Tales from the Earthen Sky

“And after that?” Spore asked quietly.

Melka glanced his way. Her robed, hunch-shouldered colleague had hardly spoken since their meeting with the Harbinger began, but he had voiced what was on all three of their minds, and Melka knew that even without the need to establish a hard mental link.

The black creature—turned wingless human—had led them away to a small island a half mile northeast of Ameros . . . an island which had not been there the previous day. She wasn’t certain when he had done the trick, nor how, but she had encountered the Harbingers enough times not to question their power. They stood now upon a stone pedestal some six feet wide. The entirety of the new aerial body was perhaps twenty paces in diameter, cropped in multi-hued rock and adorned with a smattering of grass—nothing more.

“After that,” the dark-cloaked man said in his deep voice, “Things will go back to normal. We shall not interfere in your day-to-day operations in this sector of the sky.”

Melka nodded along with the others. Day-to-day . . . in other words, they will insist we make the games as big a production every year. Do they realize we’re just going to run out of talent again . . . ? We can’t manufacture the gifted.

“But,” continued the Harbinger, “there will be some changes henceforth to the way each festival will play out. I was sent to correct a flaw that you Magnates have developed.”

Melka grated her teeth. Did he even realize how insulting that was? Yes, yes he did. She formed a response in her head, thought better of it, and then found herself saying it anyway. “My lord, what about the other tribes? The other quadrants? You speak as though we alone have strayed from the original will of the Lords Above.”

The hooded man turned his icy gaze on her. “Bold of you to utter such a thing. You are correct, in that other Magnates have failed as you have. But that excuses nothing. This visit was both a correction and a warning, and next time I shall not be so lenient. Mind the fact that there are powers with the authority to annihilate you should you convince them you have disgraced your position. Now, do you understand my instructions regarding the festival and tournament?”

The three Magnates looked at one another solemnly, and Donnor, after a moment, said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. See that you don’t play favorites.”

“Come again, Felicity?” Donald Dolce turned, a morsel of sweetbread halfway to his mouth. He spoke the words through the snack he was already chewing, then resumed chewing before popping the other bit in after.

“I said, ‘Are you thinking of joining in as well?’” said his blonde sister. “You did hear the news, right?”

“I did. I do not wish to see the Earth, though.”

“Right.” Felicity brushed back a lock of hair. “Neither do I, yet I’m—”

“Yes, yes.” Don turned away, eyeing the table of snacks. The servants had put out such a pleasing array for this evening’s meal, despite it being nearly an hour away. Probably buttering up the family to preempt overly-combative reactions to the Harbinger’s latest words. Or rather, the fact that he had spoken to the town of Castile, and not to the families themselves. “I heard the news,” he said with an off-hand sigh.

His sister gave an almost ladylike hmmph. Not one borne of any contrary attitude, merely the noise a pampered young lady utters when trying to make a point. What point, however? He pondered idly that he was indeed just as spoiled as she. He merely was more willing to admit it. At twenty-two and twenty-three (he being the latter), they were of more than marriageable age, yet neither had shown the slightest inclination to seek partners with whom to further proliferate the already-prolific Dolce family. Or at least, that was the rationale he used to dispel the family’s objections to his own lack of such ambitions. Funny, how there were ambitions, and there were ambitions, nigh opposites. The middle of the road, one could fairly say, was the path of family condescension.

Now Felicity was trying to show some actual motivation. She wanted . . .

With another small sigh, he turned around. “I’m what?” This time, he had indeed been listening, merely ignoring her. She’d babbled about her sudden fascination with fame and obscure treasures in the heavenly earth-lands. The rewards promised by the mythical 'Lords Above'.

This time, her eyes flashed. “Don . . . you heard me.”

“I did. In that, you are right.”

“And you still haven’t answered my question. Though you don’t have to.”

“I don’t,” he agreed. “Personally, I think you’re fooling yourself. You had your chance. Chances. You never took a shot because you lacked the desire, and I know you haven’t changed that much. You’re like me.”

The two sat in the far northern dining hall of the Dolce mansion, which was situated in roughly the middle level of the towers. Outside, an incessant hawk cried in the distance. Truth be told, Don knew that he was only just enough like his sister to know that most conversations with her were pointless. She knew the same, but ignored the fact. So he followed along, pointing out that she wouldn't get picked by the Dolce anyway. Each Fenabackan family held their own test of sorts to decide who would compete against the others, and the Dolce were no less competitive than the rest.

His sister surprised him by saying, "We shall see."

He frowned, considering her words in a different light. Everyone on the island had been given a new opportunity and a new incentive—or turnoff—to join in this year's game. And most importantly, a chance at redeeming an old dream. The Harbinger was trying to dig buried talent out of the islands, that much was clear, but what sort of talent? Elemental? Fenaback would outshine all the other tribes. But, despite how the elementalist families all taught that . . . he felt there was a different answer somewhere to be found.

"What about Uncle Marcus?" he asked. "No, he wouldn't leave Rena. Aunt Emery?"

She shrugged. "I mean, we know who will—and she'll win, too. Not going to stop me."

"Erika. Yes, that's highly likely."

"As I said, we'll see. . . wait." She narrowed her eyes. "That's assuming she competes with Fenaback at all. I wonder . . . And Phoenix as well. Falla wouldn't in any case."

Oh, please, just not more family drama, Don thought with a sigh, this time inwardly.

Characters

Solis Lightwing (SOLE-iss)—The main character, a white-winged boy of unceasing curiosity who longs to see inside the forbidden Earth.

Telsan (TELL-suhn)—Solis’ best friend, a young man of the Bird Tribe.

Phoenix Dolce (DOLE-chay)—Friend of Solis and Telsan, a Flameborn girl of sixteen years. Daughter of Falla Dolce.

Melka—One of the three living Tapiq Magnates.

Donnor—Said to be the eldest of the three living Magnates.

Spore—One of the three living Magnates. Doesn’t say much.

Falla Dolce—Phoenix's mother, a Dustborn from a powerful elementalist family of Fenaback. Kept her family name due to events she'd rather leave buried.

Otto Dolce—Old but strong leader in his elementally gifted clan, which consists mostly of his own direct descendants.

Erika Dolce—Phoenix's cousin, currently in training with a courier at the school in Megeth.

Terms

Megeth (meh-GETH)—Hometown of Solis and his fellow Tapiq people.

Ameros (AM-uh-ros)—Largest island in the southeastern quadrant of the sky, where the Tapiq village of Megeth lies.

Fenaback—Also called the Isle of Colors, this island is home to many elementalists, including powerful families such as the Dolce clan.

Tapiq (tuh-PEEK)—The tribe of winged men who dwell in Ameros and the surrounding islands. As with most tribes, they have adopted some from other tribes and races as their own, while others are visitors.

Earth, The—An immeasurable continent that looms over the entire sky. Forbidden to all save those whom the Magnates choose each year.

Magnate—One of the three living souls of the Tapiq tribe who have ascended to the Earth and returned, bearing supposedly infinite knowledge that they choose to keep hidden.

Kinships

Elementalist—One born with a Kinship to an elemental force. They represent one of multiple types of Kinships.

Flameborn—Those blessed with Kinship to the power of flame. They are characterized by their lack of wings, as they form their own as needed from tongues of fire that sprout from their backs.

Dustborn—Manipulators of soil and dust. They fly with wings created from nearby dust particles.

Windborn—Kin of the wind. Unlike other elementalists, these often grow wings just like any other, though some are blessed with a heightened ability allowing them to fly without wings—and thus lacking them.

Waveborn—Also called Watchers, they control the invisible wards that protect the sky islands from falling hazards. Also includes those with the rare ability of sound manipulation.

Wards—Magical barriers put in place by the Magnates and managed by the Watchers.

Dewborn—Those who can control moisture and redirect water.

Stormborn—Creators of small storms and electrical currents.

Snowborn—Bringers of frost and snow on a small scale.

Sunborn—Manipulators of light.

Beastborn—These rare kind are seen largely only in the northwestern isles, and actually come in different orders, each with an affinity to a certain class of living creature.