyries. The front section was a little shabby, perhaps, but it was spotlessly clean and the bedding smelled fresh. Bright-eyed horsat heads bobbed over the top of almost every door, their odd bat-like ears swivelling to follow every sound. This part of the eyries was always busy, with messengers coming and going, and stablehands scurrying to keep the large stalls clean.

Weaving between the frantic activity, Mhysra headed for a familiar horsat head. Scratching Ripple’s muzzle, she peered over the door to check that all was well. The stone walls may have been old, but the stall was big enough for the horsat to lie down in, as well as wide and high enough for the beast to flex its large, leathery, bat wings.

Satisfied, Mhysra snitched an apple from a nearby bucket and waited while the nakhound pup and horsat exchanged a sniff of noses.

“Good boy, Rip,” Mhysra said, once the pup was done and, handing the stallion the apple, she took the path that skirted the second section of the eyries.

Here the walls were blackened and scorched, looking rough and ready where newer sections had been patched in. Not that this was unusual for a pyrefly roost. Nor was the heavily locked door. Angry screeches sounded from inside, making the puppy cringe, but Mhysra walked on unconcerned. Pyreflies were always screaming about something. It was hard to believe they’d started from the same place as the placid, reliable horsats, mixing an equine body with bat ears and wings.

Pyreflies had an added extra, though – dragon blood. Thanks to that the flying horses had talons instead of hooves and the ability to breathe fire. They were also foul-tempered and moderately intelligent – just enough to make them cunning and spiteful. Mhysra was not fond of the creatures, but her cousin Mherrin loved them. To each their own.

Rubbing the pup comfortingly on the head, Mhysra left the pyreflies behind for the third and final section of the eyries. Unlike the busy horsat stables or the locked pyrefly roost, this area was deserted and filthy. There were holes in the roof, the walls were a badly maintained mixture of stone and rotten timber, and there were rat droppings on the floor. Not to mention the mess that had been left behind by roosting pigeons. The far corner was the only dry portion left and it was mostly being used as a store room.

A large perch had also been squeezed into the space, propped up on grain barrels, with hay bales stacked behind to block out the worst of the drafts. It was here that Cumulo sat hunched, forlorn and shivering.

Despite the dowdy surroundings he was still an impressive sight. Almost fully grown, the young miryhl was a conker-coloured giant with hints of gold in his glorious feathers. When stretched to his full height he towered above Mhysra to almost eight feet, and when he opened those magnificent wings they spread for twenty feet or more. In all he was a very fine example of the miryhl breed.

More than that Cumulo was Wingborn, his mystical bond tying him to Mhysra for life. Rift Rider legends were full of daring Wingborn and their epic feats, describing them as one soul divided. One will, one reason, one heart. Miryhl Wingborn were always bigger, bolder, brasher, braver. And he was hers, just as she was his.

The puppy barked, squirming to get down, so Mhysra let it flap its ungainly way to the ground. By the time it was racing off to explore the nearest rat hole, Cumulo was watching her.

“Merry Midwinter, Cue.”

He hunched his wings. “What’s merry about it?” His voice was hoarse, rough-edged from breathing the damp cold air. Back home in Wrentheria the eyries were large and spacious, filled with the comforting warmth of more than thirty miryhls. Here Cumulo was alone for the first time in his life. A pang of guilt shot through her, since he was only here because she had to be. Thankfully, that was all about to change.

“You’re a mess, Cue.” The ground around his perch was littered with scurf and feathers. His golden eyes were dull and the skin around his beak, eyes and talons looked cracked and sore. Aunt Mhylla would have her hide for letting him get into such a state, but if they’d been at Wrentheria he never would have ended up like this. Cumulo was big, brash and vain, but without company he’d given up.

He sniffed at her rudeness. “I saw your cousin. He seemed cheerful.”

“Mherrin always is.” Traditionally miryhls only ever spoke to their bonded Rider, but Cumulo had always been different and Mherrin was family. Mhysra had no doubt they’d enjoyed a nice long chat about her, Wrentheria and the city.

“He brought you a gift, he said.” Cumulo eyed the bundle of fluff chasing feathers across the dirty floor. “I hoped it would be something useful.”

“She’ll grow.”

They watched the puppy trip over a grain sack, roll in a tangle of silky white feathers and sprawl in the dirt. Cumulo clucked disapprovingly. “You should call it Bumble.”

Mhysra rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to be like that I won’t share my news. Which would be a shame, since I ran all the way from the Rider offices, icy streets and all.”

Cumulo straightened, feathers rising all along his crest with interest. “Enrolment ended yesterday,” he pointed out cautiously.

“Do you really think they’d turn a Wingborn pair away?” she scoffed, as though their acceptance had never been in doubt. Walking up to the desk that morning had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. When the clerk had laughed at her in front of all those Riders, she’d wanted to sink through the floor.

“And did they?” Cumulo asked breathlessly.

She smiled. “Buck up, Cue, you’ve got a new home.”

He threw back his head and screamed, terrifying pigeons out of the rafters. More than one precariously placed slate teetered through a roof hole and smashed on the floor. Cumulo flapped open his wings with a crack and sent dust, snow and dirt whirling into the walls.

Mhysra winced, covering her ears and face, while the puppy howled. The neighbouring pyreflies set up a ruckus, surges of flame licking around the edges of their high windows.

“Enough, Cumulo! Enough!” she shouted, when he paused for breath.

“Sorry.” He hunched his wings with a sheepish cough. “When do I leave?”

“How about now?”

“Now?” he shrieked with horror. “You expect me to move into the Rift Rider eyries looking like this?” Arching his neck, he examined his plucked chest, then turned to view his dusty back and ragged tail. “I’m not fit to be seen!”

“Then you’d best do something about it, hadn’t you?”

Grumbling, he preened a few primaries and gagged. “Atrocious. Open the doors, fetch my harness and don’t let your stupid puppy eat that, it won’t do it any good. I need a bath.”

“That’s not all you need,” Mhysra muttered, but hurried to comply. If he wanted to be clean, who was she to stop him? As long as he didn’t catch his death from cold. Scooping up the puppy, she unbolted the hatch, hauled on the chains to open the doors and grabbed his tack out of its box. The sooner she settled Cumulo, the sooner she could go back to pestering her parents. Somehow she doubted that the second half of her day would prove quite as successful as the first.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 3, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch3.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Catching up with Mherrin.

THE AIR HAD an icy bite as Mhysra exited the HQ and raised her face to the watery sun, murmuring prayers of thanks to as many gods as she could name. Two for Maegla, since the Goddess of Storms was Mhysra’s favourite and the patron deity of the Riders. Opening her eyes, she looked down across the city to where the Storm Goddess’ cathedral rose high above the docklands like a finger of divinity pointing to where all should look for guidance.

Beyond it rolled the Cloud Sea, an everlasting blanket of pure whiteness. Under the soft winter sun it looked plush and inviting. Yet to step onto those false waves was to fall for all time. Or so the legends said. But once there had been something beneath it, once there had been a whole world down there, before the gods cursed the people and covered the world in white.

“Hey, Mhysra!”

Wrenching her thoughts away from gods and curses, Mhysra grinned and ran to where her cousin was waiting for her.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she shouted, throwing an arm around his neck and hugging him hard. Caught between them, the puppy yipped happily and tried to wash both their faces at once.

“You’re – urgh! Pup slobber.” Mherrin pulled free and scrubbed his sleeve across his cheek, looking less and less like a professional messenger by the moment. Instead he looked like her favourite cousin, with his wind-tossed curls, dancing eyes and an ever-present smile.

“You’re a star,” she told him, popping onto her toes to kiss his brown cheek. “I was beginning to doubt they’d let me in, until you arrived like the south wind at the end of winter.”

“You know me,” he demurred with false modesty. “I always show up when I’m wanted.”

“And even more often when you’re not.”

Chuckling, Mherrin threw an arm around her shoulders and they began the long descent to the city. “There’s my Mhysra. I was starting to think Nimbys had got to you already.” At her wince, he laughed. “Deportment lessons going well?”

“Gods, don’t!” she groaned. “You’d think I’d been a hunchback all my life. It’s all sit up straight, Mhysra. Lift your shoulders, put your chin up, don’t slouch, breathe properly. As if I’d been doing it wrong all these years.”

“Since you’re still alive, I’ll assume you’ve been getting some of it right.”

“You’d think so, but no, apparently not. I’ve developed some shockingly bad habits, or so Milli says.” Having spent eight years living in the whirl of Nimbys society, Mhysra’s sister Milluqua had taken on the daunting task of teaching her youngest sibling how to behave. Much though Mhysra loved her sister, things were not going well.

Mherrin laughed again. “Well, no lies there. You’ve got a terrible predilection for things with wings and the amount of clothes you used to get through back home was appalling.”

“Say’s you, the soot and scorch king of Wrentheria,” she defended hotly. “At least mine was only blood.”

“Only.” He snorted. “As if that makes it any better.”

“Well, at least my clothes could be cut up for rags afterwards. There was never anything left of yours once the pyreflies were done with you.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Did you ever think those burns were a hint that they didn’t like you?”

Her cousin gave a delighted chuckle – as well he might. Everyone liked Mherrin, even bad-tempered, fire-breathing, winged horses. As much as they liked anyone, anyway. “If that’s so, what’s your excuse? That blood didn’t get all over your shirts by accident.”

“Miryhls eat raw meat,” she protested. “And they’re messy feeders. The blood wasn’t mine. Mostly,” she added, to be fair. “Besides, everyone knows miryhl chicks play rough.”

Since they both knew she would never admit to a fault in her beloved birds, Mherrin ruffled her curls and changed the subject. “I take it from the scene I just interrupted that the earl’s answer is still no.”

Her shoulders slumped. “He won’t listen to me and actively avoids me now. I only see him at meal times, and I’m not allowed to ask then in case I give him indigestion.” She’d been so excited when she’d found out about the proclamation, thinking that maybe moving to Nimbys would turn into a wonderful surprise. Instead it was just a constant disappointment.

Mherrin hugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry, cuz. For what it’s worth Mam thinks the earl’s a gods-blasted fool. And I can’t repeat what she said about the countess.”

That brought a trembling smile to Mhysra’s lips. Mhylla Wrentherin and her sister, Lunrai, Countess Kilpapan, could not have turned out more different. Both were excellent business women in their own right, but Mhylla was proud of her rough edges granted by the Lowland countryside, while Lunrai had worked very hard to scrape hers off.

Mhylla was up-front, occasionally brusque, but always honest about what she was thinking and feeling. Wrentheria was important to her, but family came first. She would do anything to ensure the happiness of her children, and ever since Mhysra had been left to her care at a month old she’d counted as one of Mhylla’s.

Lunrai was considered by many to be the epitome of an Imercian lady. Well-bred and refined, with a sharp business brain and excellent conversation. Family was important to her, but only so far as it could further the Kilpapan interests. Which was why Mhysra and her older brother and sister had been left at Wrentheria to grow up. It was far more convenient to keep the children out of the way until they were useful.

As such this was the first time in Mhysra’s life that she’d had to live with her parents. She’d spent time with them before, of course, but only briefly, during occasional Midwinter and Midsummer holidays, or when her mother stopped at Wrentheria to replenish supplies. It was the first time Mhysra couldn’t just grit her teeth and tick off the days until she went home. Nimbys was home now. Her time as a Kilpapan had arrived.

Mherrin rubbed her arm. “Cheer up, cuz. Remember how miserable you were before you heard about the proclamation.”

Gods, that was not a happy thought. “You always know just what to say to make me feel better.”

“I’m here to help,” he chuckled.

Before the letters had arrived informing Mhysra of her new future away from Wrentheria, she had just started taking on more duties at the farm – tending miryhl eggs, watching the chicks hatch, nursing them through their first few months. True, every Wingborn in the history of the Overworld must have dreamed of becoming a Rift Rider, but Mhysra was practical. She was a girl, and girls did not join the Flying Corps. Yes, Cumulo’s presence in her life meant she had always been a little different, but, well, the Riders were the elite and it was highly unlikely they’d make an exception for one girl. Even a Wingborn.

So she’d set her heart on following in her aunt’s footsteps instead and breeding the best miryhls the Overworld had ever known. It was a quiet dream but within reach, one that would have meant Cumulo could have company.

Until the letter arrived and her mother had appeared. Whatever dreams Mhysra might have had of returning to Wrentheria had been swiftly snuffed out on her arrival, when she’d been spun into the life she’d supposedly been born to.

Mhysra knew nothing of balls, parties or afternoon tea. Her world was a dawn wake-up call, a bucket of bloody meat and a mob of scrawny dog-sized chicks, scrabbling to be fed. She hadn’t even owned a skirt back at the manor. The summons had been a nightmare – until the news of the proclamation had reached her.

For the first time, the ten-day sail from Wrentheria to Nimbys had been exciting. Mhysra couldn’t wait to reach the city and gain her parents’ permission. Surely he couldn’t refuse, not when her brother Kilai was already a Rider and she had her own miryhl bound to her by ties more important than blood.

Except the earl had refused, and continued to do so whenever she managed to squeeze a word into the conversation.

No. That was all he’d had to say when she’d finished her breathless, haphazard, enthusiastic and probably incoherent request. According to a later angry tirade the Rift Riders might have been accepting women again, but no Kilpapan lady was going to prostitute herself to their lax morals and lowborn ruffians. Or something.

Her mother had simply laughed. Gods, was it any wonder she hated Nimbys so much?

“Don’t fret, cuz,” Mherrin told her, as they reached the hustle of the streets below. “You’re in now and if you keep your head down long enough, you’ll be off to Aquila before the earl and countess can blink.”

Mhysra summoned up a smile. It wasn’t quite the way she’d wanted this to happen, but if it was the only way, then that was what she’d do. “Thanks, Mherrin,” she murmured and kissed his cheek again. Her cousin meant well, but he had two parents who supported him whole-heartedly in whatever way he wanted. Still, it was good of him to come.

“Chin up, spine straight, shoulders back,” he ordered, in an unerringly accurate impression of Milluqua at her most militant. “Now off to tell that feather-duster of yours the good news. And it is good news, Mhysra, remember that.”

This time her smile was bright. “You’re right.”

“I always am,” he sighed. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”

She laughed. “It is good news. Cumulo will be so pleased. You’re the best!” Squeezing him again, she darted off into the crowds, while the nakhound puppy in her arms barked with excitement.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 3, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch 3.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Well, Clerk Brenai? Is she allowed to enroll now?

Three

THE RIDERS GAPED – the girl was telling the truth! She really was from Wrentheria, the best miryhl breeders on the Overworld. More than that, she was related to the family and was one of the rich, influential Kilpapans.

Brenai paled and fell back into his chair. “Lady Mhysra Kilpapan, did you say?” he asked weakly, the letter in his hand momentarily forgotten.

“Yes,” the lad replied cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just dropped a burning pyrefly egg on the clerk’s desk. “Didn’t she tell you? Mhysra, didn’t you tell him?”

The girl’s smile was wry. “I was trying to get in on my own.”

“You didn’t mention Cue?”

She shrugged. “I tried, but Wingborn don’t exist.”

Mherrin chuckled. “I’ll let you tell Cumulo that. I stopped by after I settled Ripple. He seemed happy to see me.” His bag whined and he twisted to reach it. “Oh, I almost forgot. Mam sent you something else.” Delving inside, he pulled out a bundle of fur and feathers, black patches on white, rumpled and growling. A nakhound pup. Seeing the girl, the puppy yipped, fluttering its black-barred feathery wings, paws scrabbling at the empty air. “Merry Midwinter.”

“What did you bring that for?” the girl demanded, yelping as the boy threw the pup into the air, where it flapped with more enthusiasm than skill, forcing Lady Mhysra to dive to catch it. Tail whipping about happily, the puppy washed the girl’s face.

“She pined for you, cousin. Saddest thing I ever saw. She searched all over the eyries. Your chicks almost ate her, but they were fighting so loud they woke Mhylo. They’re missing you too, but Mam’s doing her best. The fledglings looked for you a couple of times, but Da rounded them up before they reached the village. Without Cumulo to compete with they’re a lazy pair.”

Holding the nakhound at arm’s length, Lady Mhysra shot her cousin an exasperated look. “She’s one of Kilai’s. He’ll kill me.”

“He left them to Mam, and she knows best. Besides, he got one when he joined the Riders.”

“I’ve got Cumulo.”

“And he has Cirrus. All’s fair, cuz.”

She scowled at him, tucked the puppy under her arm and turned back to the desk. “Does this meet with your requirements, sir?”

Brenai was still blinking in astonishment at the previous revelations. “I – I believe so, my lady. Though parental permission is preferred.”

“I was raised by my aunt,” she said, icily polite. “She has every right to decide my future.”

Fidgeting, the clerk scanned the letter again. “Your aunt says you are Wingborn?”

“Yes.”

“And that you are a Kilpapan?” Brenai sounded as though he was being strangled.

“Yes.”

“Yet your letter of recommendation is from Mhylla Wrentherin?”

The cousins shared a glance, and the girl nodded. “My maternal aunt, yes.”

“Umm…” Brenai tugged at his neckcloth, sweating at the prospect of either turning away this gift of a student or offending the influential Kilpapan family. “Would it be possible to receive a letter from your parents?”

Lady Mhysra pursed her lips. “At this present moment, no.”

“Ah.”

“Not when enrolment closed yesterday.”

Brenai coughed. “Well, classes do not begin for another five days. If you were given the opportunity, do you believe it is possible to gain permission before then?”

Her smile was beautiful. “For this chance, sir, I could do almost anything. You’ll have your letter before the first day of classes.” The cousins shared another look and the boy winked. Lyrai wondered how legitimate any letter signed by Lord Kilpapan would be, but it was no business of his. A Wingborn belonged in the Riders, male or female.

“You have five days, Lady Mhysra.”

“Thank you.” She bowed to the clerk and jerked upright when the puppy licked her nose. Casting it a disgusted look, she turned away, then paused. “Might I request a favour?”

Exhausted by the morning’s tribulations, Brenai waved her towards the two lieutenants.

Ever curious, Stirla stepped forward. “How may I assist, my lady?”

She studied his uniform, eyes lingering on his shoulder stripes. “It’s about my miryhl, sir.”

“Please, call me Stirla.” He swept up her hand – the one not holding the puppy – for a kiss.

Her eyebrows rose and she bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, Lieutenant Stirla.”

He patted her hand and Lyrai had to stifle his amusement. He couldn’t believe that Stirla was flirting with a child ten years his junior – even if she was connected to two of the most powerful families in the East Overworld. Girls under sixteen, in Lyrai’s experience, were either unbearably silly or simply not interested.

“Tell me about your miryhl,” Stirla prompted.

She frowned and dragged her hand free, surreptitiously wiping it on her coat, proving Lyrai right. “He’s at the city eyries -”

Every Rider within hearing winced and Stirla dropped his flirtatious air. “Say no more, my lady. You should have come to us sooner.”

Taken aback by such swift acceptance, she smiled shyly. “I wasn’t sure a civilian would be welcome, sir. Many don’t agree with a girl having a miryhl, Wingborn or not. And I’m afraid he’s not looking his best.”

“Understandable considering where you’ve had to keep him.” Stirla shuddered, and he wasn’t the only one. The Riders had been trying to get the city eyries closed down for years, but since they were also used by pyrefliers and horsat messengers they had yet to succeed. “Miryhls are Rider business, my lady, and we’re always prepared to listen to those who live with them. I’ll send someone to fetch him immediately.” When the girl opened her mouth, Stirla chuckled. “Or you could bring him yourself.”

“Thank you, sir.” Dipping another curtsey, she hurried after her cousin.

“Well.” Stirla turned to Lyrai, eyebrows raised. “That was interesting.”

“And no doubt will continue to be so,” Lyrai agreed, nodding for his men to disband, since they weren’t on duty until the afternoon.

“Spending seven months in Nimbys doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?” Stirla chuckled, accepting his packet of written instructions from the harassed Brenai. “Girls in the Riders again and we’re here to help. We live in interesting times, my friend. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and find space for our special guest.” Stirla set off towards the eyries, whistling as he went.

“Interesting times, indeed,” Lyrai murmured, and left to find his sergeant. A surprise inspection of his flurry’s mounts sounded like a marvellous plan.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 2, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch2.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Lyrai is grumpy, Stirla is Stirla and Mhysra gets a teeny bit annoyed.

“WHAT’S YOUR WAGER? Runaway brat, curious miss or genuine girl?”

Lyrai looked up from studying the depressing duty roster. He was surrounded by grumbling Riders equally dismayed over their new assignment. Merry Midwinter, everyone. “Pardon?”

“We have another one.” Stirla nodded across the busy room, eyes bright and mischievous.

After five years together – from their first day at Aquila through to their current officer training – Lyrai had learned to be wary of that sparkle. Still, a little amusement might ease the sting of being quartered in Nimbys until the following autumn.

He turned to face the cluttered front desk just as the girl reached it. Slender and tall, her dark brown hair was pulled tightly back, accentuating the sharp features of her sun-bronzed face. She wasn’t pretty, but had big, pale eyes that glanced frequently at the Riders. Seeing the silver flashes on his and Stirla’s shoulder, she nodded respectfully before turning to the clerk at the desk.

“Strange little thing,” Stirla murmured. “So, which is it?”

Lyrai waved him to silence, wanting to listen and far too wise to wager with him. Even when he wasn’t cheating, Stirla’s luck was just too good to trust.

“Enrolment is closed.” Brenai the clerk had fussy ways, but he was the best administrator in Nimbys. Lyrai smiled, wondering how the girl would react to his sharp manner.

“I know, but I was unable to come until this morning.” Her voice was polite and clear, softened with a hint of country burr. Well born, but not local. “Since classes don’t begin for another five days, I hoped I might still be admitted.”

Her friendly smile didn’t sway Brenai one bit. He peered over his glasses and sniffed. “Enrolment closed yesterday. Rift Riders live or die by their punctuality. We make no exceptions.” The gathered Riders snickered. In theory what Brenai said was true, but in practise…

Irritation flashed over the girl’s face. Instead of unleashing it, though, she took a deep breath. “I was unable to come before, sir.”

“Try again next year,” Brenai advised brusquely, and with more than a touch of disapproval. As well he might. The clerk had been particularly vocal in opposing the recent changes to the Flying Corps.

The girl took another deep breath and forced a smile. “If I had another choice, sir, I would not ask,” she said, a hint of desperation creeping in. “It’s Midwinter.”

Brenai’s eyebrows drew together and he pushed his papers aside, squaring the corners neatly as if the haphazard piles behind him did not exist. “I hesitate to be rude, miss, but what’s the hurry? The proclamation will still apply next year. It’s a five-year trial. There’s no rush and there will be plenty of miryhls left, if you want this badly enough. The thinking time will do you good. This isn’t an easy life. Take a little Midwinter advice and leave it another year.”

The young woman’s hands clenched and her body stiffened with all the hauteur that the upper classes had cultivated over the centuries. “You do not understand, sir,” she growled. “I’m not some featherheaded miss with no clue as to what Rider duties entail. I don’t need to think about it. A year’s grace will not do me good. I am not anticipating an easy life.” She leaned over the waist-high desk and whispered something too softly for the curious Riders to hear.

Brenai sat back, clearly surprised. Then he laughed. “What a Midwinter tale! Wingborn, indeed. You must think me thirty years younger than I am!”

Wingborn! The shock rippled through the room as the Riders reassessed the girl. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen and showed no signs of a life with miryhls. She was too thin and free of scars. As wondrous and intelligent as miryhls were, they were still giant eagles with all the sharp edges and predatory instincts to match their wild cousins. Even the gentlest bird could draw blood on occasion.

Unlike Brenai and the civilian population, Rift Riders knew Wingborn existed – but they were rare. A miryhl hatching at the exact moment a human was born, within a mile of each other. One soul split in two. The phenomenon had once been more widespread when miryhls had bred more freely, but they had never been common. Breeding farms were now established in more remote areas, protecting the birds and limiting human contact until they were fully trained. Who was this girl and where was she from?

“I can prove it,” the girl insisted, trembling with anger. “Just let me fetch my miryhl.”

The clerk stopped laughing. “You have a miryhl?”

“I am Wingborn,” she growled.

Brenai waved her words away, all stern business now that the joke was over. “Where did you get him? Name, place and date of birth, and the same for your miryhl, if you please. You do know it is illegal to own a miryhl outside of Rift Rider purposes, do you not?”

“Unless one is Wingborn,” she reminded him stiffly. “Or of a ruling royal or political house. I know the regulations, sir. I was born at Wrentheria.”

“The village?” the clerk asked, searching for fresh paper.

The look she shot Brenai was almost pitying. “The manor. I’ve been breeding miryhls for two years and helping raise others my whole life.”

Lyrai raised his eyebrows, unsure if he believed her. Wrentheria was renown throughout the Overworld as one of the best – if not the best – breeder of miryhls. The simple way she said the name didn’t sound like a boast, but nor did she look tough enough. Miryhl breeding was not easy, especially for those of shorter stature. The girl was tall for her age, but still barely half the size of an adult miryhl.

Brenai looked sceptical and held out a hand. “Your letter of recommendation.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t have one.”

The clerk sighed and took off his glasses to massage his nose. “You come here making wild claims with no supporting evidence and expect me to admit you, even though official registration closed yesterday. Your credentials are wondrous, miss, if they are true. Since you cannot prove them… The Rift Riders do not look kindly on timewasters.”

Her jaw clenched. “Then I will fetch your proof, sir.” Turning on her heel she stormed away.

The watching Riders waited eagerly to see how the drama would unfold next, whispering bets between each other. It was almost as good as a play. When the girl was two angry paces away from the door, it was flung open by a young man with wind-tossed curls and a beaming smile. He wore the lightweight gear used by messengers and carried a document bag over his shoulder.

“Mhysra!” he greeted and, without even a hitch in his stride, swept the girl into his arms. “Well met and Midwinter blessings. I was looking for you next so you’ve saved me an awkward meeting with my aunt.”

“Mherrin!” the girl squealed, completely at odds with her previous behaviour. “What are you doing here? Where are you staying? How long? Is my aunt well? How is everyone? Oh, I’ve missed you!” She wrapped her arms around the messenger’s neck again.

“All right,” Stirla murmured in Lyrai’s ear. “I’m completely lost. Are you keeping up?”

“At least it’s entertaining,” Lyrai replied, while the youngsters chattered about people no one else in the room knew. There was enough of a similarity in their sharp features and softly-burred accents for them to be related. “Which is more than we usually get in Nimbys.”

“Seven months,” someone else groaned, setting off a rumble of discontent.

Brenai stood up and cleared his throat loudly. “Messenger, have you anything for me?”

Recalled to his duty, the lad dropped the girl, straightened his jacket and strode across the room. He sorted through the letters inside his bag, handing two to the girl and a third to the clerk. That done, he straightened up importantly.

“I bring greetings from Mhylla Wrentherin Mhynara of Wrentheria, and her personal recommendation that her niece, Lady Mhysra Kilpapan Kilrenma, be permitted to join the Rift Riders, in accordance with the new proclamation readmitting women into their exalted ranks for the first time in over one hundred years.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 2, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch2.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Welcome to Nimbys, city of the Stratys and home to the Headquarters of the Flying Corps and one of the Rift Rider selection schools. My, how handy, it’s also where Mhysra’s parents live. It’s a small Overworld, after all.


Two

Nimbys, Imercian
6th Blizzard, 785 CE

The Flying Corps’ Headquarters in Nimbys was an uninspiring sight. It looked like so many other civic buildings in the city – the Records Office, the City Hall, the People’s Infirmary. It was tall, clean, rigid and, unlike the others, surprisingly large as it sprawled across the ridge; a rarity in a city where space was at a premium. Then again this HQ was built several hundred feet above the others, so it could afford to spread out.

As Mhysra topped the rise and got her first proper look at it all, she felt both underwhelmed and intimidated all at the same time. True, the building didn’t look like much, but it represented everything she cared about. Hopes, dreams, disappointments, despair, honour, courage, power… the list went on. Her legs felt heavier with every step, and that had nothing to do with the long, winding walk up from the city.

“I can’t do this,” she muttered, her strides getting shorter and slower. Arriving at a fork in the path, she ducked cowardly off to the left.

If the HQ was uninspiring, the building she faced now was just disappointing. It looked like a giant barn perched on the edge of a cliff. Which was what it was. Except that it wasn’t home to any ordinary form of livestock.

With each step towards the barn, Mhysra felt lighter until she was practically bouncing. Roof hatches were propped open around the highest level, letting in the bright winter sun and letting out high-pitched shrieks, mutters and screams. Everyday sounds from a miryhl eyrie.

Grinning, she headed for the door and almost collided with a man coming out. Liquid sloshed from the bucket in his hand, releasing the unpleasant odour of blood. Mhysra leapt back with a yelp, barely saving her skirt from a soaking. The man’s boots were not so lucky.

He glared at her. “Can’t you read?”

Startled by the harsh tone, Mhysra blinked. She’d only spent eight days in Nimbys, but had already fallen into the habit of being treated like a lady. No one had dared speak so sharply to her since she’d left the Lowlands.

“There.” He jabbed a callused finger at the sign on the wall. “Shift them big eyes there and look close.”

“Rift Rider property. Keep out! Civilian access by appointment only,” she read aloud, feeling her heart sink again. Gods, she hated this city.

“Got an appointment, Have you?” asked the man, smirking.

Nettled, Mhysra drew herself up to her full height, putting them eye to eye. “My brother is a Rift Rider,” she announced, with all the ceremony she normally despised.

The man rubbed his stubbly chin with a hint of uncertainty, assessing the cut of her clothes. Skirts and dresses were not her favourite attire, but she had to admit that in this city they had their advantages.

“What’s his name?” he demanded, not prepared to admit defeat just yet.

“Kilai Kilpapan.”

The man wrinkled his nose. “Kilai?” he repeated, scratching his head. “Don’t know a Kilai. You sure he’s meant to be meeting you?”

“Hardly.” Mhysra chuckled. “He’s in Aquila.”

Her adversary scowled. “What you doing looking for him here then?” he demanded, since Aquila was half the Overworld away.

“I wasn’t,” Mhysra told him, trying not to laugh. “And I never said I was.”

Any hint of deference vanished as he dropped his bucket and folded his arms across his skinny chest, blocking the door. “Then what you wasting my time for? Civilian access by appointment only.” He jabbed his finger at the relevant words.

Frustrated, Mhysra balled her hands in her skirts. “I don’t want access.” Since she clearly wasn’t going to get it. “I just wanted a look.” She edged a little closer and tried the winsome smile that so often worked for her older sister. “Please?”

The man shuffled his feet, uncomfortable with her increasing proximity. Mhysra debated whether or not to bat her eyelashes. Deciding that might be too much, she sidled forwards again, backing the man ever so slowly through the doors and into the shadows beyond.

A demanding shriek shattered the gloom, making them both jump.

“No!” the man suddenly shouted, startling her into stepping back. “I’m too busy to watch over the likes of you. Think you’re the first to come sniffing ‘round here, wanting a gander? Ever since that fool proclamation I’ve been booting them out ten times a day. Get along with you. This ain’t no place for bored little ladies.” Snatching up his bucket, he stepped into the barn and slammed the door in her face.

“Little?” she gasped in astonishment. “Little! I’m as tall as you are, you scrawny, mannerless git!” Fuming, she spun on the spot and almost tripped over her skirt.

Honestly, it was enough to make a lady growl in public. Behaviour that would be thoroughly frowned upon by her sister, but then Mhysra had never pretended to be a lady. Milluqua was a natural who wore her breeding like a fine set of antique pearls. Mhysra had to work extra hard at it, and mostly didn’t see the point.

So she growled and stomped her foot for good measure. When her soft-soled walking boots failed to make a satisfactory enough sound, she kicked a stone over the edge of the cliff. Then felt stupid when her toes started to throb.

“I hate Nimbys.”

Hiking up her skirt, she strode over to a nearby boulder and sat on it, glaring down at the city. Narrow, winding and cramped, this view of Nimbys would never win any awards, but then the dwellings directly below her belonged to some of the poorest people in Imercian. Unlike the far edge of the ravine, which was dotted with sprawling mansions, one or two even having gardens, the ultimate luxury in such a cramped city. Up the wealthy made the most of the elusive sun, but back here, where the light so rarely reached, the tenements of Nimbys were squeezed in tight and built up high.

Reminded of her privileged position in life and feeling worse than ever, Mhysra turned and shielded her eyes against the glare of the Stratys Palace. White marble, imported from the south at great expense, glowed in the midmorning sun. An architectural wonder, many said, but Mhysra hated it. Just as she hated everything else about this accursed city.

She stared across the ravine to the opposite ridge and sighed. There was another eyrie over there, little more than a barn – smaller, squatter, with holes in the roof and rot in the walls. Cumulo was inside it, hunched and miserable, trying not to complain. How she wished he was with her now. How she wished he could do this instead of her.

But he couldn’t, so she must. She had to do this, for him as much as herself. She had to get him out of that fetid building and into this one. If she could gain official access for herself at the same time, so much the better.

Patting her jacket pocket, Mhysra felt reassured by the crinkle of folded newspaper within and stood up. The city buzzed with talk about the fall of Featherfrost and the attacks on Kevian’s Edge, Heston Point and Shune. The Flying Corps were in trouble, people said, that’s why the big changes. There hadn’t been an opportunity like this for a hundred years. Perhaps there wouldn’t be another for a hundred more. She had to seize this chance or she might as well stay on the ground forever. It was time.

Dusting off her skirt, she straightened her jacket and took a deep breath. According to the newspaper in her pocket, more than a century’s worth of regulation, sexism and prejudice had been overturned. Now it was time to see if any of it was true.

It was time to join the Rift Riders.

Courage mustered, Mhysra marched towards the Flying Corps’ Nimbys Headquarters and pushed open the door. Stepping inside the spacious foyer, she quickly located the front desk, piled high with paperwork. That’s when she noticed that the entrance hall was full of Rift Riders, who all fell silent at her entrance. While she stood hesitating in the doorway, man after man turned to look at her. Then the whispering started.

An audience. How lovely. There would be no turning back now. Running a nervous hand over her hair, Mhysra summoned up the centuries-long breeding of her ancestors and walked across the room like she owned it. Cumulo would expect nothing less.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 1, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch1.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which a skyship, an old friend and a rather interesting newspaper are encountered.

16th Gale

“Have you heard the latest?”

Mhysra rolled away from the window where she’d watched Wrentheria become a speck, a valley, then a mountain, until it was finally shrouded by clouds. Home was out of reach now.

“Not still moping, are you?” Slapping a newspaper on the bed, Derrain, an Illuminai midshipman she’d known since he was a cabin boy, jumped up to join her on the top bunk.

Her mother hadn’t said anything when Mhysra chose to stay with the crew rather than in the state rooms. Derrain wasn’t her only friend amongst the younger crewmembers and right now she needed friendly voices around her.

“Anyone alive in there?” Derrain rapped her forehead with his knuckles.

“Sapskull.” Catching him off-guard with a swipe of her leg, she knocked him off the bed.

A seasoned skysailor, Derrain twisted, landed on his toes and bounded up again. “Nice try.”

Knowing she’d never get rid of him, she picked up the newspaper. “What have I missed?”

Derrain said nothing, waiting while her eyes scanned the worn print. The corners of the four-sheet were dog-eared and the ink was smudged after passing through many eager hands. The paper crackled as she read the headline and tightened her grip.

Eyes wide, she checked the date: thirteen days old. Thirteen days and she hadn’t known. Hadn’t even heard a rumour.

“Gods,” she whispered.

Grinning, Derrain swayed in excitement. “Isn’t it great?”

She motioned for him to be quiet, scanning the words over and over for fear she’d read something wrong. She hadn’t. The words remained the same. For the first time in over a hundred years the Flying Corps were relaxing their rules. Women, banned for some arcane reason no one could remember, were allowed to fly again. To protect the skies and mountains from threats both winged and grounded. It wasn’t just messengers and pyrefliers admitting women again, but the best of them all: the Rift Riders.

“Ai Maegla,” Mhysra breathed. “Tell me this isn’t a joke, Derry.”

“No joke,” he vowed solemnly. “Heirayk knows they haven’t any choice.”

Taking a shuddering breath to still the fever dancing through her veins, Mhysra frowned. “What do you mean?”

Derrain’s expression was grim as he tapped the story below the headline. Fresh losses. Riders, miryhls, messengers, doelyn, bullwings, horsats, pyreflies and -fliers, artillerymen. Every aspect of the Corps was suffering. Not just skirmishes, but attacks on bases, selection schools, farms, stables and eyries. Nothing connected to the defence of the Greater West had been spared, and the results were costly.

“They can’t afford to keep women out. Not after Feather Frost.”

Her excitement turned numb. “Feather Frost was a year ago. They said it was because the winter was so hard. They said -”

“They lied,” Derrain interrupted grimly. His uncle had been a bullwing artilleryman stationed at Feather Frost, Mhysra remembered sadly. “They lied to the press, the world, even the families, because they didn’t want everyone to know what it meant.”

“What does it mean?” she asked, head spinning with the implication that things had grown so bad the Corps were willing to admit women again. They’d been adamantly opposed for so long.

“They’re scared. The losses are coming too fast and they can’t replenish them with a shrinking intake of boys every year.”

“Gods.” She scanned the article again, turning the page and searching for more amongst the gossip, the politics and the pointless. Nothing, just two short articles to change her life.

“Well?” Derrain asked, when she finally folded the paper and met his dancing dark eyes.

Mhysra raised her eyebrows, a move which he mimicked, then smiled. “Try and stop me.”

* * *

“Oh, my,” Mhysra said, entering the hull eyries with her hands in her pockets, purposefully ignoring her miryhl’s dejected stance. “Look at all this space.”

Cumulo huffed and shuffled his wings. “I’m making the most of my luxury. I doubt I’ll see such accommodations again for a long while.”

She patted his beak consolingly. It was her fault he had to put up with things like this. Well, partly her fault. If they weren’t Wingborn he’d still be at Wrentheria, being trained for his future life. At just sixteen, however, he’d have another two years to finish growing first. Or longer, since male miryhls were often allowed to mature until twenty before they were sent to the life-changing Choice, to be paired for life with just one Rider.

Being Wingborn, Cumulo’s development matched hers, making him advanced for his age, but for all the closeness of their bond, she was no compensation for his own kind. It was because he was bonded to her that he suffered these moments of isolation. It would have been different if she was a boy; they’d have been sent to Aquila as soon as they were fit enough to walk and fly. Because she was a girl, though, her miryhl was condemned to live away from his own kind, exiled for things not of his making. Or so they’d always thought.

“Are you looking forward to seeing Nimbys again?” she asked, sitting on the perch opposite his. The eyrie was designed for five miryhls to roost in comfort, or as many as ten at a pinch. With only one occupant, no matter how big and impressive he might be, it looked empty and was being used as a spare storeroom, with feed bins and pieces of tack lying around.

Cumulo shrugged, a mannerism picked up from humans. “The city is beautiful enough, but the public eyries…” He didn’t finish, he didn’t need to; they were filthy, neglected and rarely used. Why should they be anything else when Nimbys was home to the Eastern Flying Corps’ headquarters?

To be so close to the heart of things and yet still be excluded had always chafed them. Their trips to the city had always been just shy of torment; she was trapped, he was lonely. Until now.

“How would you like to change your life, Cue?”

He looked at her with deep gold eyes, crackled his beak and tilted his head. “Something’s happened.” When she answered him with a sly smile, the feathers on his head and cheeks rose eagerly. “Tell me.”

“Fancy becoming a Rift Rider?”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 1, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch1.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Ah, family…

HALFWAY UP THE slope, Mhysra’s aunt stood watching the Illuminai approach. The owner and manager of Wrentheria, Mhylla Wrentherin was famous across the Overworld for breeding the best feather-wings money could buy. Whether it was miryhls, nakhounds or doelyns, the quality of Wrentheria’s bloodstock could not be denied.

So when her younger sister married into the wealthy Kilpapan family, eager to explore the world on her new trade skyships, it had seemed wisest to leave the children in the care of Mhylla. Luckily, Mhylla transferred her skills with animals easily to children, and given the choice between her mother’s ships and her aunt’s eyries, Mhysra knew where she’d pick to stay.

Joining her aunt to watch the ship edge into the docking cradle, timbers groaning as they came to rest, Mhysra sighed. “It’ll be years before I can come home.”

Her aunt raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think that’s quite what your parents have in mind.”

“But it’s what I have in mind,” Mhysra grumbled. “I like raising miryhls. Who’ll take care of my chicks when I’m gone?”

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Mhylla said, having been breeding miryhls for nearly forty years.

Her niece smiled with little amusement. “I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Where do I belong if not here?”

Wrapping an arm about Mhysra’s shoulders, Mhylla gave her a squeeze. “You can belong anywhere you choose, sweetheart, and this will always be your home. Stop fretting. I bet your feather duster isn’t.”

“Cumulo?” Mhysra snorted. “All he cares about is whether he has to fly to Nimbys or not.”

“See.” Mhylla squeezed her again. “If he’s not bothered, you’ve no cause to be. Wherever you go, he’ll go too. Gods have mercy.”

“Hey!” Mhysra pulled away. “Don’t insult my miryhl.”

“Why not? You do.”

“He’s mine, I’m allowed.”

Mhylla smiled. “And that makes all the difference. If you didn’t have him, I might worry. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t. You’ve a wise head on those shoulders, when you choose to remember it. And if, in five years or so, it’s still what you want and your parents agree, come back and we’ll be happy to have you. Who knows what’ll happen twixt then and now? We can’t even predict tomorrow. But I’m sorry to lose you. Bad enough that Kilai deserted me, though I knew Milluqua would never stay. But you, Mhysra, I’ll miss you.”

Since her aunt had three sons and two daughters of her own, all still at home, Mhysra felt no guilt about leaving. Especially when it wasn’t her choice. “Kilai was always headed for the Riders.” Her father’s family had a long and distinguished history in the Rift Riders, one Kilai had been eager to continue. “And I am a Kilpapan. My parents were bound to remember me one day.”

Mhylla chuckled at her gloomy tone and walked towards the ship. “Buck up, chick, your mother’s here.”

Mhysra pulled a face at her aunt’s back. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said, watching a slender woman disembark: Lunrai, Countess Kilpapan.

“Lunrai!” The two women embraced and Mhysra felt forgotten as the worlds of the manor and ship intermingled around her. Once she’d had her own allotted place in the dance, but no longer. She’d been tugged apart and left to drift.

“You’re brooding,” a rough voice rumbled in her ear, and she smiled, having felt Cumulo land behind her. A nine-foot tall eagle with a wingspan of over twenty feet would never be famed for its stealth – the downdraft always gave him away.

“Good morning, Cumulo. I trust I find you well.” Lunrai bowed, hand across her heart in deference to the one to whom miryhls were sacred: Goddess Maegla, Lady of Storms.

Though he did not speak – a bonded miryhl spoke only to his partner, except in emergencies – he inclined his head. Though young, Cumulo had impeccable manners. Head still lowered, he rubbed his beak against Mhysra’s back, apologising because her mother had greeted him before even looking at her.

Mhysra was used to it. Her mother was a businesswoman, her social skills honed to deal with clients, potential customers, traders and skyship crews. Since Mhysra came under the haziest of headings- family – Lunrai had never known how to treat her. Unlike her older sister Milluqua, a born society hostess, Mhysra took after her aunt. Without having had the benefit of raising her in which to learn this, Lunrai treated her youngest child like the stranger she was.

“Mhysra. I trust you’re ready to depart tomorrow.” Her mother kissed her stiffly on the cheek and Mhysra jerked with surprise. Not at the throwaway token of affection, but because Lunrai had to stretch up to reach her. When had she outgrown her mother?

Mhylla draped a scarred arm across her niece’s shoulders and smiled. “You’ve a fine girl here, Lunrai. Well-mannered and intelligent. She’s been rearing miryhls on her own these last two summers, and I daresay they’ll be some of our best.”

Lunrai raised delicate eyebrows. “Have you enjoyed your time with your aunt, Mhysra?” she asked, as though she’d merely been on holiday.

Mhylla’s grip tightened in warning when Mhysra bristled on her aunt’s behalf.

Swallowing her anger, she forced herself to be polite. “Yes, Mother. I doubt there’s anyone or any place in the world that could have raised me better.”

Lunrai’s eyebrows remained high. “Oh?” she said, as if amazed that anyone could like Wrentheria. Then she smiled with surprising sweetness. “Good. Thank you, sister, for taking such excellent care of my children. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to relinquish the last of them. I’ve brought letters from Milluqua and Kilai. He mentioned something about nakhound pups?”

While the sisters talked, Mhysra slipped free. She’d done her duty, greeted her mother and been made uncomfortable. Usually she’d help her cousins tally the new supplies and claim her stake for the miryhls, but that wasn’t her role anymore.

“You’re brooding again. Stop it.”

Scowling, she tugged her braid free as her miryhl gave it a tweak. “What else can I do? Tomorrow I’m leaving everything I’ve ever loved, known and wanted to know to go where I know no one but my sister, who I haven’t seen for three years!”

“You’ll still have me.” He nudged her in the back. “I hope you know and value me.”

“Only as much as you do me,” she retorted.

“Look on the happier side of this tragic tale, chickling,” he purred. “It’ll be an adventure. Who knows what excitement lies just around the corner?”

“I already do,” was her gloomy reply. “Dress fittings, etiquette lessons, morning calls, deportment lessons, long dinners, breakfast parties, afternoon tea, dinners, balls, musicales and boredom, boredom, boredom.”

“Hmm.” Cumulo turned to arrange his flight feathers just so. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

“That’s because you won’t have to suffer it,” she growled, stomping off. Her uncle wouldn’t turn her away if she offered to muck out horsat stalls. The world didn’t stop just because the countess had arrived.

“Wherever you roam, there I shall be,” Cumulo told her, gliding overhead. “We’ll suffer it together and then we’ll come home. At least you won’t be relegated to some gods-forsaken shed, as I shall be.” He landed in front of her, shuffling his wings into place. “It will be dirty, have rats and be rampant with disease. Scurf will be the least of my problems.”

Her lips twitched at his disgruntlement. “Look on the happier side of this tragic tale, Cue,” she mocked. “It’ll be an adventure. And you might not get feather mites.” Ducking a swipe from his wing, she laughed and darted into the barn.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!