Tag: Lyrai

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Rift Riders: Chapter 2, Part 1

Becca Lusher

rr-ch2-1

First time reading? Find out more about the Wingborn series!

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Cumulo grumbles. A lot. And Stirla does what Stirla does best – and reminds me why I love him so.

And for those who have never been here before: Rift Riders is the second book in the Wingborn series. It can be read as a standalone, but if you’d like to read the first one, you can – and it’s free! Head this way to find out more and for all the links.

Two
Students at Large

22nd Sun
“I DON’T SEE why I don’t get to go,” Cumulo grumbled, his raspy voice a sulky growl.

Smiling, Mhysra ducked out from beneath his wing, where she had been preening him. “We can barely take care of ourselves, Cue. How could we possibly look after all you miryhls as well?”

He huffed, unappeased. “I still don’t see why I can’t come. You’re more capable of taking care of me than of yourself. You’ve had plenty of practise.”

That was true, she thought as she dunked her hands in a water bucket to sluice off the oil and grime before diving under Cumulo’s wing again. United by the shared moment of their births in the mystical Wingborn bond, they were more like twins than military partners. They’d been together for more than seventeen years, seeing each other every day. Their training at Aquila was just the final step in their duty to the world. Unlike the other students, though, no bonding ceremony would be necessary at the end of her three years. Whether or not she had ever set foot in the citadel, Cumulo would still be hers.

Having said that, she was quite looking forward to a half-moon without him.

“It’s not fair,” he grumbled, feathers vibrating to the tone of his voice. Buried beneath his wing, Mhysra felt surrounded by his disgruntlement. “It’s like I’m being punished. Just because the rest are incompetent, doesn’t mean you are.”

Running her fingers through his feathers – from cool skin up the quill shafts to the tips and back again, removing dust and dirt – Mhysra chuckled. “Why, Cue, I do believe that’s almost a compliment.”

He shifted his weight, since he couldn’t shuffle his wings, and crackled his beak. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Grooming you is always a joy,” she agreed, pulling free to clean her hands again. “Especially today.” She grimaced at the brown gunk flaking off in the water. “Have you forgotten how to preen yourself?”

“Why should I bother with you around?” he sniffed. “I’m trying to make you feel useful.”

“Thanks.” She tugged his wing open so she could riffle through his long flight feathers.

“It’s not my fault it gets so dusty up here in the summer. Who would have thought it, after the snows we had last winter?”

Tracing the golden sheen that tipped the bottom edge of his primaries, Mhysra rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you and the others didn’t head up to the north slope so often, where I know for a fact there’s a dust bank you all enjoy, you wouldn’t get so dusty?”

Snatching his wing back, he ruffled his feathers indignantly and muttered about pesky mites and itches.

“You haven’t got any mites. Don’t talk nonsense.” She yanked his wing out again and moved onto his secondary flight feathers, which were a rich brown. When he was clean, his colour reminded her of the conkers she used to collect at Wrentheria in the autumn, where giant horse chestnuts bordered the farm.

Cumulo sniffed. “Of course I haven’t, but one can never be too careful when living with all-comers.” He glared at the other end of the eyries, but the precise recipient of his scorn was lost on Mhysra. Miryhl flock politics was a strange thing.

“Just remember you’re the one who has to clean it all out for a bit, so don’t get too filthy.”

“I can preen myself, you know,” he reminded her, peering over his shoulder as she finished his wing and moved onto his tail.

“That’s something I’d like to see,” she retorted, then spoiled it by grinning. “You’ve got gold on your tail now. Does this mean you’ve finally stopped growing?”

Fanning his tail out, he waggled it up and down to make the gold streaks flash in the sun. “Perhaps. Have you stopped growing yet?” He chuckled at her grimace.

“It’s been a whole month since I needed new shirts.”

“You’re almost as tall as Lieutenant Lyrai now, did you notice?”

“Not quite,” she muttered, not wanting to admit that she had indeed noticed. She noticed quite a lot about Lieutenant Lyrai these days. It was embarrassing, especially when his smile made her flush with heat. He didn’t even have to be looking at her – when he did it just made everything worse. She hadn’t been able to meet his eye since spring. The man must think her daft.

“Shame he isn’t going along with you,” Cumulo said, watching her slyly. “Will you miss him?”

“No,” she replied quickly. And it was the truth. A whole half-moon without going all hot and unnecessary over a smile sounded like heaven. Lieutenant Stirla was a far safer officer to be around. He was funny and she never daydreamed about his wicked dark eyes. Not that she daydreamed about Lieutenant Lyrai, his eyes or otherwise. At least, never on purpose.

Cumulo chuckled, and she realised she’d gone red. “Enough,” she snapped, returning to preening his tail. “You might have all day to stand around and tease, but I don’t. I have to go to the armoury and pick up my sword today.”

Her miryhl stopped teasing and gave a disgruntled huff. “That’s it, rub it in, reminding me again that you’re about to abandon me.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” she replied absently, having said it a lot of late and refusing to feel guilty. As if he would miss her anyway; Cumulo had a nice life in the eyries. Except for when she was preening him, any time spent with her was usually an interruption. He only minded now because he thought he was missing out.

As he launched into his familiar list of sulky accusations, Mhysra ignored him. He was just getting into full flow when she rinsed her hands one last time, grabbed his beak and pulled it down for a kiss.

He didn’t stop talking once.

“I’ll see you in the morning. Try not to fret too much, it just makes you scurfy.”

“Scurfy!” he screeched. “I do not have scurf!”

“You’d better not after all my work,” she agreed, picking up her grooming kit and heading for the tack room. “Behave yourself!”

“I would say the same to you, except you won’t spare me a thought while you’re gone, so I don’t care. It’s not fair. Why can’t I go…?” His low rumbling complaints followed her as she walked away, exchanging nods with dozing miryhls and smiling at any Riders she met. At the tack room she emptied her bucket down the drain, chatted with the attendants and charmed a promise out of one to clean Cumulo’s harness while she was gone.

By the time she trotted down to the bridge, it was mid-afternoon and the sun was blazing over the citadel. Inside the stone halls it was beautifully cool, thanks to the breeze sweeping down from the valley above. Outside on the east bank, students and Riders lounged on the Lawn, but Mhysra headed through the deserted west side. Next stop the armoury, where Derneon would be waiting with her sword and instructions for its care over the next half-moon. With her packing all finished, ready to leave in the morning, all that remained was to find out where they were going…

* * * * *

“YOU’RE ACTUALLY LOOKING forward to this, aren’t you?” Resting his shoulder against the doorway, Lyrai watched Stirla pack.

His friend looked up, eyes bright with anticipation, excitement and mischief. “I remember how it felt the first time we were let out of this place.”

Lyrai grimaced. “Fleik tortured us.”

Muttering to himself as he checked he had everything, Stirla gave a distracted nod. “As was his right. He’d only been made lieutenant the year before. It was his first chance.”

“I’m starting to feel sorry for our students.”

“Don’t.” Stirla added an extra shirt to the bag and stared thoughtfully at a pile of socks. “Four of us against thirty-seven of them. We deserve a little fun.” He rejected the socks.

“Just as long as you keep an eye on Rees,” Lyrai warned, stepping into the room and snatching two pairs of socks to stuff into his friend’s bag. “What if it rains?”

About to protest, Stirla nodded and added a third pair. “Good point. I hate wet feet.”

“You always pack too light,” Lyrai remarked, as Stirla buckled the small flight bag.

“Better than too heavy.”

“Not when it means you haven’t any spare clothes and have to fly for days in wet, filthy stuff, while your feet rub raw in your boots.”

“What a bundle of cheer you are,” Stirla muttered, weighing his bag thoughtfully in one hand. “It’s only a half-moon.” Satisfied, he tossed it on the bed and turned to his supply list.

“A whole half-moon and all you’re taking is three pairs of socks, one pair of breeches, two shirts and your shaving kit?”

“I’ll be wearing another set of clothes,” Stirla pointed out, chewing the end of his quill. “Do you think I can get away with making the students carry my camping gear and food?”

“You’re only taking one set of drawers?” Lyrai asked, unable to help himself.

“I can wash them.”

“And what’ll you wear in the meantime?”

“I’ll manage. Besides it’ll keep Corin amused.”

“Only if you decide to wash both pairs of breeches at the same time.”

Stirla’s grin was disturbingly wicked. “There’s a thought.”

“They are your students!”

His friend chuckled and scribbled on his list. “You’re such an easy mark. I’ll pack a couple more then, mother, if it’ll settle your feathers. But I’m definitely not carrying my own kit now.”

“Drawers are so heavy,” Lyrai drawled. “And you’re such a delicate flower.”

Stirla flexed his biceps meditatively and stuffed the extra drawers into his bag. “Wouldn’t want to strain anything. Anyway, it’ll be good for them.”

“Perks of being an officer,” Lyrai agreed. “Will Rees and Loyek be so similarly blessed?”

“It’s up to Fleik whether he goes easy on Loyek or not. As for Rees…” He scratched his chin as he considered his sergeant, then shrugged. “It’ll be best if someone else carries his stuff. He’ll only make everyone’s life a misery if he has to put some effort in.”

“He does that anyway.” Lyrai picked up the supply list and chuckled. “I am so glad I’m not going with you. A half-moon without Rees sounds like Heirayk’s own heaven.”

“As opposed to the half-moon you’ll be spending with Willym,” Stirla said, grinning. “I’d rather carry my own kit.”

Lyrai looked longingly at the bag on the bed. “Think I could fit in your pack? I mean it’s not like you haven’t got any space.”

“Only if I can get the students to carry it.” Stirla eyed him up and down and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Aye, I reckon Mouse could manage a runt like you.”

“Now I remember why I’m not all that bothered about being stuck with Willym.”

“Ouch.”

They shared a grin, before thoughts of Willym and Rees sobered Lyrai. “You will keep an eye on Rees around the students, especially the girls and the little lads, won’t you?”

“As my sergeant, he’s supposed to be watching me,” Stirla pointed out, since he and Lyrai were captains-in-training. “Though the thought of Rees watching me gives me the shivers.”

Lyrai grimaced. “You know what I mean.”

Recognising that his playful ploy wasn’t working, Stirla chucked his quill on his desk with a sigh. “Unfortunately I do. I’ll keep an eye on the old goat and make sure he doesn’t make anyone too miserable. Aside from me, that is, since it’s his job. Why couldn’t I have someone like Honra instead?”

Having got the assurance he needed, Lyrai smiled. “Because you’re too soft, and your flurry would walk all over you.”

“Whereas you’re too stiff,” Stirla retorted. “And your flurry could use you to board up windows and bridge small rivers.”

“But I ended up with Honra,” Lyrai said smugly, knowing how blessed he was with his easy-going sergeant.

“And now you get Willym too, you lucky thing.” Stirla’s deep chuckle was almost as smug as Lyrai’s had been, but then it was his turn to grow grave. “I hope you’ll be watching him closely too. And that little retinue he’s built up. Some potential unpleasantries in that bunch.”

“Aye,” Lyrai agreed, sighing. Only last month he’d been forced to discipline three of Willym’s students for abusing their miryhls in flight lessons. Two more had been grounded for a half-moon for dangerous conduct during exercise. Since then they’d all been relatively quiet, but he knew better than to believe them cowed. Sooner or later they’d revert to their previous behaviour and he still wasn’t sure what he would be able to do about it. For all that Aquila prided itself on its egalitarian ideals, high birth and strong, wealthy connections still held weight when it came to discipline and punishment – no matter how well earned they often were.

“Don’t look so sombre,” Stirla chided him. “It’s only Willym. If the worst happens, challenge him to a flight duel and beat the little worm hollow. You might not be much to look at, but Hurricane is. The pair of you can fly rings around him. Even Froth could manage that.”

Lyrai smiled. “Willym is quite a good flyer.”

“Not as good as you, though,” Stirla said. “Which means double the pleasure when you beat him in the simplest of tasks. Again. His face when you arrived with Hurricane!” He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Surely that was worth all those grounded months.”

Willym was more Stirla’s enemy than Lyrai’s – his father’s status protected Lyrai from the worst of Willym’s antagonism, since it might still come in handy one day – but Lyrai couldn’t deny that it had been a joy to witness Willym’s fury when he’d realised who Hurricane belonged to. “Not quite, but it was worth them to catch his first sight of Cumulo and Mhysra together.”

Stirla chuckled gleefully. “True. I’m surprised she’s still here. I’d have expected the old rat to have launched a campaign to get her gone.”

A couple of subtle conversations with Derrain and some mysterious comments dropped by Dhori had informed Lyrai that her friends were looking out for her. “She’s more stubborn than she looks.”

“She’d have to be to have put up with Cumulo for so long,” Stirla agreed, ushering him from the room. “Now, I don’t know about you, but since I’m being relegated to nursemaid in the morning, I could do with a trip to town for a draft or two. Maybe a bottle. You coming?”

Since all Lyrai’s students were having an early night in preparation for their trip the next day and he wasn’t on sentry duty, he nodded. “I suppose someone should hang around to walk you home afterwards.” Besides it was Midsummer.

“Ha! Says Lieutenant Lightweight.”

“Whatever you say, Captain Under the Table in Two Glasses.”

Stirla punched his shoulder. “I’m not a captain yet.”

Thumping him back, Lyrai snorted. “My mistake, Lieutenant One and a Half.”

“Funny. So funny.”

“I know. How you’ll miss me.”

“I think I’ll cope.” Chuckling, Stirla hooked him in a headlock and ruffled his hair until he squirmed free. “Somehow.”

~ Next Chapter ~

Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Rift Riders: Chapter 1, Part 2

Becca Lusher

rr-ch01-2

First time reading? Find out more about the Wingborn series!

~ Previous Chapter ~

Time to fly!

Not to mention catch up with a couple of familiar lieutenants. It just doesn’t feel the same without them.

MHYSRA LOCATED CUMULO’S tack and limped to her big miryhl’s side. “Ready to play?”

The giant eagle lowered his head for his bridle and rubbed his beak against her. “It’s about time you shared the fun. Just stay on and I’ll keep us out of trouble.”

Setting the saddle on his back and buckling the chest straps, Mhysra snorted. “That’s likely.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he sniffed virtuously, shuffling his wings as she buckled his girths. “You might want to strap yourself in too.”

Trying not to put too much weight on her sore ankle, Mhysra stepped onto his lowered wing, and let him boost her into the saddle. Once in place, she settled her bad foot into the stirrup and took her Wingborn’s advice. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she pulled the leather straps out from under the saddle, passed them over the tops of her legs and buckled them either side of the pommel. In terms of safety they weren’t foolproof, but they did offer an extra measure of security. The clips that also attached to her flight-belt she left loose; she wasn’t quite that feeble yet.

When they were fixed, she gathered Cumulo’s reins. “I almost dread hearing the answer, but what have you got in mind?”

Chuckling, the miryhl crouched. “To win, of course.” He sprang into the air, heavy wing beats causing the nearest miryhls to duck. Once he had enough height, Cumulo circled upwards, keeping an eye out for any third-years while waiting for Jaymes and Derrain to join them.

It wasn’t long before the three miryhls were gliding watchfully over the lake. The task ahead was simple: get back to the citadel. The only problem was that around fifty third-years were waiting to get in their way. It didn’t make Mhysra feel any better to know that she and her friends were just an appetiser before the second-years tried their own luck later in the day. Few enough first-years made it to this point, and those that did rarely put up a fight. She smiled, knowing Cumulo had other ideas in mind.

Rising from a crag halfway down the lake, seven miryhls circled. More launched along the route and Mhysra had no doubt others were waiting to ambush them. The challenge had begun.

Mhysra leant against her Wingborn’s back. “Ready, Cue?”

A chuckle vibrated up through his spine as he circled one last time. “Let’s show them how real Riders fly.” Pulling in his wings, he dived towards the lake.

A high scream echoed through the valley, answered by another and another, as three groups of miryhls stooped to attack. Cumulo kept his head down, aiming for the glistening water below. Hunched on his back, Mhysra looked over her shoulder, murmuring their opponents’ positions to her partner.

“This is just a game, Cue,” she warned. “We’re not supposed to hurt them.”

“Nor they us,” he replied, and tilted his wings so that they levelled out just above the water.

The third-years howled as they swept down the wind, arrows and bag-bombs at the ready.

“Steady,” Cumulo murmured. “Steady.”

Mhysra shifted on his back, resettling her weight and trying to ignore the throbbing in her ankle. She watched the nearest miryhls fan into an attack formation, the leader drawing back his bow. Her hands clenched in Cumulo’s neck feathers, wondering what he had planned. Two more students sighted them with their arrows and drew back their arms.

Cumulo arched his back and, with a downward thump of his wings, drove straight up into the formation, scattering miryhls everywhere. Arrows twanged harmlessly wide, startled students yelped and by the time they had recovered Cumulo was gone.

Other groups converged as Cumulo soared above the lake, powering into the wind. Mhysra looked behind and counted six miryhls approaching on the left, four on the right. She called their positions to her Wingborn and he tipped his head from side to side, assessing the competition. Two more groups joined in front, providing a united front of nine more miryhls.

Hunched on Cumulo’s back, Mhysra tried to make herself smaller, while her Wingborn laughed. “A challenge!” he screamed, lifting high as a flurry of arrows shot at them. “Hold on!”

Left with no other choice, Mhysra clung as Cumulo raced above the approaching flock and, as they turned to follow, folded his right wing, tucked in his left and dropped. Rolling twice, he avoided the missiles lobbed in their direction, flung open his wings and flew straight at the nearest miryhl.

Mhysra clenched her teeth and shut her eyes as Cumulo rolled again, breaking the defensive line and scattering his opponents. Her Wingborn was enjoying himself hugely, shrieking and swooping on the other miryhls to make them flee. She couldn’t join in, though, as every sharp turn, roll and unexpected move sent a jolt through her twisted ankle and made her feel sick.

Despite that, the roar of the wind in her ears, the chill of the air racing over them and the sheer exuberance of her miryhl did raise her spirits. Cumulo was so magnificent – how could she not be impressed?

Though younger than those he was facing, Cumulo was big, cocky and brash. Being Wingborn meant he matured faster than other miryhls, and most often kept company with birds of the officer class. It was unfair to pit him against student eagles, even when they outnumbered him. Flock politics meant that they had to give way, something of which Cumulo took full advantage.

Whenever one saw him coming, they were only too eager to move, regardless of their Rider’s orders. It was fine to chase him, but quite a different matter when he flew in their faces. Mhysra laughed at the dismay on the third-years’ faces as their miryhls dodged and almost collided in their haste to keep out of Cumulo’s way.

Such was the chaos that Derrain and Jaymes slipped easily by unnoticed. When they were safe Cumulo swept out of the commotion, leaving their opponents squawking like flustered hens. Giving up on them, with jeers and catcalls, the third-year flocks returned to their perches to await easier prey.

Laughing, Cumulo swiftly caught up with the other first-years, and the three young miryhls rose above the lake, riding the draft through the narrow valley opening and on towards the citadel below.

Lifting her face to the sky, Mhysra felt her heart race in time with Cumulo’s, and knew there was no place on the Overworld more perfect than this.

* * * * *

“MAKE WAY FOR Aquila’s most esteemed and honoured flight instructor.” Lieutenant Willym was at his mocking best when Lyrai entered the officers’ mess for dinner that evening.

“Someone skipped their envy drops this morning,” Stirla said airily, shifting along the bench to make room for Lyrai. “Not to mention feels sore because none of his precious favourites made it home today.”

Grinning, Lyrai shook his head and greeted Captain Myran’s senior lieutenants, recently returned from Nimbys and staying in the town barracks. “What brings you up here?”

Imaino rolled his eyes in Willym’s direction. “Can’t say it’s the company.”

“Likewise,” Willym sneered.

“Stubble it, boy,” Fleik grumbled. “You give me indigestion.”

Stirla chuckled as the other lieutenant’s face turned an unpleasant shade of red. “It seems not everyone is afraid of your father. Poor Willym, having to suffer such insubordinate ruffians.”

The dark-eyed lieutenant glowered, but the arrival of the captains deprived him of any comebacks. Instead he moved to the far end of the table and turned his back, like the sulky brat he truly was.

“Well, that told us,” Fleik said cheerfully, standing up to shake hands with Captain Hylan. “Good to see you again, sir. I thought you were patrolling the Wrathlen.”

“I was,” Hylan agreed, slapping Imaino on the back and ruffling Stirla’s hair. “News brought me back early. Don’t suppose any of you know where I can find the dean?”

“Still in Nimbys, as far as we know,” Captain Fredkhen said, as the servants brought in their meal. “We expect him back any day now.”

“Unless he gets snared for the Midsummer festivities,” Captain Myran added, making his lieutenants shudder, while he stopped at the sideboard to gather a fresh bottle of wine. “Cayn would be grateful for the support.”

“Especially since Lieutenant Lenfyr wants to wear a dress,” Fleik mumbled between mouthfuls. “Not sure how he intends to explain that one.”

“She won’t have to,” Imaino said, sipping his wine. “I’ve seen it. There are so many Kevian crystals on it that the last place anyone’ll be looking at is her face. Even with her dress coat on top.”

“After all these years as a male Rider, it must seem strange to suddenly come out as a woman,” Stirla mused. “Her disguise must have been a damn good one.”

“Or her friends damn good at keeping secrets,” Imaino agreed, with a wink.

“I suppose that now the proclamation is in place, she won’t be the last.” Stirla grinned and raised his glass towards the captains. “Here’s to a brave new Overworld.”

The captains shared a wearied look. “And I thought I had problems,” Fredkhen muttered.

“You have,” Hylan assured him, looking around the room. “We all have.”

“Mysteriousness never suited you,” Myran said, limping across the room to take the seat beside Lyrai. “Unless you intend to wait for the dean to return, why don’t you join us, eat and share what you can?”

Hylan took the space between Stirla and Imaino and filled his plate. “The Wrathlen stirs.”

They fell silent and even Fleik stopped mid-chew. Beyond the walls the sounds of the main hall filtered in, while in the serving room, someone dropped a platter and was soundly chastised for it. Inside the officers’ mess, all eyes focused on Hylan.

“How much of a stir?” Fredkhen asked, voice strained.

“All out.”

“The anticipated target?” Myran enquired, pouring himself a glass of wine and another for Hylan, which he passed down the table.

The other captain drained half of it in one gulp. “My sources have been silent for a month.”

The lieutenants and captains exchanged uneasy glances.

“What do you intend to do, sir?” Fleik asked.

“Speak to the dean,” Hylan replied. “I’ll need more men to watch, hoping that when they move we’ll be able to delay them or send out warnings.”

“Not much of a plan,” Willym muttered from the far end of the table.

“Then perhaps yours should be one of the flurries sent in support,” Myran said, voice cold.

Fredkhen looked embarrassed, but he’d always been too nice for someone like Willym.

The trainee-lieutenant shrugged. “Can’t be any worse than wasting my time here.”

Lyrai caught Stirla’s eye and they shook their heads. Willym never changed.

“I had hoped to speak to the dean on my arrival, but I would have taken the next step regardless.” Hylan drained his wineglass and looked at the captains. “I need your swiftest Riders. We might not know what the Wrathlen plans or where they intend to strike, but that doesn’t mean we can’t send out warnings. Most of the Greater West will be on the alert, but such a force might try their luck on Imercian or down the Stormsurge. This way we can prevent anyone being taken by surprise.”

Fredkhen nodded grimly, while Myran signalled for his senior lieutenants to see to it.

“In the meantime, we wait,” Hylan sighed, toying with his food. He wasn’t the only one whose appetite had vanished. “Merry Midsummer, everyone.”

~ Next Chapter ~

Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 24, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch24.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

So we come to it at last…

IT WAS THE last day of the year and the first fine day for a three-quarter moon. The residents of Aquila – town, citadel and barracks – filled the Lawn and practice fields on both sides of the river. The Riders and students wore their dress uniforms and the townsfolk were in light blue. Each man and woman bore either an armband or a headscarf, woven in black and gold.

Nineteen white paper boats waited on the bank, resting on a blanket so as not to get wet before their time. Each one was covered with ink – messages from friends, families and loved ones – ready to carry the words to Typhaestus’ realm. Beside them rested eight swans, folded from black paper.

Aquila had come to honour their dead.

Deep in the mountain caves, twenty new tombs had been filled; twelve Riders, one miryhl and seven bonded pairs. It was not only the kaz-naghkt who had paid a high price for the attack on Aquila. The burial ceremonies had taken place three days after the battle, but few could crowd under the mountain to pay their respects. So now they remembered them.

Dean Marshall stood on the bank with the priest of Maegla and together they blessed the boats and swans. “There is no higher service to Aquila, the Overworld, Maegla and the Gods than that given by those we remember today,” the dean said, touching Stirla on the shoulder. “Think well of them.”

The burly lieutenant knelt upon the blanket and lifted a black swan. “Go in peace, Miryhl Spiral. May the gods grant you fast winds.” Lowering his hands into the rushing river, he released the swan and picked up a little boat. “Rider Cieryn, bonded of Spiral, may the Gods reunite you in peace. Bright skies, my friend.”

The paper shapes bobbed gently in the water, resting against the screen held by the priest. Steadily Stirla added more swans and boats, murmuring tributes to each of the lost miryhls and men of his flurry. When he stepped back, four boats and two swans jostled in the river, waiting to be released.

Next came Lieutenant Willym, who had lost three pairs and three men. Then Lieutenant Hlen bid farewell to one pair, one miryhl and four men. By now the floating papers were in danger of sinking, but this was not a task that could be rushed.

Lastly came Lyrai, freshly released from the infirmary, pale and still a little weak. He limped on his bad leg and knelt with the help of Stirla. Once he was stable, he waved his friend back and lowered three more boats into the river, speaking each name with a tribute.

Finally, he picked up the last swan and boat. “Miryhl Harrier and Rider Dhenras, be reunited in peace. May the Gods grant you bright sun and clear skies, with the wind at your backs and the clouds beneath you. Aquila is proud.”

Leaning forward, he lowered both hands into the water and sent the papers spinning with a puff of breath. The current jostled them on its rippling swell to join the others against the screen.

“Aquila is proud,” Dean Marshall echoed, and everyone bowed their heads for the final prayer. “Though they are gone, be they never forgotten. For Aquila you died, and at Aquila your memory will live on. We are proud, we are humbled and we thank you. Be at peace, children of Maegla.”

“Be at peace,” the gathering murmured, and beneath the warm sun on the last day of the year, the screen was pulled up to release the boats and swans.

The symbolic flotilla bumped along together, black swans bobbing, paper boats spinning. Beneath the bridge all went dark, then the water roared over the falls and they disappeared from sight.

Gone, but never forgotten.

* * * * *
The End
* * * * *

And there, I am afraid, we leave everyone for the time being. So, please, raise a glass of your favourite beverage, as I say “Thank you” for coming along for the ride. It’s been fun sharing this story with people again, so I hope you’ve enjoyed it.

In a month or so I will be releasing it as an ebook from various retailers – more to come when it happens – and after that I’ll be diving into book 2 (Rift Riders).

For now, I bid you all a very fond farewell, but look forward to seeing you again on August 26th, when Mhysra and co will be back in an action-packed sequel.

Until then, thank you so much for reading.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 24, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch24.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

This is it, the last chapter. What am I going to do with my Fridays now?

Also known as: The One With The Awkward Conversation.

Twenty Four

 13th Thaw

Rain splattered against the windows as Mhysra climbed high inside the eastern citadel. Thaw month was living up to its name and it had been drizzling non-stop for days. Soon even the lake would be free of ice. Pausing to catch her breath after a particularly steep flight of stairs, Mhysra peered out at the drowning world. The river roared along its banks, flooding the Lawn and almost filling the arch of the bridge.

Not that anyone was complaining. Thanks to this downpour, all signs of the recent kaz-naghkt attack had been scoured away. At least on the surface.

Leaving the window, Mhysra walked to the end of the corridor. The ward was almost empty now; the lesser wounded having been discharged, while the worst had expired. It left only fractures, non-fatal wounds and the feverish to languish in the airy room.

Mhysra smiled hesitantly at the healer on duty. “Lieutenant Lyrai sent for me?”

The healer rose from behind his desk, his height all the more impressive for his fragile slenderness. “Oh, you’re that one, are you?” Unsure how to answer, she shrugged and he smiled. “Come along, student, he’s been asking for you. Repeatedly.”

Hurrying after him, she kept her eyes on the healer’s back. It was hard to imagine that this clean, peaceful place had been filled to overflowing just days before, when she and Derrain had dragged Dhori up to get his scratches looked at. There’d been blood everywhere, while men screamed in their beds. Now everything was white and scrubbed; all signs of death firmly out of sight.

The few Riders they passed were sleeping, splinted legs elevated, broken shoulders heavily strapped. The man at the end gargled with every breath, but the healer smiled reassuringly.

“Just a cold. He landed in the river. Luckily he was fished out before he went over the falls.”

She smiled back, shuddering when the healer looked away. While waiting for Dhori to be seen, Derrain and she had held the hands of a Rider whose lungs had sounded like that. His chest wound had turned his uniform black. Yet he’d managed to break Derrain’s thumb when he choked at the end. A junior healer had strapped it up while her master saw to Dhori.

“Here. Special room for the special lieutenant.” The healer grinned as he opened the door.

“I never asked for special treatment,” a gruff voice grumbled from the bed.

“No, but the others did.” The healer winked at Mhysra as he checked Lyrai’s notes, then took the lieutenant’s pulse. “They couldn’t sleep for your fretting. Well, either that or your snoring. I’m not sure which was worse.”

Ignoring him, Lyrai narrowed his eyes at Mhysra. “Here, are you? Took your time.”

The healer poked the lieutenant in the cheek. “Open your mouth so I can check your throat. And don’t take any notice of him, child, the fever has made him grumpy.”

“More than usual?” she quipped, though in truth she was shocked: Lyrai looked terrible. His eyes were bright but underlined by black shadows. His cheeks were feverishly red and his fair hair was sweaty and sticking up at odd angles. His hands trembled when he tugged the blanket up his chest. Thanks to the healer taking more time than necessary to check the lieutenant’s throat, however, all Mhysra’s comment earned was a glare.

“Let’s see that leg,” the healer said, flicking back the blanket over Lyrai’s right thigh.

The lieutenant started protesting about his modesty, choked and ended up coughing instead. After a glance at the angry marks, Mhysra wandered over to the window to inspect the rain. While she traced droplets with her fingertips, the healer spoke softly to Lyrai and left with a cheery goodbye.

Mhysra stayed by the window, knowing what was coming.

“What did you think you were doing?”

“My duty,” she muttered, knowing it was rude not to face him, but it was hard to fight when he looked so ragged.

“Student Mhysra,” he growled, and ended up coughing. In fact he coughed so hard that she almost ran for the healer, until he pointed at the water jug on the nightstand. She poured a glass and held it for him until his hands stopped shaking. He drained the rest himself.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she said, staring at the floor.

“I summoned you,” he rasped. “Several days ago.”

She sighed. “And I came, sir, but it’s hard to be berated by an unconscious man and I didn’t have time to wait for your revival.”

His lips twitched and he pointed to the chair beside the bed. “Sit. You’ve been spending too much time with Stirla.”

She poured him another drink before sitting down. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It’s not.” He sipped from his glass and scowled. “But it’s mild compared to what I want to say. Now that you’re facing me, student, I would be gratified to know what you thought you were doing. And don’t say your duty,” he snapped, before she could repeat herself. “Your duty is not to get killed. Under the circumstances, which I admit were unusual, your duty was to rouse the citadel – as Derrain did. Your duty was to land and stay safe with the other students. Explain yourself.” The long speech ended in another coughing fit and Mhysra pursed her lips.

“If Cumulo hadn’t fought off the kaz-naghkt above the lake, Derrain would never have raised the alarm. Sir,” she added, knowing her tone was defiant. Not even Captain Myran had reprimanded her. True, he was busy, but he smiled and patted her shoulder whenever they passed in the corridor. In Mhysra’s book that counted as praise, especially from the taciturn captain. Stirla thought she and Cumulo were marvellous and even Willym had kept his opinion to himself.

It was just this man. The one who had been wounded but too stubborn to withdraw.

“That was no excuse to continue fighting once you reached the citadel and more experienced Riders took over the defence. Don’t you realise the risk you posed?” His voice grew so raspy Mhysra could barely understand him. “Your recklessness put not only yourself and Cumulo in danger, but the life of every Rider who may have been injured by your inexperience or in trying to save your life when you made a foolish error.”

“But I didn’t!” she protested furiously. Thanks to his own irresponsible behaviour, he was lucky he hadn’t passed out from blood loss in the middle of the fight, instead of moments after Hurricane had reached the eyries. Thanks to his stubbornness, his injuries hadn’t been treated until the majority of the wounded had been seen to, by which time the puncture marks were infected, resulting in the fever that could have killed him.

And he called her reckless?

“No one was injured or killed because of me. If I remember right, sir, I saved your life.”

The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably and coughed into his fist, murmuring, “I believe you did. Yourself and Dhori. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied primly. “And thank you too. Cumulo and I were in big trouble, until Hurricane’s timely arrival.”

“You’re welcome,” he grumbled. “But that just proves my point. You’re not experienced enough for such a fight. You had no weapons!”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who fell off my miryhl because I’d lost too much blood!” she snapped, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Lyrai’s face was red, but whether from anger, embarrassment or his fever it was hard to tell. His nostrils flared and he drew himself up, the epitome of affronted aristocratic male. “I am a lieutenant and you are my student. Of the two of us, I believe I have more experience in these matters. Furthermore, I am charged with your education and welfare while you remain at Aquila. When I say you shouldn’t have been out there at least have the grace to acknowledge the truth!” A coughing fit spoiled his speech.

Mhysra further ruined it by pouring him another glass of water and supporting him while he struggled to drink it. “All right,” she murmured, more to calm him than because she agreed. “It was foolish. I didn’t think. Cumulo didn’t think. The citadel was in trouble and we wanted to help. We knew we could fight, so we did. It was pure luck that brought us through unscathed, but there was no harm done in the end. Please, sir, don’t kill yourself berating me.”

Lyrai sank back onto his pillows, lips curved in a wry smile. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “And no, no harm was done. You fought well. You both did.”

“Have you seen Dhori yet?” she asked, wondering what the lieutenant would say to him.

He frowned, confused. “Why would I?”

Mhysra opened her mouth to point out the obvious, since they were both first-years wading into active combat for the first time. Then scowled. “It’s because I’m a girl, isn’t it?”

The lieutenant glanced away. “Nonsense.”

“Then why haven’t you called Dhori in?”

“I didn’t see him.”

She suspected calling her lieutenant a liar would be insolent, so she gritted her teeth. “You said he helped save your life earlier. It is because I’m a girl. I knew it! I knew it the first day in Nimbys, when I moved Cumulo to the eyries. I saw it in your eyes then and it’s still here now. You probably opposed the proclamation too. You don’t want girls in the Riders. Well, we’re here, sir, and we’re not going away. You’ll just have to get used to it.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” he snapped, coughing hard, but forcing the words out. “I welcomed the proclamation. I was one of its strongest supporters. You’re wrong.” He rolled to his side to cough harder and Mhysra worried that she’d killed him.

When she offered him a drink, he refused, his face almost purple with coughing. The healer rushed in and pulled him upright, ordering Mhysra to fetch more water.

There was just enough left in the pitcher to fill a glass, so she fled on the excuse of refilling it. When she reluctantly returned she was relieved to find the lieutenant propped up against a bank of pillows, his eyes closed, face damp with sweat.

The healer stopped her at the door. “Say your goodbyes, student. I think you’ve both had enough excitement for one day.” He left them with a firm nod, promising to return very soon.

As she placed the jug on the table, Lyrai opened an eye. “It had nothing to do with you being a girl. I was jealous.”

“Of Cue.” She nodded, having worked that out the day she met him. In truth she hadn’t thought badly of him anymore after she’d seen him treat the girls the same as the boys at the selection school. The whole argument was stupid. Why couldn’t he let it go? She hadn’t done any harm and she was in no rush to repeat the experience. Why couldn’t he see that?

“You frightened me,” he murmured, and she blinked. “Admittedly, most of you students frighten me, one way or another. The idea of Corin with a sword or Mouse in unsupervised charge of a miryhl…” Lyrai shuddered and she smiled. He smiled back. “And all right, a little of it is because you’re a girl. I was raised to this life, and one of my first Rider duties is to protect the weak. Women and children first. I have three sisters. It was a shock to see you fighting as one of us.

“I know.” He held up a hand to stop her protests. “I know you have as much right to be here as the boys. More than most, given your test results and the fact that you’re Wingborn. But it’s a big step. It doesn’t mean I don’t want women in the Riders – it can only do us good – but it will take some getting used to. Not only are you female, but you’re my student. I’m supposed to protect -” He coughed, and Mhysra handed him a drink.

“I make that a little hard, I suppose,” she sighed, a little grudgingly. “My aunt encouraged us to be independent, boys and girls. And then there’s Cumulo.” She shook her head. “Hopefully over the next three years we’ll adjust. We girls have to fight sometime, sir, or there’s no point to us being here.”

“I know,” Lyrai agreed. “For what it’s worth, I stand by what I said. And now you’ve reminded me, I’ll say it to Dhori too.”

Mhysra shrugged, not caring whether he did or not. “Dhori looks like a Rider already.”

“Happens,” the lieutenant murmured, yawning. “Rare, but it does happen.”

“If he wasn’t so nice I might hate him.”

Lyrai smiled. “If I was in his year, I probably would.” His eyes drifted closed. “Thank you for coming, Mhysra. Sorry I lost my temper.”

“I’m sorry I lost mine too, sir,” she replied softly, not wanting to wake him. When he said nothing more, she tiptoed towards the door.

Before it closed, he muttered, “Don’t do it again.”

“Finally, something we can agree on.”

He smiled and settled deeper into his pillows. Shaking her head, Mhysra turned and almost walked into the healer.

“Well?”

She glanced back at the lieutenant’s room. “He’s sleeping.”

“Peacefully?”

“He was smiling when I left.”

The healer smiled himself. “Good. Next time he summons you, ignore it please. At least until he’s no longer in my care.”

Saluting, she left him chuckling and headed towards the eyries to tell Cumulo all about it.

Come back on Sunday for The End!
There is more to it than that, I promise. Even I wouldn’t make a whole post just to write The End, hahahahahahah!
No, really, I wouldn’t.
Well, maybe I would, but this chapter isn’t quite finished yet so I’ll have to save it for some other time.

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

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 23, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch23.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Two more chapters to go!

And after the way things ended last Sunday… I’m just going to shut up and let you get on.

Although if you need a refresh, the last line was about grabbing hold of Cumulo’s tail and lunging –

Twenty Three

 STRAIGHT INTO HURRICANE, who caught the kaz-naghkt full in the face with his talons.

“Go!” Lieutenant Lyrai shouted, while the kaz-naghkt screamed.

Freed, Cumulo needed no further urging. There was time for one snatched breath before he folded his wings and entered the darkness beneath the bridge. Mhysra huddled against him, wondering if her heart would ever recover. The shadow seemed to go on and on as they dropped closer to the water, their momentum lost after the kaz-naghkt had grabbed them.

Sunlight blinded her on the other side and air surged beneath Cumulo’s wings again as he banked upwards, swinging back towards the citadel. He flapped hard to lift them over the eyries, now swarming with miryhls and kaz-naghkt. A familiar eagle appeared through the chaos, its wings tipped with silver.

Keeping an eye out for attack, Cumulo glided closer and, when Latinym was directly overhead, Dhori dropped a bow and quiver into Mhysra’s hands.

“Luck!” he called, Latinym already racing back to the fight.

“I think we’ve already had more than our fair share today,” Mhysra muttered, securing the quiver to her saddle before testing the balance of the pre-strung bow. It was perfect. She frowned and wondered how Dhori had managed to bring hers to her. Where had he gotten it?

“The gods can spare us a little more,” Cumulo shouted. “Wake up!”

Blinking, she looked up and found they had company. Three kaz-naghkt screeched down the wind, outpacing the miryhls on their tails. If they got too close, a kaz-naghkt would twist and lash out with its tail. Spotting Cumulo, they grinned and stooped to attack.

Mhysra drew an arrow from her quiver with shaking hands. “Steady,” she called, and Cumulo levelled his wings calmly, as if they faced murderous kaz-naghkt every day.

“Maegla aid me,” she whispered, aimed at the kaz-naghkt on the left and released.

The wind snatched at the arrow, driving it away from the pale chest she’d aimed for and striking the thick muscle beneath the kaz-naghkt’s right wing instead.

Shrieking, the creature curled around the wound, swinging its broad left wing across. The kaz-naghkt next to it lashed out as a leather sail clouted it in the face. Black blood sprayed and the wounded creature fell, injured in both wings. While it could have easily recovered from an arrow wound, there was little it could do with its other wing in tatters.

The kaz-naghkt that had done the damage shook its head, too dizzy from the slap to spot a miryhl dropping on it from above.

As they battled, the final kaz-naghkt continued onwards, flexing its claws. Wings spread, holding steady, Cumulo waited for Mhysra to nock another arrow. Her hands were shaking and it was all she could do to draw. She released too early and cursed when the arrow went harmlessly wide.

“Hold on!” Cumulo warned, and she gripped her bow in one hand and grabbed the saddle with the other as her miryhl dropped.

The kaz-naghkt screamed with glee and swooped after them, wings tucked in tight. It screamed again when Cumulo rolled over, grabbing its torso and face with his thick talons. Claws scrabbled, trying to reach the miryhl’s belly, but Cumulo thrust his legs out, completed his roll and dropped his prey. The body tumbled and struck an outcrop; a black smear on grey granite.

While Mhysra watched it fall, Cumulo took them back to the fight, far more prepared than she for what they faced. “Stay with me,” he called, sensing her distraction.

Her voice failed when she tried to speak, so she licked her lips and took a deep breath. “Always,” she croaked, checking her quiver with shaking hands to make sure none of her arrows had been lost in their tumble. She checked her safety straps were still nice and tight, selected an arrow and shrugged her bow into her hand, ready for whatever came next.

* * * * *

LYRAI PAUSED TO wipe the sweat from his face as Hurricane circled above the battle. His right arm ached. It had been too long since he’d last fought, but this was what he’d trained for, had gotten so good at and been denied when he was grounded. Now he had Hurricane and was a true Rift Rider again – but it had never been like this with Froth.

Hurricane tensed and Lyrai leant against his back, holding his sword close and ready. They needed no words to know what the other would do next or where each wanted to go. This miryhl had been born for him, Lyrai could feel it in every tilt of Hurricane’s wings as he darted between scraps and fell talons-first on the tangle of kaz-naghkt gathered around Stirla.

While his miryhl battled, Lyrai brandished his sword, catching the first kaz-naghkt by surprise as he swept off its tail. Unbalanced, it struggled to turn and was impaled on Stirla’s sword.

Lyrai swung again and again, defending them on all sides while his miryhl fought. Most of the kaz-naghkt fled, seeking easier prey, while the less fortunate were already in Atyrn or Hurricane’s talons.

Another creature banked overhead and dropped towards Lyrai, claws outstretched. Bracing himself, Lyrai raised his sword and swung, slicing through one arm and catching the kaz-naghkt’s other shoulder. Hurricane stuttered at the impact before Lyrai diverted the kaz-naghkt’s weight downwards. It snarled, battered but by no means dead.

Licking its bloodstained lips, it smiled as fresh skin, bone and muscle writhed and crawled out of the severed stump. Knowing what was to come and what he had to do, Lyrai adjusted his grip on his sword and hauled.

Still attached to the lieutenant through its shoulder, the creature keened. Lyrai pulled again, bringing the writhing creature within reach. It sank its claws into his leg and opened its mouth to bite, but the angle of the sword restricted its head and it couldn’t quite reach.

Jerking his knee up, Lyrai shoved the kaz-naghkt off the blade and exposed its chest. Then he struck. His sword cleaved through the exposed flesh with ease, stopping only when it reached the scaled skin on the other side. The whole weapon juddered as the kaz-naghkt’s heart pulsed. Twisting his wrist, Lyrai braced his foot on the creature’s shoulder and pulled his sword free. The kaz-naghkt screamed and dropped into the river.

One less enemy to worry about.

“Are you wounded?” Stirla shouted as Atyrn circled counter to Hurricane.

Lyrai pressed on the puncture wounds in his thigh and cursed, forced to sheath his sword as he shrugged out of one side of his flying jacket. Using his belt knife, he cut through his shirtsleeve and dragged the material off, before pulling his jacket on again. Slicing the sleeve into strips, he bound his thigh, wadding material over the worst of the wound and tying the binding as tight as he could. It wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t going to retire from the field now. Not when they were still needed.

“Lyrai?” Stirla called.

“Fine!” he shouted, patting Hurricane’s neck when his miryhl glared at him.

Satisfied, Stirla raced back into the fray, aiming for an oversized kaz-naghkt who was causing a bunch of Riders a mountain of problems. Knowing he had the situation well in hand, as Atyrn hit the creature from behind, Lyrai urged Hurricane up high.

They weren’t alone up there – Captain Myran circled the battle, shouting orders and guiding Riders into place. Several archers also surveyed the fight, picking off targets. Hurricane was heading towards the captain when something else caught Lyrai’s eye.

“Maegla blast her,” he cursed, tugging Hurricane in the opposite direction. The miryhl shot him an aggravated look, before spotting what his Rider had seen. He growled and leant into the pull on his reins.

“My thoughts exactly,” Lyrai replied, scowling at Cumulo and the untrained girl upon his back. “This is no time for glory hunting!”

Cumulo continued his focused glide without glancing at them. Mhysra, however, looked over and calmly raised her bow. Then, as steadily as if she were on the practise field, she loosed.

It happened so fast that Lyrai barely ducked the arrow speeding towards him. Only when something screeched did he look behind. A kaz-naghkt clawed at its eye, barely a spear length from Hurricane’s tail.

“Maegla!”

A dark blur darted under the wounded kaz-naghkt, the Rider on its back ripping open the creature’s chest with a neat sweep of his sword.

The miryhl ducked out of the way of the falling body and Dhori grinned at Mhysra. “Great!” he called. “Aim for the chests. Only a heart blow will kill them.” Then he was gone.

Stunned, Lyrai turned back to Mhysra – she had her hands over her face.

“Gods, gods, gods,” she squeaked. “I almost killed my lieutenant. Gods!”

And he’d thought she looked calm. It was so absurd, Lyrai laughed. “You can use me for target practise anytime,” he called, as Hurricane swept past and dived back into the fray.

~ 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 22, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch22.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Three chapters to go!

Cheer up, Mouse. Your friends are with you. (Although, if I wasn’t able to fly my miryhl, I’d be pretty grumpy too.)

Twenty Two

24th Winter Rains

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Mhysra warned, watching Mouse lurch to the windowsill.

“If I want to walk again, I have to walk,” Mouse panted, waving away Derrain’s help. White lines were etched at the corners of his mouth, but no one mentioned them.

After almost a month in the infirmary, fighting off infections as well as the damage of the puncture wounds, Mouse had spent the last two moons hobbling around on crutches. The healers still worked with him when the rest of the first-years did their physical training. Thanks to them, Mouse would eventually be able to walk without a stick, but only if he was sensible. And patient. Since this was Mouse, Mhysra didn’t hold out much hope. Especially as he’d decided to forego his crutches entirely this morning.

“Ready to try?” Derrain asked, pushing the others aside.

Mouse stared at the empty floor between himself and Derrain, head bobbing as he calculated the distance: about twelve feet. “Yes. It’ll be easy.”

Hugging his crutches, Corin snorted, but held her peace. The fall had changed Mouse. He was quieter now, more self-contained and grim, and far more determined. His friends had learned to support him in silence, since he didn’t listen to objections. Nor did he want pity or advice. He was going to walk without a limp and that was final.

“All right.” Taking a deep breath, Mouse moved, his friends wincing with each step. After eight feet, he hissed and wobbled. “Blast it,” he growled, grabbing Dhori’s arm. “I hate this.”

“Eight feet is better than none,” Mhysra said soothingly. “And you walked. It’s a start.”

He looked at her. She shut up.

“A limp isn’t so bad. Look at Captain Myran,” Greig pointed out, as one or other of them had done daily since the accident.

“Myran was already a captain when he gained his limp,” Mouse growled. “I’m not even allowed on a miryhl. If things stay this way I’d have been better off breaking my neck.”

An uneasy silence fell and Mhysra hunched her shoulders, her guilt over Mouse’s injuries growing with every bitter day that he struggled to walk again.

“Cheer up,” Derrain ordered, squeezing Mhysra’s arm sympathetically. “It’s your first go without crutches. Don’t give up yet. Even miryhls have to learn to fly.”

“Is da poor ickle cwipple feeling sowwy for himself?” a mocking voice cooed.

Bovei and three of Willym’s favourite students lounged in the corridor behind them. Eyeing Mouse’s bent leg and the crutches Corin held, Bovei smirked. “Poor baby.”

“Got something to say, lordling?” Greig demanded, squaring up the them. Though he might have lacked his uncle’s intimidating height, Derrain didn’t, and the pair of them blocked Mouse from unfriendly eyes.

Bovei looked Greig up and down and raised his eyebrows at Derrain. “Farm boys. So uncouth.” He sniffed exaggeratedly. “Can you smell something? Has someone been sleeping with the pigs again?” His friends tittered.

Mhysra put her elbow on Derrain’s shoulder and leant casually against him. “I didn’t know you shared a dormitory with Fredkhen’s boys, Derry.”

The tips of Bovei’s ears went red, but he rallied. “And who’s been sleeping in yours?” he sneered. “Everyone knows why girls really want to join the Riders. What’s the matter, wouldn’t anyone take you in Nimbys?”

Derrain tensed, but Mhysra laughed, pleased to have deflected Bovei’s poison.

Greig smiled. “Funny you should show such an interest since it’s your bed I’ve been hearing about. But then, one must always strive to please one’s lieutenant. In whatever way he desires.”

One of the boys choked, while Bovei balled his fists. “What are you implying, farm boy?”

“I think you know, lordling,” Greig sneered.

Derrain unfolded his arms slowly, smiling as Bovei watched his big fists flex and bunch. “I think the whole citadel knows.”

If looks could kill…

Going for the final push, Mhysra raised her eyebrows. “Got a problem with that, lordling?”

Too angry for words, but not brave enough to take on Derrain, Bovei spat at their feet and marched off, taking his friends with him.

“He’s not very happy with us,” Corin said sadly.

Greig shrugged. “Willym’ll kiss it better.” The friends grinned.

Except for Mouse. “I can look after myself,” he growled. “I don’t need you protecting me.”

Despite his antagonism, Greig chuckled. “But it was fun. Taking out the rubbish was my main chore back home. I’m good at it.”

“As a cabin boy I chased rats off the ship,” Derrain said, stretching his arms over his head. “It’s good to stay in practise.”

“I don’t need your help,” Mouse snapped.

“Who said we did it for you?” Greig retorted, taking the crutches from Corin and shoving them at him. “Maybe we got fed up of him poisoning our air.”

“I could have dealt with him,” Mouse insisted stubbornly.

Derrain shook his head. “It isn’t fair to keep all the fun for yourself. We deserve some too.”

Clenching his jaw, Mouse manoeuvred his crutches into place. “If it makes you happy.”

Grabbing hold of Corin, Greig waltzed her down the hallway. “Nothing makes me happier than meeting Lord Twit and his twittering lordlings. It adds something to my day.”

“Arsenic?” Mhysra enquired, and Mouse actually cracked a smile. There was hope yet.

Somewhere high overhead a bell began to ring, causing Corin to stop. She yelped as Greig tripped over her and they collided with the wall, collapsing in a graceless heap.

It was Starday, so the bell meant only one thing: time to fly.

Corin and Greig hastily untangled themselves and raced off, but Mhysra waited, while Dhori and Derrain exchanged glances over the glum Mouse’s head. Derrain raised his eyebrows, but Dhori shook his head, jerking it to the right. Derrain shrugged.

“Come on, Mouse,” Dhori said. “I’ll walk with you to the healers.”

Mouse narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

Derrain grinned. “We know you don’t, but maybe Dhori does. He took an embarrassing knock yesterday. It hurts to sit down.”

Mhysra bit her lip as the unflappable Dhori scowled, only to blank his expression when Mouse looked at him. “Really?”

“A little tender,” he mumbled. “Care to keep me company while I see the healers?”

“I can do that,” Mouse agreed with a hint of his old bounce.

Derrain winked at Mhysra. “See, it’s not always about you, Mouse.”

Leaning into his crutches, Mouse raised a hand to make a rude gesture.

Shaking his head, Derrain sighed. “I am so unappreciated.”

“Aye,” Mhysra agreed, patting his arm “You’re a regular martyr to your miracles.”

“I know,” he murmured modestly. “But still I try.”

* * * * *

THE EYRIES BUSTLED with students as Mhysra scooped up her harness, before weaving between the miryhls. Cumulo’s eyes were bright and he dipped his head at her approach.

“Feeling impatient?” she asked, buckling the straps of his bridle.

“I thought the snow would never end,” he grumbled, shivering at the weight of the saddle. “I’ve forgotten how to fly.”

“Hardly,” she snorted, tightening the girths. “You’ve been out every day, just not with me.”

“I’ve forgotten how to fly with you then. I’ll try not to drop you.”

“Thanks.”

“Hurry up.” He nudged her. “I want to beat the rush.”

Excited at the chance to fly again, Mhysra double checked all the buckles and straps, worried she might have missed something in her haste. “All right?” she asked, making Cumulo look again when he snapped that it was fine. Finally satisfied, she stepped onto his lowered wing and swung astride.

“At last,” he growled, leaping before she had a chance to tuck her legs up or gather the reins.

“Cue!” she complained.

“If you fall off now, you’re being stupid,” he retorted, teetering on the edge of the hatch. “Sort yourself out.”

“Yes, my lord. Sorry, my lord. Will that do, my lord?” she grumbled, tucking her feet into place and lying along his back. “I love you, Cue, even when you’re impatient.”

“You say that now,” he chuckled, and dropped over the edge.

“Maegla,” Mhysra whispered, tightening her grip.

They’d left the eyries on the waterfall side of the bridge countless times before, but this was the first time Cumulo hadn’t bothered to open his wings. Instead he used them to clamp her legs to his sides. The falls roared as they dropped parallel, flashing past the town in heartbeats. Then all was stone, water, clouds and the ferocious rush of the wind.

Cumulo fell, the air rippling over his feathers and nipping at his clenched wings. Water beaded his belly and Mhysra’s face, before being snatched away. A wiser person, Mhysra suspected, would have been terrified as the Cloud Sea drew closer, darkened by the shadows of rocks below. Energy and excitement fizzed through her as she delighted in the icy rush of the wind and the stomach-clenching fear of freefall. She laughed. She was flying with Cumulo. Nothing was better than this.

Cold seized her legs as Cumulo relaxed his wings, spreading them wide to sweep out of the dive and over the turbulent sea. A pale shape dropped past and Cumulo flapped upwards in surprise, talons raised to deal with the threat. The other miryhl opened its wings and shot beneath them, shrieking a challenge.

“Damn mimicking magpie,” Cumulo snarled, racing in pursuit.

Hurricane and Lyrai looked over their shoulders and sped up. The lieutenant was laughing.

Cumulo screamed and flapped harder, rising above Hurricane to where the air was smoother. Mhysra was surprised – and delighted – to see how her miryhl had improved. He’d had another growth spurt over the winter and was now the slightly larger of the two.

Hurricane glanced up, banked left, then right, searching for an updraft to rise on. Cumulo growled, ducked into the turbulence and found a surge of his own. They shot skywards.

Lyrai looked down, grinning as he urged his miryhl on. Hurricane responded, flapping harder. Cumulo stretched out his neck and strained to match.

Rising over the Cloud Sea, he aimed for a tree-covered spur, pulling away from Hurricane as their paths diverged. Mhysra wondered what the others were about, but trusted her Wingborn to counter. At the last moment Hurricane banked and cut back towards them.

Too late – Cumulo was ahead.

Mhysra whooped, laughing as they reached the trees and she felt the immediate change in temperature. Thermals. Warmer air rippled over them as Cumulo’s wings levelled out and he soared, spiralling higher with hardly a change of pace. The rush made her light-headed. Hurricane swooped underneath them then up, settling into a counter spiral.

Exhilarated, Cumulo called to his rival in smug miryhl-speak. Much as Mhysra adored her Wingborn, humility had never been his strongpoint. On this occasion, though, she just laughed.

Hurricane screamed back and Lyrai grinned, raising his arm to indicate that they were returning to Aquila. Mhysra waved her agreement, then relaxed against Cumulo, watching the other pair speed away.

“Still love me?” Cumulo asked when they were alone.

Smiling, she buried her face in his feathers and relished the cold, airy scent of him, tinged with a hint of sweet dust. “More than ever.”

~ 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 21, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch21.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Lyrai learns that being a lieutenant isn’t all fun and games, after all. Oh, Mouse.

(P.S. Last Wednesday update! It’s only twice weekly chapters from now until the end.)

“COME IN, LIEUTENANT.”

Feeling nervous, Lyrai walked into the dean’s office. The room was filled with the pleasant glow of oil lanterns holding back the night. “You wished to see me, sir.”

The dean waved him in. “I apologise for keeping you waiting, but I believe I have all the facts now. Please, take a seat.”

“Very good, sir.” Lyrai nodded warily and sat down.

Since he’d entered the room, the dean hadn’t looked at him once. Instead Marshall studied the bronze statue on his desk: a miryhl at the moment of takeoff. The metal was glossy from regular handling, but detailed on every feather. It was a beautiful piece and one Lyrai had long coveted. The dean stared at it now as if it could tell him the answers to all the most difficult questions. “What made you join the Riders?”

Lyrai frowned. “I never dreamed of anything else, sir. It’s tradition.”

“Tradition,” Dean Marshall echoed, rubbing his thumb across the miryhl’s beak. “There are many traditions in the Riders. Some better than others.”

“Sir?”

The dean looked at him with a weary smile. “Forgive me, Lyrai, I was pondering. Please tell me your version of today’s events.”

Unsure how much to reveal, Lyrai started at the beginning. It was one thing to know a fellow lieutenant was rotten and encouraging his students to go the same way, but another to say it to a commanding officer. Reminding himself that his first duty was to his students, especially their safety, Lyrai stuck to the truth. Even when it didn’t put him or Hurricane in the best light.

“Ah.” The dean nodded when he was done. “Thank you, lieutenant. Your version of events matches that of others, including your captain. I appreciate your honesty.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The dean sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry that one of your students was injured, Lyrai. He will, of course, be given all the best care and attention that we can provide. I will also inform you of any decisions I make regarding the matter, both before and after I put them into practise. Will that suffice for the present?”

It wasn’t much but, from the man’s obvious fatigue, Lyrai suspected the dean had bigger issues on his mind. It would have to do. Patronage was a powerful weapon, even in a place where status should have been left behind. Bovei’s father was wealthy and powerful. Coupled with Willym’s connections it made him almost unassailable, especially against a commoner like Mouse. The dean’s word would have to be enough.

Mustering a smile, he bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.”

“I will do what I can. You know that.”

Which meant there was little that the dean could do. “I know, sir.”

Marshall walked around the desk to grip Lyrai’s shoulder. “You will make an excellent captain. Myran says it, and I agree. Don’t be disheartened, Lyrai. Continue to care for your students as best you can. It will be enough.”

Lyrai could only hope so. Weary and disillusioned, he stumped down the tower, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a half-moon and leave all this ugliness behind. Yet there was one more thing he needed to do before he sought his bed, so he crossed the bridge and headed high into the eastern citadel.

Aquila’s infirmary was fitted with enough space and supplies to deal with a large emergency. It was designed to treat an entire flight in need, so it was disconcerting to find it so empty. Only one bed was occupied, watched over by a healer writing by candlelight near the door.

Lyrai’s boots echoed on the floor and the healer looked up. “Yes?” he demanded, squinting into the dark. He blinked a few times, then smiled. “Lieutenant, I’ve been expecting you.”

Smiling, Lyrai shook the man by the hand, having been patched up by him many times. “Healer Nehtl, it’s good to see you. I hope you’re well.”

“As well as can be for a man who deals in sickness.” The tall healer shrugged and waved towards the patient. “He’s sedated, but awake. I had to use enough to down a bullwing just to keep him still. Don’t be too long.”

Mouse looked so small, his skin bleached by the pale linen, making the freckles on his face look like flecks of ink. At Lyrai’s approach he stirred, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

He rolled his head, disorientated, until he spotted Lyrai. “L’ten’n,” he slurred, and tried to salute. His coordination was off and he whacked himself in the eye. Typical Mouse.

Lyrai perched on the bed, careful not to disturb his legs. “How are you feeling?”

Mouse grinned. “Can’t feel a thing. Not ma nose,” – he tried to touch it, and hit his ear – “nor ma toes.” He smiled blissfully. “Dunno why ‘m here, but s’nice. You come t’stay too?”

Lyrai shook his head. “No, I came to see you. You’ve hurt your leg, Mouse, that’s why you’re here. They gave you something for the pain.”

“Mouse,” he repeated sleepily, unable to follow so many words. “Tha’s me.”

“So it is,” Lyrai agreed, standing up. “Can I look at your leg?”

“Have I got one?”

Taking that as a yes, Lyrai folded back the blanket to reveal Mouse’s right limb, heavily bandaged from the top of his thigh down past his knee. Bloodstained the white linen all over, but the two darkest patches showed where the puncture wounds must be, the biggest one on the inside of Mouse’s thigh. With his leg propped up on a number of pillows, it was clear to see that the wound went straight through the muscle and out the other side.

“Oh, my,” Mouse murmured, struggling to sit up enough to look for himself. “Sum’un was clumsy. D’ya think he’ll lose it?” He stared at his leg as if it belonged to someone else.

Smiling, Lyrai covered him up again. “I think he’ll be all right.”

“Good,” Mouse mumbled, shutting his eyes. Within heartbeats he was snoring.

“Neat and nicely placed. I don’t think we’ll have much trouble with infection.”

Lyrai looked over at Healer Nehtl. “You’ve got Student Mhysra to thank for that. She keeps her miryhl clean.”

The healer stared down at Mouse. “I think he has more than that to thank her for.”

Unable to argue, Lyrai thanked the healer for all he’d done, took one last look at the defenceless lad, so different with all his nervous energy stripped away, and left. He needed rest, though he doubted he’d be able to sleep. Visions of whipped miryhls and falling boys haunted him through the darkness.

~ 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 21, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch21.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Four more chapters to go!

And yet another three parter this week – but I think it’s the last one. Poor Mouse.

Four more weeks to go!

Twenty One

31st Gale

It was sleeting. Again. “The joys of Aquila,” Stirla grumbled, tipping his hat further over his face. “How can you bear this every day?”

Blinking water from his eyelashes, Lyrai chuckled; supervising an afternoon flight was the least of his worries. “I like flying.”

“So do I.” Stirla shuddered as ice trickled down his neck. “When it’s sunny.”

Lyrai shook his head. After spending so much time grounded, he’d tackle a blizzard if it was his only chance to fly. “Come on.” He slapped Stirla’s shoulder. “Time to get your feet wet.”

“They’re already wet,” Stirla muttered, trudging over to Atyrn.

“Stop complaining. Once the blizzards truly start you’ll be spending plenty of time inside.” Lyrai secured his hat and shuddered. He was not looking forward to the next few months.

His friend grunted and hauled himself into Atyrn’s saddle, Lyrai mounted Hurricane and they launched into the miryhl-filled skies. It was Sunday, which meant all the first-years flew together, regardless of their flurries, and all Lyrai had to do was watch. Thankfully he was assisted by three lieutenants and four sergeants. It wasn’t unheard of for the captains to join these practise flights, but Lyrai didn’t blame them for keeping out of the sleet.

Circling above the students was like staring into the eye of a storm as the miryhls lapped the field. The more confident flyers rose to the top or darted through the middle, while the nervous stayed close to the ground. The four young lieutenants watched from above, while the sergeants kept order amongst the flock. After a while the sleet lessened, easing visibility, so that the pairs resolved into individuals.

Shaking the water from his eyes, Lyrai shivered and studied his students. Dhori and Latinym were rising from bottom to top and down again, while Mhysra and Cumulo swirled in and out of the main flow behind them. This exercise was too tame for them, but everyone had to practise together. Derrain and Zephyr, Corin and Wisp, Haelle and Thunder, and Mouse and Onyx bobbed behind Cumulo and Latinym like bows on a kite tail, making Lyrai smile.

An ill-advised attempt to race between some cocky students drew his attention and he was on the verge of intervening when Hurricane tensed.

“Mouse,” was all the warning he got before his miryhl dived.

Gripping handfuls of feathers, Lyrai squinted through the rain and swore. Mouse indeed. Eager to copy his friends, the foolish boy had urged his miryhl too high, too fast and collided with another student: Bovei fra Benlei. A favourite of Willym’s, Bovei did not make allowances for accidents.

Even as Hurricane arrowed down, Bovei raised his flying crop – and how he had one of those when they were banned, Lyrai could only guess – and lashed out. As Bovei was a mean-tempered bully, Lyrai expected him to aim for Mouse. Instead he slashed at Onyx’s face.

“No!” Lyrai and Hurricane roared together, and Lyrai urged his miryhl even faster, diving straight through the flock of novice pairs. Miryhls scattered and students yelped, but Hurricane ignored them. Since no one fell off, Lyrai did likewise.

Onyx squealed and dodged the whip heading for his eye, taking the brunt of the strike on his wing. Already unbalanced from the collision, Mouse slipped, hands grasping at the wet saddle but finding no purchase. The leather straps, which should have been holding him in place, were unbuckled: he’d been copying his friends again. Onyx shifted to catch him, but Bovei cracked the whip across the miryhl’s neck. Bruised and wounded, Onyx flinched.

“Mhysra!” Mouse plummeted through the cloud of miryhls.

Cumulo dived after him. With more strength than finesse, the Wingborn seized the boy’s leg and flapped frantically to slow their reckless descent.

With Mouse safe, Hurricane didn’t bother to check his own speed. Balling his talons, he punched straight into Bovei. The whip went flying. Lyrai barely had time to shift his weight as his miryhl wheeled about and dropped onto the smaller eagle’s back.

Being bigger, heavier and angrier, Hurricane easily drove Shield down. Lyrai didn’t object, even with a student trapped between – Bovei deserved it for striking a miryhl – and watched with relief as Cumulo carefully lowered his burden before landing.

Mhysra reached Mouse first, turning him over to check his leg, exclaiming at the blood. Stirla carried the boy from the field at a sprint, leaving Hlen to take care of poor Onyx.

“Return to the eyries and tend to your mounts!” Captain Myran ordered, emerging from the sleet with Fredkhen and a squad of Riders. Left with no other choice, the students dispersed.

At last, Hurricane brought Shield down and lifted off him. Before the miryhl could launch again, Hurricane rose to his full height and hissed. Though cocky around the eagles in Bovei’s class, Shield knew when he was outmatched and hunkered down, emitting supplicating peeps.

Not so his Rider. Mussed and gasping, Bovei pushed himself upright and glared at Lyrai. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded shakily. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Before Lyrai could answer or dismount, Willym landed. “How dare you treat a student of mine this way!”

“I could say the same of your student with regards to mine!” Lyrai snapped, while Hurricane faced down Mercata, Willym’s miryhl. They were of a size, but Mercata was a slender, light-eyed female. Like her Rider she had a nasty reputation. “How dare he raise a whip to a miryhl. How dare he fly with a crop at all!”

Willym sneered from his mount’s back. “I saw no such incident. All I saw was a lieutenant attacking a student.”

“There are witnesses,” Lyrai growled, even as Hurricane did the same at Mercata.

The female miryhl hissed and her Rider smirked. “Yes. An entire year saw you attack a student, Lyrai. How distressing.”

“They also saw your student strike mine with a whip,” Lyrai retorted, barely controlling his temper. “You know crops are banned, but I can guess where he got such a thing.”

Willym looked at his student and smiled. “I see no whip.”

Lyrai saw red. “I will find it, you vicious bastard, and when I do, your precious whelp will -”

“I believe this is the item in question,” Captain Myran interrupted, limping between their miryhls with the crop held high. “It may also interest you to know that I saw everything.”

Willym stared at the whip and registered the contempt on Myran’s face. He glanced at Fredkhen, lingering unhappily to one side. Though Fredkhen’s family’s livelihood relied heavily on the favour of Willym’s father, the captain would not lie. Baring his teeth in frustration, Willym turned to the boy.

Bovei sat slumped sulkily in his saddle, picking at the reins. He glanced at his lieutenant and flinched. “My father -” he bleated.

“I believe Kern Whittendowns will be most disappointed about this,” Myran said, and the boy cowered. “You will come with me, Student Bovei. Lieutenants return to the eyries. Lyrai, attend Dean Marshall’s office when you are done.”

When nobody moved, the captain raised his eyebrows. “You are dismissed, Riders. Bovei, with me.” He limped away, leaving Lyrai and Willym glaring at each other.

Fredkhen cleared his throat. “Come, Willym. We must tend the miryhls.”

As Mercata turned her head away, Hurricane snorted and launched with no signal from Lyrai. Neither of them wanted to spend a moment longer in that company.

~ 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 20, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch20.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Happy birthday, Mhysra! Silliness abounds :D

FOR MOST THE Feast of Maegla was a day of private worship, but at Aquila it was the most important festival of the year. The citadel and town celebrated Her glory loudly, and She threw out the worst storm of the season in response. But most of the students were too tipsy to care.

“S’my birthday,” Mhysra said to the ceiling, but no matter how many times she said it, she still didn’t get any presents.

“I love you. Did I ever tell you I love you?” Corin told Mhysra for the fifth time.

“Yes.” As she’d said the same to Haelle, Mouse, Derrain, Lieutenant Stirla and Lieutenant Hlen, Mhysra wasn’t flattered. “You’ve had too much drink.”

“I like it!” Corin protested, as Mhysra took the bottle away. She tried to put it on the table and missed. “You broke it!”

“Didn’t,” Mhysra retorted, juggling it until she got a grip. “See, some left.” Tipping back her head, she drained the last third.

Corin stared at her in shock. “You drank it.”

“I did.”

“You drank it.”

“I did.”

“You drank it!”

“She did.” A veteran of intoxicating spirits, Derrain was still in possession of his wits. “And you’ve both had enough.” He hauled them to their feet. “Time for bed. Lessons tomorrow.”

“S’no point,” Mhysra hiccupped gloomily. “No flying, no fun. S’my birthday, Derry. Will you take me flying?”

“Not when you might get struck by lightning. Aquila frowns on that kind of thing.”

“No fun,” she repeated.

“I don’ wanna go bed,” Corin protested, tripping over a snoring student. “’m drinkin’.”

“I noticed,” Derrain said. “And now you’ve stopped. You’re done with drinking.”

“Nope. Gotta keep goin’. Buildin’ ma courage. Gonna get a kiss.”

Derrain raised his eyebrows, and Mhysra stopped grumbling long enough to swing around. “Wotcha mean? Where you gonna get a kiss?”

Corin giggled. “On ma lips. At first.” She winked. “Maybe somewhere else, if he’s lucky.”

Mhysra swayed as she tried to focus. “S’not what I meant. Who’ll kiss you?”

“S’secret,” Corin whispered. “C’mere, I tell you.”

They all leant closer and Corin bashed foreheads with Derrain as she planted a loud kiss on his lips. She teetered away, crowing, “Tol’ you! Tol’ you! I got a kiss!”

Lunging to catch her before she fell over, Derrain sighed and tucked her under his arm. “You should have asked, Corin. I’d have kissed you gladly.”

“Ser’sly?” she hiccupped. “S’that easy?”

“Depends how nicely you ask.”

She chuckled and cuddled up to his chest. “You’s nice, Derry. I like you.”

“Should ‘ope so,” Mhysra hiccupped. “Hate to think you go ‘round kissing them you don’t.”

“Don’t be jealous, M’sra, I kiss you too if you want.”

Mhysra cackled. “’m all right, thanks.”

Corin wrinkled her nose. “Can I have ‘novva drink, Derry?”

“No. You got your kiss.”

“Offa you, mebbe,” she grumbled. “Need more courage. Wanna ‘novva.”

“I told you to ask.”

“Not from you!” she protested, while Mhysra wandered into a wall.

Derrain reached out and snagged Mhysra’s wrist as she walked into the wall again, asking it why it wasn’t getting out of the way and didn’t it know it was rude to obstructify people in this manner. He reeled her in and smiled at Corin. “You don’t need courage, little one.”

“You’s nice,” Corin repeated, patting his cheek. “But I wanna kiss from Dhori. Where’d he go? D’you know? Oh! A rhyme! Where’d he go, do you know? I don’t know, where he go? Where he go, I don’t know. I don’t, I don’t know! ’m so clever.” She collapsed against his chest, staring up at him adoringly. “Don’cha think ’m clever, Derry?”

“Brilliant,” he agreed, staggering sharply left as Mhysra avoided another wall, which she was sure had lunged. They had it in for her, all of them. Evil walls. “Come on, girls, upstairs.”

“Stairs,” Mhysra whined. “They’re worse than walls. They trip you up an’ everything.”

“Stairs! I love stairs! ’m good at stairs!” Corin raced off, slipped and slithered down, scraping her hands but miraculously not flattening her face. “Did you see that?” she demanded. “It tripped me!”

“I warned you,” Mhysra said. “I told you they was mean.”

“You was right!”

“Is there any reason why we can’t talk like normal people?” Derrain pleaded, as they berated the stairs.

“You’re at Aquila, lad. There are no normal people here.” Stirla and Lyrai were watching their distinct lack of progress, bright-eyed with amusement. “Need a hand?” Stirla offered.

“Please.”

“Come on, milady. Up.” Lyrai pulled Mhysra to her feet and hauled her over his shoulder.

“Ooooh,” she groaned as he straightened. “Feel dizzy. World’s gone upsides.”

“No, just you,” Lyrai assured her, while Stirla scooped up Corin.

“You know, you’re not as grouchy as I thought you were,” Mhysra murmured to Lyrai’s back. “An’ you have a nice bum.”

It was Derrain’s turn to trip on the stairs, he was laughing so hard.

“Thank you,” Lyrai said gravely, not even flinching when Mhysra patted his backside.

“’m gonna regret this in the mornin’, aren’t I?” she muttered.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

As Lyrai carried her up the stairs, she remained quiet, though Corin was trying to bargain a kiss out of Stirla, who promised to drop her if she tried.

Then Mhysra hiccupped. “Ow. Your shoulder’s not as nice as your bum. S’all bony.”

“His bum?” Stirla asked.

“No, the shoulder. It sticks in my -” another hiccup “- belly. Hurts. Uh-oh.”

“What?” Derrain, Lyrai and Stirla asked.

“Feel sick.”

It was quite possible that Lieutenant Lyrai had never moved so fast as when he put Mhysra down, turned her around and boosted her up to an open window.

When she was dangling halfway out of it, she giggled. “S’rainin’.”

“Tell us something we don’t know.”

“Umm… Dhori’s on the roof.”

“What?” Stirla dumped Corin and ran to the next window, while Lyrai gripped hold of Mhysra’s belt before she could fall out.

“Are you done?” Lyrai asked.

“I don’t feel sick now,” she confirmed, then protested as he dragged her inside. “I like it out there. I like rain. Noooo!”

“Blast it, does he want to get killed?” Stirla cursed, leaning right out of the window to see Dhori on the high roof opposite.

“He likes it,” Mhysra grumbled, sliding down the wall next to the sleepy Corin. “He likes rain on his skin an’ thunder in his bones. Makes him feel good.”

“How do you know?” Lyrai asked in surprise.

She shrugged. “If you knew him, you’d know. He’s safe on the roof.” The rain had turned her maudlin. “Don’t make him get down. You didn’t like it when you couldn’t fly.”

Lyrai blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Do you like it when you can’t?”

“Course not. It’d be the same for Dhori if you made him get down. He needs storms. Don’t make him come inside.”

Smiling, he hauled Mhysra to her feet. “I won’t. Come on.”

This time he scooped her into his arms rather than over his shoulder and she snuggled against his chest. “S’nice,” she murmured. “You smell better than my cousins.”

Stirla chuckled as he picked up Corin again, Derrain having disappeared. “Careful, he’ll think you’re an admirer.”

“I admire all kinds of things.” She yawned. “An’ my cousins smell terrible. Bet you smell better too.”

“He has a nice bum too,” Corin murmured.

“Who?” Stirla asked.

“You,” she replied sleepily. “Do I get a kiss?”

“No.”

“I tried. L’ten’n Lyrai, can I have a kiss?”

“No.”

“No fun,” Corin complained.

“I thought you wanted to kiss Dhori,” Mhysra reminded her, on the verge of sleep herself.

“Do. Wouldn’t say no to a l’ten’n, tho’. Keepin’ my options open.”

“Wise child,” Stirla agreed, but neither of the girls were listening. Both were sound asleep.

* * * * *

THE MORNING AFTER the feast, Aquila was bathed in uncharacteristic sunshine. It broke over the mountain edge and speared straight into the girls’ dormitory, where it was greeted with groans. When a maid climbed the stairs to find out why none of them had come down to breakfast, she was forced out under a rain of pillows.

Lessons for the day were cancelled.

Luckily for most, they had only hazy memories of the night before. Still, it was a half-moon before Mhysra felt able to look Lieutenant Lyrai in the eye again, and Corin couldn’t speak to Lieutenant Stirla for the better part of a month. Oddly enough, neither lieutenant complained.

~ 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 19, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch19.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Let the lessons begin!

“GOOD MORNING, STUDENTS,” Lyrai called as he strode onto the flying field for his first lesson early the next day.

“Morning, sir,” the students chorused raggedly from miryhl-back.

“I said good morning, students!”

“Good morning, sir!”

“Better.” He smiled, looking at his nineteen students. They were a pleasant mix from across the Overworld, and he recognised about half. “Some of you already know me from Nimbys and the journey here, but for the rest, I am Lieutenant Lyrai and this is Sergeant Honra. We will be teaching you how to fly.” There was a ripple of whispers and he clapped his hands for silence, startling one student into falling off.

“On your miryhl, Mouse,” Honra called.

The boy blushed and remounted, much to the amusement of the others. While he settled, Lyrai studied the faces before him, their expressions ranging from smug to anxious. He hoped to cure both before the morning was over.

“As you may have realised, some of your lessons will be taken with all of Captain Myran’s students, others won’t. You’re all learning the same things, but it occasionally pays to lessen the odds of students to teacher.” A few people chuckled. “As you get older your lessons will mix with Riders and students from other years. Since you’ll be expected to fight together under the same captain, we expect you to train together too. It should teach you to respect those outside your peer group and perhaps help others less fortunate.

“All of Aquila’s students are Riders-in-training and we expect you to behave accordingly. Treat others as you wish to be treated and you can’t go wrong. After three years your time will come.” He paused to let his words sink in. After a long moment, he smiled. “That’s the serious stuff done. Let’s move on.”

With Honra’s help, he arranged the lines so that he could see everyone. “Introductions.” He pointed to the boy on the end. “Name?”

“Fhyrin fra Fhenlyn, sir.”

“And your miryhl?”

Fhyrin looked surprised. “This is Twister, sir.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Twister,” Lyrai said to the miryhl, who nodded back. “Where are you from, Fhyrin?”

“Seffal Falls in Kevian, sir, and I’ve been flying since I was five.” Fhyrin sat up straighter and puffed out his chest. “My father and two brothers are Riders.”

Lyrai raised an eyebrow at the boy’s cocky smirk. This was one he’d have to keep an eye on. For now, however, he dismissed Fhyrin with a brief nod and moved on, coaxing introductions from the rest, including those he already knew, until he came to the last. “Name?”

“Greig fra Jeign, sir.”

He studied the lad closely. His dark skin and brown curls identified him as Etherian, but there was something about the firm jaw and mischievous brown eyes that looked even more familiar. “Where are you from, Greig?”

“Cyrris Peaks, sir.”

Lyrai smiled, certain now. “You’re Lieutenant Stirla’s nephew.”

Greig nodded warily. “I’m his oldest sister’s son, sir. I’ve only met him a handful of times.”

“Lucky you.” Lyrai winked, pleased when the lad grinned, looking even more like his uncle.

“And your miryhl?”

“Jupi, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jupi. I hope you’ll both enjoy your time with us.” With the introductions over, Lyrai paced back along the lines. “I hope you all will. Now, to work.” Putting his fingers to his lips, he let out a sharp whistle. High amongst the mountain crags, Hurricane screamed.

The students looked up in awe as the miryhl swooped, racing his rippling shadow across the grass. Circling around the field, Hurricane made sure everyone had a chance to see how huge and magnificent he was before he landed. Wings closed, he raised his head, marble feathers gleaming in the sunlight.

“This is Hurricane,” Lyrai introduced mildly.

Even Fhyrin looked lost for words as the students gazed at the impressive eagle, even those who’d seen him before. The miryhls all straightened, trying to look more impressive, except for a muttering Cumulo who raked his talons across the grass and huffed sulkily.

Lyrai chuckled and, using Hurricane’s lowered wing as a step, settled easily into his saddle. “Today I want you all to fly this course. It’s just a few small obstacles designed to test your skills, balance and flight craft. It’s not hard. I’ll go first. Watch carefully.”

They glided down the field to the obstacle course. As Lyrai had said, none of it was difficult. Hurricane dipped through the large hoops, swooped over and under the bars, and wove between the poles without Lyrai having to do anything. He just called out the directions – to the students as much as his miryhl.

As they swirled around the last pole, Lyrai plucked a flag from the barrel. Returning to the start, Hurricane landed gently, allowing Lyrai to plant his flag before the admiring – and faintly panicked – row of first-years.

“Well, Fhyrin? Are you going to gawp all day or will you fly?”

The boy looked at the course, back to Lyrai, then at the course again. While Fhyrin might have lost his cockiness, the shier students now gazed at Hurricane with wonder, no doubt dreaming of a day when they could emulate him. Lyrai had always known his new miryhl’s worth far outweighed his size and magnificence.

Fhyrin took off and Lyrai followed, calling, “Honra, you’re in charge.”

Gliding after the young pair, Hurricane murmured, “So this is teaching?”

“I hope so,” Lyrai replied, having only the vaguest idea of the role himself, and shouted for Fhyrin to start. The miryhl responded before the boy. Fhyrin’s nerves showed as he clung too tightly, hunching away from the poles and wobbling. Lyrai wasn’t sure whether to be appalled by the boy’s overconfidence or impressed that he managed to stay on at all. He foresaw hard work ahead.

Hurricane circled lazily above the course. “That’s a good miryhl.”

“Yes,” Lyrai agreed with a sigh, hoping he could train the boy to match as Fhyrin landed, flag in hand. “How come you miryhls do all the hard work, yet still make us look good?”

“That’s our job,” Hurricane chuckled, ruffling his feathers on landing. “You show off with weapons and strut about in shiny boots while we work. You get the glory, we the graft.”

“What do you get out of it?” he asked.

“Undying loyalty,” Hurricane replied tranquilly. “And a laugh when we throw you off.”

Lyrai chuckled and rubbed his bonded’s neck. “I knew there was a reason I had to be nice to you.” Smiling, he turned back to his students and the task of teaching.

* * * * *

DERRAIN SIGHED AS he watched Mhysra and Cumulo sail through the obstacle course, looking more impressive than even Lieutenant Lyrai and Hurricane had. “It’s not fair.”

“Life rarely is,” Dhori said, perched cross-legged on his saddle. It looked neither natural nor comfortable, but his friend was serene. Easy for him, Derrain thought with another sigh: Dhori had already proved he could fly almost as well as Mhysra. It was as though he and Latinym had been bonded for years, rather than a mere half-moon. It was quite disheartening.

“Practise,” Corin suggested. “We just need practise.”

“Fifteen years or so,” Mouse grumbled as Cumulo swirled around the flying field, making the flag in Mhysra’s hand unfurl with a snap. “I’ll never be that good.”

“Few of us will,” agreed Haelle, who had inched her way through the course already. Her black female, Thunder, was the most impressive in their year, but her pale eyes and watchful air made Derrain nervous. “As long as I can stay on in reasonable comfort, I’ll be happy.”

“I’m aiming a little higher than that,” Corin said, watching Cumulo land. “But I’m not a fool.”

“You’re next, Corin,” Honra called, and she smiled weakly at her friends.

“Start counting,” Mhysra chuckled, when Cumulo strutted back into line.

“Why?” Haelle asked.

“I bet Wisp finishes the course faster than anyone. Before or after.”

“Including you?” Mouse was convinced no pair could rival her and Cumulo.

“Definitely,” Mhysra and Derrain said together, grinning.

Mhysra ruffled her miryhl’s feathers. “Cue was too busy showing off to go fast.”

“Hurricane started it,” Derrain pointed out, making Cumulo chuckle.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Hey, look!” Mouse pointed at where Wisp was already landing. “I barely saw them move.”

“Wisp of the wind,” Dhori murmured. “There won’t be many who can catch them.”

“Good for her.” Derrain flinched when Honra called his name. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” his friends chorused as he eased Zephyr forward.

“I won’t drop you,” the miryhl murmured soothingly, taking off. “You can trust me.”

“I know,” he replied. “It’s me I don’t trust.”

Chuckling, she circled, waiting for Derrain to give the signal. Lieutenant Lyrai waved them on and Derrain leant forward. “Go,” he whispered, and she angled into the wind.

Derrain’s heart hammered as cold air struck his face and they dropped to barely three feet from the ground, then lifted up. The moment of weightlessness made his stomach clench, as Zephyr tucked her wings in tight, then flapped again. They were through the first hoop. Another lift, pause, then catch and the second was done. The third took them higher, the fourth low again, but by then Derrain was used to the sensation of his stomach trying to fly free.

After that he relaxed, as they hopped over and ducked under the horizontal bars and wove between the poles. Zephyr took it gently, her flight so smooth that Derrain’s body easily followed wherever hers led. As he reached for the flag, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to sit up. Chuckling, Zephyr took a victory lap before landing and giving him a chance to plant their flag.

“Good,” Lieutenant Lyrai praised, and a warm glow gathered in Derrain’s chest.

He waited for Zephyr to hop back into line before he leant forward to ruffle her luxurious feathers. “Maegla blessed me the day She sent you into my life.”

Turning shy, Zephyr ducked her head and nudged his boot. “I like you too.”

“Not bad for a beginner.” Corin grinned, still excited after her own flight.

Derrain rolled his eyes and smiled. For the first time he felt he might manage this. It wouldn’t be easy, but flying wasn’t impossible either. Not with a miryhl like Zephyr.

“You’ll do,” Mhysra assured him softly. “We all will.”

“Maegla witness that,” Dhori agreed, just as Mouse tumbled off at the poles. “Of course, She may have to help some of us more than others, but She’ll do her best.”

“And it’s up to us to do the rest.” Mhysra winced as Mouse fell off again.

“Nothing like a miracle to start off our training,” Derrain said, leading the cheers as Onyx landed, a flag waving triumphantly in Mouse’s fist.

“Anything’s possible,” Dhori said. “Even miracles. We’ve got three years, after all.”

“Cheer us up, why don’t you?” Mouse burbled, bouncing in his saddle as Onyx rejoined them, the boy clearly ecstatic to have only fallen off twice. Some miracles might take more work than others, Derrain thought, but they’d be worth it in the end.

~ Next Chapter ~

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