Tales from the Earthen Sky

That evening, two stories beneath the surface of Isle Ameros, two men and one woman sat around a crackling fire in in a spacious cavern. The men were on-edge, the woman more so. The cave itself was well-furnished, but with moderation. A stone path circled up from the common area where they sat on chairs carved from Earthen deadfall to an arched door that appeared innocuous from the village. No one ever came inside the Magnates’ cave. Five other mouths led down into side caverns, where the three had individual rooms.

“I know, Donnor. We’ve been over this,” Melka was saying with a sigh. “We can’t change the games much now, but we can at least try to impress him a bit more.”

“I, um, don’t know if that will be possible,” Spore said, digging at the floor with his stick. He’d been doing it for the past two minutes.

Donnor made a low growl in his throat. Both were right to some extent, but . . . he stared at Spore. The man always had ideas; he just didn’t always share them. “What do you have, Spore?”

“Well, it all depends.”

Dinner that night was subdued in the Lightwing household. The family roost was situated on a higher level of Megeth, on the side facing the morning sun. Being that it was late afternoon, the Sun warmed the western wall’s straw-thatched planks and peeked in through the windows to say goodbye. When the Rain Watch declared precipitation’s approach, Solis was usually the one to close the shutters; otherwise that duty fell to little Floris.

Floris sat beside him now in the loft, one tall story up from the main floor where Mother cooked a meal. Some kind of soup, its scent wafting up toward them on moist air. Above them hung the sturdy roof, rising to a peak some fifteen feet overhead. Floris held his wing in her hands, massaging the muscles and tendons beneath the feathers delicately. Her narrow fingers were just strong enough to make her technique effective. He grunted every time his muscles twitched and numbed pleasantly in response. They weren’t especially touchy siblings, and if that what had prompted her massage then he would have flapped away in mock panic. No, she was just that talented. She wanted to be a physician one day. After a long day of lookout and flight practice, his back and wings longed for her healing touch.

“All right, that’s plenty,” she said, removing her hands and stretching them against one another. “Other wing.” She gave his white feathers a flick, prompting him to fold his right wing and shift, stretching the other across his left side for her to work her magic on. She did so. It wasn’t real magic, as she had yet to display any unordinary abilities—to no Lightwing’s surprise, considering theirs was simply not a gifted family. Mother always reassured them with the fact that it made them no less valuable.

Floris continued the conversation that had faltered just moments prior. “Brother? What do you think that creature was? The . . . Harbinger?”

He gave a small sigh, delaying his response. “Can’t say. I mean, I have tons of theories. Not, you know. Not tons, but a few.”

“And?” She dragged out the word playfully, as was her wont when she was eager to hear more. “Come on, come on.” What she really meant by such badgering amounted to, You’re the older brother—what did Grandmother say? Being six years his junior, she had hardly known Fey. Unbeknownst to her, two middle siblings might have grown up with their grandmother, had they lived to see the light of day. Last he knew, Mother had never told Floris for some reason.

“Well, OK,” he said, giving in. “He could be a monster, acting like an intelligent being, or . . . almost like a human. If he actually was one of the Harbingers, then . . . Grandmother seemed to believe they worked for . . . ‘the Earth.’ Or ‘the Upper Reach.’ Once or twice she used the term ‘Heavens,’ and I think she was referring to a place . . . beyond the Earth. Where there’s sky, like here.

“Anyway, I think the Harbinger must have come because he realized what a lousy job the Magnates have been doing.”

She giggled. “Solis, you’re not supposed to say stuff like that . . . even if it is true. Besides, a poor job of what? Leading us? Teaching us? Judging us?”

He didn’t say, but only because he was still going on with his list. “Or the Harbinger came to bring a message, evil tidings from above, maybe danger to the Skies. Perhaps he’s just looking for extra special candidates this year? Enough of the riff-raff?”

“Yeah, extra special like you,” she said with a taunting flick. It stung, but he made sure not to let on.

When he glanced back, however, he saw an odd expression of unease on her face. “You still don’t want me to go, Floris,” he said in realization. She shook her head mutely in response. Sometimes he forgot that, despite how much she loved to listen to his meandering thoughts and chatter about the wonders that lay in the great expanse of the Outer Skies and in the Earth—despite that, she dreaded the day he might actually get selected to venture into the floating continent. She supported his efforts, and yet she was terrified that she might lose him some day.

“Floris,” he said gently. “Come now. You know how long I’ve wanted to ascend. And I don’t mean to brag, but . . . I just feel like it’s my destiny. Grandmother Fey didn’t teach me much, but enough. Enough to know I want to see it for myself. I need to know what the Magnates keep hidden. We don’t know what happens to all the ones who don’t come back, but I promise you: I will. I’ll come back, no matter what.”

She smirked, as though he’d given a humorous speech, but she ruined the brave façade by wiping her nose audibly. She resumed rubbing his wing, then moved to his back, digging in more forcefully until he grunted and winced in pain. Then she sighed, ending the massage as she hugged her arms around him and pressed her little cheek to his back. “I just don’t want to lose you, Sol.”

He didn’t shrug her off. He could allow some hugs and sappiness once in a while. Floris was being weird lately. He almost wondered if she was getting into that teenage stage his mother used to talk about, where girls just began to act erratically for no reason. Like Phoenix. She used to be all calm and reasonable . . .

Solis glanced down at Mother, who still whistled to herself as she stirred the soup some twenty feet below. In her absent-mindedness, she probably hadn’t heard any of their conversation, otherwise she probably would have chided him for telling his sister more tall tales of the earthen sky. Pim Lightwing was a simple woman, and she liked to keep it that way. She had never been too close with her mother, Fey, but especially since her passing eight years back, she’d always eschewed mention of her name.

Solis couldn’t help but find that deeply sad.

“Thanks, Floris,” he said, waiting a moment for her to release him before he rose and stretched his wings, making the same motion with his arms. He nearly hit Floris.

“Watch it!” she said with a giggle. He collapsed them once more, turning as she stretched hers. She let out a squeaky yawn as she did so. Her own white wings were only around ten feet in spread; she hadn’t gotten her adult wingspan yet. Of course, she also weighed just over half what he did. Still, She didn’t yet have the mobility and lift that an adult Tapiq possessed. Thin as a bundle of twigs she was, yet graceful as a willow, golden hair bound in dual ponytails. Solis had received his father’s thick black hair, while she had her mother’s angelic gold.

“Floris?” called their mother, looking up. Her own golden hair was done up in a practical bun. She wore a white hava, a larger version of the one Floris wore. That was the term for the feminine tunic designed, like all sky clothes, to allow the wings freedom of movement, mad with a series of loops and pins that went under and over the wings in the back, leaving minimal skin exposed. The western peoples had pioneered ways to stitch garments together of only one or two pieces, and Solis was as baffled by that as most of the seamstresses around.

As the blonde girl glided down to their mother, Solis turned and gazed out the window at the rolling hills that stretched toward Ameros’ Skyfall. Gardens and crop fields graced the hills while other tree-like houses dotted the landscape. Constructed of quartered logs of local trees as well as deadfall, each house stood three or four stories tall, sheathed in thatch and boards with a high peaked roof hanging over the open south side—the one that saw rain only extremely rarely.

Solis’ eyes drifted unconsciously upward, as ever, despite the Sun’s low night angle, hugged as it was up against the Earth’s western side. The last hours of its light cast eerie sidelong shadows over the topography of the great continent, lengthening by the minute. He was reminded of his elder sister Caris, who was now married to a man from a neighboring tribe. They hardly saw her anymore, though she wrote often. Caris had been of a similar mind to him, itching to get out and explore, and had tried her best to get chosen to ascend, but the Magnates had avoided her as clearly as they now did Solis.

Why?

The woman had given up after turning twenty, which meant she no longer qualified to be a contestant—given up and moved on, refocusing her sights on marriage and settling for one island away. One island. Solis could never do that. Marriage seemed like the most boring thing in the world, and he simply couldn’t—wouldn’t—give up his dream because stuffy gatekeepers disallowed him. He would show them. And if they wouldn’t listen, well . . . then he would just go himself. Frankly, he’d lost most of his respect for Caris for being such a coward, but she claimed she felt fulfilled in her new life and home. Apparently.

“Solis, my boy!” his father roared Arthur Lightwing brushing aside the leafy curtain that hung over the wide firs-floor doorway.

Solis hopped down and half-glided to the floor, landing with a thump. He was too impatient to glide, and Mother always yelled at him when he beat his wings in the house, sending decorations and table items tumbling away. “Father!” he said, approaching the tall man with a smile. His father was thicker of frame and broader of shoulder as well, but bore the same midnight hair and confidant gait. His white wings were the same span as Solis, but were much thicker and fuller.

Arthur wrapped his son in an embrace, pulling him in by his left wing and briefly tucking his own left wing over him, a greeting gesture that was considered manly among the Tapiq. "I heard there was some excitement in the plaza today! I trust you stayed out of trouble?"

"Of course, Father!" Solis said, unconvincingly.

His father nodded, equally unconvincingly, before turning to snatch his daughter in an embrace. She squeaked in laughter, grinning as he let her go and ruffled her hair. When his wife asked how work in the exterior mines went, his shoulders sagged just a bit and he let out a suppressed sigh. "Same as lately. Steady, just tiring. Fan crystals and tapstones are forming well along the southwest, though not much of any real rarity. But . . . you know how it is, Pim. Sometimes they're easier to get at than other times."

For as long as Solis could remember, his father had worked in the mining industry as one of the brave exterior miners who combed the undersides of Ameros for gems and other stones of worth, which formed—he often used the verb "dripped"—from deep inside the mother island. He was one of their most skilled and productive workers, despite the fact that the exterior mine managers didn't pay him that well. He didn't like to talk about it, but it was only his dutiful work ethic that kept him in their employ. Solis respected his father, but it didn't mean he admired him. Arthur Lightwing, though he would never openly voice it, wanted his son to go into the workforce and be slave to a company that cared little for him. In the name of honest work, purpose, saving up for his future family . . . all that stuff.

Solis always felt a pang of guilt at the thought of his stubborn dreams, but it didn't stop him from setting them first. Nothing would. Nothing.

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—Longtime friend of Solis and Telsan, a Flameborn girl of sixteen years.

Faridi (fuh-RID-ee)—A Tapiq man who frequently volunteers for lookout duty.

Colla—A female Tapiq; often works with Faridi.

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.

Fey—Solis’ deceased grandmother, a former Magnate.

Hash—Proudly takes on the title of Herald of Megeth every time there's an announcement to make.

Bors—Portly headman of the village of Megeth.

Drusilla—Wife of Bors.

Filian (FILL-ee-uhn)—A stuck-up boy who likes to pick on Solis. Mostly harmless.

Pim Lightwing—Daughter of Fey of Longfell and mother of Solis and Floris.

Arthur Lightwing—Husband of Pim, head of the Lightwing household.

Floris—Solis' younger sister. 11 years old; aspires to be a physician.

Caris—eldest of the Lightwing children, now married and residing in the neighboring village of Dram.

Terms

Ascend—To rise; specifically, to enter into the Earth above.

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

Skyfall—The edges of an island.

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

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.

Ornis—Also called the Bird Tribe, though this isn’t entirely accurate, as there are multiple; most simply live farther north.

Datem (DATE-um)—A species of tree native to the island of Ameros. Deciduous, with shaggy leaves.

Hiding, The—The six hours in the middle of the day when the Sun’s low-angled course takes it behind the infinite cloud layer that looms beneath the sky world.

Earth, The—Ground, dirt, namely the gigantic continent that looms above the 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.

Deadfall—This refers to any large or otherwise harmful trees, branches or sometimes rocks that fall from the Earth, caught by the protective wards and subsequently used for timber or fuel.

Alliance—The Alliance of Wings is a group of ten tribes encompassing most of the charted sky. They have had a peaceful history for the past decade.

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

Watcher—Also called Waveborn. One with the inborn ability to control the invisible wards that protect Megeth and other sky villages.

Windborn—Those blessed with Kinship to wind. Unlike others with an elemental Kinship, these often grow wings just like any other, though some have been blessed with a heightened ability allowing them to fly without wings—and thus lacking them.

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.

Kinship—The intangible, inexplicable bond between certain children and an element or other force of nature that follows them all through life. Kinships can be neither changed nor banished, but they can be quite useful.

Harbinger—???