Tales from the Earthen Sky

Filian and his gang showed up after a half hour.

The Sun was shining in from the west now, circling back toward the Earth’s horizon, and Solis’ stomach was already complaining about the long time since lunch. He was thirsty, too, having drained his waterskin by now. Daryn Gobross, the brute, had kept the three busy with combat training. He’d observed them practicing martial arts, and apparently violence was his favorite sport, so he wanted to get in on it.

Filian’s gang sauntered in just when everyone was getting tired. The first they knew was when he called from overhead, “Having fun down here, children?”

Telsan, who was currently wrestling Daryn and losing, turned his head to look and nearly got choked out for it. The larger boy had an unfair size advantage. Paired with his ugly looks and broken nose, it made him appear four years older than he was.

“What do you want, Filian?” Solis demanded, stepping between the rich boy and Telsan’s contest.

It was then that Solis noticed what he carried: practice blades.

“We want. . .” Filian turned to the closest of his three friends, whose name was Vor. “What do we want again?” he asked as an obvious show, not out of any sudden memory loss.

Vor, who had a massive chin, puckered his lips oddly and then spat something to his left. “Same thing anyone here wants, dimwits: training.”

“Quite so,” Filian said with a shrug that included the wooden swords in his hands.

Solis glanced at Daryn, who had pinned Telsan to the ground for the second time now. “I don’t think . . . that is to say I don’t think it would hurt. But we didn’t bring any practice weapons today.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Filian said. “We have a total of four, and we can always trade off, no? Who wants to go first?”

Solis didn’t say anything. How did he manage to sound so chummy? Solis had interacted with the bully enough times to know exactly what he was.

The blond boy looked over at Phoenix, who had been about to spar with one of Daryn’s friends when Filian had invaded their arena. “How about the girl?”

Solis took a subconscious step forward. “No. I will.” Filian always liked to pick on Phoenix in a way that triggered Solis’ defensive instincts. He was condescending and almost flirtatious at the same time. His friends usually chuckled along, as they did with most of his words. Of course, maybe it was just a carefully calculated ruse to rile Solis.

If so, it worked.

“Yeah, not really interested,” Phoenix said over her shoulder.

Filian took a showy, self-satisfied look at his friends and said, “Well, sure, I suppose you’ll do. But I’m pretty good, Sol.”

Solis scoffed. “I won’t lose that easily.” He hated it when anyone but Floris called him Sol, and Filian knew that. Solis took one of the wooden swords Filian offered to him, flicking it twice as though an expert testing out its weight. Truth be told, he was OK with a weapon, but not as good as Filian. He would admit it, just not aloud. He’d never expected weapons to be a part of the tournament, of course, but who could say now?

Filian nodded to his companions, who backed away to stand near Daryn’s gang, glaring subtly at each other. Solis noticed at least two of the boys puffing their chests out as though hoping Phoenix was looking at how big and strong they were. So they had some muscle. She didn’t care. Right?

Solis and his dueling partner stepped away from the others and circled one another. Filian’s blue eyes drilled into him, and he seemed to smile ever so faintly. Solis felt a sinking feeling, but tried not to show it. Filian had goaded him into this fight, plucking his emotions like strings.

Filian attacked with a thrust, stamping his leading foot forward with the motion, and Solis reacted with a parry, but Filian was already in the middle of another move. The first had been a feint. Filian drove him backward, which happened to be toward the edge of the canyon. Solis was just aware enough of his surroundings to realize he couldn’t keep backing up.

So he made the first aerial move. Beating his wings, he leaped overhead and slashed downward at Filian’s shoulder. No headshots in practice or competition, nowhere in Tapiq territory. Filian ducked and executed a swift spin, getting behind Solis’ forward leap. Solis hopped with another few wingbeats, staying out of reach of the returning slash he expected.

His opponent responded instead with his own aerial attack, though Filian used his wings merely to hover forward at alarming speed and drive the point of his sword straight at Solis’ chest. The white-winged defender’s eyes widened at the suddenness and recklessness charge, and the onlookers hooted. He dodged it—barely—but such a lunge would very likely have cracked a rib or two. Filian went for his wings next with arcing swipes, forcing Solis to twist the long appendages to avoid the attacks. There were certain points on the wing that could not be struck when in a match, be it competitive or practice, but those were only on the main joints and the point where the long pinions sprouted.

If there was one thing Solis had going for him, it was his speed and athletic agility. It was saving him blows more than his skill, while his opponent simply had far more experience with a blade. It was a matter of family pride for the Cornels, after all.

Solis dodged Filian’s following blows and counterattacked, forcing the boy to take a few steps backward. It wasn’t long before one of Filian’s landed, however, scratching his chest. It stung, but he tried not to let on. Instead, maintaining a guarding stance, he said, “That it, or are we going till one yields?”

“Till one of us yields,” Filian agreed with a smile. “I’m not done with you yet.” His speech had taken on an entirely different quality as his attention was absorbed by the fight, deepening his voice and stealing the playfulness he projected most of the time.

Solis nodded, and as soon as the blond boy moved, he spun, throwing out a low wing to trip Filian while he brought his blade up. Filian blocked as he caught his footing, but his stance was sloppy and Solis caught him hard on the upper arm. A hiss escaped Filian’s lips, and dark flames ignited behind his blue eyes. He looked like he wanted to curse Solis and lash out at him, but in a measure of self-control he only did the latter.

Once again, Solis was back on the defensive. Man I hate this. Not the combat, but his own inexperience. In his head, Solis tried to say that he hated Filian’s passive-aggressive mannerisms, his insinuating tone, the way he looked at Phoenix—well, that one might be true—but in reality what irritated him at that moment was his own lack of skill. He wasn’t as good as Filian, especially not with a blade. How was he to guarantee his deserved victory in the tournament and ascend to the Earth if he couldn’t beat this pompous blondie?

Solis’ concentration slipped, and his sword was battered aside in what seemed to him a long mental blink. It wasn’t even battered so much as swatted aside. Filian’s practice sword was suddenly inside his guard, touching his chest. Of all the . . . At least he’d managed not to let the practice sword fall from his grip.

“Well?” Filian asked in a tone that implied he ought to be yawning. He was back to smug, smooth Filian. He stepped forward, keeping the end of his blunt sword centered painfully just above Solis’ sternum.

Solis gasped in pain but did not cry out. He backed up, glaring at his martial better, then the intrusive sword, then his own sword arm, which hung hesitantly at his side. “Fine,” he growled. Or tried to, but the words caught on a stray bit of phlegm in his throat.

As he cleared his throat, Filian cocked his head and said, “Come again?” he relaxed the pressure on Solis’ chest, but only a bit.

“I said fine!” Solis snapped, flicking the older boy’s sword away with a snow-white wing. “You win. Big deal. I hope you feel all grown up.”

He . . . sort of wished the words actually stung his rival, but was fully aware that he was just blubbering childishly.

Filian looked like he wanted to score one of those wings with his sword, either out of annoyance or anger, but decided on a condescending sigh, settling his wooden bullying instrument on his shoulder. “With practice, you could improve. It would take, well, actual practice and probably a few years, but you could be my equal someday. Perhaps.” He looked to Danny, or Dana. Damien? Solis couldn’t remember his name. Vor and the other kid in their group were engaged in a sparring match with their own swords. “Think?”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “You’re not that good. But . . . yeah, I don’t know, he’s really not that great. Like, clearly can’t concentrate and uses some improper footing. I suppose he doesn’t get much practice. But I mean—”

Filian cut him off with a surprisingly impatient wave. “OK, OK, we get it. You want to challenge him now?”

Solis was rubbing the bruise on his chest in discomfort, hardly listening anymore, eyeing Phoenix as she tested her wrestling skills on Daryn’s friend. Solis didn’t understand why she was showing so much bravado today, but then again, he was doing the same thing. This boy, half a head taller than her, was trying to show her yet another grappling technique. However, he wasn’t quite as skilled as Telsan, and was getting more than he bargained for.

Telsan, on the other hand, was shaking out his limbs and cracking his feathered neck after his sparring sessions with Daryn Gobross. The boy was a monster, and Solis had to give his friend credit for taking him on. “Well, how’d it go?” he asked Solis, seeing the sword in his hand.

Solis frowned down at the glorified stick, then handed it back to Filian with only a curt, “Here.” To Telsan, he replied, “He got me.”

In a moment of epiphany, he turned back to Filian. “Pushup time, blondie. Right, Telsan?”

They continued to train for the next half hour, with a good deal of raised voices, a bit of pushing and shoving, and not too much excessive hitting. So better than Solis expected. Finally, Phoenix loudly announced that she was tired and hungry after hours spent training, which must certainly be true for them all. Solis was grateful for the excuse to follow after her as she left their makeshift arena. The clouds overhead had knitted more tightly together and seemed to threaten rain.

The three decided to stop at the Lightwing residence for supper, and were met by a grinning Floris at the foot of the front walkway. “There you are! And you brought Phoenix!” The slightly built girl dashed out and tackled her friend with a constrictive wing embrace—which wasn’t exactly fair, since Phoenix didn’t have wings of her own. Not ones she could hug with, if she were a hugger at all.

“All right, you can let me go now,” the red-haired Flameborn said, pushing her away gently. “Good to see you again, though.” The two got along well, despite their age difference of five years, and Phoenix often stopped by to take her into town. That is, when Phoenix wasn’t busy spinning flax and wool for her mother’s textile business.

“You know, you guys really smell,” Floris added as Solis and Telsan passed the girls.

“Thanks,” Solis muttered over his shoulder.

Inside, Mother was making something good again. “Bringing your friends over without telling me again?” she asked over her shoulder. The playful tone in her voice belied her familiarity with the two, who were basically family, though there was an undertone that wasn’t immediately discernible to Solis. Pim usually made extra when Solis was out training, knowing he came home ravenous, or worse—with ravenous companions.

“Sorry, Mrs. Lightwing,” Phoenix said apologetically.

Telsan started to say something similar, but Pim cut him off. “Nonsense, children.”

“Father working late on the mines again?” Solis asked as he sat down at the table. Or rather, under the mines. Solis was often confused on the best prepositions to use concerning an industry on the underside of a giant island.

Floris took Phoenix upstairs to show her something, while Solis and Telsan just sat and made a duet of knuckle, neck, back and ankle cracking. That is, until Solis’ loving mother snapped at them, apologizing a moment later. Telsan nudged Solis’ foot back before he could put it up on the table.

Oh, right, he mouthed to his friend, realizing that would only set his mother off. Her response had been neither uncalled-for nor unfamiliar, and perhaps it was actually the way she apologized so quickly for chiding them, but Solis could tell something was bothering her. He was about to ask when, still with back turned to them, she sighed loudly and asked, “Solis? Do you want to tell me what you know of all this?”

He was confused for a second, but he picked up on her insinuation just before she went on. “This whole business with the black monster. I think you know more than you’ve been telling me.”

Telsan looked absently at the floorboards, as though paying no attention to whatever would be said. But Solis could recall the days when his mother had paddled them both as younger children, treating them like two brothers. She only pretended to treat the birdman as a guest.

“I, uh . . .” Solis wasn’t sure how to answer her. He didn’t have anything he was hiding, not really. Sure, he’d gone right up to the Magnates and demanded some answers, but they hadn’t really given any. And he’d taken Phoenix’s note to them. And she and Telsan had let him in on some pretty important information regarding the upcoming events . . . OK, maybe I do know a bit more than her. But I’m not—He gritted his teeth and sighed, trying to shove down his annoyance. She’s my mother, not my enemy. Somebody wiser than he had said that once, and he tried to remind himself of the fact once in a while.

He took the middle-of-the-road approach and let her in on most of the details he was aware of. Telsan helped, and also insisted—much to Solis’ gratefulness—that he hadn’t been stirring up trouble or anything. That was . . . that was true. Yeah. Nobody had caught him when he went up to the Earth yesterday, and . . . Aw, but she doesn’t know about Floris coming along. Now that would really set her off.

OK, so maybe he was hiding something.

His mother nodded along with their explanations, but he couldn’t tell if she was relaxing or tensing up further as they spoke. Speaking of which, where is Floris? He could use a good back rub.

“I just fear something is coming,” Mother said. “Perhaps a change in tradition, perhaps a change in our very way of life. Or more. Oh, by the by,” she added, turning her head as she stirred the kettle, “Faridi stopped by earlier. Said he was looking for you.” She fixed him with a look that explained why she seemed so upset.

But hey, it could be something good. Right?

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.

Fey—Solis’ deceased grandmother, a former Magnate.

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

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.

Jeyga—A master Courier at the Megeth Academy. Picky about the apprentices he takes on.

Filian Cornel—A stuck-up boy who likes to pick on Solis. Mostly harmless.

Vor—Filian's right-hand lackey.

Daryn Gobross—A burly bully who likes to feel superior. Surrounds himself with boys who like to feel inferior, but only barely.

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.

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

Hiding, The—Six hours of midday shadow when the Sun’s low-angled course takes it behind the infinite cloud layer that looms beneath the sky world.

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.

Terrology—Study of the Earth. Terrologists have made a science out of useless observation of the world's ceiling, or so many see it.

Orniteia (orn-ih-TAY-uh)—Land of the Ornis Tribe in the far north.

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.